"Peter was really worried about you when you were gone, Olivia, really worried."
-
The news come the voice on the phone shaking with worry and it wasn't long before mine was doing the exact same thing.
But how in the hell did I know that this day was coming? Because were all getting ourselves in deep shit (I don't lie) without really thinking about what could happen when it came back to bite us in the ass.
"She's missing, someone (or something? With my freaking job you never really know) took her."
"Well, when she gets back (and she will, she surely will), Peter, ask her to get me a root beer float."
"Will do Walter."
(and the one question I'm sure she's asking herself too, why us?)
-
Every piece of her is right where it should be, she is in tip top shape (well maybe with some new scars on her already damaged feelings, almost destroyed by one John Scott) far from the mangled mess I thought would come back if she came back at all.
"You okay?"
(Dammit, Peter, hug her! What are waiting for?)
"I'm fine (and I'm a huge liar)."
(wimp, and to think I'm the little voice in your freaking head, even I have more balls then you. Peter to himself: gee, thanks for that)
"Good, I'm glad your back and in one piece."
It didn't help that all I wanted to do was touch her, hold her (comfort her, and make sure she's whole) just to check if she's real and not in my dreams.
But in the next second our hands brush, in the game of finding those bastards, and she's the real thing.
"I missed you."
"What, did you say something, Peter?"
"Nothing, now lets go and get them (they better watch out for their heads before they roll)."