I got this idea in seeing the promo for the upcoming episode, "LSD", so I present you with my version, in anticipation of the upcoming FRINGEception episode! (can't take credit for that, someone else already came up with the name!)

I'm looking into making this into either two or three parts, depending on how it flows.

For anyone following "Crash into You", that'll be updated soon as well! I just couldn't let this go!

Rated: T, for language. If an M happens to pop up I'll mark it, for all you smut lovers out there ;)

Summary: In a desperate attempt to bring Olivia back to him, Peter enters her mind to save her before it's too late, but while doing so reveals secrets of her mind and her heart that bring Peter to realize that the woman was trying to save, may not want to be saved at all.


Safest Place to Hide
Fanfiction by: White Time Ranger


Part One

He didn't think it was possible, but when Peter awoke in the sweltering hotel room, he knew it was. In some hare-brained rescue attempt, Walter had overdosed him and Olivia's unconscious body with LSD, giving him access to her thoughts, her memories, her fantasies and her secrets. He would do anything to bring back her consciousness, back to him, even if it meant subjecting himself to one of Walter's experiments. The situation certainly qualified. The sun sneaked past through the blinds in the room, adding to the building heat he found himself in. Opening his eyes slowly, he rubbed them, momentarily forgetting where he was. But it had worked, he was sure of it. Walter's experiment actually worked, and if he was correct, he was somewhere in her mind, her memories blended together to create a world that was uniquely her own. After all, Olivia was counting on him.

The first thing that caught Peter's attention was the agonizing headache that crawled through his skull, a nagging, dull ache at the base of his brain that made him rub his temples furiously in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the pain. That was the last time he'd ever take any drugs Walter gave him, especially his own concoction of home remedies. Never again. The second thing that made Peter's face scrunch in curiosity was exactly where he was. The wallpaper was pealing, he guessed because of the age and the heat. The room smelled of dirt, sand and aging wood, an unpleasant yet familiar scent that wrinkled his nose. The once white wall now browned with soot, the room tinted yellow from the sun.

"I'm here," he hollered to no one in particular, knowing that Walter was monitoring him heavily in his drug-induced coma. The single box mattress squeaked against his weight, swaying back and forth as he placed his feet on the ground, hoping the headache wouldn't last while he was here.

"Peter, can you hear me?" Walter's voice blasted in his ear, almost like an earpiece, except the volume was way too loud, a feedback type noise made Peter cringe and throw his hands over his ears.

"Yes, Walter, I hear you, too loud and clear. Tone it down a bit, will you?" Peter grumbled and removed his long sleeve shirt, leaving him in a t-shirt.

"My apologies, son, I was just checking to see if you were alive. Can you identify where you are?"

"Yea," he said slowly and stood, recognizing the room immediately. "I'm in the hotel in Baghdad, where Olivia and I first met three years ago." He made his way slowly down the hallway and tip-toed down the winding stairs to see the lobby was filled with life, projections or people, he wasn't quite sure. Either way he had to find Olivia and talk to her, to bring her back to reality, or their perception of it at least.

Exiting the hotel lobby he found himself dead center in the middle of Boston, the streets busy with life as far as he could see. Sirens and horns blasted around him as an SUV came flying around the corner, chasing a car as it wheeled quickly, narrowly avoiding the people in the crosswalk. The sun shined brightly above him, its rays warmed his skin, a rather nice contradiction from the harsh, cold winters in Boston.

Olivia was more of a summer girl, and that much he knew. When they weren't swamped with cases or she needed to clear her head, she'd take a drive to the beach and sit in the car, watching the ice cold waves crash over the beach. He knew she hated the cold. Peter knew that he always hated seeing Olivia in that thick winter coat, bundled up, not revealing her beautiful self to the world. This summer, he planned to escape with her for a week to the Bishop's beach house, a relaxing getaway they both needed. He couldn't count the number of times he imagined her sunbathing on a beach in bright green bikini.

In a short distance he spotted the federal building and began to walk there. Where else to start the search for a Federal Agent than the FBI Headquarters itself? He shrugged and began his walk down the street, observing casually of the world around him. It was similar, and yet, slightly different. On the building around him large what appeared to be television screens illuminated the buildings, their closed captions speaking for the newscasters. Others had the weather patterns, and another with a recent sports update.

He grinned curiously at the title. 'Jacksonville predicted to win the 2012 Superbowl, says the Coach. Detroit has no chance.' He never pictured Olivia as a football fan; she expressed no interest in sports whenever they would go out to eat and there was an update. It would seem fitting to root for her hometown; most people he knew did that. Of course, he'd have to agree. Detroit certainly did not stand a chance. He smiled lightly at the thought and continued.

All around him were the similar scrolling marquees to those on the other side, scrolling updates in stocks, advertising clothes and cars and products that all were recognizable to belong to their side. A chill ran down his spine as he picked up on more hints of things that belonged to the other side. Even the buildings looked different, more dynamic and seemingly futuristic compared to the structures in Boston. Did she prefer it on the other side, or was her mind intrigued that much by their advances in technology?

Peter stopped as he walked past a pay phone, although it was like no pay phone he had ever seen, over here at least. There were the small cuff links that the people Over There used to communicate, as well as a small holographic screen displaying the Yellow Pages. On a hunch, he stepped over to one and brought the cuff to his ear. He brought a hesitant finger to the screen and touched it as it came to life, and a holographic keyboard formed in front of him.

Please enter the name of the person you wish to contact.

Biting his lip he typed in her name, being sure to add the words 'Agent' and 'FBI' in there somewhere, hopefully to narrow down the search parameters. After a few beeps and clicks, the screen popped up with nothing, no results showed. He repeated the search, using just her name this time. Like the first, nothing appeared. Frustrated, Peter left and walked the next three blocks until he entered the grand building, its blue and black windows reflecting the city around him.

Making his way up the stairs he entered the building, and made his way up to the twenty-second floor where the Fringe division was located. His pulse began to quicken as he waited in anticipation of seeing her, his Olivia, not the spirit of Bell using her as his summer house, just his Olivia. He had missed her tremendously over the past few weeks Bell had been there; his longing for her touch, for her lips and her smile was overwhelming.

The elevator doors opened and Peter jumped out, trying to remind himself to slow down. He walked past the doors and rounded the hallway, entering their little cove. Inside was a rush of activity, as it normally was. He took it all in for a moment, and followed the right wall to the office, the last one in the corner. The door was open. His stride increased as he rounded the corner, his smile wide as he stuck his head in, only to sigh defeated. She wasn't there.

"Shit," Peter mumbled. Looking around the room, making sure no eyes were on him he entered and closed the door behind him, clicking it quietly shut in a room that was screaming with activity, afraid someone would hear it. He stood with his back against the wood and took a breather. Making his way towards her desk he sat in her chair, his mind racing.

The computer was exactly like the one from the other side, futuristic and very cool. The pictures on her desk resembled that of her real office. There was Rachel, Ella, an old photograph of her mother and father, the eight ball Ella brought her three years ago, an extra magazine clip. An old fashioned Rolodex covered the corner, the item he found most curious. His gently fingered the cards, scrolling through them. He stopped abruptly, pulling one out and reading it over, her handwriting clear as day.

Doctor Walter Bishop: Civilian consultant to the FBI. Expert on the unknown and the impossible. Last known location: MIT. Office number B201-A. Cuff ID: 547-678-0912. Pager code: 1AEQ-5924-G6. Emergency phone: 234-657-9070

Peter continued to search for his name, but to no avail. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Walter had a card and he didn't. Maybe Olivia kept with her on her person in case she needed it- needed him. He rummaged through her desk a little more, hoping to find more information on her whereabouts, or at least a way to contact her. What he did find, was a planner. He had never known Olivia to carry one; she went with the flow of the day.

Suddenly the door flew open as a man entered, and Peter froze. "Liv, I didn't know you were-" Charlie Francis stood with his hand on the door as his eyes connected with Peter's. Peter, however, couldn't decide who was more shocked. Charlie to see him, or him to see Charlie. "How did you get in here?" Charlie asked, amazed to see him standing there.

Peter had his hands in front of him, standing slowly. "Charlie, you know me, it's Peter. I was looking for Olivia."

The files Charlie had in his hand dropped and a split second later Peter found himself staring down the barrel of Charlie's gun. "Who the hell are you and how do you know Agent Dunham?" Peter stood still, unsure of how to answer. "Get on the ground, son," Charlie said calmly, allowing Peter to slowly sink to his knees. "You're under arrest for trespassing-"

The second Peter felt the cuff he turned the tables, pulling Charlie over his shoulder and floored him, cuffing him to the bar around her desk, grabbing his gun and bolted while Charlie called for help, the office in chaos turned to chase Peter, his heart racing. It was a trick Olivia showed him. Smart and effective.

"Peter what's happening?" Walter screamed in his year, alarmed by the sudden jump in his vitals.

"I think I just pissed off Olivia's version of the FBI," Peter huffed as he jumped down the stairs, taking each landing one at a time. He burst through the doors and sprinted down the street, trying to lose himself in the crowd. He continued to run until his chest ached, his lungs starved of oxygen. Turning into an alleyway he stopped behind a dumpster and tried to catch his breath, his hands and feet tingling alongside the dizziness he felt from the adrenaline rush and the almost six blocks of a dead sprint.

He collapsed against the dumpster, breathing heavily. After a few moments to trying to avoid a fit of hyperventilation his breathing eased, the oxygen deprived limps began to calm and his heart relaxed. Considering himself somewhat safe he pulled the day planner he took from her office and began to read through it. It was filled with different items and times. Appointments, meetings, notes from her visits with family members in regards to cases. One appointment, however, caught his eye.

BBQ at 241 Shadowgrove Circle, Tarrytown. Casual Dress. Bring potato salad and Coors Light. Starts at 6pm.

He looked at the clock across the street from where he sat, waiting for the flood of police officers to catch up to him. It was just before three. He hadn't missed it, thankfully. Peter could go there and find her, explain to her this was all just a dream. He could hold her, hug her, and do whatever he felt necessary to bring her home. Maybe he could finally find her. Although, Tarrytown was in New York. Maybe it wasn't. This was Olivia's mind after all.

His breathing had calmed significantly as he sat and read through the rest of her planner. No phone numbers or anything was listed, but he found Walter's name listed among the contacts. Still, Peter had not found his name anywhere. Closing his eyes he huffed, bouncing his head slightly against the dumpster in frustration. That's when he heard it, his ears hummed to life.

Nothing. The alley around him was dead silent, with no sign of life except for him.

By now he was sure the police would have found him, he was sitting there for at least ten, fifteen minutes. That should have been enough time for officers to flood the streets and find his obvious hiding spot. But there was absolutely no noise other than the sounds of the city. He stood curiously in case someone had spotted him, but there was no one, only the people walking on the street, their eyes focused ahead of them. Why hadn't the authorities been alerted to him sneaking into the Federal building, trespassing into her office and theft?

He stepped out from behind his safe hold and walked towards the alley, his sense on high alert. But like the noise he heard, the streets were no different than he had left them fifteen minutes ago. It was strange, weird and eerie. In reality, quite literally, you'd get shot before even getting out the door, but this had him spooked. He flipped through her planner again, finding this Walter's location. He had read it right the first time: MIT. He didn't understand. Olivia knew his lab was a Harvard. Walter hadn't been in attendance at MIT in years. This, he decided, would be his first stop.

He hailed a cab and stepped in, greeted by a friendly gentleman in the front seat. "Where can I take you to, my friend?" the man turned around, his face thin but shapely. He was darker skinned, his hair combed through and his face grinning with personality.

"MIT, or someplace close to it, please," Peter said. The cab driver nodded happily and clicked the fair marker. "How far are we?"

"About ten, fifteen minutes, not long." The man said. "You look like you've been through hell," he commented, a chuckle escaping from his throat.

Peter huffed. "Just been a rough day."

The driver laughed in agreement. "I hear you. My wife's aggravated at me again, forgot to bring home the milk last night. The say she says honey when she's angry makes me cringe," he commented, "which normally means I'm throw into the doghouse, you know?"

Peter nodded, smiling. "My girlfriend does the same thing. She has his thing with the corners of her mouth when she gets mad. It's kind of adorable, actually."

The driver grinned. "She's lucky though, you seem like a solid guy. What's your name?"

"Peter."

"Henry," he nodded and tipped his head towards his passenger. "Pleasure to meet you, Peter." The rest of the drive was silent as Peter continued to observe his surroundings. The city, in her mind, was small, the basics, he guessed, was all she wanted. They rounded onto a highway and over the crest Peter saw the familiar buildings of MIT come into the horizon, the prestigious buildings accented by the high sun. Minutes later they pulled into the parking lot.

"Mind if you wait a few minutes, Henry? I'll make it worth your while," Peter asked, hoping his powers of persuasion were still applicable. The cab driver simply nodded and Peter made his way towards the familiar campus. He certainly had a history here. Faking a degree, publishing papers, even teaching classes, he had almost done it all, except the getting caught part wasn't part of his master plan. Win some, lose some.

Walking down the winding hallways he finally found what he was looking for. The door in front of him read his father's name, in large, important block letters, and all his degrees behind it. It reminded Peter of alphabet soup.

He knocked, and was told to enter. Doing so took his breath away. Sitting at the desk, grading papers was his father. And at the same time, it wasn't. The Walter Bishop sitting in front of him was smooth on the skin, easy on the eyes, and his hair pressed. He almost reminded him of Walternate. But what set him aside was the smile as Walter lifted his head and smiled.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" He asked, genuine.

Peter went to open his mouth but stopped. Something was different. "I…" he paused, thinking quick on his feet. "I'm currently taking your biochem seminar, Dr. Bishop, I missed class because of a family emergency last week and was wondering if I could get a quick outline of what I missed."

Walter smiled at him. "Of course, please, sit! Do you need paper? What is your name, son, so I can make an adjustment to my roster later?"

"Peter B-" he stopped. Probably not the best thing to do, using his name. "Dunham. Peter Dunham." God, Olivia would either kill him or laugh in hysterics to hear that.

"Sit, please. Mr. Dunham." Walter gestured and Peter sat, pretending to listen to a quick outline. All the while he glanced around the room. This Walter, Olivia's version, had numerous plaques from different schools with different levels of degrees. He was still the Walter Peter had known, the warm, kind, quirky soul that he knew Olivia admired. In her mind, it seemed, Walter wasn't locked up at St. Claire's. He was sane, teaching and joyful. "I believe that is all, do you have any questions?"

Peter jumped back to a semi-reality. "Umm, no, I think that's it." A picture on Walter's desk caught his attention: his mother, Walter and a younger boy Peter guessed to be him. "That's a nice family, Dr. Bishop. You must be proud of your son."

The warm smile he had faded, replaced by a darker grin. Peter had a sudden sinking feeling as to what that meant. "Thank you, but my son died several years ago, when he was just a boy, a rare genetic disease. I researched for years but never found a cure."

"I'm sorry," Peter choked, suddenly understanding why he couldn't find any record of himself in Olivia's mind. In her subconscious he never came over from the other side. There was no other side. His heart sunk at this realization. "Excuse me," he said and jumped up, not paying attention to what Walter had said to him. His stomach lurched.

He didn't exist to Olivia at all. Had she forgotten, or was he deliberately absent? There was no other universe; there was no lab at Harvard. He hadn't seen Astrid at the FBI either, perhaps she was somewhere else? There was no secrecy of the Fringe division, if it even was present. Out of everything, one agonizing aspect tore at his heart.

In Olivia's mind, there was no Peter Bishop.

Peter turned and walked with his head between his legs, his feet dragging slowly behind him as he fought back a small whisper of tears. Had she been that mad about the shape shifters that she completely locked him out of her mind? Did she still resent him for not realizing that the other Olivia had invaded her life? Had she fallen out of love with him? Impossible. She couldn't have. She can't.

He opened the door of the cab and Henry greeted him with a smile. It faded at the look of dismay on Peter's face. Before he could ask, Peter spoke. "241 Shadowgrove Circle. It's in Tarrytown, please," his voice was rough, gravely with emotion. Henry said nothing, nodded, and they began to drive.

His mind reverted immediately back to the night in February: the night that she confessed that she needed him as much as he did her. That she was terrified of their relationship, that she couldn't open up to him and let Olivia see exactly who she was outside of her normal self. The following night that she came to his house with a bottle of whiskey, that night she changed. She opened up to him. She wanted what he wanted from whatever it was they had in this awkward, sexually tensed relationship.

After only a sip or two, she took his hand and lead upstairs. That night, that beautiful, haunted night, gave Peter the key to her soul, to the beautiful, passionate, driven woman that Olivia Dunham was. They made love over and over, never getting enough of each other's body, the feel and the desire to fill a long-awaited void in their hearts. He remembered she cried afterwards, not out of pain or sorrow, but of pure, heavenly bliss. She could fix herself, to let Peter in and discover who she was. And for whom she was, Peter wanted her. The next morning they awoke arms and legs tangled in the other, their lips barely an inch apart.

The next few weeks after that were nothing short of a dream. They spent almost every night together in her apartment. They decided Peter's house wasn't the best option, not only for Walter's prying ears but the way Walter would tease Peter and embarrass Olivia over their noisy late night activities. They'd eat, have a few drinks and make love. In her bed, on the couch, the shower, the kitchen, he couldn't get enough of her. They were almost caught in his office by Astrid and Walter, but had just enough time to make themselves less conspicuous, although he was sure Walter knew exactly what they were doing.

They were like two love-struck teenagers, a craving for the other like oxygen, always it was never enough. Each time they finished, she would shine, her eyes casting emerald waves of color everywhere, her stress relieved leaving her pure and all his. Once the bat of hormones has subsided, and their craving for whiskey and sex declined, she began to open up to him even more. She even let her hair down, and kept that top button opened a bit more, enticing Peter every chance she could.

That came crashing down when Bell surfaced, taking his Olivia way, just as he began to see what made her the way she was, and suddenly, all that seemed imaginary. He couldn't look at her without hearing Bell, the man who took away his happiness. The brief stent two weeks ago where Olivia came back teased him even more. He couldn't even kiss her. He tried it once, begging Bell to try, but there was nothing. It didn't feel or taste like her. It wasn't Olivia. And yet, it was.

The ride to Tarrytown went quicker than he thought, for the next thing Peter knew Henry called his name and they arrived in front of a house, medium in size and decorated head to toe with beautiful, colorful flowers that accented the wearing white and green paint. Handing Henry a few twenties Peter stepped out, not listening to the words of encouragement that he gave, and drove away. His eyes remained focused on the delicately crafted masterpiece in front of him. He had seen this place before; in a picture Olivia kept at her apartment, of when she was younger.

Her mother's house.

Music began to bounce from the back yard as more cars pulled up behind him. 6pm, he figured. Looking past the screen door he found no one in site. Carefully, quietly, he made his way up the faded red wood stairs and entered. The smell of cinnamon and sugar and roses tickled his throat. The air was light with laughter as he caught the site of people outside on the desk, kids running around and adults popping open a wine bottle.

"Olivia?" he called up the stairs quietly. The only response he got was an echo of his own voice from the old house. Peter grabbed the railing and quietly made his way upstairs and turned left, finding the only open door on the floor. Her name was written in crayon on a piece of construction paper and taped to the door. Pushing it ajar he entered her room, a small, bright sanctuary that was entirely her.

Her walls were a light blue, her carpet a creamy, pale yellow, curtains white as snow. In the corner was a desk, a laptop resting on it. Two bedside tables had a lamp and a clock. Pictures hung all over the walls, and posters of sunsets, beaches and a few boy bands Peter cared not for. Her bed had a light green and white comforter, two pillows and a worn stuffed dog sat in the middle, accented by a red squishy pillow. He sat on her bed; the mattress was soft and bouncy. Placing his head on her pillow he inhaled. It even smelled like her, a sweet honey and lavender scent that made his taste buds water for her, and a tear trickle down his cheek.

He missed her so much. With his head on her pillow he almost felt her next to him, her arm draped lazily across his chest, her fingers gently entwined with him, just like every Sunday when they slept in, her breath sweeping gently over his cheeks, making him smile as she snored softly, her face at peace. He loved her snoring.

Through the open window he heard an angelic sound that made him jump and rush to it, careful to hide just out of reach. Outside, he saw her, saw his Olivia bright and smiling, a glass of wine in her hand. She was wearing a beautiful pink and white sun dress, her feet were bare against the soft grass, and her hair down, and draping over her shoulders acting as a shawl, hiding her freckle soaked shoulders from the world. Kids ran around the backyard, playing on the old, creaking swings.

This was her family, or what she remembered as her family, he decided. Standing next to her no doubt was Rachel, and he spotted Ella running around playing with her cousins. Across the patio an older man stood at a grill, happily flipping burgers and sipping from a beer bottle, his laughter bellowing across the music as he chatted with more people Peter could not identify. Sitting at a table, underneath an umbrella was another older woman Peter felt he recognized, but deep down in her gut he knew who it was.

That's when he felt a set of eyes on him. Glaring up from two floors below, he saw Olivia's eyes trained directly on him, the look on her face unreadable by any context. Shock? Fear? Disbelief? Anger? Rachel patted her shoulder pulling her attention towards her sister and taking that advantage he jolted, leaving her room and her house and disappeared into the bushes across the street quickly before she could go upstairs and look, or even worse, discover him invading her mind.

He waited for what felt like decades for someone to emerge from the house looking for its intruder, but no one came. Feeling his heart beat drop he made his way along the tree line, careful to stay just in the shadows to watch her, to watch his Olivia's dreams literally unfold before his very eyes. Her smile radiated like the sun, her eyes glowing and her face was perfect. He could die a happy man watching her and feel completely satisfied.

He knew who the older woman was; it was her mother, and the man cooking, her biological father. She looked like them. She had her mother's young face, and her father's shoulders and hands. Cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends all crowded around her happily, their sweet words inaudible to him as they whispered and smiled at her, hugging her. This party, whatever the occasion had brought so much joy to her life; he hadn't been able to remember the last time he saw her that happy.

But what he saw next shattered his heart. The crowd turned towards the stairs where a dashing man stood with a large smile on his face, and a Marine uniform resting on his body, his eyes glaring down towards where Olivia stood, and threw her hands to her face in surprise. She zipped through the crowd and jumped into the man's arms, cupping his face happily.

That's when Peter literally felt his heart break and the tears well up in his eyes. He knew who this man was; an unresolved emotional tie that he was never really sure of Olivia was over. His suspicions were now confirmed.

John Scott, the man who betrayed his country, betrayed Olivia, then surprisingly turned out to be part of a secret government organization, pulled Olivia close into a loving embrace. She pressed her lips firmly against his; capturing his lips in a beautiful kiss that sent hollers of approval through the crowd. Peter saw the corners of her lips turn upward into a smile, her hands placed firmly around John's strong neck. He knew that kiss. It was their kiss, when he knew Olivia was truly happy.

"Peter, what can you see? What's happening, son, you're driving the monitors crazy!"

Peter sat on a fallen tree and stared at the scene, his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, the shards to glass cut him deeply, and the tears began rolling down his cheeks and he swallowed a large lump in his throat, dry and coarse. A banner was revealed above where Olivia and John stood, kissing happily as confetti rained down around them and the words clear as day. This was no ordinary barbeque.

It was an engagement party.

"She still loves him," Peter whispered to himself, his hands shaking. Deep down, Olivia still loved the man who deceived her not once, but twice. "After all these years, after all the deception, the heart break, she," he sniffed, "she still loves him. John." He watched, his heart wrenching in despair as he kissed her again, slowly, the diamond she wore on her left hand sparkling against his heart, the ax to his inner soul. He wiped his nose, trying to gain his composure.

Peter sat frozen in the woods outside her house despite the warmth of the day, too cold and numb to move. His eyes trained on her. "Look how happy she is," he whispered to the trees. "She has everything she ever wanted here with her. She has her family, she has her friends," he paused, his stomach heaved. "She has John. They're engaged. She still loves him."

"Peter, we need to bring her back, or she'll be lost. We need to save her."

"What if she doesn't want to be saved, Walter," his voice was low as he slouched, slipping off the log, feeling drunk with sorrow. "If she decides to come back, what would the damage be? She'd be mad at me for pulling her away from the only mindset that's ever made her truly happy."

"You don't know that. She loves you, Peter, we all know that. Olivia knows she loves you. You must find a way."

He drew in a deep breath and tried to calm his buzzed nerves. Olivia was counting on him to bring her back, but the question that now remained, was did she even want to be saved? The night they slept together for the time he told her he'd go to the ends of the earth to save her, to keep her from the inner most demons that tortured her in her sleep. The one thing Peter couldn't save her from, however, was herself. Finally he mustered enough energy to stand, steadying himself on the log. This task he found difficult, as his entire body felt like jelly, shifting beneath his weight.

In the distance, the short sound of ocean waves caught his attention. His curiosity got the best of him as he stood and made his way towards the end of the forest. The walk felt like it took forever, but in ten short steps Peter found himself standing at the edge of an oceanic abyss, with miles and miles of water in front of him, the red sunset bounced red and orange rays off the surface, painting the sky a beautiful, serene pallet of colors. Seagulls squawked in the distance and flew into the sky, disappearing in the blink of an eye. This truly was her perfect world. The warmth, the happiness, her family, a perfect job, she had it all.

Olivia had erased every memory of him from her mind, her heart, her love for him had vanished, replaced by the man who, for weeks, she loathed and would rant to Peter about. How John used her, used her emotions and her feelings towards him to make her believe he was something he wasn't. Now she happily ran to his arms, almost forgiving him for everything, anything that happened.

He fell to his knees, the soft, warm sand slipping past the threads of his jeans and into his pants. The sand scraped his knees angrily, but he felt nothing.

"Peter."

He jumped, sand flying as he heard her speak, her soft, deep voice cooing his name like a dove. Although the way she said it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

"Liv," he breathed out, unsure whether or not to burst out crying or shake with laughter. He walked towards her. He found Olivia, at last.

She took a step back, putting her hand up and stopping him. "What are you doing here, Peter?" she asked, hard and steady.

"I came to save you, Liv. Your mind is beginning to shut down, Bell's taken over your body, do you remember?"

"Of course I remember. The brief stint where I came back gave me a realization as to what he did, invading my body for his own personal gain. As far as I'm concerned, he can have it." Her words were bitter as she spoke, her tongue spitting venom. Peter stepped closer to her. She stood still, a statue tall and strong, her arms crossed over her chest defensively. "I'm happy right here where I am. The fact that you came into my conscious is revolting, you know that?"

"Liv, you need to come back with me, to wake up from this dream. It's too much, you're body is dying. He's literally killing you from the inside out." Peter talked fast and smooth, but she would have nothing of it.

Her face twisted, "Then so be it, I'm happy here. I have my family, my job. I've already gotten a glimpse of heaven, and this is it. You lied to me, Peter. You lied about the shape shifters, about the machine and what you know. That doesn't change the fact that I was completely open with you about our relationship, about what I wanted out of it and you gave nothing back. I took your suggestion, and you ignored it. I trusted you Peter, the least you could have done was trust me in return."

Her words hit him like concrete, but what made it worse was the fact there was no buffer between what she thought and what she said. It was one in the same. Peter had nothing to say as she stood still, her ground firm, staring daggers into him.

"Wake up, and tell Walter to let nature take its course. I'm happy here. I have my family, my friends, my Mom and Dad." She held up her left hand where the diamond sparked. "I have John. It's all as I wished, and no one can take that away from me. Not again." Her voice cracked as she whispered. "Go home, Peter, and leave me alone."

Olivia turned and began to walk away from him, leaving Peter alone in a descending darkness to watch her once again, walk away from his life.

She didn't love him. Not anymore...


i can has reviews, please? Part two coming shortly! :)