Since You Left
Without him, what is she? But without her, who is he?
Chapter One: Where The Love Was Found
Peter
The rain on the cement outside ran off in streams. He stared between the blinds of the small café and out at the road, slick with water and reflecting the neon sign that told water-bogged and weary travelers that the small place was open. His fingers were clenched around a white cup, the warmth of coffee only a distant memory in his grasp. His eyes were hazy a bit, his focus distant, his hearing focused only on his internal thoughts, screaming at him. He was, for the most part, miserable. A gloomy walking cloud, with his self-disgust he hated the feeling of miserable, because he was feeling for himself, thinking about himself. Somehow those thoughts would bring him to his father.
His father. The whole reason he was here in Washington in the first place, he was the whole reason he was staring at the cold wet highway from a café window. Bitterly Peter clenched his hands tighter around the semi-warm mug, hoping that it might relieve him of his vision of red, the vision of hate. He could never go back to his father, never go back to Boston. Nothing good every occurred there anyway, this was just another way of proving his point. But whenever he thought of his home, his father, the red returned, the shock on his father's face, the acceptance in his eyes, it pained Peter to see that he didn't care for his anger. Maybe he was being dramatic, hoping for him to beg and grovel for him to return, maybe it was wishful for him to think that, but Peter saw nothing but cold harsh betrayal from his father, and he could never go back to him, back to his life back to-
"More coffee, Peter?" Came the flirty voice of the waitress that he had been chatting up since he arrived. His eyes swayed to meet hers and he loved their color. A green shade, beautiful in its own way, but not the way Peter remembered them. The color was off, her eyes were flat green, but her eyes were bright, energetic and so full of terror that he wanted to so badly wish away. But those eyes with those emotions, he'd never see again, for those eyes, they belong to Olivia Dunham, the only woman he felt anything for, the only woman he didn't want to leave behind without a second thought.
"Sure" Peter grumbled as the woman filled up his mug. He watched her as she did so. Maybe he would take her back to his motel, she was quite cute after all, curly brown hair and green eyes, slender in stature, much like Olivia was. He could touch her the way he had so wanted to touch Olivia, hold her and pretend it was Olivia, care for her while imaging it was Olivia. He smiled at her as she stood.
"So, does everyone get a CD when they come in this place?" he asked, staring her in the eyes. She smiled and chuckled.
"Only the regulars," she answered. He raised an eyebrow.
"And how long does one have to come in here to be considered a regular?"
"I can make an exception for you," she said shyly, "But only because I like your eyes."
She blushed and he grinned at her, sipping from his coffee.
"Where are you staying?" she asked. Peter smiled.
"The Drakes Bay Motel," he answered with a smile. She nodded
"I'll drop it by after my shift."
"See you then," he answered, watching as she placed his bill on the table and left. He watched her go before picking it up. Her small town girl handwriting stared up at him, hearts dotting 'i' 's and replacing o' s. He smiled to himself before returning his gaze to the window.
His mind drifted to her hair, golden blonde, long and straight, then to her eyes, so fragile and glass like, and finally to her stature, her personality dominating her stance, her frame slender yet still able to make herself stand out in a crowd. He was no love sick puppy, not for anyone, but he couldn't help but feel shame as he imaged her face, her eyes looking so worn and broken from the lack of sleep. He knew she cared for him so much and that made him feel so much worse for leaving.
He wanted to call her, he really did. But he was afraid she'd be with Walter or she'd be with Astrid, and they'd answer the phone and he wouldn't be able to speak. Walter made his mind fuzz, made him feel so lost. When he thought of Walter he thought of himself and how Walter had taken himself from himself, if that made any sense aloud. Walter made him lose himself, Peter Bishop suddenly becoming an assumed name of some kind, a different person. Tonight he was Peter from Boston and tomorrow he would wake up and be someone else.
The truth was, he didn't know who he was anymore. He had lost himself. He assumed it was somewhere between Chicago and here, or somewhere on a red eye flight to Montana, or a flight to Miami. He probably lost himself in some seat on a greyhound bus, his personality and identity sitting next to some strange hippie on a mission to find their place in the world. He didn't have a place in this world anymore. He wasn't sure if he even had a place in the other world now. The confusion, hurt and anger were emotions he almost couldn't handle.
He downed his coffee quickly and splayed out change for the waitress, along with his room number at the motel before walking outside, where the rain pounded the dark sidewalk. He saw his car and walked slowly across the lot to where it was parked, enjoying the wetness of rain on his neck and back and head and face. He wanted to feel now, and he felt the rain. He wanted to be someone, but he couldn't be anyone.
Whether he knew it or not, he was not Peter Bishop because she was not with him. Olivia Dunham made Peter, Peter and she was gone.