So, yay! Finally finished writing this! Sorry it took so long, I got distracted. I really hope you guys like this.

Companion/sequel to I Should Of Kissed You.

The hardest part about the whole thing was probably that she was out there. Down in Boston, probably drowning herself in work. He could have laughed at that thought. Always the workaholic. That's what she did, he knew this. One thing goes wrong, she emersed herself in facts and cases. Trying to ignore what's right in front of face. Maybe... maybe she was trying to ignore him. Ignore the pain he caused her. A part of him selfishly hoped this. Hoped he had meant as much to her as she did to him. Even if she wasn't missing him, he couldn't deny he was missing her.

Peter didn't know what did it. What was the straw that broke the camels back. It wasn't a fight with Walter that went a litte too far, like he had predicted. He wasn't chased away by Michael, either. He was in no visible danger. So... what made him take to the road and run?

Maybe he was scared. The voice in the back of his head had always screamed one word at him. Run. Father raising his voice at his mother? Run. Sirens blaring behind from speeding a red light? Run. Owed too much money to the wrong person? Run. Fell for a girl? Run fast. But lately... after a while of being in Boston, it quieted down. It started saying things like don't screw this up. Go back to her. Promise her you'll be there.

That maybe why he did leave. To go find the old voice in the back of his mind. But after he left, it only got worse. It didn't say anything at all. Like it was giving him the cold shoulder. Pissed off at him for not listening. He was all alone now, no instinct or voice to guide him. All but his dusty heart and confused mind.

Probably why he found himself in an unfortunate situation.

A hard fist in the side of his stomach, while another came down on the back of his head. As he stumbled forward, the pain blurring his mind from being able to control his legs, someone kicked his shin, causing him to fall flat on his stomach. It wasn't just someone. Peter knew who these men were. Three of them, while a fourth watched. The observing one, Erik, looked on patiently, but Peter could make out the thirst for violence in his eyes. A man picked him up by the collar and shoved him into the brick wall of the alley.

"Do you have my money... now?" Erik asked and Peter chuckled dryly, despite the pain. Erik didn't intimidate him. No, Peter has been on the bad side of more dangerous men. Erik was just a wanna-be. Had to admit though, his men sure did know how to throw a punch.

"Afraid not." Peter shrugged, wincing. He'd only borrowed six thousand from Erik to pay off an old 'friend' of Peters, thinking he could just skip town and never see Erik again. Well, he'd been wrong. As he had been about a lot, as of late. His unsatisfying answer got him another round of beating.

He got a good knee in the stomach, causing him to let the breath out of him in a strained 'oof!'. As he leaned over to catch his breath, another man punched him under the chin, causing Peter to fall backwards into the third man. The third man, whom he had named inside of his head, well, Third Man, unkindly shoved him off, as if disgusted. He pulled his fist back, as if to punch Peter in the neck, but Peter dodged it, swinging his own fist around to catch him in the nose. He wasn't going to just willingly let these idiots get the best of him.

A man named First Man by Peter, launched himself onto Peter, his weight forcing both of them to the ground. As Peter struggled under him, the second man stepped up and kicked him in the side repeatedly. Third Man, however, was merely holding his broken nose, cursing a strain of words that were thankfully muffled.

Peter managed to wrestle his way onto his back, and kneed the man on top of him in a place that was definitely not made to be kneed. He rolled off Peter, and Peter caught the second man's foot as it came towards him. Twisting it, there was a yelp before the man fell on top of First Man. Well.

Quickly scrambling up, Peter made a point to sniff as he threw a challenging glance at Second Man. "You're running out of men, Erik," he joked dryly, as Peter's eyes moved to him.

Erik huffed, disappointed. "Dammit Peter..." He growled, threateningly. For a minute, Peter thought he might attack him on his own. But then Erik composed himself, giving him a snide smile. "I like you Peter. You're a good kid. No one has ever been stupid enough to fight back. That's why I'm going to give you three more days."

"Okay," Peter agreed as he backed out of the alley. "Just one thing to keep in mind...I often kill the messenger."

He heard Eriks forced, and entirely cliche, laughter float from the darker reaches of the alley as Peter turned around to wobble away as quick as he could, while keeping his dignity. It wasn't easy. His breath came much too short, but he didn't risk waving down a taxi. No, his hotel was only four blocks away, he could manage it. Besides, it was late. Near one in the morning. There was barely anyone out in these streets of Montreal.

Clutching his throbbing right arm to his body, he bit his lip with every step. They got him good, that was for sure. He'd be sore for the next couple of days. But tonight, he had to pack. Had to get out of town as quick as he could. Maybe head down to California for a little bit. He missed the weather. Besides, he had a few friends down there that could probably get him some jobs to do. If they've forgiven him by now, he thought bitterly to himself.

It almost surprised him how easily he was able to slip into old habits. How different this world was from the one he had just fled from. A world where he stayed in one hotel room for months, every curve in the carpet and knick in the door frame memorized. Where he worked side by side with his father, straining to put up with his bizarre comments and chuckling along with him. Where he worked for the law, rather than against it. Where an attractive blonde blushed at his silent smiles. Where she walked away at the precise moment to make him long for her intensely. Where he could be Peter Bishop. Not Peter Knight, or King, or whatever he was that week.

Ducking his head to avoid the cameras in the hotel lobby, he ignored the tired looking girl behind the front counter, and went straight for the elevator. He was already going over the room in his mind, remembering where everything is so he could grab it quickly. Suitcase behind the door, dirty jeans on the bathroom floor, Snickers wrapper on the coffee table. This obviously wasn't the first time he did this. The elevator pulled to a smooth stop, and before the doors could open the rest of the way, he darted out.

He stopped short when he quickly entered the room. Why had he been expecting to see the room him and Walter had stayed at? Blinking, he collected himself and grabbed the bag as he slammed the door shut. Rushing over to the hotel bed, while a painful grimace was a plastered to his face, he unzipped the bag. Most of his clothes were still in it, so all he had to do was grab the rest. Wobbling into the bathroom, he held in a breath as he bent down to pick the previously mentioned dirty jeans. Letting out the breath in a painful wheeze, he stopped when he caught his reflection in the mirror.

His normally tidy hair was completely disheveled. His right cheek was pink, twinges of red. A small cut under his chin. He contemplated how lucky he was he didn't get a black eye. If it was one thing he hated, it was a black eye. Placing the jeans on the counter, he carefully lifted his shirt up. Both of his sides were red, already beginning to darken into bruises. Shaking his head, he dropped his shirt and stared at the mirror.

For a moment, he let his mind wander. By now, she was probably curled up in her warm bed. Sleeping off all the stress she went through that day from work. Why she put herself through it all, he would never know. He'd left her. Maybe if he had stayed a little longer... Maybe if he had tried a little harder, she could have become the best thing to ever happen to him.

"Too late," he muttered, and anger flooded over him. Anger at himself, at her, at the whole world. Picking up the closest thing, a glass toothbrush holder the size of his hand, he threw it into the mirror without thinking about it. The mirror cracked, shards falling into the sink as they briefly caught his reflection. He flinched at the loud noise, but otherwise remained rooted where he was. Sighing, he grabbed a small hand towel from the hook and turned the cold water on. The water splashed on the pieces of mirror, shifting them and making them crackle, but he ignored them as he placed the clothe under the water to soak it.

Holding it to his face, he closed his eyes and leaned against the counter. The cold moisture felt good against his burning face. It helped wake him up, focus on the task at hand rather than remembering things he'd be better off forgetting. Throwing the towel into the sink, the pieces of mirror rattling, he grabbed the jeans and slowly walked back into the bedroom.

She probably hates him by now. Probably using him to take all her anger out on. Blames him for everything bad in the world. And as he shoved everything into the bag, maybe he was.

Letting out an annoyed sigh, he rolled his eyes at himself. The more he thought about her, the guiltier he felt. It was over, done. He left and he wasn't going back. Sure, a part of him would always miss her, but he couldn't let that part of him surface. Had to tuck it away so he could focus and not get himself killed. That's probably what she was doing. He wondered if she thought about him often... No, impossible.

Just as he was zipping the bag closed, there was a soft knock on the hotel door. He immediately froze, only turning his head to stare at the door curiously. His first thought was maybe Erik changed his mind. He quickly ruled that thought out. Erik wasn't that absurd. He was strangely rule-abiding to the whole concept. Maid? Well, there was only one way to find out. Straightening, he slowly walked to the door, making sure to keep his footsteps light.

Looking out of the eye-hole, he couldn't see anyone outside. Maybe he imagined it. He's barely slept since he left Boston, he could be hallucinating. He thought about ignoring it, and gathering his stuff. But Peter knew that if he didn't check, he'd be glancing at the door every two seconds. So, grasping the door handle, he took in a deep breath. It felt like he was five years old, about to open the closet in the middle of the night to confirm there were no monsters behind it.

As he quickly yanked the door open, he half expected there to be a monster on the other side. But what was there, certainly wasn't a monster. No, she was far from it. He stood there in shock, and she used that opportunity to shove him back into the room, slamming the door behind her. It was only when she whipped around to face him, determination written all over her face, that he came to his senses.

"Olivia?" He asked, shocked. He took a step back when all of a sudden the voice in the back of his head came back with a strong hit. She's real! Grab her and kiss her! Quick!

He expected her to demand why he left. To scream at him about how angry she was at him. How disappointed. Or maybe just hit him. But the next words out of her mouth shocked him, and he took another step away from her. "Why didn't you say goodbye?" Her voice almost faltered, but her face was dead serious.

"What?" The surprise slipping from him, he straightened and bit the word out. Taking a step towards her, he clenched his hands into fists. "What the hell are you talking about, Olivia?" Oh it felt so good to say her name aloud.

She took a deep breath, eyes flickering to the floor before back at him. "Why... didn't you say goodbye?"

"I wanted..." He faltered. "Because you would have stopped me. I know you would have." His voice sounded agitated and defensive. He hated how composed she stayed.

"Not a word. No message, not even a voicemail. How could I have stopped you if you had simply left me a voicemail? That way I wouldn't have found out by you not showing up at the lab. By two hours later of looking for you everywhere, to finally have the FBI confirm you were really gone." She took a step forward and the moonlight lit up her blonde hair. Why was it now, even as they were having an argument, his fingers itched to run through her hair.

"It would have only gave you more motivation to find me," he argued.

"I would-" But he cut her off with an angry step towards her.

"Oh please, Olivia!" He spat. "Don't you get it?" He asked angrily as he walked up to her, maybe inches away. "I wanted you to hate me! I wanted you to forget me! I didn't want you to have anything to do with me. So then maybe you would let me leave. Let me live my life, instead of playing a role in this freak show you put on!"

"So it was all lies, right? Is that it?" She asked him with that deadly calm voice. Why wasn't she shouting at him? Clawing his eyes out?

"No..." He took a deep breath, and she blinked when he let it out. She took a step back from him, and he let her, lowering his eyes to the ground. "It wasn't..." Then, he abruptedly turned around, moving stiffly back to the bag, finishing zipping it closed.

"I don't understand..." She murmured.

Shaking his head, he picked the bag up and then tossed onto the couch a few feet away. Not even glancing at her, he moved into the bathroom again and leaned against the counter. Picking up the cold soaked hand towel, he hissed as he pressed it to his stinging cheek. Biting his lip, he gently rubbed his cheek with it, shutting his eyes to avoid his reflection in the remaining pieces of mirror.

"Peter..." For once she sounded wary, and he heard her slowly walking to the bathroom. When she said his name, it sent shivers up his spine. How could he have gone two whole months without hearing his name coming from her? Seemed impossible now. "What happened?" She asked as she stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

He moved the hand towel to clean the blood that was beginning to dry on his chin. "I underestimated someone," he explained. It meant to come out dry and sarcastic. But instead he whispered it, a tone of regret and gentleness to his voice. He still had his eyes shut, but felt her hand around his. Instantly, his eyes shot open to find her turning him to face her. Taking the towel from him, she turned to water on, shooting a pointed look from the mirror shards to him. He ignored it and she rinsed the blood off the hand towel before stepping closer to him.

"How am I not surprised?" Olivia joked as she gently ran the towel over his chin and cheek. His eyes were fixed on her. "So, why did you choose Montreal?"

"Thought I'd freshen up on my French. It was getting al little rusty," he explained and she broke out into a grin.

They were silent for a moment as he felt the towel on his cheek, this time warm water, and her hand on his other cheek. He closed his eyes and sighed, letting the moment take him up for a minute, making him forget everything else. "Peter," she started, but he shook his head.

"You know I'm not coming back, right? This... you... it doesn't change anything." He opened his eyes to look at her, but she kept her face professionally composed.

"I know," she answered firmly.

Kiss her... kiss her... the voice in the back of his head pleaded. He could feel the desire over taking him, and his hands trembled. Reaching up, he let his finger tips just barely brush her arm. Blinking, he swallowed, and then quickly pushed past her into the other room. Couldn't do it, couldn't risk it. He stopped at the couch and stared down at the bag, breathing heavily.

"I just..." He could hear her walk in behind him. Don't... please, don't, he begged her in his mind. "I needed... needed to see you again. One last time."

That was it. Something inside of him snapped at her words. Whipping around, he took one long step towards her. One hand on the back of her neck, he pulled her to him, his lips crashing down on hers. She took a step back, and he used that to push her back into the wall. Olivia responded then, her lips moving against his. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, and she grabbed onto his hair, her hands closing into tight fists. Kissing her was completely different from anything he's ever experienced. Her lips trailed fire along his, burning him but making him want more.

He moved his hands down to her waist and used the wall to help him pull her up. She caught on, her hands slipping down to his shoulders as she picked herself up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He could barely feel the throbbing in his sides, it all seemed so far away. Pushing away from the wall, he pulled them towards the bed, falling down on top of her. His lips moved down, trailing her jaw, before moving back to her lips. He could feel her pulling at his shirt, and he quickly pulled it off over his head, before kissing her neck.

"Peter..." She whispered and he sighed against her skin.

"I can't go back," he breathed.

"I know," she whispered and nodded slowly. He quickly moved to smother her words with his lips. She again tangled her hands in his hair, and he let his hands brush against her sides where her shirt had riden up.

"I can't..." He didn't know why he couldn't just shut up. Why he couldn't stop saying that. Was he trying to convince her or himself?

"...know," she murmured against his lips. Her hands moved up to his chest, and he let his hands gently tug at her blouse. Sudden regret filled him. Why the hell was he doing this? It would only be harder to leave her a second time, after this. She must have felt the hesitation, for she pulled back to look him in the eyes.

"Olivia," he breathed and she nodded.

"You're right," she agreed, like she knew what he was thinking. He brought a hand up to place it on her cheek, her skin hot under his hand.

And then she was moving out from under him, quickly jumping up to a stand. He was more reluctant, sitting up at the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry..." He trailed off. It sounded so lame. If he was really sorry, they wouldn't be here. He'd do something about it. But no, he was a coward. Always had been.

Shaking her head, she bit her lip. "Don't be, Peter." God, did she have to keep saying his name like that? His hands clenched the fabric of his jeans and he looked away from her. "It's okay." No, it wasn't okay. Why did she have to sound so understanding? Why couldn't she be trying to drag him back? Blackmailing him, threatening him, anything! Why did she have to make this so easy on him? He didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve her. "I'll leave you alone."

He didn't want her to leave him alone. His lips nearly trembled, wanting to tell her this. But he couldn't make any sound come out. Could only watch helpless as she backed away from him, towards the door.

"Good bye, Peter," she said quietly. Finally turning around, she opened the door and slipped out, shutting it behind her.

After a few long seconds he let his breath out, which came out more like a groan. There was a tugging in his chest, as if he was pleading himself to go to her. To make it all right again. Glancing around the hotel room, what used to look harmless and unnoticeable became unwelcoming. He reached back, letting his fingers run over the ruffled bed. Finding his shirt, which had been thrown to the side so carelessly in the heat of the moment, he pulled it to him. Pulling it on, he winced, the haze like fog suddenly vanishing as soon as she left. Now he felt everything too clearly.

The restlessness in his limbs had also vanished. Now, all he could do was sit there and stare at the walls around him, quietly as he thought. Although the only thing his mind could grasp was her name and the empty feeling of her absence. Was she really there in the first place, or had he just imagined it? No, she had been there. He could still taste her on his lips. A sweet taste he couldn't put into words, other than her.

He had wondered what it would be like to kiss her, most of the time he was in Boston. He had immediately chased the thought away. They were professional, friends. And in his daydreams, it was always under lighter circumstances. Not a last kiss of desperation, searching for anything to hold on to.

His eyes traveled to the bag on the couch. Now he wanted to grab it and run, but into an entirely different direction. What do I do, he begged his instincts. He was drawing a total blank. This was a crucial decision, one that could map out the rest, or atleast his near future. And he usually had a knack for screwing these things up. So, sitting alone in the dreary hotel room, his beautiful blonde inching away, Peter searched. Searched his mind for an answer he wasn't entirely willing to question, and a little too quick to accept. Whether he understood or not. And an answer was what he got.

Go back.