Olive ran blindly.

He left me...

Her cheeks were hot and wet.

...he never told me...

Several agents watched her breeze by, but no one tried to stop her.

...he betrayed me...

As though with minds of their own, her feet carried her down the stairs and guided her to where, in that moment, she inherently, unknowingly, knew she needed to be.

...he never cared about me...

Ephemeral moments later, safely surrounded by brightly-colored balls, where no one could see or hear her, Olive lost herself completely—

...he forgot me.

—and she broke down and cried.

* * * * *

Oscar tried to tear himself away.

All this time...

He really did.

...she wasn't trying to leave me...

But inexplicably, he knew, just knew, the meaning behind the myriad of looks on her face, permanently seared into his mind.

...she really did care about me...

While all the other scientists milled around the office giving more vague, meaningless congratulations, he found himself pulled to the spot where she had been standing—

...and I...oh, no...

—as it finally sank in, far too late, the horror of what he'd done to her.

...I hurt her...I hurt her and I pushed her away...

Oscar's vision blurred as his soft, oh so soft, tender chocolate-brown eyes misted over. The eyes that Olive had once loved but might never love again.

...how could I have been so wrong?

* * * * *

It was a long time before Olive could find it in her to form a single coherent thought.

So what happens now? she asked herself hours later, a handful of delayed tears trickling down her cheeks to plop onto the plastic balls surrounding her face. After, what, twelve years? A tiny snort escaped her lips. Funny, if my math is right, I'll be twelve this December. So in a way, that's been my whole life that...that...I was...

More tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids, and Olive angrily blinked them back. Stop it, Olive. Think this through. Like solving a math problem. Okay, so Polly said he wanted to be a scientist for years. But she didn't say when he decided. Could that mean, maybe...oh, God, no. Could that mean he didn't care about me or trust me enough to be my partner? Was I the reason he wanted out of Investigation?

Was it my fault?

Olive set her jaw and wiped her face, jostling a few of the balls. No, of course it's not my fault. It's his fault for being a coward and not talking to me. If he didn't like being my partner, he should've told me so, not transferred and left me partnerless without warning. Still...it doesn't make sense that Ms. O would allow foul play like that, unless...

...unless I was right, and she actually fancies him.

No wonder Ms. O turned a blind eye. If he's her favorite agent, she'll let him do just about anything that works to her advantage. She narrowed her eyes. What am I thinking? That makes no sense. Ms. O might be strict and play favorites, but it's not like she doesn't care about the squad as a whole. I mean, she cared for us all when the pienado hit. No, it can't be all Ms. O. Oscar must have done something to gain her confidence.

Olive let out a bitter sigh. Maybe Todd was right, after all. Maybe Oscar never truly cared about me. Maybe he just acted like it at the beginning, until I had learned the ropes enough for him to leave me alone. And then I would be there whenever he needed someone to brag to. If that's the case, then he's quite the actor to fool me for so long.

On and on it went inside her head for hours more, her emotions finally numbing a little with every cycle. Not wanting to endure the taunts from Oren, the excessive sympathies from Octavia, or worse, a run-in with her ex-partner, Olive remained hidden in the ball room until long after closing hours. Eventually she dozed off, and when she woke, summoned the nerve to stand up and climb back out into a darkened, empty headquarters. With a small groan she noticed the pile of paperwork left on her desk that she still hadn't dealt with yet. But as she got started on it, it occurred to her that staying after hours to do her work wasn't such a bad idea, after all...

* * * * *

This isn't a safe place.

That's all he could think as he mindlessly set to work inventing his first official gadget, mechanically taking inventory, giving perfunctory answers to the meaningless questions his scientists asked.

This isn't a safe place.

That's all he could think when Ms. O summoned him up to the office to give her a second opinion on some important Management matter—he didn't bother remembering what—and to fetch her a juice box, almost dropping it because his hands were so shaky.

This isn't a safe place.

That's all he could think as he shoved his brand new lab coat into his locker and rode the tubes to Fourteenth Street. Not until he had shut himself up in his room, thrown on a Snuggie, and switched on his custom-built iPod would he allow himself to decide:

This is a safe place.

Too overcome to even bother taking off his glasses, Oscar fell onto his bed and released the pent-up rainstorm in his eyes, letting it flow free.

* * * * *

The next day, Ms. O watched her new adviser and the newest solo agent go about their tasks. It was obvious something was wrong.

They're taking it pretty hard, she mused, watching as a jittery Oscar scrambled back down to the lab after she dismissed him. Wonder how long it'll be before they accept things as they've become and move on.

Ms. O had long ago put the pieces together, of course. Both Olive and Oscar clearly cared for each other a lot, but she knew from personal experience that a change as big as this could strain the relationship. I just hope he told the truth when he said he'd finally explained things to her. The next few months could be difficult if he hasn't, and I may need to intervene.

Her eyes fell on the framed photo she had of O'Donahue on her desk. Who am I kidding? I can't even set things right with my own former partner. How tacky would that look if I tried to solve my agent's personal problems while ignoring my own? No, better to let them work it out themselves. Like I can't ever seem to...do...oh no, not again...

Another of her relapses was on its way. Spurred into action, Ms. O hopped up and dashed to the doors, quickly sealing and locking them. Then she dove behind her desk and waited for the emotional breakdown to start.

Twenty-nine years as of yesterday and I still haven't moved on. What in odd's name is wrong with me?

It wasn't until she managed to remember how cute Oscar was when he got nervous that she was able to pull herself out of it, nineteen long minutes later.