A/N: Hello again :D Since I finished writing yet another chapter so recently I thought I would give you all another chapter to enjoy. And this is one you don't want to miss.

And just a question but... where did everyone go? I feel like some of my readers are disappearing :(

Thanks to Uroboros75 for the beta work :)

Chapter Ten: Fugitive

Peter's hand cupped his chin as he leaned against the window of the FBI car. It sped through the streets of New York, sunlight continually splattered across his face, causing him to squint and blink until a tree or building mercifully blocked out the sun.

He really wished that he had his sunglasses.

It wasn't the only thing that he wished that he had at that moment. His thoughts constantly drifted to the multiple contingencies of what might have happened - or was already happening - to Olivia. The notion of her being trapped in another universe, held prisoner by the man who tried to use him as the power source for a deadly machine, terrified him; though not nearly as much as the though that Walternate had wanted nothing from her and had gotten impatient. Peter could only imagine what a man of Walternate's calibre would do.

He tried not to picture Olivia's vacant eyes as the driver passed another car. He hadn't said anything on the way to New York, and he really had no desire to. He was too caught up in the web of fear and blame that had been spun around him.

"Peter," Walter interjected.

"Yea, Walter?"

"What kind of car did Olivia drive?"

"A black SUV," Peter replied. "Why?"

"Because I believe that we just passed her."

Peter turned sharply in his seat; he heard his heartbeat thumping in his ears.

"What?"

"Look back there," Walter said with a motion of his hand.

Both Peter and Astrid turned to look out the back window. Peter had to strain his neck to see over the back seat as he searched the vehicles trailing them.

It took him a few moments for him to spot the SUV, but when he did he thought for a moment that Walter had been mistaken, as he didn't recognize the driver behind the sunglasses and saw no indication of blonde hair.

But when she took off the sunglasses for an moment, Peter recognized her immediately, and she was close enough to spot his heavy gaze.

If only looks could kill...

He watched as her lips pressed into a flat line and her face hardened into a wicked glare. Peter could feel her malice in the air, thick and heavy like tar. Then her features curled into a sly sneer, her mouth curving like a serpent, as she veered off the street into an adjacent alley, the wheels of her car screeching against the black pavement.

"Turn around," Peter said frantically.

The agent driving looked at him for an instant and then back to the road. "Mr. Bishop, I can't do that. I'm under strict orders from Agent Broyles to -"

"I don't care if he ordered you to prance around a goddamned circle, turn this car around!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't," the agent insisted.

"This may be our only chance to catch her," Astrid added. "Now that she's seen use, she knows we're closing in. She'll most likely abandon her car and try to leave the State. By then it will be even harder to catch her."

"Snakes are like that," Walter said. "The moment they realize that they've been seen, they disappear." He smiled slightly before adding, "Much like chocolate chips do into ice cream."

The agent pursed his lips; Peter could see the tension in his face as he silently unlocked his seatbelt.

"Look," he said. "If I disobey orders, I could lose my job. I have a family to support."

"Well," Peter said, "There is an easy way out."

He looked at Peter quizzically. "What?"

Peter lunged across the seat for the lock on the agent's door, trying to reach the small button on the driver's door that would unlock it. It was very difficult to do so with the agent attempting to push him off, managing to give him a few strong punches in the gut. Peter reached a hand up and punched him across the face in retaliation.

"Peter!" Astrid said in surprise.

Peter didn't expect anything of them; he didn't want to drag them into his reckless endeavours when he knew the consequences would come back and bite him in the ass later on.

He flicked the switch on the door and threw it open, unhooking the agent's seatbelt and shoving him out the door a moment later. Peter sighed in relief when he saw the agent land amongst some tall shrubbery in front of a library. At least it was a soft landing, he thought.

He closed the door and hopped into the driver's seat. "Astrid," he said. The junior agent looked at him, shock pooling in her almond eyes. "Do you want me to let you and Walter out? If you don't want to do this, I won't force you."

"Peter, I'm staying," she said.

They both looked at Walter, who raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he said.

"You with us Walter?" Peter said as he looked back at the road for an instant, making sure that he didn't hit anyone.

"Absolutely," he said, almost bouncing, "I haven't had this much excitement in months. I really wish that I had brought some popcorn."

Astrid smirked slightly.

"Alright, then let's go," he said. "Hang on Astérix; I suspect that this may be a bit of a bumpy ride."

They both jolted back in their seats as Peter pressed down on the gas.

They raced through the downtown streets of New York, buildings and faces blurring as Peter drove his foot into the gas pedal. He felt the pressure against his shoulders as surmounting acceleration pinned him to his seat. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears like a drum, a constant, rhythmic beat. Thump thump thump.

He turned the wheel sharply as the SUV veered down the alley Bolivia had fled to moments before. Peter's eyes searched rapidly across the ominous facades of the alley. He wasn't one to trust appearances; they were as deceptive as chameleons, changing from the intriguing to the menacing in an instant.

Astrid and Walter had fallen silent in the back seats. The tension in the air was palpable; it was as thick and viscous as molasses. Peter snuck a peek at the two in the back: Astrid's eyes were scanning out her window while Walter looked out his respective window, his eyes lost in something that Peter was sure had little to do with their current circumstances. As the alley narrowed, he was forced to slow down, and the car's gradually relenting speed made the cogs and wheels in his brain creak with impatience; Peter Bishop wasn't one for waiting.

But when he saw the black SUV parked in a small niche along the alley, he braked abruptly and jumped out; the licence plate was unmistakable.

He walked up to the SUV and saw the open door. Upon further inspection, he realized that the keys were gone, and perhaps a little more disturbingly, there was no sign that she'd even been in the car;

Peter wasn't sure whether to take that as a good or bad sign.

The alley was nothing short of foreboding. The railing of fire escapes crawled up the walls like obsidian vines, and the air was cool and stale.; it reminded him slightly of a morgue. The bricks along the walls were mottled and dark, casting oblique shadows along the ground and slicing through the form of her SUV.

Light and dark cast in shades of grey, Peter thought.

He heard a noise slip out from a window above him, and he dashed into the building, any notion of knocking cast aside, dust whirling around him in a hazy tornado. He peered through the murky cloud and discerned a footprint on the floor, highlighted by a few milky rays of sunlight. A few more left a deft little trail up the stairs, leading to higher floors.

Nice try, Buttercup, he thought as he ascended the staircase.

He was careful with his steps as he crept, trying to prevent the aged wood from moaning and creaking. He didn't want to give her any advanced warning; after all, she didn't deserve one.

A soft squeak piped out from under his left foot. He tried not to curse, gritting his teeth together as he quickly covered the last few steps before pressing his back against the wall by the closest door. He could feel the cool, dull surface of the wall on his skin through his clothes, pressing against the chamber of his pounding heart; he could have sworn that the walls were throbbing slightly from it as well.

He was about to barge into the first room, but he then realized that he didn't have a gun, and he cursed Broyles for giving him the damn escort, who of course would always have a gun. But patience wasn't something that he could allow for in his situation, so he quickly ducked into the room, fists curled tight and jaw set thickly.

He found nothing. The room was sparse, no furniture or object capable of providing a suitable hiding place. He still took a moment to check the closet, which was little more than a nook in the wall.

That's when he heard a sound: it was thick and hollow like the falling of an old tree, but loud enough for Peter to know what it was from. He turned swiftly, a rush of air careening past his ears as he ran out the door, seeing a wisp of blonde hair flick around the corner at the end of the hall. He turned the corner sharply, his feet losing a bit of grip on the carpet, though he quickly regained himself. He saw the open window at the end of the corridor and leaped out the window without a second thought. He fell weightlessly for a few moments before landing amongst several dark bags, and was immediately overwhelmed by a thick, revolting stench.

Lovely, Peter thought as he hopped out and continued down the alley. He could see Bolivia now, sprinting quickly, almost frantically a little farther down the alley. He picked up his pace and her form grew, expanding against the bleak backdrop of the alley like a paint stain. She rounded another corner and Peter followed, only to see that she had found a dead end. He almost smiled.

"You've got no where left to go now," he said as he slowed down from his run. "From where I'm standing, you're better off giving up."

His eyes widened slightly when she raised her gun.

"Are you still sure about that now, Peter?"

JesusfuckingChrist.

"You really gonna shoot me?" he asked, feigning scepticism.

She smiled, coy and slight like a viper.

"Only if I have to," she said. "Though I really don't want to. It'd be a shame to ruin such a fine piece of man."

Her words made Peter's skin crawl.

"Pity that you had to go and ruin another woman to figure that out."

"She isn't another woman Peter," she said. "She's me."

Peter shook his head, ripe anger bubbling in his veins.

"Not by a long shot."

He then heard a flurry of voices, and seconds later, dozens of FBI agents swarmed the cramped space of the alley and quickly surrounded Bolivia. Thank you Astrid, Peter thought with great relief.

"Guess they called in the cavalry," Peter said nonchalantly. "Like I said, might as well give up now."

There was something hard and dark in her eyes, like diseased blood. Her jaw tensed and she shook her head before dropping her gun and gritting her teeth.

She was pissed as hell and Peter couldn't have been more pleased. And as they handcuffed her he stepped forward to whisper in her ear.

"I'll be seeing you soon Buttercup."

Dun Dun Dun DUN... So what happens now? Wait for the next few chapters to find out ;D As always, reviews are appreciated :)