CHAPTER THREE: ODD MAN OUT

You palm your holster; gun at the ready. In this foreign territory, you can never be too careful. After all, the last person who got the drop on you was someone of this world.

Well, you have to give her credit, she was essentially you.

Rather, a version of you. At first you thought it was kind of cool; but that was before she knocked you out and tied you to your favorite chair. She even had the gall to strip you of your clothes.

Her work here was similar to yours, but you have to admit, compared to your gadgets and assignments, FBI work was so mundane. Paperwork done on actual paper? Please, this reality has got everything backwards.

You hear a noise somewhere in the next alley to your right. The criminals here have no imagination either.

You see a hand peeking out from a pile of garbage. You are in no mood to dumpster dive today, or any other day for that matter. Her clothes are too uncomfortable for that kind of activity.

…..

Her closet is filled with button-downs and sensible pant-suits. You haven't even seen a single colored article of clothing. They were all boring blacks and grays, all the way down to her underwear. You cringe at that. The first thing you did after you were brought to her apartment was to shop for some colored lingerie. At least you could wear that underneath the obligatory drab outfits. You'd hate to get caught simply because you chose to wear a red shirt to work one day.

It's the same story with the rest of her place, nothing out of the ordinary. She didn't even have real food in the house; just some cereal, stale milk, and a bottle of whisky. Yuck.

The only things you found interesting were the collection of forensic books on the bedside table and the impressive archive of case files she had stacked in boxes against the wall.

And, of course, the diamond engagement ring. You question fleetingly if it was given to her by Peter.

You wonder what Peter ever saw in her. Does he see the same thing in you?

You marvel when that line of thinking even started to matter.

You initially thought that the giant tear which began this entire mission was all because of an inter-dimensional lovers' quarrel. You certainly got that impression when Peter laid eyes on you for the first time and tried so hard to conceal the thick emotion in his voice when he told you that you reminded him of someone he knew. It was made even more evident when she showed up at your place and practically begged you at gunpoint to take her to him.

It was good to know that their little lovers' spat only played into the latter part of the equation. You felt better knowing that there was an entirely bigger picture that you were all a part of before you literally jumped into the unknown.

Still, you can't help the jealousy that bubbles in your chest when you think about their circumstance. You try to tell yourself that it's just because you doubt that Frank would ever do the same for you. It's not because you think Peter Bishop is charming and you sometimes wish that you really were his Olivia. Liar.

…..

You approach the body. You're surprised to see that this was the man you were chasing after just a few moments ago. Curiously, he was very much alive before the 5 seconds it took for you to get here. You decide to call for the coroner, but you stop mid-sentence when you chance upon the item he's grasping in his other hand. You haven't seen that kind of device the two months you've been here.

You pocket the gadget just before the officers on scene make their way towards you.

…..

You arrive at the lab and find it surprisingly empty. You lock yourself in her office and take out the device. A few taps on the screen and you find the information you're looking for. The "man" was a – what do they call them in this reality? – shape shifter. And his target? One Olivia Dunham.

What the hell? That can't be right.

You're startled by a knock at your door. The knob shakes and you hear the lock turn loose. It could only be one person.

"Hey, why was the door locked? Got something you're keeping from me?" He asks with a cheeky grin.

"Usually a locked door means the person outside is not supposed to enter," you counter.

"Oh? Well, then," he steps outside and closes the door.

A beat later, the door opens, and he's back inside. "Hey, Olivia, your door was unlocked, do you have a minute?" The grin's back in place.

You can't help the corners of your mouth from curling up.

He walks over to the rarely used stereo and turns the dial up. He hums the first strings of a song you've never heard before and turns to you expectantly, "Remember this?" he laughs, "the day I realized that you're not as good a liar as you think you are." Then he laughs nervously, waiting for your reaction.

What does a song about piña coladas and getting caught in the rain have to do with lying? You begin to frown. Another inside joke you pretend to take in stride. The truth is, it sometimes makes you sad that you weren't the Olivia from this world that shared these memories with him.

"I have to go," you say, standing up.

"Was it something I said?" He asks a little too eagerly.

You wonder what that was all about. "I just…I have to go report to Broyles. What was it that you wanted?"

"It can wait," he says with a sigh, "it can wait."

You nod your goodbye and make for the car, but it's not the FBI building that's your destination. You decide that you have a date with a very special typewriter.