after many, many requests to turn this into a multi chaptered fic, i have decided too, andthis is where it starts. Do not fret, my youngin's, there is plenty of P.O in this fic, but there is also alot of O. AO (in a non slashy way) Anyway, it will be a dark fic, since i think Olivia needs a dark fic (there are quite alot of peterwhump!, why not oliviawhump!) So here is the next chapter, fairly short, but i think you'll kind of get the jist.

spoilers: all episodes.

Rated T for Language.

summary: Olivia's emotional rollercoaster. It's like her heart is a playtoy.

I own nothing but the typos and grammatical errors.


Olivia has nightmares.

She's seen a great many freaky things in her life and sometimes they haunt her in her sleep. She dreams that she is infected with that creature (not Charlie), she dreams she was unable to stop that bomb with her mind, she dreams Ella was eaten by the computer monster and she sometimes dreams that Walter had died in that basement and she couldn't do anything about it. All of these don't frighten her compared to the dream she hates. It's a fear she fears is true.

One day she will wake up and find out Peter has returned, to her.

She's dreamed it will be the three am phone call from Walter, a desperate, broken Walter who is rambling on about him just up and leaving, saying he won't be back and that he's found his place. She's dreamed it will be a day in the lab where he simply won't show up, there won't be coffee and she will be simply worried. Then her worst, and darkest nightmare is that she will return and he will wrap his warm and strong arms around her and tell her that she is the one he belongs with and that they would never work. The nightmares haunt past the point of exhaustion, past the point of tired, past the point of deprived. They haunt her until she can no longer stand on her two feet.

"Liv?" Peter's concerned voice haunts when she collapses to the ground in the lab "Liv, are you all right?"

No, she wants to say, no I'm not. But the words come out anyway.

"I'm fine Peter."


She finally found it.

Week after week of digging around in her place, she found the box. It was stuffed between a dresser and a wall, crammed up underneath it and as far back as possible. She knew she'd find it eventually. Satisfied she had found it, she pulled it out of its protected spot and placed it on the coffee table. It was a bit dusty, but she didn't mind, wiping it away with her hand. She pulled open the lid and smiled, just a bit.

There was a picture of John, beautiful and smiling John with his arms wrapped snugly around her. Next to that was Charlie, his arm draped over her shoulder has they smiled oh so happily together. There were other things in the box a s well, little trinkets and bobbles, pieces of paper or napkin or-was it toilet paper?- with inside jokes scrawled across them. Happy memories is what they were, locked away in box stuffed behind heels she hasn't worn in years and nesting dust bunnies. She doesn't quite know why she is searching through the box until she lays eyes on a picture of Peter that has been placed in there. She picked it up and looked at it, studying it, trying to find that happiness in the photo, searching for the laughter. But she doesn't see it. He doesn't belong in that box. There is a knock and she sets his photo down, opening the door.

"Pizza?" came Peter's voice, bringing an offering of a large box of food.

He's in the apartment before she has a chance to say no. She knows that he knows she would say no, and he's given her no chance to answer. Instead he's set the box down on the table and opened it. Olivia looks at her dust covered box just a few feet away. Maybe he belonged in that box. Maybe there were some happy memories worth preserving. He looked up at and caught her staring, his chewing slowing as he stared back, eye smoldering. Olivia shivered.

He clearly didn't belong in the box.

Yet.


She smiled today. And it was beautiful.

Or at least she thought so. With the soft yellow sunshine creating golden silk with her hair, Olivia's eyes were bright green, lit with a smile that was so carefree, so rare that she hadn't even realized it had slipped onto her face. Peter lounged next to her in the Harvard grass, his lithe body stretched out on the blanket they had set down to eat on. He had murmured something and then she burst into a beautiful smile, her eyes twinkling as she met Peter's. Then suddenly it was gone.

She had been so careful, so very careful around him. She was able to see his emotions in his eyes, read them perfectly because she needed to, needed to be able to see when it was her making him love or her making him love. But she let that slip away for a brief moment of happiness that she deserved. And when she looked back at him, he saw her in his eyes. He must have known that she saw it too, because his smile fell and the warm sunshine suddenly felt very very cold.

"Olivia-"

"It's okay, I get it," she said, standing up and brushing herself off. She looked up at the sky, feeling cold and stupid for letting herself slip. Peter sighed and smacked his hand against his pants. They were back to this. She stared down at him.

I get it, really Peter. She's me, but better."


"Olivia STOP!"

He roars her name, fuming and angry as she walks down the hall and toward the stairs that lead outside. He is almost ready to jog up to her, and he tries her name one last time before jogging to her. She won't stop. Her walk is purposeful. Run, flee, go, hide, anything, anywhere, just as long as it isn't here. She is almost to freedom, her SUV where she can cry and break down and just shut down. But there is a pressure on her arm, a hard and forceful pressure and she wheels around, ready to break the jerk's face that grabs her, but it is Peter's face and his eyes are just as red as hers.

"Let go," she feebly tries, shaking herself of him, "Let go."

"Olivia you need to stop this," he hisses, nearly shaking her, "You need to stop."

"You need to stop!" she nearly yells. They are both at their breaking points and she is a volatile cocktail of chemicals and emotions and blood and woman that won't stand for him. "I am not her, I won't be her, and I won't just sit around and be me either!"

"And why not?"

"Because," she yells angrily at Peter, "I hate me!"

"Sweetheart," he says, his grip slacked. It was a mistake because she pulls away.

"I hate who I am because of the choices I've made. I can't be her, Peter! I can't! I'm too damaged."

"Olivia-"

"No," she says shaking her head, "Please, don't break my heart anymore. I'm leaving."

"And where are you going?" he yells angrily as she retreats. She's fleeing him, running, flying, falling, anything to get from him. This is what it felt like when he left her, he thinks bitterly, and he is deserving of it. Every mistake he made, the coffee, the salads, the music, even her pet name, her fucking pet name, just wrong. His fists are curled and she's almost to the door. "Where will you go?"

"Anywhere."

And just like that she's free.


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