Olivia Dunham (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
flip_the_lights) wrote2012-11-03 11:36 pm
flip_the_lights) wrote2012-11-03 11:36 pm
[Brooklyn, NY]
"I want you to clear your minds, and just relax. All right? Now, ignore everything except the sound of my voice..."
According to Walter's research, the best place to cross over is an abandoned opera house in Brooklyn. Olivia, Nick, Sally, and James all stand on the stage in a rough circle, Walter at its center. Far out of range, Broyles glowers at the assembled group.
Her superior has already made it clear what he thinks of the mission: it's dangerous, reckless, and they're flying blind inside enemy territory. On top of that, Walter shouldn't be going in at all. In private, Olivia agreed with him: I don't think this is a good idea. But you got a better one?
In public, she stretches out her arms in time with the others, like they're participating in some strange, world-bending seance.
"I want you to think back to when you were just young children." Walter's voice drifts across the stage, calm and coaxing. "Back to when you were just young boys and girls. Think back to when your imagination could...could take you wherever you wanted to go."
Olivia draws in a breath. She pictures the swirling molecules of air and dust filling her lungs, rushing back out as she exhales. On the next breath, the air and dust become the atoms of the Other Side, pushing their way through her, finding the crevices between her own atoms and filling them up.
"Imagine this universe slipping away, opening like a curtain."
The room seems to tilt as a burst of vertigo catches her off-guard. Olivia swallows hard, squeezing her eyelids tighter. She can't tell if she might be hyperventilating, or if this is a side effect of crossing over.
Breathe in. Breathe out. There's no space left between her atoms for her home universe; with each breath, she displaces more. Her fingertips are a good three feet away from James' and Nick's, but she feels like she could grasp the energy radiating off them, humming and prickling like sparks.
"Allow the universe to pass right through you," says Walter. The spinning intensifies. "Allow your imagination to take you to the Other Side -- "
And just as the vertigo peaks, the thud of a collapsing body jolts them all back. James sprawls on the floor, choking in pain, beginning to seize as enormous tumors sprout over his face. In an instant, they're all at his side. "James -- "
"Help me," he pleads through the carcinomas rising around his lips. His eyes, already glassing over, fix on the domed window above them. As Olivia demands for Walter to do something, James lifts a hand to point.
"Look," he croaks. Olivia turns.
Above them, a zeppelin glides across the window, like an enormous silver whale swimming through an aquarium tank.
"We made it," he says, just before his hand thumps back to the stage.
When the theater doors slam open a second later, he's stopped breathing. They have no choice but to abandon his body to the arriving team as they flee for cover. James wasn't the only one to suffer ill effects, either: smoke curls up from Sally's skin as she whimpers in Nick's arms, and Nick's own ability doesn't seem to have any effect on the people now bent over James' deformed body.
Olivia can't quite hear their words, but she knows the lilt of those voices. Breath caught, she rests a hand on her gun and inches closer, just enough to peer around the edge of the balcony. One man she doesn't recognize. Another woman's face is obscured by a curtain of red hair. And --
Charlie.
Oh, god.
Charlie, her old partner, the one killed by a shapeshifter back home -- he's still alive in this world.
Olivia barely has time to process the shock before the woman pushes her hair aside. If Charlie's profile was familiar, this one's even more so: it's the same face Olivia greets every day in the mirror. Her doppelganger from the Other Side starts to turn her head. Instantly, Olivia ducks back out of sight.
"Come on, everyone," she hears Walter hiss through the roaring in her ears, the scream she has to gulp down with every breath.
She follows.
It's much slower going than any of them anticipated. The plan was to meet William Bell at the Grayshot Bridge in Central Park, but all the buses require an ID card, not a monetary fare. They're three miles away, Nick still supporting most of Sally's weight, and they're going to have to walk every foot of those three miles.
Halfway there, they get their first clear view of the skyline. "Oh," Sally gasps, her attention drawn to one building in particular. Shakily, she raises her chin to indicate it to the others. "It's the Grand Hotel. They never built it."
Olivia's not looking at that part of the skyline. She's staring a little to the left, the sick off-kilter feeling creeping back, like the earlier vertigo waves have migrated to her stomach. In front of them, both intact towers of the World Trade Center gleam under the afternoon sun.
"Things that might have been in our world," murmurs Walter behind her, "but weren't."
Olivia watches another zeppelin float by. "Come on," she says steadily as she turns back to the others. "It's not far."
At last, they make it to the Grayshot Bridge. They've arrived with time to spare, but Bell is nowhere to be seen. As Olivia double-checks her watch, Nick helps Sally to a water fountain in an effort to cool her off; right as she bends to take her first sips, though, the wail of a police siren pierces the air.
Bell set them up. There's no other way to interpret it. They scatter, Nick and Sally taking off in one direction, Olivia and Walter in another, as SUV after SUV rolls into the park with lights blazing. Olivia barely makes it ten feet into the woods before she hears someone yell, "DON'T MOVE!" and the crack of a gunshot.
More gunfire flies her way: Olivia yanks out her gun to return it as Walter keeps fleeing behind her. One of the soldiers hits the ground as her bullet finds its mark, and she sprints away, trying to cover Walter.
It's too late. Walter's disappeared too deep into the woods for her to find him.
Seconds later, a concussive boom and a rush of heat shakes the area around the bridge.
She lays low until she's positive the team is gone, hunkering down behind a tree. When Olivia emerges to check her surroundings, the bridge is completely empty, save a scorch mark smeared halfway down its length. Sally's pyrokinetic blast was so powerful that it incinerated both herself and Nick.
Olivia's alone.
And she still has no way of finding Peter.
Keeping her hood drawn up, she makes her way back to the city. Every block, she stops and tries to perform a simple test: focus on Milliways, push open a shop door, try to get to the bar. She's never had trouble finding a door before now. It should work.
Except, for whatever reason, it doesn't. Maybe this world hasn't forged a connection to Milliways yet. Maybe her abilities really were weakened by the crossing, just like everyone else's. By the time she's gone ten blocks with no luck, Olivia presses a hand to her eyes, takes another moment to steel herself, and turns toward one of the phone booths lining the street instead.
OLIVIA DUNHAM, she types into the kiosk housing a digital copy of the white pages. It spits out an address twelve more blocks away. She has no idea if this world's Olivia will know Peter's whereabouts, but she's running out of options. Walter is gone. Bell, their one contact, likely betrayed them. In some way, her double is the only person she knows.
Her double also seems to be happily involved with someone, if the shadows she glimpses through their window are any indication. Olivia takes longer than she'd care to admit to avert her eyes -- and she's only startled away entirely when a voice next to her ear says, "Hello, Olivia."
She whirls around. William Bell stands in front of her. "It's good to see you again," he goes on as she shoves her hood back.
"How did you know that I -- " she begins in a hiss.
"I suspected you would come here."
"Where were you at the park?"
"I received Nina's message, but when I got to the park it was too late, there was nothing I can do." He sounds genuinely concerned; even now, Olivia isn't sure how to take that. As if reading her thoughts: "My dear Olivia...I know you have good reason not to trust me. But I'm afraid you're going to have to."
She darts her eyes to the apartment window, back to Bell just as quick. One hand hovers over her gun -- but at Bell's next words, it closes into a fist without touching metal.
"Walter is in trouble," he says, low and serious. "And I'm quite confident we don't have much time."
According to Walter's research, the best place to cross over is an abandoned opera house in Brooklyn. Olivia, Nick, Sally, and James all stand on the stage in a rough circle, Walter at its center. Far out of range, Broyles glowers at the assembled group.
Her superior has already made it clear what he thinks of the mission: it's dangerous, reckless, and they're flying blind inside enemy territory. On top of that, Walter shouldn't be going in at all. In private, Olivia agreed with him: I don't think this is a good idea. But you got a better one?
In public, she stretches out her arms in time with the others, like they're participating in some strange, world-bending seance.
"I want you to think back to when you were just young children." Walter's voice drifts across the stage, calm and coaxing. "Back to when you were just young boys and girls. Think back to when your imagination could...could take you wherever you wanted to go."
Olivia draws in a breath. She pictures the swirling molecules of air and dust filling her lungs, rushing back out as she exhales. On the next breath, the air and dust become the atoms of the Other Side, pushing their way through her, finding the crevices between her own atoms and filling them up.
"Imagine this universe slipping away, opening like a curtain."
The room seems to tilt as a burst of vertigo catches her off-guard. Olivia swallows hard, squeezing her eyelids tighter. She can't tell if she might be hyperventilating, or if this is a side effect of crossing over.
Breathe in. Breathe out. There's no space left between her atoms for her home universe; with each breath, she displaces more. Her fingertips are a good three feet away from James' and Nick's, but she feels like she could grasp the energy radiating off them, humming and prickling like sparks.
"Allow the universe to pass right through you," says Walter. The spinning intensifies. "Allow your imagination to take you to the Other Side -- "
And just as the vertigo peaks, the thud of a collapsing body jolts them all back. James sprawls on the floor, choking in pain, beginning to seize as enormous tumors sprout over his face. In an instant, they're all at his side. "James -- "
"Help me," he pleads through the carcinomas rising around his lips. His eyes, already glassing over, fix on the domed window above them. As Olivia demands for Walter to do something, James lifts a hand to point.
"Look," he croaks. Olivia turns.
Above them, a zeppelin glides across the window, like an enormous silver whale swimming through an aquarium tank.
"We made it," he says, just before his hand thumps back to the stage.
When the theater doors slam open a second later, he's stopped breathing. They have no choice but to abandon his body to the arriving team as they flee for cover. James wasn't the only one to suffer ill effects, either: smoke curls up from Sally's skin as she whimpers in Nick's arms, and Nick's own ability doesn't seem to have any effect on the people now bent over James' deformed body.
Olivia can't quite hear their words, but she knows the lilt of those voices. Breath caught, she rests a hand on her gun and inches closer, just enough to peer around the edge of the balcony. One man she doesn't recognize. Another woman's face is obscured by a curtain of red hair. And --
Charlie.
Oh, god.
Charlie, her old partner, the one killed by a shapeshifter back home -- he's still alive in this world.
Olivia barely has time to process the shock before the woman pushes her hair aside. If Charlie's profile was familiar, this one's even more so: it's the same face Olivia greets every day in the mirror. Her doppelganger from the Other Side starts to turn her head. Instantly, Olivia ducks back out of sight.
"Come on, everyone," she hears Walter hiss through the roaring in her ears, the scream she has to gulp down with every breath.
She follows.
It's much slower going than any of them anticipated. The plan was to meet William Bell at the Grayshot Bridge in Central Park, but all the buses require an ID card, not a monetary fare. They're three miles away, Nick still supporting most of Sally's weight, and they're going to have to walk every foot of those three miles.
Halfway there, they get their first clear view of the skyline. "Oh," Sally gasps, her attention drawn to one building in particular. Shakily, she raises her chin to indicate it to the others. "It's the Grand Hotel. They never built it."
Olivia's not looking at that part of the skyline. She's staring a little to the left, the sick off-kilter feeling creeping back, like the earlier vertigo waves have migrated to her stomach. In front of them, both intact towers of the World Trade Center gleam under the afternoon sun.
"Things that might have been in our world," murmurs Walter behind her, "but weren't."
Olivia watches another zeppelin float by. "Come on," she says steadily as she turns back to the others. "It's not far."
At last, they make it to the Grayshot Bridge. They've arrived with time to spare, but Bell is nowhere to be seen. As Olivia double-checks her watch, Nick helps Sally to a water fountain in an effort to cool her off; right as she bends to take her first sips, though, the wail of a police siren pierces the air.
Bell set them up. There's no other way to interpret it. They scatter, Nick and Sally taking off in one direction, Olivia and Walter in another, as SUV after SUV rolls into the park with lights blazing. Olivia barely makes it ten feet into the woods before she hears someone yell, "DON'T MOVE!" and the crack of a gunshot.
More gunfire flies her way: Olivia yanks out her gun to return it as Walter keeps fleeing behind her. One of the soldiers hits the ground as her bullet finds its mark, and she sprints away, trying to cover Walter.
It's too late. Walter's disappeared too deep into the woods for her to find him.
Seconds later, a concussive boom and a rush of heat shakes the area around the bridge.
She lays low until she's positive the team is gone, hunkering down behind a tree. When Olivia emerges to check her surroundings, the bridge is completely empty, save a scorch mark smeared halfway down its length. Sally's pyrokinetic blast was so powerful that it incinerated both herself and Nick.
Olivia's alone.
And she still has no way of finding Peter.
Keeping her hood drawn up, she makes her way back to the city. Every block, she stops and tries to perform a simple test: focus on Milliways, push open a shop door, try to get to the bar. She's never had trouble finding a door before now. It should work.
Except, for whatever reason, it doesn't. Maybe this world hasn't forged a connection to Milliways yet. Maybe her abilities really were weakened by the crossing, just like everyone else's. By the time she's gone ten blocks with no luck, Olivia presses a hand to her eyes, takes another moment to steel herself, and turns toward one of the phone booths lining the street instead.
OLIVIA DUNHAM, she types into the kiosk housing a digital copy of the white pages. It spits out an address twelve more blocks away. She has no idea if this world's Olivia will know Peter's whereabouts, but she's running out of options. Walter is gone. Bell, their one contact, likely betrayed them. In some way, her double is the only person she knows.
Her double also seems to be happily involved with someone, if the shadows she glimpses through their window are any indication. Olivia takes longer than she'd care to admit to avert her eyes -- and she's only startled away entirely when a voice next to her ear says, "Hello, Olivia."
She whirls around. William Bell stands in front of her. "It's good to see you again," he goes on as she shoves her hood back.
"How did you know that I -- " she begins in a hiss.
"I suspected you would come here."
"Where were you at the park?"
"I received Nina's message, but when I got to the park it was too late, there was nothing I can do." He sounds genuinely concerned; even now, Olivia isn't sure how to take that. As if reading her thoughts: "My dear Olivia...I know you have good reason not to trust me. But I'm afraid you're going to have to."
She darts her eyes to the apartment window, back to Bell just as quick. One hand hovers over her gun -- but at Bell's next words, it closes into a fist without touching metal.
"Walter is in trouble," he says, low and serious. "And I'm quite confident we don't have much time."