AN: Hi everyone. I thought I'd write a little something again. Is it a nice change to see me write actual fics instead of all those pestering reviews? This fic is centered around Fiona Apple's rendition of "Why Change Me Now" by Cy Coleman. I implore you to listen to it. Please review if you feel up to it.
"I should probably go," she said, an apprehensive look upon face. She was partly embarrassed for knocking on his door so late at night and coming to terms, face to face albeit, with someone other than him.
He rested upon the doorframe, half of his body leaning forward—a gesture that screamed no, please come in and keep me company. Partly feeling guilty for wanting to flee as soon as he opened the door—probably like most of the people in his life, she silently nodded and stepped into the hotel room shared by two.
She quickly scanned the environment. She didn't mean to, in fact she couldn't help it; it was part of her training and thus became second nature. It was dark inside with the exception of the television glowing and an overhead kitchen light. It was also certainly untidy. Then again, her expectations weren't so high seeing as the room was shared by two men, both whom ate Frosted Boo-Berry cereal.
Something was amiss. Where was…
"Peter, he went out quite awhile ago. Actually, he failed to inform of his departure and his destination," Walter explained while plopping down on the couch and directing his attention to the TV.
"Oh," was all she managed to mumble. She hesitated taking a seat on the couch but decided it would be rude of her not to.
Olivia questioned why she came here in the first place. Surely this wasn't the first hard night she had to endure on her own since John's death. What had changed?
'Livia, I'm here if you ever need me.
Had his words finally registered? Had the weight of his sincerity fallen to the deepest part of her heart? She shuttered the thought of him being able to break through her chains and barriers and the repercussions that lie ahead because of it. Like here and now, her heart slightly broken that he wasn't here when she needed him. Olivia looked over at Walter watching the television with a content smile plastered on his face.
What was I thinking?
She could have cried right then and there. And she did. One silent, invisible tear fell from her left eye and trickled down her now flushed cheek. Olivia quickly got up and brushed it off like she was excusing herself to use the facilities.
She found her way to the makeshift bedroom Peter shared with Walter. Or was it the other way around? Silent thoughts swirled, tangling themselves with her emotions.
Longing.
She picked up one of Peter Bishop's noted fashion items, the collegiate polo navy blue sweater. Without thinking she brought the sweater to her face and inhaled. It smelled like coffee and just Peter.
There she was--standing in the middle of a hotel room that was being occupied by an ex-convict and his sometimes lucid father, sniffing a sweater, extracting any facet of comfort that she could get out of it.
I need to leave.
And with that she headed for the door.
"Olivia."
She turned her head to Walter standing with a plate of food, the television shut off.
"I made us a snack. I'm sorry I was not being a very good host. I'm still getting used to the idea of other people interacting with me in a civil manner. Brushing up on my people skills as Peter would say."
With a small sad smile she tucked her own selfish feelings aside and walked towards Walter.
"French fries and ice cream--have you tried the combination yet? Sweet and salty," Walter smiled and offered her a bite.
"Ms. Dunham, do you care for Cy Coleman?"
Olivia smiled and found her way back to the couch while Walter went for his records.
Why not? What else have I to do?
X
There's more where that came from—I think.
