Chapter Four: Find A Way
Olivia
She didn't even know how to start to search for him. She'd never tell Walter that though. She sat in her living room, her lap top open and humming at her, the neon clock face glowing near her. Truth was she wasn't even sure if she wanted to find him. What would happen when she did? She looked at the glass of whiskey next to her, filled only to the bottom, but enough for her then. She didn't even want to drink now. What would drinking do now? It could not bring Peter back. Why would it bring her back too?
She had tried his credit cards. He bought a plane ticket to Miami, another to Dallas, one to San Francisco and one to Tulsa. He never got on any of those flights. She tracked his credit cards to Chicago and he withdrew nearly $3,000 from his account. His cell phone was never on when she tried to locate it. Even if she called he would never know. He could be anywhere now; he could even be out of the country. Olivia stopped moving at that thought. Would he really leave? After all he had promised her, would he really go away. Somehow she couldn't put it past him and that stung.
Bitterly shoving herself up from the couch Olivia flipped the light on in the hall. Her mind processed everything as one step for each. Everything was disjointed. At least here, at least at home she could fall apart without the risk of anyone knowing. She felt like falling apart. She stumbled her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light and standing in front of the mirror. Her eyes were flat and shineless, her hair straight and dull, her stance slouched. She turned on the shower water, shedding from her clothes and stepping into the stream of water.
Then, the floodgates opened.
She was crying, tears streaming down her face. She could breathe anymore, only sob loudly. She could not stand, she leaned against the tiled walls to hold herself up. Arms wrapped around herself she let everything go. All the emotions she had pent up, all the feelings, everything came loose. Like the sound of a building orchestra, she had been holding it all in with a breath, and just as a symbol crash signifies the end of the build, so her tears broke down her walls to her heart. She needed him so badly it hurt her. She was hurting so badly.
Olivia slid down the tile walls and curled to her side on the ground. She hated to be weak, she hated this feeling, but she had no other choice anymore. Her stronghold, the steady rock that balanced her was gone. Her whole life was gone now. All she wanted now was balance. Balance in the form of a scruffy green eyed moody cynical man. Balance in the form of large strong arms and a musky scent. She wanted nothing else now. Nothing else could matter. Completely broken and humiliated, she lay on the shower floor unable to pull her pieces back together.
The world knows the Olivia Dunham that was not scared, she did not cry. She was tough, independent, gruff and pushy. Peter Bishop knew the frightened Olivia, he knew the hurting Olivia. She was frightened now. Olivia Dunham was frightened beyond belief. She was so scared for not having him. She was so scared he was gone. She was horribly hurt. The words "I'll be here" were so far off now they could not register. Olivia Dunham needed a friend more than anything right now. And she was not very good with making friends. Only making them with Peter.
She sobbed hysterically until the steam from the water choked her voice off. She had lost all hope at dignity. How such a self-controlled woman lost herself was unfathomable to so many, yet so completely reasonable to the rest. Astrid probably knew it was coming, though she would have never told. While the water swirled around her, she lay still, trying, trying to steady her breath, trying to find the energy to stand. But there was none. She had become what she had feared-useless.
Sense of time had long since passed by her, and she waited until the warm water become cold, the steam leaving the shower before even thinking of lifting her head. Her eyes were puffy and raw, her whole body so stiff and weak from holding still. She steadied herself on her arms, picking up her body from the ground and standing up, using the wall for the support she needed. She felt better, at least a little bit. The shower may have helped, but the release help the most.
Wandering into her room she stared at the dresser. Her wet reflection from the mirror stared back at her, though her eyes were focused on a single drawer in the dresser. She knew what it held. She wore to herself she'd give it back, return it, but she never did. He never asked. So tonight, because of the pain, she wanted to feel him, to smell him. She needed to know that, even if it's only her memory, he was still there. She opened the drawer.
The shirt was old, thin and clearly worn. The words MIT were written across the front in blue, a reminder of the man he was. She smiled. He had given it to her, the second time she had come from the tank, after he had held so close, so tightly. She had been scared then, he had been there. He was always there. She needed him now more than ever. So she slipped the shirt over her head and inhaled his scent. She felt her knees go weak at the smell, the feel. It was like he was there all of sudden. She looked up at the mirror and swore she almost saw him standing there next to her, his chest bare, a wolfish grin, mused hair. He was perfect in her memory. She preserved him perfectly. Reaching out, she touched the mirror gently and whispered his name. The memory smiled at her from its spot in her reflection. A single tear ran down her cheek.
And she could have sworn she saw him wipe it from her face.
