Returned.
She suddenly appeared in the lab, mysteriously climbing out of an otherwise empty sensory deprivation tank. The heavy metal doors swung open with a deep, loud creaking noise, and an unrecognizable redhead in a hospital gown stepped out. Astrid turned as soon as she heard the strange disruption to the lab; she quickly realized who it was.
She could barely get the words out of her mouth, "P...PETER."
Astrid was already running over to the tank when Peter walked into the room. Looking down at yet another folder full of Feauxlivia data, he rounded the corner into the lab, "you alright Astrid?" He looks up from the paperwork and his eyes dart across the room searching for the junior agent; no such luck. He walks down the steps into the lab to continue his search, but Astrid hears him before either of them can see one another, "Peter! Over here. It's Olivia!"
First he is seething with anger, face red, his fists balling up as he walks over to the two women, now both soaking wet on the floor of the lab. He knew it was too good to be true that he caught the other Olivia at the train station, but maybe, just maybe it was too good to be true that she really was pulled back to the other side. That she was saved by his father. He gets a few steps closer and can feel the tension in his muscles starting to smooth out. He looks at her and his face flashes white, all the blood draining out of him as he realizes it's Oliva. Its actually their Olivia.
She was cut apart and beaten, struggling against him, even in his arms as he tried to hold her. She was hurt, bleeding profusely, but he knew the pain would be internal soon. As he tried to soothe and calm her, she collapsed in his arms, limp and fragile from blood loss and exhaustion.
And in the midst of all this, he looked at her, and saw something different. Something he hadn't seen for the last 8 weeks. But that hardly mattered to him now.
He didn't get a chance to say his peace with her, because she fled from their side without looking back. He might have seen terror (or something more) flooding her eyes. She was gone... but Olivia was here. He looked at the limp, unconscious form of his partner in his arms and couldn't help but entirely blame himself; he should have known.
He was with her, he had her, and it was all wrong. Well, he definitely doesn't have her now... damn he doesn't even deserve her now.
So, in his mind, it was relief she was unconscious for the moment. Because to him, he needed enough time to explain this "other Olivia" situation to himself before he could even begin explaining it to her. And if she died now, it'd be his fault, he'd find a way for it to be, and he'd never forgive himself, or his real father on the other side.
...
He's there again, at her door. His last visit flashing vividly though his mind's eye - torturing him yet healing him at the same time.
He knew one thing was certain, he would keep showing up, at this door, for as long as it took. He would keep showing up.
Even if it was the most painful thing he did...
Olivia allowed soft piano music to play throughout the apartment, blocking out the sound of Peter knocking, entering the place and walking to the bathroom. She had been staring at the blank wall when he appeared at the door.
She turned her head to meet his gaze, level and easy.
"Hey," he whispered. "Hi," she mirrored, equally as soft as his voice. She moves to pull the shower curtain between them, mostly to hide the fact that she didn't even have enough energy to take off her sweats before she got in the warm tub, but he stops her. "I'll be quick, I promise," he answers, lying and hoping that she'll allow him to remain. But she nods and he must think of something to say.
He leans against the counter, looking straight to the wall. A lame attempt at trying to give her space or comfort, and acknowledging that he shouldn't be so comfortably seeing her in a bath, even if she is fully clothed. She glares at him, "did Rachel call you?"
She habitually looks for one of his trademark smiles spreading across his face, ashamed she wants to see it so badly again. She blinks back tears and convinces herself things have changed, for good. And she knows things have changed for good when he asks her with a straight face and no eye contact, "how do you feel?"
He begins to lift his head to meet her eyes, but regrets it instantly (both the question and the attempted eye contact) as she turns her face away.
"Tired," she answered simply. He nods. He can't stand being so far from her, and also cant refrain from constantly looking at her. So he walks the distance between them and sinks against the outside of the tub, facing the door. There is a silence between them. Peter stares at the door and the view of the hallway is burned into his mind, where intimate memories meant for him and Olivia rest just behind his eyes. He wants to tell her so badly, so awfully badly about what he's done and what it's been like, but she doesn't allow him to open his mouth because she speaks first.
"I had to get out of the lab," she whispers delicately, "It was so strange."
"I understand," Peter answered quietly.
The silence was light between them, yet it brought an unmeasured amount of safety to them both. He heard her take another sip of red wine before she sighed and looked at the ceiling tiles that were above her.
"You didn't know, did you?" she says. She pauses, waiting for his answer. He knows it won't be what she wants to hear, but also knows he needs to tell her. He needs to actually say the words out loud. His head drops immediately, shame overflowing his every cell. "I didn't," he admits with a sigh, "I didn't know until you told the woman in New York you were stuck."
"Oh," Olivia answers. The two tiny letters broke his heart. Was that all they were reduced to now? Two letter words, long stretches of silence and five second phrases?
"I don't know what to say," He says finally.
"I don't know what I want to hear," she whispers aloud. She sighs.
He inhales deeply, he was going to tell her everything. "I slept with her," he says simply, knowing she won't prod, likely because she already knows.
But again, he had to say the words out loud to her. "Oh," she manages and it sounds weak and flimsy. She stares at the wall and feels the warmth of silent tears on her cheeks. She inhales and exhales deeply, unable to talk.
"Hey," he whispers, pulling her attention to him. She didn't even know he'd flipped around to half face her, but he had. Her clothes soaked in warm water, the tips of her hair floating on the surface, and her cheeks as sodden as the rest of her body. She finally meets his gaze and he sucks in his lower lip before knitting his brows and exhaling. He keeps his eyes on hers, and she is unable to look away. His fingers touch her cheek and she flinches at it, unable to stand his touch.
He looks down at the floor, full of shame again, as he shifts his back against the wall and then stares blankly at the toilet in front of him. They are both leaning against the same wall, staring in the same direction, until he looks down once again and then up at her. He knows now that she wont make eye contact with him again.
So, he returns his view toward the toilet, and they remain staring at their respective walls for a long while. She lets the tears fall on her face gently but does not let loose any indicating sob. He watches her face, following the tears down her cheeks, but soon he forces himself to pull his eyes away from her. He hears her sip from the near empty bottle and set it down between her on the side of the tub.
"There's nothing left," she whispers after a moment, "It's all gone." She pauses for a few minutes before she clarifies. "I threw it all out. Everything. I'm sorry if you cared for what was yours."
"None of it mattered to me anyway," he murmurs. The room is so full, yet so empty at the same time. The silence rings loudly in his ears.
"You should go," she says and he hears her beginning to stand. He doesn't move as she steps by him, wrapping her dripping wet clothes in a towel and moving toward the hallway, where he really sees her for the first time that night. Through her soaked sleeves, he can see she's frail and weak looking, but he won't tell her that.
She's building this wall that's starting at her feet, altering her stance and walk, and she won't stop until she's completely safe, a point in which no man would ever get to her heart again. He panics at this, panics because he knows it's her he loves, whether anyone wants to believe him or not. She must've seen this in his eyes because she gives him a faint smile, a small tight lipped smile and a nod that he notes has a little bit of tension (or hurt) behind it.
"We're good," she says, "Don't-"
"We're not good, Olivia," he says, a little harsher than he intends, but he wants to inflict a little bit of pain on her.
"You're closing off."
"I need time Peter," she answers, pointing him towards the door. He doesn't want to go, but this fight isn't going to be worth anything good.
"Ok." he responds with a sigh. "But will you actually ever talk about this with me?" he asks, trying to hold is voice from shaking.
"I'll see you at the lab tomorrow." She says tersely.
He looks back at her, pleading with his eyes, asking for any sort of discussion or connection to bring them back to a shared path. She doesnt need him to speak to understand what he is asking, or what he is thinking.
"Peter..." She sighs.
He keeps his eye contact, etching his desire to be with her again deeper into her soul. She starts trembling, she can't do this... how could she do this?
"Peter," she says with more force and determination, "do you know what you are doing to me?"
She waits for him to respond, but he doesn't - and she knew he wouldn't.
"You keep saying you want to help me, but you're not. Ok?"
"Well then tell me what to do," he pleads with her.
"Tell you what to do?" her anger is fuming now, she can't hold it in. "Tell you what to do... why is that my responsibility?" She's seething now, "after all this? and now you're asking me to fix it?"
"No, Liv. That's not what I -"
She cuts him off before he can finish, "Sure, that's obviously not what you meant. Just like you didnt mean to sleep with her, right?"
"Liv - that's not -"
"Fair? That's not fair? You know whats not fair Peter, coming home to this pile of shit. A pile of shit that the people closest to me built, but here I am, having to clean it up."
He just looks at her. His face says one of two things: either he can't come up with an adequate response, or he doesnt want to risk saying the wrong thing... again.
She looks at him defeated, exhausted, "just... go. That's what you can do, ok?"
He knows in that moment that he will be frozen in time, for God knows how long. But he's decided he's ok with that, for now. She's worth the wait...
...So he would keep showing up.
...
This time, he knocks. Then, "Olivia." The way he says her name is gentle and insistent at the same time. She opens the door and looks up at him.
"Can I come in...?"
He hasn't asked that yet, not since she's been back. Other than the one time Rachel let him in, its been her territory and line that he will not cross. So when he does ask, her heart shutters with fear and avoidance.
...
There was no one to help Olivia. She had no one. Lost and confused as someone else, she had no one to turn to. She had to figure it out on her own, because she was alone. And that kills him slowly, knowing that he made a promise, a silent and unspoken promise to never hurt her again. He didn't want to see her eyes near tears again. But he broke that promise, and that in itself, should be enough. It was enough to lead him here, feeling small, standing in her doorway.
He hadn't told her yet, not everything. But he planned too. He had too. He wasn't sure why he wants to do this just yet, but it feels right. This feels right. She stands just inside and waits, waits for words that will never come to him, because there are no words, regardless of what universe, that can convey what he wants. He can't even place a single word on it himself.
...
"Uh.." He looks around the room, studying his surroundings, trying to find a place comfortable enough to start this conversation. As he expected, no such comfort would arrive.
"Umm.. can we sit down?" he manages to say, surprising himself. She does so without a questioning glance. She has nothing to say to him. They walk into the kitchen together, silently and sit across from each other.
He must be a masochist, he figures, because he likes to look at her and feel this hurt. He likes to stare at her face and in her eyes and feel this all consuming pain, searing in heat and bone freezing cold. It's comfort. But at the same time, it's pain.
She looks back at him, wondering whether he will muster up the courage to say something, or just play along with their normal routine: ingore, silence, lunch, more silence, the lab, avoid, rinse and repeat.
"What do you want, Peter?" She asks, trying and failing to hide the edge in her voice. "You just dragged me to the lab yesterday, surly I can survive the rest of the weekend without supervision."
That gets his attention, and his eyes bolt up to meet her pupils straight on. "Supervision?" He asks shortly, "that's what you think this is?" She meets his stare and won't be the one to break first.
"You know what I mean" she says quietly, but still with as much power and anger as before.
"Can we just talk about this? Please?" He says, deflating the tension in the room with a softer tone.
"Peter, I've told you this. I dont know what there is to talk about." She counters, still tightly strung.
"Liv, come on" he scoffs, "there is so much to talk about. But... you -" his voice fades as he gets lost in thought.
"But I what? Wont let us? I don't want to?" She questions him as she finishes his sentence. "Peter, I'm not going to let you say this is my fault."
"God Liv" he scoffs again in disbelief. He shakes his head and places his palms down on the table, and she expects him to just get up and leave. He starts talking again, the same disbelief in his voice, as he uses his palms to push away from the kitchen table and stand up, "why do you have to be so stubborn? Why don't you let anyone help you?"
His questions are met with silence. He brings his hands up to cover his face, and then presses them up over is forehead and through his hair in frustration. He knows she won't respond to his accusation, so he continues, "you know, we have the same conversation every time we 'talk' about this. And we never really say anything." He pauses, then continues, "we just get mad at each other. And I get mad at myself. Can't we just..." he pauses, changing his thought process...
"...I-" he starts, but stops. "When you were over there, I ... I have to tell you what happened."
She blinks, her eyes unmoving, sharp and precise. He stares over her shoulder because that feeling is more pain than comfort, yet he drags his eyes back to meet hers and drowns in them. She waits patiently, just watching, itching to hear exactly what he has to say.
"I need you to know, ok? I can't spend another night awake thinking of all the possible worst case scenarios your mind is putting us through. I have to stop that."
"I know," she says, surprising herself.
He looks at her in disbelief. That was the last thing he expected her to say. But then she continues, "I know you need to get it off your chest, but I don't know if I'm ready to hear it."
"I know," he mimics her, his light tone much more supressed.
"This isn't just a thing, Liv." She looks at him with confusion in her eyes. He stumbles as he tries to put the right words together, "This wasn't just 8 weeks of my life. There's so much more to it than that. And I feel like we need to address that too... however painful those 8 weeks might have been," he mutters. He starts pacing back and forth, as if he requires physical movement in order to work the words out of his body and brain, "this is... years of my life Liv. Which is not a normal thing for me to say. You picked me up in Afghanistan and dropped me here permanently - neither of us knew it at the time, but it is permanent." He pleads, looking into her eyes for some sort of connection. She gives no indication of cracking, and he starts to think he'll never get through to her. His big blue eyes deflate, eyebrows lower, and he looks as if he is going to give up. Minutes go by and they are wrapped in silence, both too stubborn to say anything.
He comes back to his chair and grasps the back with his hands, leaning onto it for support as he barely speaks the words, "Can we... can we just try?"
She closes her eyes and opens her mouth to speak, words flowing out while her eye lids still prevent her from looking at him, as if she couldn't actually say these words to his face.
"I want to. I really do. But I don't trust myself."
"Don't trust yourself?" He questions, sitting down again.
She finally opens her eyes to meet his, at equal height now.
"I'm..." she hesitates, and he can see the resistance to open up, and how hard it is for her to get passed that.
"I'm scared that I can't fix this." She admits.
"You can't fix this? What...? You don't have to fix anything Liv."
She takes each palm up across her forehead and over the top of her hair line, all the way down to her pony tail in the back. Words start flowing and she knows if she stops, she might not be able to start again.
"What if this is just who I am? What if I can't be vulnerable enough to really talk through this with you? What if I just let it fester until we're broken. What if I'm never ready?"
"Olivia" he interupts, his voice is so soft it's almost a whisper. "You are capable of more than you know."
Moments pass; he continues, "Do you trust me? Even if you don't trust yourself?"
His heart weighs heavy as he waits for her response. This was what he was most afraid of, losing her trust forever. And this is what he has been longing for most, to just have a regular conversation with her.
She looks down at her hands, which are in her lap, and murmurs a quiet "yes."
His question got him eye contact, but no smile. He'll take what he can get at this point.
"Ok then..." she says slowly, "then tell me everything. Tell me what happened from the beginning."
He's not sure what either of them were expecting 'everything' to mean. But he decided to just start talking and she would surely stop him when she needed to.
He sighs, "Ok," he looks defeated yet relieved at the same time. Defeated by the thought of talking through those 8 weeks in detail, but relieved that she might actually listen to him. "She must have known, on the other side, that there was something between us, because -"
"She did" Olivia interupts.
Quite shocked, Peter looks back at her, "oh?"
"When I went to find you, I went to her apartment so I could figure out where you were. And she made a comment, so she knew."
"Oh," is the only response he can muster. His eyes glaze over to the wall behind Olivia as he lives through his newest revelation of being so used.
"So she knew going into it how to get what she wanted... How to get me to trust her, so she could get the last piece of the machine."
Not knowing what to say, Olivia just nods.
He continues, "Well, she must have binged a lot of your case files and videos because in the very beginning, she was distant. And different. And then very quickly she started acting, well... I guess what she thought you would act like."
He looks to her for guidance, and assumes her blank face is permission enough to continue, "And she became much more interested in me, well... in us. Saying that she just needed a few days to adjust to being back home. Which I thought was perfectly normal."
He pauses, re-thinking all of his assumptions, and how ever-so-wrong they were. "And then we got together, and she was... she was just happier," he shrugs indicating he doesn't know what else to say.
"I thought she was you Olivia." It's all he can muster. So they sit in silence again, until he organizes his thoughts. For someone who doesn't have finesse with words, you'd think he would have prepared more.
"I didn't know. And I should have," he spilled out now, "I should have known but didn't. We would go out and we would be like a normal couple. Not one who deals with fringe anomolies. And I thought that was normal, because I was happy... I was finally with you, Liv, and it had been three years. I'd stayed in a place with you for three years. And our relationship was different. So I expected you to be different."
"What did you do together?" She asked, surprising herself. Wondering if she truly wants to know these details.
"Uhh, like... as a couple?" He asked hesitantly. She nods.
"Well, in the beginning we just dated. Bars, restaurants after work. Pretty normal. And then we got comfortable, and we saw each other more often after work, and spent time at your place.."
"You slept with her," she says and he watches her eyes flood over. She clearly had to say the words too, herself, for them to be real and she cut right to the chase.
She isn't crying but the emotions in her green irises are flooding over and into the white, filling them.
"Yes," he answered without hesitation, "Because it felt right. She felt right. The whole thing, it all felt like you. But it was all just a show; she just made up this person that she thought I wanted. And it worked."
She can't make eye contact with him, be he continues anyway "but here you are now, and there's so much more I want to say, and so much more I want to explain to you, but I can't because I don't know how. I don't know what to say."
He stops to stare at her and she has something to say. The words are there in her eyes so he pauses he waits to hear her.
"I want to say it's not your fault," she begins, "And that the blame shouldn't weigh so heavy on you. But how can I say that? How can I believe that it wasn't you to blame? You're smart Peter, you are and you should have known, somehow-"
"BUT.. but sometimes I think I did know" he blurts, only to watch her eyes go wide. He double takes in horror and pushes his hands through his hair, he slows his breathing and calmly says "I need to talk thought this with you because there is a part of me that thinks I did know. And I made up excuses along the way, because I didn't want it to be true. It had been three years Liv, and then after Jacksonville I thought it was going to happen, but I convinced myself that I ruined it. So, when we got back I just went with whatever you wanted, because I didn't want to screw it up again. You were so distant then...after Jacksonville…and I... I didnt know why" He signs and bows his head down to look at his lap. "But now I know," he looks up at her.
She winces at the thought of keeping his identity from him. Aware that some of this dates all the way back to her inability to let him go, or at least her inability to give him information that might make him want to leave, to go back home.
"I tried to tell you... before you left." She says softly.
He keeps his eye contact, but then he not-so-subtly changes the subject away from his multi-universal upbringing; that was a whole separate conversation for another time.
"Liv. I explained it all away. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't place my finger on it. And I told her, I told her" he says, rushing again, hearing how awful he sounds when he does so, "I told her she was like a completely different person since we got back, and she said when she saw her alternate on the other side, she wanted to be more like that person. And I made up lies, excuses and reasons, anything to tell me that it was true. I told her I liked the changes, that they were good. And I may have believed it at the time, but really... I think I was trying to attribute the changes to something, someone, and ultimately that person was me. I thought you were changing because of me, Liv. As conceded and dumb and well... me as that sounds. I thought you were happier, lighter, different because of me, because of us."
And she gives him that look, a mixture between startled and scared, the same look she gave him when he told her that he cares, or the same looks when he told her he'll be there. It was a look between comfort and uncertainty, a wide-eyed stare and glassy eyes. She doesn't say anything but he sees her mind working through a thousand seconds in a single second.
...
"I didn't know who I was," she begins, "For months I didn't know me. I knew her. So when I saw you, I was terrified. For all I knew you had left with her, who was physically me, but I was her, I was in her mind. I had her memories, her personality, her... lightness." He looks down after that last sentence, unable to stand hearing the words he used to describe the differences between them. Idiot.
"I knew the two of you were together because in the hospital you kissed me, you brushed my hair away and you told me that everything was going to be ok. And I didn't feel like I knew you. I had her memories from before, so I didn't know you and I didn't believe you. And I don't know what I'm supposed to say now, because I didn't know you then. And I still feel like I don't know you now."
She stops and looks away, fingers folded in her lap. She collects her words and stares back at him. "Your father," she starts softly, slowly, "Is a dangerous man."
She takes a shaky breath, "He has nothing to lose. He wants everything and nothing all at the same time. He's…." she stalls, looking for the words, but he sees them in her eyes.
She's frightened and that frightens him. It frightens him because he is related to this man. And maybe thats another reason she doesn't want to be with him. "He was going to kill me," she says in one breath. She's already told him this, but it doesn't make it any easier to say out loud. She stops and chokes on her words. he has to look away, staring out the window, jaw clenched and hands balled, white knuckles barred and looking about to burst from their skin.
She tries to start again... "you wouldn't believe what he did to me over there."
"Liv," he said, fists curled angrily, "Please..." His mind is already gone, he cant stop himself from going down the dark path of similarities between himself and his birth father. Maybe he would end up hurting her too... maybe he shouldn't even try to be with her because he'll end up killing her too.
"No Peter," she says, standing for the first time. She wobbles and he almost reaches for her to help her stand, but holds back.
"And the worst part was that when I got back, I was home, I missed having your company. Because... when I was over there. You were with me. You were just a figment of my imagination, and I held onto you... and you were the one that led me back home."
She starts to fully cry now, wiping the tears from her face.
"So imagine what it was like coming back, thinking you were doing everything to pull me back. Thinking you were in my head on purpose. But no, it was just me holding on. And I held on. So... so why didn't you?"
He can't muster a response so she continues, "I was over there, dying, struggling, and you were my last hope. And you were here... with her. With changes that you liked better."
Her eyes are boring into the side of his face, staring. Intent. He makes sure not to look away because even though it breaks him, it heals her. And that's what he wants right now.
"I'd like to forgive you," she says, "But I don't know what I'm forgiving you for. I'd like to apologize, but I don't know what to apologize for. So to be honest, I don't know where I stand right now. And that means I'm not sure where you are either."
She says nothing more as she stands, her eyes travel from his face to the window behind him. She feels herself shiver from watching the cold. Part of her wants to feel him wrap his arms around her, for him to be her sun and heat and warm her thoroughly, but she knows it won't happen. At least not today or tomorrow. Or this week. Or next week. He was like the sun in the middle of winter, over there, the rarity but whole sum of perfection that she needed him to be. She knows that now, here, he won't heat her up until he stops hating himself. But she doesn't know when that would ever be.
He looks at her and feels himself drowning. He watches her as her eyes glaze over, her mind made up. And he'll take her decision.
"I'm sorry Liv."
So he'll gladly stand, and leave for her. Give her space... again. He'll gladly walk away because it meant at one time she was his. She escaped his father and maybe she needs to escape him. Twisted, weird and strange, that was what he felt about himself at the moment, but it worked. He steps closer to her and stares her down, looking into her eyes as if he could change her mind with a single glance, because he was so unwilling to change himself.
He leans in, giving her the lightest, sweetest, most heartbreakingly beautiful kiss she'd ever received. Neither of them were expecting it, but he felt pulled, out of his own control. It is the bullet he was looking for, the knife in his back that he asked for. It is perfectly precise, a pain that was soft and beautiful and so right for him. Her lips are the poison he wants and the remedy he seeks and she kissed him back, if only for the moment. It lasts, maybe a mere second, but it'll be forever for him. He won't forget the feeling. It's the feeling of death and life all wrapped into one.
And he gets his coat and keys, walking toward the door. She doesn't turn or acknowledge his movement. He slowly walks toward the door, waiting for her to turn around or say something to him. Ask him to stay. But she doesn't. And before he knows it he is driving away without a second glance.
She won't let him see. She'll never let him know. Her face was wet with tears that stung. Silently she knows he'll be okay, he'll find his own way home. And she knows that home is not with her anymore. They weren't built to last anyway.