Chapter 2

Sliding a hand through auburn hair, Olivia sighed and glanced up at three people who collectively despised everything about her. Tholivia (their Olivia, as coined by Lincoln and Charlie), the cool blond with the sister and the niece and the boyfriend. Agent Broyles, the- it took everything she had to keep from losing her lunch at the thought of his wife and child back home. And then there was Peter.

Father of her child. Man she couldn't help but love. Son of the one man she hated more than any other. So many ways to describe Peter Bishop. She squeezed her eyes shut just for a moment, holding back the hormonal tears that threatened to break past her careful barriers yet again.

"Well. Just us now, huh? Awfully cozy and intimate," she joked weakly, sitting up against the couch, one hand under her stomach.

The three of them sat down slowly, as if they were afraid she might bolt if they became too complacent. "Ms. Dunham, I think you'd better start at the beginning," Broyles said dryly.

She swallowed hard, nodding as she spared a glance at her double. "Um…" Her face was impassive and unreadable. (Olivia almost felt sorry for her. It had to be hard on a person, being that strong.) "Well. I… I found out about… about the pregnancy when I'd been home a few weeks. My boyfriend had just come back from a trip and there was this scientist with these sheep bugs and-" She paused, clearing her throat. "I'm sorry, that's irrelevant." Pressing her fingers to her forehead and closing her eyes for a moment, she curled her legs up onto the couch beneath her.

"Anyway, moral of the story is that the Secretary found out I was pregnant with his grandchild and practically had me under lock and key for over two months. There was a security detail posted at my apartment, following me in my car… I just took it as worry, considering he lost his son," she paused to glance warily at Peter, "but when Lincoln found the tap on my line we realized it was more than that. When he confronted him about it, he came clean, assuming Lincoln was more loyal to the government than to me I guess."

"I take it that was a wrong assumption," Peter murmured, crossing his arms over his chest.

Olivia smirked slightly, pressing her lips together. "Not the best, no."

"Liv? Liv, listen to me!" Lincoln called as he let himself into her apartment. "Liv?"

She stuck her head around the corner, eyebrows raised. "What?" she demanded in exasperation, hair still wet from a shower.

"Listen to me. I need you to do two things," he said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. "One, I need you to get rid of any line of communication the Secretary might have access to. Second, you have to pack a bag, and fast. We're taking a road trip."

A frown spread across her face. "Lincoln, what's going on? What about the Secretary? Where are we going?"

"I'll explain on the way. Just go; pack!" Lincoln ordered, pointing insistently to the bedroom, the rare stern quality to his voice making her hasten to do as he said.

She emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later, tossing him a full duffel bag. As she slung the bag of baby things she had collected so far over her shoulder, she met his raised eyebrows bravely. "I know when you're serious," she murmured softly. "And I don't know how long this road trip is going to last."

Lincoln softened just long enough to squeeze her arm before relieving her of the baby bag. "Come on. We don't have much time and Charlie's waiting for us."

"And then? Where did you go? How did you get from your apartment in another universe to the Bishop house here?" Olivia demanded, knocking Peter's hand away when he tried to reach for hers. "You can bait us all you like with the details but you know damn well all we care about is how you got here."

"And why," Peter murmured, folding his arms again reluctantly.

Broyles sighed, clasping his hands together as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Ms. Dunham. Just tell us how you did it."

Olivia glanced down, the tips of her red hair lying across her chest. "I don't know how we did it," she murmured finally, her voice cracking.

No one spoke for a moment, expecting her to continue, before her double raised an eyebrow snidely. "You don't know how you did it? You don't know how you just happened to cross universes into our-" She stopped short for a second, jaw clenching. "-into the Bishops' living room? What, did you walk through the magical wardrobe?" Her words were uncharacteristically short, sarcastic, and they cut even deeper into Peter's self-loathing thoughts.

Tears brimmed in her eyes when she looked up again. "We meant to," she admitted. "But we didn't think it would work. It was a last ditch effort. We've been running from the Secretary for almost three weeks. Our options were running out. So… we went to the old Harvard lab, took everything we could stuff into our car and came here. Well- there, I mean." Rubbing a hand across her forehead, she pursed her lips.

"The boys flashed their badges and claimed a gas leak to get the family out of the house so we could set up in the living room. I'd think it was a fluke, wishing too hard, fairy dust, maybe." Olivia chuckled darkly, shaking her head. "But then again, hopping universes sort of runs in the family." She smoothed down her shirt, catching Peter's eye deliberately. "I had Charlie pump me full of the Cortexiphan we'd found – he's good with needles, you know – and… then we were here."

"Just like that." Olivia's voice was dry and disbelieving. "It doesn't happen," she paused to snap her fingers, "just like that. I would know."

"Well it did, all right? I don't know how, but it did. And now we're here and we're asking for your help! I'm sorry for what I did, I really am, but I thought it was the right thing at the time. At least for the sake of this baby, can we put it behind us, just for the moment? You can lock me up, do whatever you like with me. But this isn't my child's fault and it isn't Charlie or Lincoln's either!"

Sighing, Broyles stood and motioned for the other two to follow him into the kitchen. "You understand our reluctance, Ms. Dunham. You'll have to give us a moment."

"I don't know why we need a moment," Olivia protested as soon as she was on the linoleum. "We shouldn't believe a word she says."

"Olivia." Broyles' voice was gentle but rebuking. "You've been her. You know her. And from what I remember from your debriefing, she wasn't all around a terrible person."

Clenching her jaw, Olivia squared her shoulders firmly. "We should take her in for questioning."

"Liv, come on," Peter admonished, sounding tired as he rubbed a hand over his face. "She might be faking something but she at least isn't faking being pregnant."

"So, what, pregnant women can't be asked questions?" she demanded. "No, there is no reason to treat her any different than any other potentially violent suspect."

"Violent? For god's sake, she screwed me; she didn't shoot me!" Peter glared at her, crossing his arms to match hers. Olivia's eyes widened in shock, her jaw dropping slightly. She fumbled for words, not sure how to respond to that.

He pursed his lips, starting to reach a hand out to her before changing his mind halfway. "I'm sorry. I just- maybe you should go back to the office. Question the others. I'll handle her."

Olivia stared at him a moment longer before yanking her coat off the hook by the door. "Maybe you're right," she ground out, not giving him a chance to stop her before she shut the door silently behind her. He sincerely wished she would have rattled it on its hinges; at least then he would know what she was thinking, feeling.

Liv walked in quietly from the living room, her hands clasped together. "Would it be possible for me to speak with Peter alone, just for a moment, sir? Ah, I mean, Agent Broyles?" Broyles pressed his lips together but nodded, stepping out onto the porch with a heavy sigh.

Glancing up at him, she bit her lip, one hand sliding over his only to have him flinch away. "No. No, you don't get to be sorry and sad and win me over with your sense of humor. You nearly ruined my life. And you did ruin the woman I love."

She looked at the floor, shame blossoming pink on her cheeks. "I can't even begin to make excuses for what I did, except that I thought it was the right thing. You may have seen our world but you haven't lived in it, haven't seen the death and destruction or the fear in peoples' eyes just to leave their houses. Peter, I'm sorry."

"It's not good enough," he murmured, meeting her eyes reluctantly. "And now here you are, suddenly back in our lives, and claiming you're pregnant with my child?"

"I'm not claiming it; it's true. You're going to be a father whether you like it or not. You can choose not to be a good dad but, for the record, what little I know about you? That's not who you want to be."

"No, you're right, it isn't, and if that baby is mine, I will stand by it. But I will not stand by you," Peter said seriously.

She swallowed hard, looking down at her chipped nails. "I understand," she murmured, shrugging a shoulder. "I guess I can't really ask anything of you."

"No. You can't." Peter's jaw was stern, not giving her an inch.

"Okay, then." Liv cleared her throat, pushing her shoulders back bravely. "I guess I'm going in for questioning?"

"In the morning. You'll stay here. No sense having two Olivias running around; too much room for trouble," Peter said dryly. "There's a spare bedroom upstairs. But, then, I believe you know your way around."

She nodded slightly and started for the stairs but paused, her hand on the kitchen doorframe. "Thank you, Peter. The guys expected you to be far less hospitable. I'm glad they were wrong."

Peter rubbed at his eyes, still trying to comprehend how his night had gone so very haywire. With a heavy sigh, he pulled open the freezer and dug into the strawberry ice cream.