Groundhog Day

The morning was bright, and the sun flew in through the windows of the small house in Boston inhabited by one man and his father. The rays of light touched the eyes of this man as they rose higher still. Peter Bishop stirred from his sleep and gradually opened his eyes, allowing them to accustom to the light. It was not long before a smell of pancakes reached his nostrils, and he grinned to himself despite his morning grogginess. Walter must already have been up and cooking. He should probably get up, he thought to himself, but why waste the lie in? It was getting rare these days. No sooner had he made his lazy decision than he heard the knock on the front door. Only one person would call at their house at this time, (unless the mailman had a package), and it made him smile more to think she had turned up already. He waited until he heard the familiarly sweet voice before he pulled back the covers and rummaged around in his wardrobe for a clean shirt and jeans.

He had just started to pull a brown polo over his head when he froze, noting the worry and pleas in his father's whispers. His mind raced uncertainly, realising they must be speaking about whatever big secret has been making them both awkward. Peter stopped, desperately wondering whether to listen in and satisfy his curiosity or to respect their privacy. While he was deciding he couldn't help but catch glimpses of their conversation:

"I can't..." Walter pleaded

"... have to... I didn't... has to be you" Olivia retorted.

"...lose him again"

"Well I didn't take him!" Olivia's uncontrolled voice hissed slightly too loud; Peter was able to hear that sentence easily.

Peter stopped moving, stopped breathing, and stopped thinking rationally. His mind started to buzz irrationally as he comprehended what was going on. First his mother's death had been a lie, and now this... It took him only a second to realise that the two voices had stopped, obviously in horror at Olivia's outburst. He jumped straight back into bed when he considered it wouldn't be long before they checked he wasn't awake. But he wasn't quick enough. Walter came in and the two men looked at each other, one in fear, and one in terror.

"I understand everything now" Peter declared slowly, but surely. "I'm not from here, am I?"

Walter closed his eyes and sighed. Peter jumped up, tugging on the jeans he was attempting to put on just minutes before. Olivia entered slowly so as not to provoke a reaction. Peter was shocked to see a couple of her fingers resting on her gun as he regarded her angrily.

"You knew. You knew for weeks didn't you!?" he yelled, and again felt some surprise as he noticed the welling tears in her eyes. She nodded in silence. Peter looked from her to Walter and back again. The older man had already started to cry.

"Walter" Olivia addressed him. "Go into the kitchen, I'll sort this out"

Her fingers were still firmly touching her pistol, Peter noticed as he glared at her. They never broke eye contact. Walter left, trembling.

"Peter" she began once they were alone. "I'm sorry, but he had to tell you, it had to be him... it's not my place"

"I'd have told you!" Peter snapped

"Would you?" she hissed "Would you have been happy to lose me if I'd found out and taken it angrily... if I had a history for running away? Would you have been alright with breaking my heart when I found out that things weren't as they seemed?"

"My life is a lie, Olivia, and you knew that" he whispered, resigned. But a part of him knew that she was right.

"It's not all a lie" she whispered back, approaching him.

He broke the eye contact at this point, making her stop still. He didn't want her anywhere near him right now, he just needed some time to think, to run, and as much as he hated to admit his cowardice, he knew that it was the only option he'd feel comfortable with.

"I have to go, just for a bit. I need some time to think, okay?" he said as he turned back toward her. Fear filled her eyes but she had no choice but to nod. He watched her swallow back her terror, before striding past her and down the stairs. He knocked a vase next at the bottom of the staircase over as he left, and bitterly associated it with his own life, cracked and broken when it was fine just moments before. He went out through the door.

Peter Bishop reached the airport by bus, having grabbed his black pea coat on the way out. Being like he was, he'd almost expected something like this to happen one day, and he'd prepared himself a getaway for if it did. In the inside pocket of his zip was a fake passport, with the name Jacob Knight next to his photograph. The pocket also contained enough money to travel far away, and a few other small essentials.

"Can I help you, Sir?" asked the smiling receptionist. She was pretty, Peter noted, but falsely. Her bleach blonde hair curled perfectly down her shoulders and back, sprayed definitely into place. Her foundation was thick and her bronzer lay pretentiously on top of it, while bright blue eye-shadow complemented her bright blue eyes.

"Hi," he grinned back. Lying was always easier if flirting was an option. "I'm hoping to find a flight to Iraq for this afternoon?"

She fluttered her eyelids and nodded slowly, before tapping away on a computer keyboard to her right.

"Check in opens for the next one in 30 minutes?" she offered. "Would that do for you?"

"Certainly" he handed over his passport and held out some money. She checked the passport briefly, missing the signs of fraud, and took some of the money, handing him the rest and whatever change he received out of it.

Peter sat down on a secluded bench, hoping not to recognise anyone he saw. He had purposefully gone to a further airport than was necessary, and had chosen Iraq as he hoped it was somewhere Olivia was unlikely to look. It was too obvious a choice for him. He may not even need to stay somewhere quiet. He knew her well enough to know that she'd complicate her guesses, and miss the real place he went.

His heart ached slightly for his lost life, as he finally had a moment with nothing else to focus on but the time. Anger and remorse bubbled simultaneously from the pit of his stomach and he swallowed it back down, livid. He'd miss Boston. He'd miss Walter, and he'd definitely miss Olivia. But how could they expect him to stay after hurting him so badly? Olivia had known how he felt about her long before she found out; it was cruel for her to have left him in the dark. He'd half expected it from his mad father, but it still hurt.

"Flight 652 Boston to Iraq, check in opening in 5 minutes" declared a bored woman over the PA system. This was his flight, he discovered as he checked his ticket. Hastily he joined the queue.

A while later, Peter was browsing through duty free sorrowfully, bitterly glaring at any alcohol he had enjoyed with Olivia on the occasions they'd been out for drinks together. He smirked to himself as he stocked up, knowing this would cost more than he'd have earned in a day with Fringe Division. It'd keep him going during the lonely nights before bed time. If he ever got a bed, he realised.

The plane landed as scheduled, and Peter made his way out of the airport, stopping a cab on the way. He directed it back to where he was when Olivia first came to see him, hoping that he could win back the favour of some of the people he used to know around the area. The day went worse than he had hoped, being unable to track down anyone familiar. That night he booked a motel, and decided to begin his duty free binge, spilling a little down his front as he gulped. It took the whole bottle of whiskey, but an incredibly drunk Peter Bishop fell into a deep sleep, worry free.