Stage One- Denial (ex: "This isn't happening! It can't be happening.")

'Wakey, wakey, Liv.', said the nagging little voice inside of Olivia Dunham, 'You did a dumb thing last night and it's time to pay the piper.'

She didn't want to open her eyes, the cluster headache in the center of her head threatened to split open her skull if she dared to allow light to actually hit the rods and cones. Slowly but surely, Olivia decided there was no way she could take the day off and ignored the horrible pain as she raised herself off the bed.

Her blood ran cold when she heard the pleasing sound of Peter's voice whispering in her ear. "Hey there sleepy head."

Olivia's eyes opened to the size of saucers and she sat bolt up right. Silently she prayed for it to just be a dream but the feel of his hand rubbing her naked thigh certainly didn't feel like a dream. 'This is very real,' the little voice said, 'Last night, you hit that.'

Suddenly the room started to spin and her breath came in ragged gasps. This couldn't be happening! 'Oh but it is.' Shut up.

"Olivia…are you okay?" She felt Peter sitting up beside her and felt him press his arms around her in a loving embrace, bare skin was touching bare skin, his chest was touching her back, and below their waistlines her backside was touching his…don't go there.

'Too late.' SHUT UP!

Olivia had to resist the urge to oogle Peter's body, forced herself to get out of the bed as fast as humanly possible, and inspite of her hang over, raise the bed rooms shades so she could find her clothing. Get away she thought, get out and get away. But the little voices and Peter's kind nature kept interfering.

"Please just tell me what's wrong?"

'There's nothing wrong with you, sweetie, there's something terribly wrong with her.'

"Be quiet, both of you!" She groaned in frustration as she pulled on a pair of pants

"Both of who?" 'Exactly, it's just the two of you. So call Broyles, tell him you've got the flu and ride that pony all day long!'

"STOP IT!"

Seeing her running around in such a blind panic was just making Peter more concerned, forcing Olivia to continue dodging him, "Stop what?"

"Nothing! I have to go." She felt the little voice scoff and sigh, 'Now? You've wanted this for weeks and suddenly you've got 'buyer's remorse'? Nice job, way to look high maintenance.'

A sudden feeling of utter nausea washed over her as Peter (and the voices) started following her around the apartment while she searched for her missing panties. Memories surfaced one by one of the night before: broken tables, busted couches, the highly inappropriate use of FBI issue handcuffs...

'Don't forget the blindfold, there was a blindfold.'

Olivia needed to leave, she needed to leave this place as quickly as possible. Her legs pumped wildly and she found herself yelling out a polite goodbye without actually pausing for breath "ThankyouforalovelyeveningbutI'vegotanearlymeetingsoIhavetogodon'tworryI'llletmyselfout!"

The door slammed behind her as she stumbled half dressed into the hallway, leaving a perplexed Peter standing in the living room covered in a bed sheet.

"But…this is your apartment!"

The drive to the office was a nightmare, as was the two and a half hour meeting about division expense reports (She needed to have a long conversation with Walter about baboon seminal fluid). Now it was quitting time and Olivia desperately wanted to go home, to curl up inside her bed and forget the awful, awful mess she made of her life in less then forty eight hours.

But she couldn't go home because she was afraid Peter might still be there. Waiting. Or was an irrational fear, no different then a small child being afraid of a monster in the closet or a scary movie on TV. Nevertheless, she still couldn't start the car. She just couldn't go back there.

Maybe a hotel room? 'Sure, get a hotel room, order room service. Then call Peter, tell him to bring chocolate sauce, and screw him so hard they have to call the police to get you to stop.'

Don't talk directly to it, she thought, talking directly to the voice in your head means you're crazy.

But it was so insistent and the little voice in her head just kept pushing and pushing. 'Check your phone.'

"No."

'What happened to not talking to me?'

"It never happened. You aren't real, I'm going to go on with my life like just like before." She was actually shouting at the voice now, shouting at the voices in her head. "I'm not getting involved with another male co-worker, not after John!"

'So you're not involved with Peter?'

"No…I mean yes!"

'Check your phone.'

There were seventeen missed calls…from Peter.

To Be Continued...