A/N: Hi guys! As promised, I'll try to update this as often as possible; therefore, the chapters won't be huge (though I know they will get bigger as I go because I'm hopeless). Hopefully they will keep you satisfied :p Hang with me in there while I set everything up XD

Thank you so much for the response on the prologue! I'm glad to see I've managed to intrigue even some people who don't exactly like Altlivia, thanks for giving it a try ;-)

The POV switches will be indicated so it doesn't get too confusing. Liv is for Altlivia.

CHAPTER ONE - SHATTERED GLASS

...

Liv

...

She had only been in the presence of her son for a few minutes when Lauren, his nanny, declared he had 'an old soul'.

Olivia's first thought on the matter was that she was full of it.

Obviously, she was only saying this because she was under the impression that every new mother wanted to hear that kind of stuff –'He's the most gorgeous baby I have ever seen!' 'He's definitely a smart one!' 'He's got an old soul!', maybe thinking it would increase her chances of being chosen over other potential nannies.

Except that in Olivia's case, a mere few days after her slightly traumatic birth experience, she hadn't really known what new mothers usually wanted to hear about their child, beside 'He made it'.

Who was she kidding? She still had no clue what she was doing most of the time.

Plus, when it became urgent for her to hire a nanny so she could go back to work, there hadn't exactly been a lot of competition for Lauren. The Secretary had of course obliged her with a long list of names -only the best caregivers in the state, but she had gone with her mother's recommendation instead, choosing to meet with that woman from her Book Club who, according to the glowing grandmother, was gifted.

So maybe Henry had an old soul. Once again, how very ironic, considering how fast he had come to be.

She couldn't deny the fact that he was an intense baby, so quiet and curious at times, and so very loud and temperamental at others. Who could blame him, though? She hadn't had what you could call a peaceful pregnancy; even before the whole 'accelerated growth 'shenanigan, she had crossed universes with him in her womb, although he hadn't been more than a patch of cells at the time.

He had become so much more.

Olivia might not know much about motherhood, she still knew most three weeks old babies weren't supposed to be smiling already. And yet, her beautiful son had surprised her more than once with the softest of smile as she was changing him, or simply rocking him. She considered herself to be a tough gal, but she would be damned if her entire body and soul didn't melt at the sight of him smiling.

To be loved so unconditionally by such an innocent being was baffling. Not to mention unsettling, startling and overwhelming.

She had been loved by men before, more often than she had loved back, but this one little man had stolen her heart with one look and one cry, and was breaking all of her defenses so seamlessly every time he smiled. It went against all logic.

At times, she still got lightheaded trying to take in the enormity of what happened to her, the abduction and the birth, her life changing so drastically within a day. But ultimately, when she was alone with him in the quiet bubble that night created for them, she fed on the sight and feel of him as eagerly as he fed on his bottle, thinking she didn't deserve this miracle, didn't deserve his love.

Somewhere in the distance, Olivia heard her son cry, and she opened her eyes.

She immediately tried to sit up on what she thought must be her bed. But the darkness surrounding her didn't have the familiar shadowy shapes of her bedroom, that much become obvious right before pain took over everything else, caused by her sudden movements.

She had barely managed to raise her head, and it fell back heavily into what was apparently a puddle of nasty water, in which half her face had been basking for an unknown amount of time. She was unable to hold back a groan. On top of the sizzling pain she was now feeling in what seemed to be every inch of her, she fought hard to smother the immediate anguish that followed, focusing on her breathing.

The pain was of a very nasty kind, but it at least forced her brain to wake up rapidly. Panicking would lead her nowhere, so she tried thinking rationally instead, breathing in, breathing out, again and again, until she regained some control over her emotions.

She was still obviously in the tunnels carved under the Statue of Liberty, and that fact alone meant she had succeeded in crossing over; otherwise, she would surely be rotting in prison right now. She had no idea how long she had been out.

Too long, she thought, feeling a different kind of pain in her left arm, more acute in one place, the rest of her limb almost numb. She had to have lost an important amount of blood, she recognized the dizziness…and yet it felt different.

Worse.

She remembered the last time she had crossed over, all the medicines and care she was given immediately upon returning -although she had been too out of it to really understand what was happening to her.

This, this was not good, at all.

The continuous ache and the sensation of being disconnected from the world brought her back to that night, less than a month ago, when she had been convinced she was about to die. She thought of Henry again, of Lincoln promising her he would save him no matter what, and she knew her son would be safe with him…

…no way she was going to let herself bleed to death here, though, or wait for her body to fall apart or something, not when she had managed to make it this far. Now that she had made it here, she had to try and contact Peter.

She highly doubted she would find a phone nearby.

She braced herself against the pain as she pushed herself up on her good arm, her vision managing to darken even more as dots exploded in front of her eyes, and she swallowed back another grunt. She kept on going, though, forcing her legs to flex and tense and to maintain her on her feet as she arose.

The nausea that washed over her as soon as she was somewhat upright didn't help. Keeping her panic at bay was becoming difficult, considering something was obviously wrong with her; her entire body shook, as if in shock. She had a nagging feeling that it was, on more than one level.

She focused on her feet, focused on making them move, making her walk, trying to remember the way out, hoping those tunnels where identical to the ones on the other side. She knew she needed help, but somehow doubted she would find it in the form of Peter Bishop.

What would she tell him anyway, if by some miracle, she found her way out and happened to stumble upon a cell-phone?

"Hi, remember me? I know we didn't exactly part on good terms, but if you could put Walter on the phone, I have a few questions for him about molecular instability and stuff."

Right. She could almost see the ominous smile that would tug at the corners of his mouth, crossing his arms and watching her suffer some more. And let's not forget the high probability of her –pissed off- alternate standing nearby as he did so.

Cataloging the list of people she had come in contact with while on Mission here, and mentally crossing out the names of those who were unlikely to help her, it didn't take her long to set her mind on the one person she would describe as 'neutral' as well as resourceful.

She had no idea how long she roamed in the dark; she had nothing to keep track of time, nothing except the feel of her strength slipping out of her with every drop of blood that kept on dripping out of her bullet wound, in spite of the lousy tourniquet she had put around her arm with her belt.

Somehow, she managed to find a way out. Or at least a way up, in the form of stairs hidden behind a door that was left miraculously unlocked. The sight of light alone was a relief, after wandering in those dark, stinky tunnels for too long.

As everything got sharper in the light, everything also became blurrier, her mind as foggy as her body was numb. She kept on walking and turning corners in those bright corridors, mostly slumped against the wall now, leaving a trail of blood on it as she went, not really sure what she was looking for, or where she was.

Against all hope, there was someone else in the building at this late hour.

As she entered a different hallway, she made out the shape of a woman in the distance…mopping the floors, maybe? Now, Olivia never willingly asked for help, but swallowing back her pride was easier when she didn't have a choice, and was possibly dying.

It had been happening a little too often to her liking, lately, but now was not the time to reflect on that either.

"Hey…" she called out, her voice weak and hoarse, sounding more like a grunt than an actual word; it quickly morphed into a cough that made her insides throb in pain.

The woman didn't turn around. Fighting against her cough and squinting her eyes, Olivia pushed herself forward, realizing she hadn't been heard because the cleaning lady was listening to music. Nothing would be easy for her tonight.

She tried to keep on moving, but oxygen seemed to be having a hard time going all the way up to her brain now; the whole world started spinning, forcing her back against the wall, and before long, she was crumpling quite gracelessly and loudly onto the floor.

The other woman simply kept on going with her mopping.

"You gotta be kidding me…" Liv muttered weakly, her breathing labored, her good hand now roaming her sides, looking for the useless device she had tucked in her pants.

When her fingers found it, she took it out and squinted again, aiming. She might be mostly out of it, she had won an Olympic gold medal, for Christ's Sake. And so she threw, with what was left her strength…and hit, causing the woman to squeal in surprise more than in pain –she hadn't thrown it that hard.

She turned around abruptly, earphones popping out of her ears, and the shock on her face only worsened when her eyes settled on Olivia's crumpled form. Her mouth opened and hung a bit, as if she was trying to say something, but nothing came out.

"You got a phone?" Olivia asked her from the ground, her hand now pressed to her chest, face distorted in pain.

In response, the other woman finally closed her mouth, her eyes as well, before she started muttering to herself. "This isn't real…this isn't real…I knew I should have waited before going back to night-shift, I overworked myself again I should have waited this isn't real this-"

"Hey!" Olivia called her out again, more forcefully, causing another coughing fit to start. When she managed to get it under control enough to look back up, she was glad to see that her potential rescuer hadn't run away. "I can assure you I'm very real. Now as you can see, I need help. Mostly, I need a phone right now."

The woman just stared at her, still incredibly pale and motionless. And then she whispered: "I called him, you know. I told him what you asked me to say."

"That's…great," Olivia grunted, thinking about how fitting this was, for her to find the only deranged cleaning lady on the Island to help her. She couldn't exactly afford to be judgmental or picky at the moment, though. "So you do have a phone. I would stop dripping blood all over your floor faster if you could just…give it to me for a minute." No reaction. "Please? I'm really not doing so well."

That was quite the understatement.

Finally, the woman moved, and Olivia almost sighed in relief when she realized she was moving toward her, not away, a hand in the pocket of her uniform.

"Do you want me to call Peter again?" she asked feebly, almost warily, and Olivia's loud breathing hitched in shock.

"What?" She whispered.

"Do you want me to call Peter again?" she repeated. "I…I still have his number saved…my doctor said I had a hallucination caused by exhaustion, and I know people don't simply disappear into thin air, but you did and I…I didn't dream it, right? Am I crazy?"

Olivia stared at that poor, lost woman's face, understanding slowly blooming in her distressed mind. To both their surprise, she started chuckling then, closing her eyes because laughing was just as painful as anything else.

"So you're the one who busted my ass," she managed to say between two chuckles, sounding a bit insane herself, now. "She crossed over from their lab and got you to call him that night. Makes sense, really." When she opened her eyes again, the woman seemed more confused than ever, and Olivia weakly shook her head in derision. "Never mind, it's too complicated…can I have it?" She pointed at her phone. "We won't be calling Peter tonight." Although how very symbolic would it be if she did?

Yet again, no.

Still obviously anxious, the lady cautiously handed her the phone. After a few failed attempts, Olivia managed to dial the correct number, bringing it to her ear. The ringing sound was like a comforting music, and relief briefly spread through her aching body when someone picked up at the other end of the line.

Her brain was too slow by now to really comprehend the first generic words that were said to her, and she forced herself to focus.

"I would like to speak to Nina Sharp, please," she managed to articulate as clearly as possible.

"I'm afraid Miss Sharp cannot take any call at the moment," the employee told her formally, and Liv felt her lips curl up into a dry, cocky smile.

"Tell her she's getting a call from the "Alternate" Olivia Dunham...I'm pretty sure she will want to take this one."

...

Olivia

...

Their world was doomed. That truly was all Olivia could think about as she drove way over the speed limit.

She had always been one to see the glass half-empty rather than half-full, but today, she would say the glass had obviously shattered on the ground altogether. In all honesty, she didn't see how she could be optimistic right now, when all she had to do was look outside her windshield and watch as lightning kept on striking in the distance. The sky regularly split open, burning the ground –and too many unfortunate people standing there, screaming of impending apocalypse.

And there she was, on a 'hunt' to find an ancient key that would supposedly open a box containing some sort of mystical answer, so that they could 'unlock' the Machine, in which Peter would then have to step into despite his current state. He had been in a coma ever since that Machine had sent him flying, mere hours ago.

She managed to speed up even more, pressing hard on the pedal as she pushed Peter away from her thoughts. She was worried sick about him; a big part of her remained incredibly distraught by how she'd had to leave his bedside at all. But sitting there biting her knuckles and watching the Glimmer sway slowly around his battered body would have accomplished absolutely nothing, which was why she was in that car now, trying to do what had to be done. Save the world.

Right.

"You need to relax," Sam told her then from the passenger seat, and she glanced at him, his eyes still fixed on the manuscripts he had been rereading for a while now. "I'm getting nervous cramps just sitting there next to you."

She pursed her lips, tightening her grip on the steering wheel as more lightning bolts crackled in the sky. "I'll relax once we stop the world from ending," she replied tersely, checking the time for the umpteenth time.

Not even 9am, yet she felt like she was living through the longest day of her life. The fact that she hadn't taken a single break in almost thirty –insane- hours might have something to do with it.

Next to her, Sam snorted softly, and she threw another glance his way. "What?"

He shrugged and looked up at her. "Something tells me stopping this won't make you relax any more than usual."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She couldn't help but ask, irritation now clear in her voice.

"It means what it means," Sam answered in his casual drawl. "You don't need an apocalypse to behave like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Don't get me wrong, it's a noble quality, we need people like you in times like these to save our butts. But the fact is, it will eat you alive eventually."

Olivia was tired. She needed coffee –and even possibly some kind of food, Peter was in a coma hundreds of miles away, the universe was falling apart around her, and she had absolutely no idea what she was doing. She didn't appreciate the sudden reappearance of his wiseass side. At all.

She opened her mouth to tell him where he could shove his therapy talk right now, but was stopped by an incoming call, her car informing her it was from Broyles.

She accepted the call, and he didn't even give her a chance to greet him.

"Dunham," he said gravely. "We have a situation."

She held back a sigh. "What situation, sir?" She asked tiredly.

She honestly couldn't think of anything worse than what they were already dealing with. Her bad mood had already begun to deteriorate dramatically when he answered her question:

"The kind of situation that involves your alternate having crossed back over to our side during the night."

TBC...

A/N: They will most definitely meet again next chapter. Reviews are always extremely appreciated!