I realize this chapter is very short, but I really wanted to capture the moment of 'what do I do now?'.

Hope everyone has a great Mother's Day :)

There was an empty feeling in his gut as he shut the door, defeated. It was a cross between a daze and an awkward sense of complete loneliness now that she was gone. His heart was beating so quickly, he could barely feel his fingers. Or maybe his mind was too wrapped around her lips to think about feeling his fingers. Either way, he numbly moved back into the hotel room, his eyes glued to the floor. It was strange, but he just now noticed that the pen he had been looking for earlier that day was sticking out from under the couch.

As he sat down with a sigh, he was stumped. What should he do now? Should he just go back to sleep? Would he be able to? Maybe he should go after her. It wasn't like he didn't know where to find her. She would either go back to her place, sneak in past Rachel, and sleep this off like all it was like a dream. Or maybe she'd go the FBI shooting range and work off some steam. He chuckled in the silence, picturing her determined face as she tried to shoot the last few minutes away.

Maybe he shouldn't go find her. She would hate him for it. He wasn't even sure if he could. He felt like he weighed like a pile of rocks, his arms resting limply on his lap as he stared at the coffee table with blank eyes. It was the pure picture of pathetic. No wonder she had run away from him.

The fact that she had ran away hurt the most. Did she not think they couldn't have talked about the kiss? Surely it couldn't have been that bad that she wouldn't even acknowledge it the next day. Would he see her the next day? Maybe she'd call in sick. Maybe he would play hooky. Runaway to spend the tension filled afternoon at a dirty bar filled with retired strippers and foreign guys looking to score with an American girl.

"Son?"

He barely even blinked at the sudden presence of his father. Instead, he just let his eyes slowly drift to him. Walter was standing in the bathroom doorway, his curly hair flattened on the right side of his head.

"Was that Olivia?"

This time, Peter did blink. But only at her name. A sudden pain hit him so hard he swallowed. "Yeah," he answered, his voice low.

"Were you shouting in the hallway?"

"Yeah," he answered again, nodding. He propped his elbows on his knees, and leaned forward. "Everything's okay, Walter. Go back to sleep." He placed his face in his hands, sighing. There was a moment of quiet, and Peter figured he should encourage his father more. But when he lifted his head to look at him, the doorway was empty. And he was alone once again.

Alone, alone, alone. It seemed without her, he was alone. Whether there were people around or not. Pathetic. His muscles tightened and he released a groan of frustration. If he was the same guy he was before he came back to Boston, he might punch the walls, or kick the coffee table. But along with Olivia, his motivation to move had left. No, instead, he let himself fall back into a lay on the couch. Oh the troubles that would strike him in the morning.

Somewhere in the hotel room came the tick tick tick of a clock. It sounded louder than his own breathing. Shifting, he pulled the blanket propped on the back of the couch off, and tossed it over himself. Slow, barely thought out movements. He kept licking his lips, desperate to see if her taste was still lingering. Had a girl ever affected him this way? He didn't think so. Then again, was there another girl like Olivia Dunham? Absolutely not.

Rolling onto his side and tucking his chin to his chest, he shut his eyes. The memory of the kiss flashed through his mind without him fully being able to see it. It made him question that it ever happened at all. But, then he'd taste her on his lips still and know it did.

Somewhere during the montage memory of the kiss, he drifted off to sleep. Amazed that he had survived, and Olivia hadn't killed him for his stupid impulses. At the same time, sweating about having to face her tomorrow, both knowing things weren't going to be the same.