No sleep. Just sorting laundry and washing. Everything. My clothes, my sheets, and his clothes too. Everything. She was everywhere! Splashes of odd colour here and there, more makeup in my kit, and a different shampoo that "helped keep dyed hair strong", it killed me. More so when I found his things lying around my place. His shirt, his razor, his shampoo, his boxers...I was running on coffee and heart break redirected into rage.
-Fringe-
I looked into her eyes, and I knew it wasn't her...I hid my face with my hands redirecting the heart break into anger. I was at the brink of tears. I would not cry. Not in front of him.
"What is it?" I felt his hand on my back. It made me hurt even more, a simple touch. He's used to touching her. I swallow the sob I can feel in my chest. I look up. He looks genuinely worried. Miniscule blunt saws cut slowly at my heart strings.
"You know what Barrett said? He said "he looked into her eyes and he knew it wasn't her." I wiped the tears from my eyes. A flicker of the same torture I'm going through, pain for him too?
"Olivia..." I wouldn't let him explain, there really was no justifiable answer.
"I understand the facts. I know that she had reams of information about me and about my life and about the people that were close to me. And I understand that if she slipped up that she would have a completely reasonable explanation for it. And I guess to expect you to have seen past that is perhaps asking a bit too much. But when I was Over There, I thought about you. And you were just a figment of my imagination. But I held onto you. And it wasn't reasonable, and it wasn't logical, but I did it, so… why didn't you? She wasn't me. How could you not see that? Now she's everywhere. She's in my house, my job, my bed, and I don't want to wear my clothes anymore, and I don't want to live in my apartment, and I don't want to be with you. She's taken everything!" I got up and walked away as fast as I could.
"I'm sorry." A mumble in the air. It broke me.
-Fringe-
I didn't care how much it burned; the hot water spraying onto my body reminded me somewhat of the soothing lulls of the Sensory Deprivation Tank, though only slightly. I felt numb, numb was good. The spray on my face hid the tears that I didn't want him to see. I could taste the salt in my mouth.
I stepped out of the shower and onto the bath mat, feeling the prick of cold against my still hot skin. I reached up and wiped away the steam that had covered up the mirror. Flushed, bags under my eyes, and bangs in my face. I ran my hand over my head, moving them off my face. They fell back, daring me to try again. I balled my hand into a fist and walked into my room, leaving my reflection behind. I dropped my towel carelessly onto the floor and grabbed a pair of underwear. I put them on. I turned to my full length mirror. Still me. A few bruises on my hips and lower legs; yellowed. I glanced down at the crease of my elbow; needle prick scars. I looked at myself again, not knowing what I was looking for. I turned around, and saw the red and black sun tattoo. I could ask Nina at Massive Dynamics to remove it. Until then it'll be a memory of the promise I made to Broyles. The thought stung bringing new tears into my eyes; when Broyles said he needed to believe in the hope, I doubt he was expecting to die. The hate I already had for The Secretary had only grown stronger; to think, he was cold enough to allow Brandon's alternate to attempt to remove my brain and organs. He was cold enough to cut Broyles up to make him her weight, she must be real important. Manipulative, lying, sneaking, inconsiderate, conniving...
"BITCH!" I felt better, at least mildly compared to earlier. I had baskets on the floor from all the laundry I'd done. I started to dig through them for a shirt to wear to bed, even though I would most likely not sleep. My hand slid across smooth fabric. The smooth red lettering, against a grey background. M.I.T. More stinging. The miniscule saw blades were now sporting a lemon juice glaze, stinging and cutting at my heart strings. Irrational emotions compelling me. I put it on. I stared in the mirror again, with his shirt on. No matter how much it hurt me that he slept with her, blindly ignoring the differences. No matter how much I wanted to scream and cry and hurt him. No matter how badly I wanted to cross back over –regardless of the consequences- to hit and cut and scar her. No matter how strong the urge was to cross over and put the Secretary through what he'd put me through. No matter how much the stinging in my chest resembled the cuts of a serrated blade dipped in lemon juice. No matter anything. My heart still ached, my head still replayed the conversation, my lips still felt his kiss, my entire being still wanted...Him. I sighed and walked around, not knowing why, into the kitchen, and sat down at the table. He'd cleaned up. The floors were clean the dishes were washed, papers and important notices were arranged on the fridge, carpets were vacuumed, shelves were dusted, and garbage was taken out. I got up and went to my desk. The waste paper basket had one thing in it. I pulled it out. A photo booth roll. It was of them. I didn't feel the expected sting. She was acting goofy, he was smiling. I didn't feel resentment, I felt, jealousy...I was too calm for jealousy. A sort of extended ache, not painful, not pleasant. I put it on the fridge. I walked back into my room. I'd flipped over the mattress, washed the pillows, and the comforter, and the sheets. I was okay. I lay down in the middle and stretched out. Closing my eyes.
Emotional wreck. Best way to describe it. Me.
-Fringe-
I didn't wake up until 8:00 am. Broyles must have guessed, if I wasn't in at 5:00am I was asleep and we probably didn't have a case either. I felt an instant improvement. I had slept. For a brilliant nine and a half hours. I got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. The bangs hand fallen onto my face. I didn't feel the need to brush them away. They still pissed me off, like a fly that won't leave you alone, but I didn't care anymore. They'd grow out. I found my brush, with not a single hair in it, red or other. The image of him taking a comb, a fine tooth comb, and tweezers to my hair brush made me smile just a little. It hurt to smile. Smiling was meant for happiness, amusement. He had been my amusement. Astrid, Walter and Him, my dysfunctional amusing family. I brushed my hair, bangs in my face instead of off. I tied the rest into a ponytail. I decided on jeans. I decided on a blue blouse. I got dressed. I ate breakfast. I put on my gun grabbed my phone, put on my jacket. I got in my car. He would be there, at the lab. I sighed.
I paused at the door to the lab, bracing myself for what would only be a fire fight on my heart. I opened the door. To my utter relief only Astrid sat looking over a few files in the corner.
"Hey," I said expelling the breath I hadn't realized my lungs had retained. She looked up, a smile on her lips.
"Hey, Olivia, you have a good night?" She turned on her swivel chair. I smiled back at her.
"Yeah, I did, best sleep I've had in a while." I admitted. I glanced around the room. I half expected Peter and Walter to be observing silently from a separate room.
"Walter and Peter went out for breakfast. They won't be back for an hour. Walter couldn't decide where he wanted to eat." Astrid smiled at me sympathetically. I nodded my thanks almost fleeing across the room to my office. Gene mooed from her pen. I waved at her and entered my office. I sat down on my chair. I took a deep breath. Another piece of evidence proving my emotional instability. I burst into tears, in what I could only perceive as fearful nerves. I was glad that the door was closed. I didn't want Astrid to see me like this.
-Peter-
I walked behind Walter who was eagerly making his way to the lab with a new experiment on his mind. I held back. I thought myself a little braver than this. I had this pain in my chest, as if little evil elves were stabbing my heart with tiny little serrated knives dipped and dried in lemon juice. I had it constantly. But they seemed to cut with more vigour whenever I set eyes on her, thought about her and of her. This was like sleeping with your girlfriend's twin sister without realizing it, I'd almost made that mistake once. Brittany and Santana. I shook my head. I couldn't compare this with that. I was lolling behind because as much as I knew Olivia didn't want to see me, I was scared out of my skin to see her. The little elves went on with their waking. The tune sang by the Seven Dwarves popped into my head; "High, ho, high, ho, it's off to work we go." I chuckled to myself. I put on my brave face. I walked into the building. I hesitated at the door. Not sure whether or not I was truly up to facing her right now. I was blind. I wanted to believe that she was ok, like she'd said, so I let myself believe it, i let myself fall into the idea that she was okay about it. She wasn't, she was upset and I saw that in the garden. I wish she had let me explain. Her words cuts deeper and stung worse than every little elf cutting and waking all at once. She made sense. I didn't see the changes and I should have. No, I saw them, but the same thing that made me believe Olivia was ok, made me think it was Olivia I was feeling happy with, Olivia who was breaking out of her shell. I'd cut myself, I'd shoot myself, I'd help the little elves cut. I was blinded by what I thought was the love of my life. While I was blinded by my love's doppelganger, my love was being tortured and tested. I hit my hand against the doorframe and leaned my head against the door. I took a deep breath. I opened the door and walked in. She wasn't there. At least out in the lab area. She was either not here or hiding in her office. I didn't blame her either way.
"Hey," I greeted Astrid. She smiled back.
"She's in her office. I don't think you should go in." She said quietly so Walter wouldn't hear. I nodded. I walked over to Gene, who mooed in contentment when I stroked her fur. This reminded me of petting a cat, though a very large and omnivorous cat. Walter was busy with his experiment, Astrid was on her computer. Even with all the waking and stabbing, i wanted to see her. I felt horrible that –if we ever got past this- that her firsts wouldn't be mine, that I would know where and where not to touch to make her happy. I shook the thought away. I couldn't think like that, not now, maybe not ever. It was desperate hope that made me think it. Because I'd become used to sharing a bed with her, kissing her when no one was looking, holding her. Her. Not her. Her. It still made me sick. I walked over slowly, feeling like I was about to ring the doorbell of the wicked old lady down the block, scared out of my wits, and still determined. I knocked.
"Yeah?" She answered. I sighed.
"It's me," I answered. I heard her sharp intake of breath.
"What is it?" She answered. I could hear her voice wavering.
"I wanted to see how you were." I waited, I counted heartbeats.
"I'm fine. I'm really busy though, thanks for..." She let the trail run cold. I let out a breath.
"Sure." I walked away. I walked slowly. With meaning, to the door of the lab. I opened it. I closed it. I leaned against the wall. Running my hands over my face, and through my hair. I sank to the floor. I'm not one to cry. I knocked my forehead against my knees, and took a shaky breath. The elves were becoming more and more excited about the removal of my heart. I let them. I'd take the pain. Frustration let them out. Salty little river. Perfect for the elves to play in. The first since I was little. The first relating to something besides physical pain. I cried. I balled my hands into fists and cried. With hate and with guilt and with anger and with love. I let myself be broken. Let love break me. I thought I knew what heart-break felt like. I knew what lies felt like. Betrayal? Real love? I'd suffered both. Love for someone but with the wrong person.
-Olivia-
He spoke to me. He spoke to me. I didn't cry. I almost did, but I didn't. I wanted to but I didn't. I wanted to see if. I wanted to see his face, all of him. I sat blankly staring at the files in front of me for twenty minutes. I wanted to see him. See his reaction to the hair, see what he would think about the splash of colour. If I cried. So be it, the little being in the back of my head wanted him to suffer. So I stood up. I walked to the door and out my hand on the door knob. That's where I paused. I willed myslef to open it. I was scared to open it. Scared to see him standing in the lab. I needed it. I turned the knob. I opened the door. He wasn't there. I almost felt relieved, but also a little worried. If he'd gone out, all the time I'd spent building up my nerve would be wasted. If he'd gone and was returning shortly I would have time to think. That was something I didn't want to do, think. So I walked out the door, and into the main lab.
"Where's..." I swallowed,
"He went into the hall about a half hour ago." Answered Astrid. I nodded. I walked toward the door slowly. But with meaning. I closed my eyes. He was probably outside the building getting air. He wouldn't stray far, not with the possibility of getting called in for a case. I turned the knob. I opened the door. I took what felt like a leap of faith and stepped through the door. I let out a breath when I saw him. Sitting on the floor. Gazing thoughtlessly at the wall. It all fell down, through an everlasting hole. It struck bottom. I was broken at the garden. I'd been broken last night, I'd been healing –if only partially- in the last eleven hour, and it all broke. Like a high frequency sound shattering glass. Crack. He didn't move. I didn't move. I was frozen. What? What was I doing? Why couldn't I move? I'm Olivia Dunham! FBI, the girl who chases suspects and deals with horrible things everyday, who escaped the "Other Side", who can't move because I'm afraid I'll break down into tears by looking at him, because I love and hate but love him all at once.
"Hi." I managed. He didn't move, my eyes gave him a once over. His eyes were red. His cheeks glistened. There were faint but obvious dark pock marks on the knees of his pants. Two little sparks went off. Two connections were made. One was guilt that I hadn't really given him the change to explain. The other was glee and a little morbidity; that he was suffering as much as I was. He swallowed.
"He-" he cleared his throat. Guilt, gleeful morbidity, guilt.
"Hey." He answered. I took a sharp intake of air.
"I needed to see you." I said. He nodded. I did, I felt both better and worse.
"Likewise." He said quietly, still not looking at me. I searched for some way to build even a small conversation.
"Will...Will you come outside with me?"
-Peter-
`Will...Will you come outside with me?" I would do anything for you. I would shoot myself if you asked me to. I wasn't looking at her. Couldn't look at her. Not just yet.
"Anything you want." I answered getting up and making my way to the door. I heard her steps. I held the door for her. She walked through, I walked through. I let it close behind me. I followed her now, up the stairs and out of the building. We walked for a good while. Into a grassy part that was practically deserted. She stopped and turned to face me. I looked at my shoes. I heard her shaky breath.
"Peter." She said nearly in a whisper. I closed my eyes and sighed. I looked up. She was wearing jeans and a blue blouse, the most colour I'd seen on her in ages. She was also sporting her double's bangs. She looked rested. She looked sad.
"Olivia." I said. I saw she was fighting tears. I was too.
"I didn't let you talk last night." She said. "I want to let you talk now." Her voice was quivering.
"Alright..." I said. I took a deep breath. I didn't know what to say.
"You said Barrett told you that 'when he looked in her eyes, he knew it wasn't her'." She nodded, I could tell she was losing the fight. "Sweetheart, I understand what you meant by all means I do. But she wasn't brought back from the dead." The second it left my mouth I knew I'd said the wrong thing. "I saw a person who looked just like you. Who talked like you, and for the majority of the time acted like you too. I saw it. I saw it and I didn't...I didn't...I wanted to believe. I had finally found some sort of place. I didn't want to see it. Because I didn't want to lose that feeling of belonging." She was crying. She didn't seem to care. The elves kept hacking away.
"You chose to ignore." She was shaking her head. She was stepping away from me.
"Olivia."
"No." She turned around to leave. I grabbed her wrist.
"This is killing me." I said. I saw her internal struggle. The conflicting emotions. It was all swimming around, in the both of us. She shook her head.
"It can't hurt that bad." She said. "Let me go." How she phrased it. It tore at me. I shook my head. I couldn't let her go, never.
"Olivia, please..." Please what? How could I phrase any of this so that it didn't sound completely insane.
"Peter. Let go of my wrist." I pleaded with my eyes. Tried to show her that I was dying just as much as she was. I let go of her wrist. She tore away from me. Running away. I broke again. One person had made me cry. Twice. Olivia Dunham. Olivia who had lost her mum at age twelve, who shot her step-father, who became an FBI agent, who lost her lover, who lost her partner, who crossed universes, who fought her double, who met her partner's double, who got me to cross back, who was tortured and tested, who was treated with cortexiphan at age three, who was born in this world, the one where the Two Towers were a memory, and dirigibles didn't fly over the cities. I covered my eyes with my hand and wiped my eyes. I had to show her. That I was dying to, dying from a blow to the heart. Betrayal and Heart Break killing me. I had to. I had to get her back. This world's Olivia, the person I crossed universes for.
-Olivia-
The unseen force cutting at my heart strings had nearly succeeded. I was back in my apartment. In his M.I.T. shirt again. I had cried myself dry. Then cried myself dry again. I lay sprawled on my bed. Staring at my ceiling. Damp paths on my cheeks and little dark dots on the sheets. I had been hiding here the entire afternoon. I couldn't go back to work. Today at least. I was emotionally exhausted, yet sleep wouldn't come to me. I had been afraid he would follow me. Afraid. Of what? Of being unable to justify my feeling of betrayal if he told me something that I couldn't disregard. Of facing facts. The door bell rang. I didn't move. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I waited. I waited until I thought whoever was there was gone. The doorbell rang again. I let it go again. I wasn't planning on moving from this spot, and no one was going to make me. It rang again. Persistent. I sat up. I got off my bed and pulled don a pair of yoga shorts. Taking my time. It rang again. I walked slowly to the door.
"Olivia?" It was him. I nearly fled back into my room.
"Please let me it." He wasn't demanding. More like a last-resort beg. Like he'd given up. I leaned on the door.
"Olivia. Please." My lip quivered. I stepped back.
"Peter." I said. I opened the door slowly. Regretting it already. He looked at me. I swallowed.
"Can I come in please?" My mind wanted him to come in, and to slam the door in his face. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I shook my head.
"No." I began to shut it gently. He put his foot between the door and the door frame.
"Olivia it's important." He said. I stood there for a good two minutes. Just staring at him. I let go of the door and literally ran toward my room. He entered, shut the door, and grabbed my hand, all in but a few seconds. He took my other wrist in his hand. Again, for the fifth time, I started to cry, I pulled half-heartedly trying to pull myself free.
"I'm sorry." He said. I shook my head. I pulled a little harder.
"I need you to hear me. I'm so sorry that I didn't choose to see it. I that I hurt you. That I didn't notice you were gone. I'm so sorry, you're hurting. I wish I could take it all back." He said, the cutting was about to break me, carve my heart out.
"It's killing me!" I practically wailed, pulling again.
"I'm dying too!" He said, "I was never a person to stay put in one place. I never let myslef fall in love. I always moved. I always left. I stayed for you I stayed because I love you and I was letting myself live. I let myself love. Love for the first time, in ages, in too long. I came back for you! To build on what you said. I didn't prod because I thought it was you, coping, in your own way. I let myself love. I hate myself for not knowing. I feel sick that the whole time I was letting myself live that it wasn't with the person I wanted to live with. My heart feels like its being attacked by small sharp knives. The sting of a paper cut, and the throb of a deep cut. I'm dying too, and I hate myself even more because this is killing you too." I hiccupped. The tears just falling for the sake of falling. I nodded.
"I feel like my heart is getting carved out." I said. He nodded. I hiccupped again. He pulled on my wrists, making me step closer. I let out a shaky breath.
"Olivia, I came back for you. I lived feeling like I was in the right place, for eight weeks. I feel lost. I'm not in that right place. I'm not in it. Because that place is with you. Nothing, no one, could change that." He said, leaning down to me,
"If you choose to shoot me. I'll take it gladly. I wanted to give you this, to tell you that knowing it wasn't you took all the meaning out of what I felt in the last eight weeks." He pressed his lips to mine. My eyes fluttered closed on their own accord. He let go of my wrists, and brought his hands up to cup my face. I wanted to scream, to shove him away. I'd needed this. My hands ghosted up to his arm. I kissed him back. Flashing back momentarily to our moment in the hotel room. I wrapped my arms around his neck. If my heart was going to be carved out. Then by all means let it be now. I felt another tear on my cheek. I broke the kiss and leaned into his chest, burying my face in his neck. I remembered his hug. I was relieved to feel his arms around me. I stepped back. Enlightened to feel the faint lift of my cheeks and the upward curve of my mouth.
"I'm not going to shoot you." I said. He smiled too. For the first time since he got here he noticed what I was wearing. He reached over and gave the sleeve a gentle tug.
"My shirt." He looked at me, I nodded.
"I, I needed..." He kissed me again.
"I understand." He said reaching into his pulling out a chain. A small seahorse charm hung on it. I nodded. I'd gotten that when I lived in Jacksonville.
"Mending." I said.
"Mending." He repeated.
"We're mending."
"Slowly but surely."
End