The End of That

by gilligankane

Spoilers: this is set in "ancient Otalia time" as someone once called it. which means before the kiss, before the farmhouse. specifically , it's set right after the surgery.

A/N: this is important, alright? this is a speculation, something i just entertained and it kind of grew into this thing of awfulness and weird. a "what if" if you will. it's also my favorite so far.

If you thought that was our second chance, you're wrong. It was our last.
- pleasefindthis

The heart doesn't take.

She doesn't understand – it was supposed to work. Gus met all the requirements and all the criteria and she had signed all the right papers and prayed to all the right Saints.

But it doesn't work; the heart doesn't take and Olivia is dying again.

And this time, Gus isn't around to make it better; to tell Olivia she's beautiful and to hold her when she's scared. Gus – her Nicky – isn't around to make both of their fears go away and now Olivia is dying again.

It's still all her fault.

If only she'd unlocked that closet door, Olivia would already have a heart.

If only she'd never come to Springfield, Olivia would already have a heart.

If only she'd been a better person, Olivia would already have her heart.

And now, as penance, she has to tell Olivia that she's going to die again; that she has to say goodbye to Emma again; that she has to leave Ava again ; that she'll never see the coming spring.

As penance, she's been chosen to break the already broken heart in Olivia's chest.

The older woman is pale, lying in the hospital bed with her eyes closed and her breathing shallow and for a moment, for a quick glance, she thinks she's looking at a dying angel.

Which is ridiculous, she knows, because Olivia Spencer is the farthest thing from an angel.

Although, she bears a striking similarity to Lucifer, the fallen angel of God.

They both certainly breathe fire.

“Olivia,” she whispers softly, and she opens her eyes, their intensity and acceptance of her grim reality weighing them down heavily.

She already knows .

Natalia should feel relieved, but the weight on her shoulders, on her lungs, on her entire body just grows heavier and she feels like she's moving underwater towards the bedside, water filling her body until she feels like she's going to end up drowning right here in this hospital.

Olivia smiles, uncharacteristically soft. “Hi,” she says, just as quietly.

“How are you feeling,” she asks, at the same time that Olivia delves into a coughing fit that shakes her entire body so hard she's afraid Olivia will fall out of the bed.

“ Ducky ,” Olivia mutters when she finishes and blindly, she gives the shaking woman a cup of water. She drinks a little, but puts it back down quickly. “So, you drew the short stick?”

It's just like Olivia to make a joke when the world is crashing down around her; to make a joke when she's clearly dying.

It's just like Olivia to deflect something serious like this.

“I…” she wants to say she's sorry; she wants to apologize; she wants to be able to do anything .

If not for Olivia, for that little girl in the waiting room then, the one who gave her a flower and a hug and told her it would all be okay soon.

“Oh, don't do that,” Olivia says in a hoarse sigh. “That, that pity thing you're doing with your little puppy dog eyes? Don't do that, alright?”

She nods, but her eyes are still wide anyway, still full of regret and disbelief.

“I said stop ,” Olivia reminds her so she slams her eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

She can do this. She can .

But Olivia beats her to the punch and steals the words right out of her mouth. “I'm dying.”

She was going to make it sound more…pretty than that, but Olivia got the gist of it down; got it enough to understand what's happening.

“The heart didn't,” she chokes up. “The heart didn't take, they're saying. They, they say that for some reason it wasn't, it didn't…”

Olivia's cold hand – the hand of death – falls on top of hers gently, the way a leaf flutters to the ground and at the gesture, and the thought that Olivia won't see the next fall, she breaks, tears exploding from her clenched eyes violently, her entire body wracking with sobs.

Olivia, telling her it's okay through a simple touch , breaks her down into a sobbing mess of running mascara and body-shaking gulps of air.

“And don't cry either,” Olivia says harshly, but there's something underneath the rasp that Natalia thinks sounds something like attempted courage. “Because then Emma is going to ask what's wrong and I can't…I can't do that to her right now.”

As if suddenly awake, Natalia's head snaps up. “Emma…”

“I…” Olivia takes a shallow breath. “I'm not sure,” she admits. “I tried this once, you know. But Ava is so young and Buzz is,” she falters. “And Jeffery, he's got his own life, you know? I just don't know.”

She wants to tell Olivia that she'll take Emma, but she can't find the words.

This is her fault, after all.

If only she hadn't locked Olivia in that closet…

The hand on top of hers starts to pull away and on instinct, Natalia clenches Olivia's fingers in her own, tangling them together. Maybe it's because she doesn't want Olivia to feel alone; maybe it's because she hasn't held anyone's hand in a long time; maybe because she's trying to convince herself that Olivia is still alive for now and she needs every moment for later, for when Olivia is gone and she's still blaming herself.

“Natalia,” Olivia says, warning in her voice, but Olivia is dying and she can't seem to do anything else, like holding Olivia's hand will somehow pull her from the inevitable.

“I'm going to take care of you,” she finds herself promising in a whisper and she feels a frantic tug against her hand. “No,” she insists, holding Olivia's fingers. “I'm going to take care of you,” she says again, her voice wavering only a little.

Olivia scoffs. “The way Gus took care of me?”

She thinks about it: she doesn't actually know how Gus took care of Olivia. She doesn't know if he only held her and soothed her with his words, or if he kissed her and calmed her with his body. She doesn't know how Gus took care of Olivia, but she's going to do the same, if not better.

For one thing, she's not going to die on Olivia, not the way Gus died on all of them.

“Yes,” she breathes out quickly, before she can change her mind.

Olivia's gaze lands on her and she wants to shiver and gulp simultaneously. “Natalia…”

“No, I mean it. I'll take care of you just the way he did,” she promises. “I'm not going to let you do this alone.”

“I am going to die alone.”

“Not if I have anything to do about it,” she whispers, her chin resting on the metal bar of the guard rails, watching every muscle in Olivia's face move. “I will not let you die alone, do you hear me?”

She can't promise she won't let Olivia die.

Not letting Olivia die alone is the next best thing.

“I'll be here,” she continues.

“What if I need more than you just to be here ?” Olivia asks, and Natalia goes to answer her, but the other woman cuts her off, coughing again before regaining her speech. “What if I need more than just someone to hold my hand when the white light comes, huh?”

She's not going to let Olivia snark her way out of this.

“I'll be there,” she insists.

Olivia snorts. “Bullshit,” and Natalia tries not to wince. “That's bullshit Natalia. You're going to run. Whether it's the sight of blood, or me being cranky, or your own life getting in the way or the hospital food, everyone always runs. They always run, and you will too. I know you,” she rants. “I know you think you're on some holy mission from God, but I swear to the devil Natalia Rivera, you're not a saint. And you'll run.”

She's not sure why she does it.

Maybe it's because Gus used to do it to her – back in Chicago – when she would rant and rave about something her mother said or how her father mortified her at Youth Group.

Maybe because it seems like an easy way to shut Olivia up.

But whatever the reason, she only keeps her mouth pressed against Olivia's because – she tells herself – it's about comfort. She keeps her lips firmly between Olivia's because having someone physically there feels good, no matter what the Bible says. She keeps her tongue dug under Olivia's because they're both craving something and even if it's until Olivia dies, they can have it.

“I'm not running,” she whispers when she pulls back, her forehead pressed against Olivia's like it's been there for years. “I'm not running,” she repeats and she feels Olivia nod.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, alright.”

She's not sure why Olivia does it.

Maybe it's because she's just there and she has no one else.

But she's not complaining when Olivia pushes her head up again and finds Natalia's mouth and just clings there, her chapped lips against Natalia's salt-and-tear soaked ones. And she holds on and Natalia lets her.

Because Olivia is dying.

Because the heart didn't take.

Because this plan of theirs went wrong.

Because praying won't fix it.

“Please,” Olivia begs. “Please don't leave me alone,” she asks in such a small voice that Natalia wants to crawl into the bed with her and hold her and rock her to sleep and she knows Gus did that, so she does: kicking her shoes off and swinging one leg up at a time until she's tangled herself into the sheets and Olivia's arms and the other woman's overheated forehead is pressed against the crook of her neck.

She won't.

She refuses to let Olivia die alone, because it's her fault she's dying in the first place.

It's her fault, so she'll fix it as best she can.

“I'm not running,” she whispers, over and over until Olivia finally sleeps and she's still saying it when Emma comes to say goodbye and she's still whispering when Rafe comes to tell her he's leaving and she's still muttering it like a prayer when the nurses do their round in the night and it's first thing Olivia hears in the morning when she finally wakes up.

Somehow, Natalia thinks it'll be the last thing Olivia hears too.