Characters: Olivia Dunham, Fringe
Word count: 164
Prompt: My grief at last week's stupid ep



She'd sobbed for two hours before the funeral, then stood in front of a mirror and splashed cold water on her face until her iron resolution had returned. Olivia wanted to believe it was shooting Charlie that made her cry -- that it was the shapeshifter's violation of his DNA. That would have made sense. That would have been something she could talk herself down from: she'd had no choice but to kill the thing, it had been self-defence, it wasn't actually Charlie she'd killed -- but she couldn't talk herself down from the very real absence in her life. It didn't matter who'd killed him because he was gone.

First John, and now Charlie.

Going through the perfunctory motions of the funeral was easy in comparison to the following day at work. Walter and Peter droned on about something she couldn't have cared less about and Olivia just stared at her cell phone, willing herself to remove Charlie's number.

It, like John's, remained.



TO BE CONTINUED BECAUSE FUCK IF I AM GOING TO LEAVE IT LIKE THIS ;.;