part 2 - A second Olivia speaks.
Her world is degrading. In her job she sees it more than most. Sees the fabric of life unravel. Knows that any day could be last. Not just for her but for everyone. Despite this knowledge she has never been a quitter, never even considered the idea of giving up. Of giving in. Instead she lives her life on the edge, adrenalin powering her. Believing that that simply fighting the good fight meant that success would eventually follow. And that success – that wining would be everything.
Now she knows differently. She has faced the enemy, invaded their world. Breathed their air, walked their streets. She has drank their coffee. She has stared into the whites of their eyes, seen them for who they are. She has infraltrated them, worked alongside them. She has known them. She has undermined their efforts, attacked them, stolen from them and she can not help but think it was all for nothing. She doesn't feel like she, like her side, are any closer to success and she feels curiously short changed. Hears the echo of him and wonders whether wining was perhaps not the point at all. Like she was fighting for the wrong goal.
She has never been the kind of girl who dreamed of forevers. It isn't that she doesn't believe in happily ever after she just isn't sure that there is one for her. Isn't sure, having seen what love did to her sister that she'd want the all encompassing foreverness even if the opportunity arose. Not that she's been celibate or even single. No. There has been a procession of Mr Right for Now's who have entertained and still left her enough room in her life for her own things. Aspirations. Work. Goals. Now it all feels surprisingly empty. Like independence on her own terms wasn't quite the prize it seemed.
Despite it all, despite everything she knew; had seen, she Fell. So obvious. Too obvious. It built quickly, crescendoed before she'd even realised. She felt it start when he first looked up at her from under his lids before swinging his entire penetrating gaze to her in a bar with heat that made her squirm. It hit her in the pit of her stomach as she pulled him to a dance floor, staggering slightly in her urgency to wrap her arms around his neck. She felt it burn her when she straddled him, trapped in a moment when finding out if he tasted as good as he smelled was almost more important than not being caught. When she finally pushed him down on the bed, moving over him in the dark proving Newton wrong didn't come into it. Not even a little. What surprised her after the waves of lust had been sated is that she wasn't. That unlike her time a string of others she was still falling. That feeling his arms wrapped around her after a run in with a suspect was as much comfort as it was a turn on; that she wanted to be comforted by this man. Lazy breakfasts in bed and early evenings in front of the television weren't just about keeping a track on him they were about keeping him with her. Keeping him close. She knows she should hate herself. Be consumed by self loathing for having lost her focus, her drive. Knows that for an independent woman such as herself the childish hope of keeping the moment forever should be abhorred. Knows most of all the fact that what she wanted from him was something she had stolen from another. After all the other Olivia, the pale, haunted Olivia had chased him across the divide of the universe; fought for him only to be replaced without a word.
Yet no, she is unrepentant. Her mission no longer seems so important to her but lamenting it would be foolish. She has been greeted as a hero and does nothing to suggest that the truth might be more malleable than that. The other Olivia is barely worth a second thought – her escape reluctantly impresses but any thoughts of her lead to jealousy. Depression. Despondency. After all no matter what has happened one Olivia Dunham is with him now; whilst one is alone.
She tortures herself now...imagines...dreams. She remembers with startlingly vivid recall the lift of his mouth as he smirked at her, the raw challenge in his eyes, the warmth of his caress, his oh so slightly calloused hands. The feel of his mouth. Somedays she imagines that she can feel the echo of it still. Retains the utter certainty that of the many things wrong in the scenario that they were right. Reluctantly she acknowledges that the story doesn't end when her memory does. That she may have cracked open the door but it was another woman who is there now to take her place. And so she lets her mind wander. Allows the pain of imagining him with the blonde shadow. Can all but see the mane of pale hair against his chest. Can imagine the solemn, wounded eyes meeting his as he says the three words she never got to hear.
She wakes one night heart pounding, sheets knotted around her sweating body. She remembers something new. Remembers the night when the other Olivia broke into her home, gatecrashed her world. Until now she has tried to forget being bested by the other woman, does not want to acknowledge her as stronger, better in any way. Now she thinks backwards to the missed doctors appointment, the annual contraceptive jab and wonders. Hopes.
With her hand cupped unconsciously around her stomach she wills her thoughts to the other Olivia. Wills her to keep him still, keep him safe. Hates the knowledge that she is dependent upon her adversary to hold him steady. Until she can come back for him.