A/N: I'm so unused to updating something this frequently, I don't even have anything to ramble about in my author notes anymore xD If you're still reading even after I brought back Lucas, good decision, good decision :p

This part was fun to write for a lot of reasons. Please enjoy ;)

SHIVERED BONES

IV.

As she walks through the lobby of Massive Dynamic, Olivia feels more than a little exposed, all too aware of the stares. Considering she's wearing nothing but a dress, she's not exactly surprised.

When she'd come to the logical conclusion that she should get ready in the 38th floor's loft, since she would be spending the night there, she admittedly didn't think about how she would have to walk out of the building in her formal attire, during one of its busiest hours.

Ignoring the stares had been easier in the elevator, focused as she was on the descending numbers, forcing her breathing to remain deep and slow. Now that she's out in the lobby, though, she more than regrets her decision, begging herself not to trip and fall; she honestly cannot remember the last time she had to walk in heels.

She knows what she looks like, having spent a fair amount of time in front of the bathroom's mirror, trying to remember how to apply eyeliner, all the while coming to term with the fact that her growing bangs had to stay loose for once. She's ill-at-ease in her black dress, even if it isn't particularly revealing, but she's out of her element without her three layers of clothes.

Younger, she might not have minded the looks so much, her self-esteem enjoying the boost of confidence whenever she made the effort of dressing up, but these days belong to another life. Wearing a dress certainly doesn't make her feel any less like the FBI agent that she is, which is why she glares at quite a few people as she walks towards the exit.

She spots Lucas near the revolving doors. He looks good in his suit, but she's too annoyed at him to care. She doesn't miss the way he eyes her, unaffected by her scowl. "Damn, Liv," he says when she joins him. "You realize every person in this lobby just fell in love with you, right?"

"I really hate you for this," she retorts, grudgingly accepting his arm. She can use the extra support, still a bit unbalanced on her heels.

"You look dashing," he says in her ear as they walk out.

She can't help but chuckle. "Dashing? Of all the adjectives you could have come up with, you go for dashing?"

"Well, I was going to go for sinful, but I am a taken man who's trying to respect the whole 'exes' boundaries."

Almost in spite of herself, the thirty-one year old woman hiding somewhere behind the FBI agent begins to smile.

…

As Andy predicted, she doesn't have any time for him on her wedding day.

The extent of their interaction is a thirty seconds exchange at the beginning of the reception, just enough time for her to say, rather sardonically, "I put you at one of the singles tables, I figured you wouldn't mind," before she's swooped by the crowd.

Peter doesn't mind much, indeed, seated between two lovely ladies who look and sound as equally charming. As it so happens, though, he stops paying any attention to them rather quickly.

Barely three minutes after they all settle down at their table for dinner, Peter spots Olivia sitting at the head table.

When his initial shock subsides and he eventually gives up trying to figure out how the hell they've ended up attending the same wedding reception, he simply resigns himself to staring at her for the duration of dinner, unable to do much else.

Even from a distance, he's transfixed by the way she looks. He's seen her out of her agent-on-a-mission attire, long before he became too intimate with the wrong version of her, and it isn't like he hasn't been aware of her femininity. They didn't know each other three days that she was stripping down to her underwear in the middle of the lab. Nonetheless, the sight of her in anything but her buttoned-up suits has always been a bit strange.

Olivia is, and has always been, a stunningly beautiful woman, fit and athletic; from what he knows of her, her fitness isn't something she preserves because she takes pride in the way she looks, but mainly because her profession demands it. Given the choice, she always favors practicality over comfort, or even personal taste.

But no matter what she wears, no matter what little care she puts into her appearance, she's always beautiful to him. And she definitely put care into her appearance tonight.

Sitting as she is, he can't see much of her, but it's obvious she's nowhere as dressed up as some of the other women here, her makeup more subtle as well. Compared to what he's used to seeing, though, the sight is mesmerizing. It makes her looks younger, almost vulnerable, although Peter knows better. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd found a way to bring her gun in.

Later, he would have very little recollection of what was going on during dinner, too busy watching her, his mood progressively darkening as he starts paying attention to the man sitting by her side, wishing he wasn't so damn good at reading body languages. There's history between them, intimacy.

The man is too at ease, invading her personal space, leaning close to her ear to talk to her over the noise. He's making her smile. He's making her laugh. He's making her look more relaxed than he's seen her in weeks.

When the party moves from the dining room to the ballroom, Peter's focus doesn't change, although he keeps his distance, in a lame attempt not to be too creepy about it. The truth is, now that he has a full view of what she's wearing, staying away from her becomes nearly impossible.

He stands on the opposite side of the dancefloor, watching as the mysterious man keeps on talking too close to her ear, until he eventually leaves her alone, probably off to get some drinks. Peter's resolve to stay away from her wavers, fighting the urge to go to her, talk to her, exert his own invisible force on her the way she does on him. He wants to make her forget about the other guy.

He knows the unusual settings they're in are responsible for his renewed boldness, between the crowd, the music, and the way she looks, almost out-of-character, yet still very much herself. Feeling bold doesn't make him any less of a coward. Without a new case to work on, they haven't even said a word to each other since that tensed exchange in the lab, a few days ago.

Under any other circumstances, he wouldn't dare approach her. Imposing himself on her when she's obviously having a good time, probably for the first time since she's come back, wouldn't be fair to her, well aware that it would drastically change her mood.

He owes it to her to leave her be.

But when Olivia eventually meets his eyes, in between moving bodies, all of his noble intentions scatter away.

…

"Benjamin is getting married next week, and when I RSVP'd a few months ago, I was supposed to be coming with a plus one."

"No."

"C'mon, Olivia. He'll be thrilled to see you again, he's almost nothing like the bratty college boy he was ten years ago."

"Lucas, I am not going to go to your brother's wedding as your date."

"You won't be my date, you'll be my plus one. Come with me as my friend, okay? Mom will be ecstatic. She always said I was an ass for letting you slip away –that's a direct quote."

As it turns out, this had been another understatement. Ruth lets out a squeal when she first spots Olivia.

The woman's emotions are obviously running high, with her youngest son getting married today, but the joy in her eyes is genuine as she briefly cups Olivia's face in her hands, in a motherly way that creates the nicest kind of ache in her heart.

"I'm so glad you decided to come, love," Ruth says, her eyes brimming with tears. "I know we haven't seen each other in years, but I hope you know you'll always be like a daughter to me."

"Thank you," Olivia breathes out, unexpectedly shaken.

She remembers, now, how much she enjoyed spending most of their school breaks at Lucas' family estate, during the three years they were together. As a young adult, Olivia had been an orphan for the better part of a decade, and Ruth, who had mothered four boys and longed for a daughter, had been more than happy to give Olivia some of the nurturing attention she'd been deprived of for years.

Like his mother, Benjamin is thrilled to see her, entrapping her in a bear hug that is so genuine and warm, Olivia barely tenses at all. Lucas' family is just like she remembers it to be: loud, friendly, and all kind of obnoxious. After being introduced to Ben's new wife, Andrea, who greets Olivia by saying "Well, fuck, you're gorgeous. Lucas, you're such an idiot," it is clear the woman was always meant to become a part of it.

While the wedding ceremony itself is small and a quick affair, every friend and relative of the bride and groom have apparently been invited to the reception.

Olivia, who still feels uncomfortable in her dress and heels –not to mention the crowd, dreads the rest of the evening. Against all hopes, dinner turns out to be a lot more enjoyable than she expected, sitting not far from the newlyweds, squeezed between Lucas and his oldest brother. Lucas tries his best to help her relax, even getting a few laughs out of her; she starts to feel particularly better after a few glasses of wine. Throughout the meal, she gets the odd impression that she's being watched, her neck prickling, but whenever she scans the many tables filling the room, she's met by a sea of strangers.

When the crowd eventually moves to the ballroom, Lucas tries to get her to dance with him after the opening number. She refuses categorically, sending him to get her some champagne instead. He goes for it, maybe remembering how easily champagne makes her tipsy –she still won't dance with him.

As Olivia waits for him to come back, standing outside the dancefloor, she observes the many people already twirling around the room, more or less gracefully, not to say more or less soberly. The mood is cheerful, almost electrifying.

Between the joyful event itself and the free alcohol flowing, everybody seems looser, happier. Olivia isn't immune to it, unable not to be affected by the vibes, slightly mellowed by the wine, too. She's even smiling a little, thinking that agreeing to come here was a good decision, after all.

Understandably enough, all of her happy thoughts swiftly evaporate when she meets Peter's eyes across the dancefloor.

Shivers break under her skin, which soon erupts in goosebumps. Her heart has started to race in her chest, convinced that she's making him up. Unlike Lucas, who she had loved dearly, but never had any reason to hallucinate, Peter materializing himself in a crowded place is such a familiar sight, not to say a fresh memory, that she forgets to breathe for a moment.

You're not real.

In that instant, Olivia is beyond confused, convinced that she's back over there, in the wrong universe, and that if she looked in a mirror, her hair would be back to that vibrant auburn she spent weeks trying to dye off.

When she starts breathing again, she actually smells the street as it had been on that afternoon when she first spotted this projection of him; the flowers, the cars, the ruined fruits on the pavement, and the lingering traces of a chemical that doesn't exist in this world, the hint of amber.

Her panic is irrational, as well as fleeting, but she cannot do anything about it, her insides twisting and her chest constricting, making her wish for fresh air. She closes her eyes, suddenly feeling claustrophobic among so many people. She forces herself to calm down, taking deep breaths, the street smells already gone, replaced by the warm air of the ballroom, a mix of candles, perfumes and sweat.

When she reopens her eyes and searches for Peter again, he's gone, as if he's vanished into thin air, a realization that does not exactly make her feel better.

"Olivia."

She's so startled by the sound of his voice behind her that she actually jumps a little, definitely on edge. She turns around, and there he is, not a hallucination at all. Judging by his suit and bowtie, he's actually very real, and very much a part of this reception.

Seeing the evidence doesn't make her feel any better. She frowns in honest confusion, unable to conceal her growing irritation. She isn't sure why she's annoyed, but the fact that the mere sight of him was enough to push her to the edge of a panic attack might have something to do with it.

Now that she knows Peter is not a figment of her imagination, the way his eyes seem to bore into hers becomes very real as well, her heart already racing for different reasons.

"What are you doing here?" She doesn't ask as much as she demands it, her voice low, almost severe.

Peter shrugs, apparently unaffected by her mood. "I was invited," he replies calmly, and his voice is low, too. He's bluntly staring at her, not even blinking anymore; she shivers again.

"Invited," she repeats. "You were...invited. To this wedding reception."

"Is that so hard to believe?" He asks, tilting his head, his eyes glued on her. She cannot help but notice how much darker they look, in the light of the room. "You've heard of the sixth degree separation theory, right? The one that stipulates everyone on this planet can be connected to any other person through no more than five acquaintances? Obviously, we once again beat the odds."

Olivia isn't sure what she could have replied to such a typically him, smartass answer, hadn't Lucas chosen this exact moment to come back. She feels him first, as he wraps an arm around her waist, hand on her hip, pinning himself to her side.

"Here you go," he says cheerfully, offering her a glass of champagne.

Olivia doesn't take it, her eyes still on Peter, who has finally looked away from her face. His gaze goes down to her waist, where Lucas' hand rests, before looking up at Lucas.

Olivia instinctively wants to grab Lucas' fingers and pry them away from her, the touch making her feel smothered all over again, even though he's not holding her tightly or possessively. She forces herself to stay still, though, feeling the oddest twinge of satisfaction at Peter's disgruntled look.

"Sorry, did I interrupt?" Lucas asks.

Since she still hasn't looked away from Peter's face, she knows from his tone alone that he's aware of the thick tension he walked into when he joined them.

"It's fine," she says, finally accepting the glass, although she won't drink any of it. Given the situation, she needs her mind sharper, not fuzzier.

"Who are you?" Peter asks, then, not exactly rudely, but she's known him to be much friendlier.

Lucas doesn't seem bothered by it. As he has yet to release her waist –and she has yet to make him, he extends his free hand. "I'm Lucas."

"Lucas," Peter repeats, accepting the hand, his eyes moving back to Olivia's. "Germany Lucas?"

Olivia almost hears their knuckles crack, the two of them 'shaking hands', testosterone flowing. She is more than a little unsettled by Peter's gaze, now, remembering how she had indeed told him about 'Germany' Lucas, a lifetime ago.

"Actually, it's Boston Lucas at the moment," Lucas replies, in a tone that sounds almost pleasant, considering it is anything but, as they finally let go of each other's hand. "And you are?"

"Peter," he answers simply.

"Oh," Lucas says, rather coldly now. "The…partner. I've heard quite a lot about you."

Shit.

"All in good I hope?" Peter asks, offering Lucas the fakest grin Olivia has ever seen on his face.

Actually, it reminds her strongly of the one he gave her a couple of years ago, when she blackmailed him into leaving Iraq.

"Not exactly," Lucas says.

"Ditto," Peter retorts, his grin already gone, and she watches as they enter what is bound to be the manliest staring contest she's ever witnessed.

"Alright, stop, the two of you," Olivia firmly says, after a couple seconds of this ridiculous staring. She grabs Lucas' hand and shoves it away from her waist, moving to the side so she can face them both, glaring at them in turn. "You better not be about to regress to your twelve year old selves, because I'm warning you, I have a gun under this dress, and I won't hesitate to use it."

Lucas chuckles at her words, making a face, as if this is the most endearing thing he has ever heard. "Seriously?"

Peter doesn't comment on it, but the way he is now giving her body a slow look-over confirms that he doesn't doubt her at all, actually looking for the gun.

When his gaze makes it back to her face and their eyes meet, Olivia's legs suddenly feel much weaker –including the one sporting her holster and her gun. She has to resist the urge to down her entire glass of champagne.

She's been feeling too exposed all evening, wearing that dress, but Peter's stare and the realization that he's far from unaffected by the way she looks is making her aware of it on a whole new level, feeling its weight and texture against her shivering skin. She feels flushed, and she has no doubt that she's blushing, now, her blood warmer than it's been in weeks, especially in her cheeks and much, much lower.

She wants to hate him for causing special Agent Dunham to throw her hands up in the air and give up the fight altogether, leaving Olivia standing on her own in front of him, entrapped in his warm gaze. She's completely unsettled, and yet, in the oddest way, she feels more assured than she has in weeks.

These past couple of months, she's tried so hard to fit back into the old costume of her life, despite the fact that someone else wore that costume during her absence and altered its shape. She herself has changed because of what she experienced. As a result, nothing seems to fit anymore.

This is different.

This is not her trying to remain focused and calm at work, trying to prove herself and the rest of the world that she's doing alright. This is not her being uncomfortable in her own apartment, forced to sleep on her couch because of the ghosts that linger in her bed.

It's only her, right now, being stared at by the only person who has the ability to strip her off of all her defenses; but it goes both ways.

Peter makes her feel completely bare, and yet, she's rarely felt more aware of her own power over a man, staring right back at him. Because she remembers perfectly well the last time she had a similar effect on him, before someone stepped in her place and stole what was once hers.

That is why she will not avert her eyes, unambiguous in what she's silently telling him.

You belonged with me.

…

The way Olivia is staring at him might just be the end of him.

Technically speaking, Peter should be used to it, by now, used to having her catch him off guard. She became his greatest weakness a long time ago, maybe from the moment they met, when she managed to con him within minutes.

All she had to do was look at him with those eyes of hers, making it clear that she did not intend for him to be the alpha in whatever dynamic was already forming between them; he was all too happy to give her a run for her money.

He hadn't seen that look in a while, certainly not since she learned about the Switch, as if the realization of how completely and seamlessly she had been replaced had shattered something in her.

She seems to have found some sort of footing tonight, standing her ground, which is intriguing, given the circumstances. Needless to say, now that he's standing in front of her, talking to her and shamelessly staring, his yearning for her has worsened dramatically.

Then, there is the matter of Lucas.

The ex-boyfriend from college, who moments ago had his hand pressed to her hip, which, on top of what he's witnessed so far, makes him wonder about their 'exes' status.

Peter has never been a jealous man, not exactly. Because of his protective nature, however, and of the few well-deserved punches he's given through the years, he's been called jealous in the past. By the time Lucas introduces himself, though, Peter hates the guy.

Olivia doesn't owe him anything. She's free to go out with whoever she wishes, even with ex-boyfriends; after everything she's been through, she deserves to be treated well, and part of him wants nothing more than to see her keep on smiling.

He still hates the guy.

Unsurprisingly, the guy hates him right back. Not that Peter cares much about him at the moment, as he and Olivia keep on staring at each other, almost daringly, frying quite a few of his neurons. Once again they are both well aware of the effect they're having on one another.

Eventually, Peter decides to let her win that round, averting his eyes at last, only because he knows it's not over. He looks at Lucas again, the Ex being most definitely aware of the sizzling tension surrounding them. Judging by his scowl, he does not like it much.

"Give us a minute?" Peter asks him, attempting to use a friendlier tone, and almost succeeding.

Lucas' disapproval is obvious. He looks at Olivia, who doesn't seem that pleased either, raising an eyebrow at her, as if asking her if she'll be okay on her own. What an idiot.

It is her turn to scowl, pushing the glass of champagne back in Lucas' hands, "Go," she says, almost daring him to disobey.

After one last glare at Peter, who responds in kind, Lucas is finally gone.

"He seems charming," Peter says, letting the sarcasm drip from his words.

Olivia is the one glaring at him now. "Don't," she shakes her head. "He hasn't done anything to you."

His insides clench, vividly remembering the way Lucas had leaned too close to her at the table, breathing down her neck, not to mention the few words they'd just exchanged.

"He certainly seems to have quite the opinion of me," he replies, not without a hint of accusation.

Her cheeks, already pinker than usual, darken even more; the warm color on her face is a pleasing sight, compared to how pale she's been lately. Everything about her is more vibrant tonight, not simply because of that dress or the makeup she's wearing; as always, Olivia is being affected by the energy of whatever place she's in.

Right now, she's also clearly affected by him, not necessarily in a good way. "What do you expect, Peter?" she asks, sternly. "I don't go around talking about what's happening in my personal life, but sometimes, I do need to talk to someone."

Her words cut deep.

He realized a while ago that she's not happy with him for the fact that too many people at work are more or less aware of what happened during the Switch. Beyond that, what hurts is being reminded that he used to be the person she would talk to. Now, he's not only lost his place as confident, he's become a topic to be discussed with exes.

Naturally, his hurt swiftly turns into resentment.

"I know talking about me behind my back is something you've become quite good at, thanks to my father and his secrets, but I would rather you said to my face whatever you said to Lucas."

Judging by the darkening look in her eyes, he's successfully managed to increase her irritation. She averts her eyes, biting down her lip and shaking her head a little, as if she cannot quite believe his words. He doesn't blame her. He wants to kick himself for saying these things, for getting annoyed at her in the first place.

At the same time, he really doesn't care.

"What difference would it make?" she asks then, looking back at him, shrugging a shoulder. "We don't talk anymore, Peter, about anything."

"And whose fault is that?" He replies, coldly, once again hurt by her truthful observation, needing to return the blow.

He knows at once that he's succeeded, pain flashing in her eyes, before she attempts to retreat behind her anger. Olivia looks both hurt and incensed now, although in typical fashion, it only shows in her changing body language, and in the little ways her face constricts.

"Excuse me?" She asks, almost in disbelief.

He doesn't give himself time to maybe think about what he's doing, because right now, lashing out at her is easier than being reasonable. "Whenever we do talk, you make it perfectly clear you would rather be doing anything else. You certainly always make sure to move as far and as fast away from me as possible."

She shakes her head. "That's not true."

He scoffs. "Sweetheart, you don't even have to say it, your body screams at me to get the hell away from you whenever we are within three feet of each other. I'm actually surprised you're still standing here. You should just go, come to think of it, Lucas is probably missing you."

Peter should be grateful for the fact that she doesn't decide to draw her gun on him at that instant. She certainly looks like she's thinking about it, and he commends her for her self-control.

"You know what? You're right," she sneers, raising both her hands in front of her in disgust. "Go to hell, Peter."

And she walks away from him.

…

Olivia is livid.

She isn't exactly surprised by the fact that Peter resorted to nasty and immature comments, having heard worse from him back when he used to get angry on a daily basis, but being the recipient of such negativity did not feel good.

In the aftermath of their little 'chat', she has the hardest time calming down. If she were honest with herself, she would admit that part of her doesn't exactly want to calm down.

Frustration and irritation are not pleasant emotions, but they are making her heart beat faster and her body warmer. Compared to the icy apathy she's been stuck in lately, this fiery anger she's experiencing is exhilarating.

Fire is dangerous, untamable, and possibly deadly, but right now, she simply doesn't care, letting it spread.

Lucas only asks her once if he and Peter should take it 'outside' and fight for her pride; he doesn't ask twice, intimidated by her glare. He seems to realize she's not in any kind of mood to enjoy the party anymore, yet he tries, dragging her along to go talk to various people, most of whom she'd met at some point during their dating years. She forces herself to smile, even to small talk a little, but her heart isn't in it.

She's too aware of Peter's presence in the room, of his gaze on her. He's not exactly stalking her, keeping a safe distance, but he remains close enough so that whenever she gives in and looks for him, their eyes always meet within moments.

Even from afar, she knows he's as affected as her, stubbornly holding each other's eyes for long seconds, letting the anger pulse low in her gut.

Eventually, she's had about enough, feeling too constricted among all these people, too worked up to be able to stand being surrounded by hundreds of strangers. Lucas doesn't protest when she asks him to call her a cab. He offers to go back with her, but she declines, a bit too firmly.

The perfect gentleman, he does accompany her outside, protecting them both with an umbrella, the rain falling hard, now. When she sits inside the cab, Lucas doesn't leave right away, leaning in the car.

"I'm sorry you didn't have a good time," he says.

Olivia shakes her head. "It was fine," she replies, which isn't a complete lie. She had been having a good time, until a certain point. "I was glad to see your family again. I just…crowds tire me out fast these days."

He sees through this lie, too, but doesn't comment on it. Instead, he leans in closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "You're gonna be fine, Liv," he says in her ear. Before she can react to it, he's moved back, closing the taxi's door.

These words may have helped her a year ago, it barely does anything to soothe her tonight. Already, the cold is taking over again. She wants to blame it on her brief time outside, but she knows better.

As the taxi begins to move, stopping at a red light almost right away, she becomes too aware of the different aches in her body; her feet and back are killing her, for one thing, thanks to these damn heels, and she has to fight the urge to just take them off and throw them out. She rests her temple against the cold window instead, closing her eyes, shivering, thinking about the hot shower she'll be able to take in a few minutes.

She has to reopen her eyes when the other passenger's door suddenly opens, turning just in time to see Peter climbing in.

"Sir, you can't come in, this taxi's taken," her driver says.

"It's alright, we know each other," Peter says in his most charming tone. "We're actually going to the same place."

"Ma'am?" the driver asks.

In truth, Olivia has half a mind to tell him she has no idea who this man is, just to have the satisfaction of watching him get kicked out. But Peter has already managed to entrap her in his gaze again, quickly causing her insides to clench from the intense return of that same incensing warmth she felt earlier; she can't bring herself to lie.

"It's fine," she says, a lesser lie. Even in the poorly lit car, she can tell Peter is drenched. "I can't believe you followed me out."

"Hardly," he says, almost cheerfully. "I just happened to come out of the building just as you were getting in this cab, it was purely coincidental. I realized it would be pointless to get another cab when we could just share this one." She peers at him, aware that if he wanted to, he could have come up with a much better lie. He simply doesn't care. "I'm not gonna lie," he continues, ironically enough. "I assumed Lucas was going to climb in with you, but apparently, he's not the gentleman I thought he was."

She's not fooled by his words. He's fishing for information, probably trying to determine the nature of her relationship with her ex-boyfriend. She's more than a little annoyed by it, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Men.

She tilts her head, then, before casually saying: "He's actually meeting me back at my room in a little while. He had to go back in to say goodbye to his family, it's his brother's wedding after all."

There is pause, during which the tension somehow manages to thicken. "Is he, now," Peter says, his voice even lower.

Her irritation peaks, overwhelmed by a sudden and stifling wave of confusion, annoyance and hurt. "No, he's not," she almost snaps. "But what if he was, Peter? Would you come banging at my door? What I do, or don't do, with whomever I want, is none of your business."

He clenches his jaw in frustration, and she decides then that she's had about enough of his attitude. After the things he said to her in the ballroom, he needs to be given a piece of her mind. "And quite honestly, I think you have some nerves, putting the blame on me for how messed up things are between us right now. You don't think I'm confused by your behavior?"

"What?" He almost scoffs.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean," she continues, once again incensed. "I am trying, Peter. I'm trying to move on, to move passed this, but I can't do it, because you won't let me."

The universe suddenly decides to give her a break, the taxi stopping in front of Massive Dynamic with perfect timing. Olivia doesn't hesitate, throwing a bill at the driver, "Keep the change," she says before exiting the car.

The rain soaks her within seconds, as she quickly makes her way from the car to the building. The fact that she doesn't break an ankle in the process is a miracle, between the slippery ground and her damn shoes. She's barely three feet into the lobby that she's stops, quickly bending down and getting rid of the heels. She feels a lot smaller, but way more comfortable –as much as she can feel comfortable at the moment.

"Olivia," Peter calls after her, confirming that he's followed her inside.

She ignores him, heels and purse stuck under her arm, going straight for the elevators, pressing the call button. She's shivering again, quite strongly now, as if the rain has put out any kind of warmth she had inside. But the rain isn't the only thing responsible for the returning cold.

She's about to go back inside the elevator, something she absolutely despises doing these days, and she's way too worked up. She has to calm down before entering the small car.

Considering Peter has joined her, having apparently decided now is a good time to start ignoring most of her personal space again, calming down in the next few seconds is going to be extremely difficult.

"What did you mean by that, exactly?" he asks, and she can't help but look up at him, just in time to see him bring a hand up to ruffle his hair in an attempt to get some of the water off it, and she hates him a little just for that.

Without her extra few inches, she's almost too aware of their height difference; she's far from being small, but Peter is tall. She's aware of too many more things, all of a sudden, of how close they truly are, so close that she can see each droplet of rain on his face, see details in his eyes she hadn't seen in weeks, months, even. He's too close.

How else would she be able to feel the heat radiating from his body, even though his clothes are even more soaked than hers?

Olivia is a mess at the moment, an absolute, confused mess of needs and wants and don'ts.

She forces herself to look away, focusing on her breathing instead, trying to deepen her intakes of air. "You're a smart guy," she eventually answers, sounding surprisingly steadier than she feels. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

One of the elevators finally opens, and Olivia steps into it, almost slamming her hand against the button, scanning the key needed to access the loft. Peter follows suit, and she has to fight her latest urge –to push him out of the car.

Her chest is already constricting as the doors close, sealing her inside, all of her senses on overdrive. While she was too aware of Peter a moment ago, she's too aware of the walls, now, of how small the elevator is.

There is nothing subtle about the shivers that now travel under her skin, causing her to shudder almost violently.

"I think we need to have a serious talk, you and me," Peter says, but his voice already sounds distant, as if they're not really standing in the same space anymore. Not in the same universe.

She keeps her eyes on the numbers, the way she always does, her breathing too loud, too shallow, her heart pounding furiously beneath her ribs. "Not now," she somehow manages to breathe out.

"Yes, now," he replies tersely, even more distantly. "I can't stand this, Olivia, this constant tension. And I refuse to accept that this is how things are going to be between us from now on."

But Olivia doesn't really hear him anymore.

Her dress is drenched, soaked with water, her skin covered with a thin layer of rain. Her clothes had felt so heavy that night, when they'd pulled her out of the tank, after she'd failed to come home. Walternate had asked them to sedate her, which they had, brutally sticking another needle in her flesh. It didn't even knock her out completely, merely incapacitating her for a few minutes.

Too soon she'd been able to move again, trapped in the dark, and her clothes had been soaked, and so, so heavy, smothering her.

She'd been locked in the Room again, with nothing to do but bang against the sealed window, and she had screamed, screamed the way she had on her first night, because she wanted to go home, and she almost had, almost, almost had made it back, but they'd thrown her back in the dark instead, back in the Room.

"Olivia?"

She hears Peter's voice, part of her even registering the change in his tone, but he's so far away from her, so far.

The elevator is too small.

The walls are closing in on her, now, she's sure of it, and the air…the air is vibrating, isn't it? It's shaking, its atoms distorting, coming apart, preparing to snap her from this world, and back to the other one, back in the dark, back in the Room.

When the elevator comes to a sudden halt and the light vanishes, something in her breaks.

A/N: I lied. This last bit really wasn't fun to write, but it had to happen. Two more parts to go, P/O all the way now. Please don't be shy, especially my silent readers. I always reply to my reviewers with love and...even more love! Virtual cookies?