A/N: Because I couldn't help myself. I don't really expect any reviews, but in case you want to, feel free!
"Bishop, we need to talk at the federal building; now." Broyles' voice came flat over the phone and if it weren't for all the time Peter had spent with the man in the last couple years he might not have heard the edge in his voice.
"Should I call Olivia?" He asked, already throwing on his leather jacket.
"No. And bring Walter," Broyles hung up the phone and Peter shrugged off the annoyance he felt.
"Walter! We gotta go to the Federal building!" Peter shouted down the stairs as he jogged down them.
"But I was in the middle of making pudding!" Walter whined from the kitchen.
"Sorry, but we've gotta go now." Peter said, lifting his father's jacket off the coat rack and handing it to the grumbling elder.
When they'd finally made it to the Federal building twenty minutes later Broyles met them down at the reception check in.
"Come with me," he said darkly and led them to his office where the Bishop's took the two seats across from Broyles who remained standing, his fingers steepled under his chin deep in thought. "Have you noticed anything different about agent Dunham since you all came back from the other side?"
"She has been very nice to me," Walter said happily while Peter narrowed his gaze at Broyles and remained silent.
"Why?" Peter asked.
"Just answer the question Bishop," Broyles said.
"I guess, she seems happier – more carefree and yet not." Peter said, his brain retracing all the small things that seemed off about her. "And I ask again – why?"
"Because I've got two Olivia's in an interrogation room and not a clue as to which one is our Olivia Dunham," Broyles said carefully.
"WHAT?" Peter was on his feet before he could process a further response.
"Oh dear…" Walter mumbled, staring down at his hands, deep in thought.
"I've brought you two here because we need to figure out which one is which and soon." Broyles said, rubbing his face tiredly. "They've both got just enough knowledge of this side to be very convincing."
"I want to see them – I'll be able to tell," Peter said, his mind racing at record speeds to questions he could ask – questions only his Olivia would know. Though if the wrong one had indeed been on this side the entire time then he probably had no right to call her his anyways.
"Not yet," Broyles said.
"A spinal tap," Walter blurted and the other two men stared at him in confusion. "Our agent Dunham will have traces of cortexiphan in her sample."
"Have you questioned them yet?" Peter asked, fidgeting in place.
"Just enough to discern that it'll be difficult to figure out which one is which," Broyles sighed.
"Then let me in there," Peter said, his voice hard and firm, leaving no room for another rejection.
"Fine," Broyles said and he led them down toward the interrogation room and into the side room so they could see into where the two Olivias' room. They sat facing each other in an intense stare down while both hands were tied down to the table so neither could budge. One Olivia was dressed in the usual pant suit with blonde hair left down and flowing, looking every inch the formal FBI agent while the other looked half mad but determined with her red hair tangled dressed in jeans and a filthy gray long sleeve thermal shirt. "Have they done anything since I've left?"
"No, just stared at each other." Another agent said.
Peter's heart echoed in his chest as he stared at the two agents and he'd be damned if he could tell the difference between them besides the obvious physical signs.
"I'm going in," Peter said, straightening his shoulders and ducking out of the room only to reappear in the room with tension so thick he could hardly breathe. He watched them carefully and the blonde Olivia was the first to look up at him while the other remained tense and unmoving.
"Peter…" the blonde Olivia said, letting the relief show on her face. "Thank God, can you get me out of these so we can interrogate this bitch?"
The other Olivia flinched at the words but still wouldn't look at Peter.
"Actually this is how it's going to go down…" Peter said, trying to ignore the blonde's request. "I'm going to take turns asking you questions and you'll take turns answering each first so that we can figure out which of you is the fake."
"You mean you can't tell?" The blonde Olivia asked, looking as if he had just stabbed her through the back.
Peter tried not to feel the hurt at her accusation but it was hard.
"Alright, Blonde… what drink did I make you try in Iraq?" Peter asked, trying to keep his voice flat.
"Uh, moonshine." Olivia said, looking rather confident.
"Red?" Peter asked, trying not to let any emotions show.
"Ummmm…" she refused to look at him but she looked deep in thought as her fists tightened on top of the table. "I –" She started before trying again. "Red Russian…"
Peter tried not to let the shock show on his face that the other Olivia had gotten it correct.
"Okay, Red. What is your favorite color?" Peter tried for something simple; a test question to base future answers off of.
"Y- " she pause and looked lost and scrunched her face tight. "Yellow."
"Blondie?" Peter turned to the other one and she replied the same. "What languages can I speak?"
"Can we cut this twenty questions bullshit?" The redheaded Olivia snapped. "She's been using you to complete that machine for the Secretary."
"Peter you know that's not true – there's got to be a peaceful way of ending this war that doesn't end in the extinction of one the worlds and that machine might hold a clue!" The blonde Olivia said defensively.
Peter looked torn and the red headed Olivia quickly changed tactics. "You know they gave me your life and no one knew the difference. Just handed me all your memories and sent me on my way. Your partners, your mother… your fiancé…"
Blonde Olivia's eyes widened fractionally but then went cold and emotionless. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Apparently you're a cold fish though – because Franc preferred me to you," red headed Olivia said with a mean grin.
Blonde Olivia rocked back looking as if she had been slapped and she recovered but the damage was done and it was clear to everyone in the room now.
"Ask Peter how much he prefers the "new" Olivia to the manic depressive partner he had before," Blonde Olivia growled and Peter ground his teeth wanting to shut her up, but knowing he had said something along those lines.
Red Olivia narrowed her eyes at her double but refused to look at Peter which he was somewhat happy about.
"Or ask him how he confessed his undying love for me as we made love in your bed," Blonde Olivia said with sadistic grin of her own and the other Olivia paled before trying to recoil but realizing she was still handcuffed to the table.
"SHUTUP!" Peter yelled, slamming his hands down onto the table. He looked up where he knew Broyles would be watching and glared. A second passed and then two agents came through the door and uncuffed Blonde Olivia from the table and lead her away while one of the agents handed Peter the key for the real Olivia's cuffs.
He fumbled with the key and when his hands brushed against her colder skin she flinched, jerking back and he tried to make quicker work of her restraints so she wouldn't have to touch him. When her hands were free she stumbled from her seat and backed away from him as far as she could go.
"Olivia I'm sorry – you have no idea," Peter stammered, looking at her as if his heart really was breaking.
"Just leave me alone." Olivia growled, still not able to look at him.
"Livia – "
"NO! Leave me alone," she did look up then and the misery and pain in her eyes made him wonder how he ever could have not noticed he wasn't with her. He started toward her and before he could speak she slapped him hard across the face. "You didn't notice! You – my best friend! Go!"
This time Peter did obey her orders and he back peddled out of the room fast, the last thing he saw was her sliding down the wall until she was curled into a ball and sobbing.