It was a cold and bitter night on the streets of Boston. The rain washed away the innocence and romance this city could have ever had. On a regular day the streets would be alive and filled with energy that would be enough to power a whole state but today was far from the usual. The streets vacant and alone, the skies angry and depressant – this all gave off something close to a highly celebrated funeral. The city was dying and there was nothing anyone could do about it. But when there's disaster that fills anything somewhere in that place lies a small chance of hope. The ashy colored clouds were countered by the lights from known restaurants which had a glow that can be seen from blocks away, filling the skyline with effervescent feeling and tiny hope. Even though this hope was the size of a snowflake, it wasn't a match for the humongous fireball which sat inside of an Italian restaurant named Damianos.
Two scorned lovers sat at a table nearly inches away from each other and pretended as if the other person was not there. The lady crossed her arms, heightening her shoulders with a sense of insecurity the gentleman can read. She looked outside of the wide window to avoid his pleading and most desperate eyes trying to find her. He let out a quiet sigh as he leaned back onto his cherry wood chair. His left arm laid on his lap while grabbing the elbow of his other hand as that one grazed his lip trying to find a way to explain.
"Olivia," he left out quietly but only loud enough as his heart would allow. Her eyes sharply looked at him from the corner of her eye which frightened him only slightly because of how sudden this all became. He, for the first time, was afraid of many things: The argument that might pursue, how tonight would end, but most importantly that when he leaves this restaurant there might not be anyone to argue with. For the first time in realizing everything that had happened, he was afraid of losing someone he never really had.
Olivia Dunham was a woman of many things, and she was perceived as cold blooded with the way things didn't get to her – but that was the problem. Everything got to her whether they saw it, or whether she refused it or not. Her jaw clenched because she knew that her emotions were getting the best of her even though she didn't really want to and she knew the sole purpose of that happening was that she finally let her guard down. So what was she to do? He cheated, and no matter how smooth this retired con artist would try to explain things she couldn't help but face the facts which were laid on a hypothetical table. Is she to get up and hypothetically throw the hypothetical table in his face along with a great big Fuck You, or was she supposed to sit there and let him explain.
The truth is that the most cowardly way to get out of this difficult situation was for her to scream Fuck you and end it. . . But that's just the problem. . . She never was one to take the easy way out. Sometimes she would ask herself why, but it was because she never had an easy way to begin with. The truth that her heart expressed to her was that she loved Peter Bishop more than anything she could have ever felt in her life. He was the reason for her to smile, he was the reason for her to be happy, he was her reason to just be. Olivia desperately wished to just be happy with her life she didn't know how to, and she knew she could look for that in Peter. He as well didn't know what happiness meant but that's why she thought they were perfect for each other. She could focus on him being happy and he could have done the same for her. . . But nevertheless the only one heartbroken was she.
She continued to look out the window carefully watching each drop of rain fall onto the window. "This won't just go away, Peter."
Her jaw clenched once again, only this time he caught it and countering that action with one of his own. He inhaled as he tried to move in his seat without making a sound but he failed extremely.
"Olivia, I don't know what else I'm supposed to say. I thought she was you!"
Her head turned with instinct toward his face. Her hair parted down the middle, so that he could clearly see the stone cold face which he had brought up. "So what, Peter? What am I supposed to say? That everything is forgiven?"
"Well no, but—"
"Yes, she dyed her hair the same color as mine. Yes, her physical appearance was exactly of mine. I get it, Peter! I really do! But how is that supposed to make anything better, because I don't see that happening?"
His face softened as he truly saw what hurt her the most, and this made him feel guilty because he knew that he should have noticed but he didn't, and everything he had went through with her was wasted because of him.
Her eyes which at this point were equivalent to glass continued to stare at him. She prepared to continue with the strongest voice she could ever make. "Three years Peter. . . They have been three, long, gruesome years. You've seen both of my partners die, you've seen me at my worst and when it came down to it you still don't know who I am."
"That's just the thing, Olivia. I've only seen you at your worst! How the hell am I supposed to know when you're at your best? I thought she was you and I know I should have known the differences! The way she did her hair, the way she laughed, the way it took her longer to relay numbers I know that now! I'm sorry that I don't know what to tell you! I am trying to fix this but you just won't let me. I do know you and it's better than you even know yourself but maybe I thought that for one moment that she was what you would have been if you just. . . loved me the way that I love you. I can't change your mind, Olivia, and I don't want to because then you wouldn't be the woman that I love. I am just trying to persuade you into giving me a chance to show you that I'm sorry. I don't want to have to say that I am anymore. I just want to show you, that's all I'm asking..."
Hesitantly he grabbed her hand, and in shock she let him. Without losing connection from the eyes, he waited for her response. She refused to move because of the tears that might accumulate. When she finally took a breath, but she knew she had to.
She cleared her throat. "You're right, you shouldn't have to say sorry anymore." Smoothly she slid her hand from underneath his and placed both of them on her lap. "But you can't fix this. You cannot persuade me into staying here. You cannot change what you did. You cannot make me stop hating you or her right now. You cannot stop my heart from breaking."
The hypothetical table in her mind was violently turned over. She sees the glass breaking in his eyes as he finally imitates that of her heart. "Peter…" She grabbed her napkin and threw It onto the table as she stood up. "…Fuck you."
She walked away from the table and as well as from him, his worst nightmare coming to a reality. His eyes watching her as she walks away from his sight, and simultaneously he leans back into his chair. Distraught the little light of hope he had seen, dimmed away while the clouds shared its darkness. He then realized that this was his funeral.