She ran out of the theater. It was late, maybe around ten at night judging from the darkness. She stopped on the sidewalk outside of the theater. What was she doing? Her thoughts were running rampant in her mind and she felt like she was about to be torn in a hundred different directions. Call Broyles. Go see Walter. Hunt down that bitch. Peter. Peter. Peter. She looked around. The city was more alive than ever. Cars zoomed by, and people pushed past her on the sidewalk. Suddenly, she felt something in her hand. She looked down. The paper she'd nabbed. She studied it carefully, finding the date: 27 JUNE 2010. So, it hadn't been too, too long since she'd been captured. Not long enough for her roots to start showing, she noted upon turning around and coming face-to-face with her reflection in a store window. She was getting nowhere just standing around in the middle of New York City. People were starting to stare at her, and pass more slowly. She closed her eyes and reined her thoughts in on a single subject: Boston.
She opened her eyes and found herself in a quieter street, her street. She noticed a pay-phone nearby and decided now was as good a time as any to phone Broyles. After all, she was the hardworking FBI agent who never shirked her duties. Whether she wanted to or not. She dialed 9-1-1, identified herself to whomever it was that answered, and asked to be patched through to the FBI.
"Dunham?" Broyles said, sounding slightly surprised, "I was just about to call you."
"Sir," she started, her voice wavered despite her best efforts to remain as calm as possible, "no you weren't."
"Dunham, what do you mean? Are you alright? Where are you?" although he demanded answers, Olivia could detect a hint of concern in his voice.
"That isn't me, sir. The Olivia that came back with Walter and Peter," she paused, "is the other Olivia."
"So, the incident at the opera house in New York City I was just going to call you about…" he trailed off, waiting for her response.
"Yes, sir, that was me," she let out a heavy breath.
"Where are you, Dunham?" he questioned her.
"I'm in Boston, about a block from my apartment. I think she has Peter with her…"
Before Olivia could finish Broyles cut in, "We're on our way."
She didn't bother responding. She hung the phone up and ran what turned out to be a block and a half to her apartment. Olivia bolted up the steps and stopped just outside her door, breathing heavily. She stood there for several seconds trying to calm her breathing down. Once she had, she reached for her spare key to let her into her apartment. Spare key. For her own apartment. Nice. However, the sounds that greeted her ears upon entering her place were exactly what she hadn't wanted to hear, and were consequently far worse.
She heard Peter and her alternate self, clearly enjoying each other's company, in her bedroom. In her bed. She heard him laugh. It sent a shiver down her spine and made her cringe. She froze for a minute, unsure of what to do. Olivia felt her feet moving her body towards her bedroom. She crossed the threshold. They weren't at it yet, but they were pretty damn close. Her hands were all over his bare chest. Olivia felt sick. They were so engrossed in each other that they hadn't even noticed her.
"Peter?" she said his name at the decibel just above a whisper, and the tears that she were holding back behind her eyes could be heard in her voice.
Peter sat up in bed. He looked at the woman who had just spoken his name. She looked hurt and confused. Pain and betrayal were etched all over her face. He met her confusion with his own, and when he looked to the woman he was in bed with, he saw it. She was staring wild-eyed at her other self, the Olivia from this universe, his Olivia. Her neck was exposed to him, revealing a small, odd tattoo that was definitely a dead giveaway.
"Shit," he muttered.
He was so angry at himself. Big, stupid, idiot, his mind scolded him. You should've noticed the differences. You should've seen it, how could you not have known? He felt disgusted with himself; this wasn't his first time in her bed. He roughly shoved the woman off of him and immediately got out of the bed. He watched as his Olivia backed slowly out of her room.
Back pressed against the wall, she slid slowly down to the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. No. She thought. This could not be happening. Everything went numb, her mind, her body, her emotions. Numb. She sat there staring at her alternate self in her bed. She wanted nothing more than to burn that bed and those sheets and what the hell ever else happened in between them. It enraged her and revolted her and she just wanted to set it all on fire. And that's exactly what she did. Unintentionally, of course. She had had such a clear picture in her mind that it had become reality. She saw her alternate self screaming, scrambling around trying to grab her clothing. Running after she'd dressed rapidly, only to be stopped by the team of agents that Broyles had accompanying him. Peter was next to her, squatting at her side, saying something into her ear that sounded blurry. She couldn't quite make it out entirely. Olivia sat frozen on the floor, eyes glued to the dancing flames.
"Olivia! Olivia? Olivia!" Peter's voice echoed in her ears, but it sounded so distant she barely heard it.
She just continued sitting there, watching her apartment burn as members of the local volunteer firehouse attempted to put it out as quickly as they could. She could swear that she felt someone's arms around her, scooping her up. It was Peter.
She heard him at her ear again, "Come on, Olivia, we have to get out of here."
Olivia tried to respond to him. She couldn't.
Hating me yet? That was really hard to write, nearly killed my brain. Anyway, Chapter 3 is written, and you know what you have to do to get it ;)
Also, I feel I should mention, Peter WHUMP is in Chapter 4. Serious Peter WHUMP. I mean, ouch. Poor Peter!