Spoilers: Up to 3x08 "Entrada"; the second part will also have spoilers for "Marionette" (3x09)

N/A: Here's the second part, as promised! :)

Beware; it contains a lot of spoilers about "Entrada", and also about "Marionette". I've used what we know from the 2 promos and the scene-maker for that episode, so if you are spoiler-free, I'm afraid you should only read half of this part :D

Thank you for your reviews, and for the alerts and favorites ! I really appreciate it :)

Again this is unbetaed, and sadly enough, my brain is still French!


Part 2

Peter Bishop is a strange man.

Not as strange as his father, of course, but she doesn't think anybody can ever be as weird as Walter is.

Peter's weirdness is different.

He's incredibly smart, and yet, he looks nothing like the genius he actually is.

He's funny, but it's not the kind of funny that makes you laugh until your cry. It's more subtle; he's witty and sarcastic, and even if she often rewards him with a 'not-amused' look, she regularly has to force herself not to let a tiny amused smile cross her lips.

At least at first she does. Later, she will not really care anymore, and will simply offer him her smile and her own sardonic reply, but she's not quite there yet.

If he had put himself to it, with a brain like his, Peter could now be a very rich man; instead, in the few weeks she has known him, she has learned that he's had more small jobs in his life than all her friends from College put together.

And Peter is…she doesn't really how to describe this.

He's always there.

She knows he could quickly become a constant in her life, someone she will come to depend on.

And she knows she should back off, put more walls up, because that's how it starts, isn't it? You rely on people, and next thing you know, they're not here anymore and you're left trying to fill the void.

But she's not too worried. She's still grieving John and his betrayal, and nothing is more important to her right now than this job and the answers she needs to get.

And yet, Peter Bishop always lingers a second too long in her mind.


Olivia is so tired.

So incredibly tired.

She feels his fingers in her hair, the gentle but possessive way they're digging into her scalp, as if to bring her closer to him. And she thinks she could fall asleep, right there.

Face against his chest, wrapped into his scent and his warmth, knowing that he will not go anywhere, her eyes are already closed; it wouldn't take much.

But she opens her eyes, then, realizing what she's doing, what she's thinking.

She cannot go there again. As much as she loves every second of comfort he's offering her, she knows it's dangerous to go down that road.

So against her will, she forces herself to get away from his embrace.

She cannot get too far, though, as he still has his hand in her hair.

"We should get going; we need to go to the restaurant," she says, avoiding his gaze, half hoping he would just take his hand down now, half wishing he wouldn't.

And what she doesn't tell him is that she needs to go there so she can make sure she wasn't sitting at that table.

"Olivia, you need to sleep."

She shakes her head, still staring at his chest. "I need to get this done, Peter. I can't lose any more time being emotionally weak."

"Emotionally…what?" he chuckles, and she finally looks up at him, ready to give him a hurt look, but he's not amused; he mostly looks incredulous. "You are human, Olivia. There's absolutely nothing wrong with letting your feelings overwhelm you from time to time."

She finally takes a few more steps back, and his hands slid off her head, as irritation grows in her again.

"Really, Peter? Go tell that to that woman and her husband, that it's okay to let your feelings overwhelm you, to the point where you get gutted in the middle of a restaurant."

He raises his hands in front of him, as if to shield himself from her anger and self-loathing. "Hang on, there," he says calmly. "I am not talking about the case; I'm talking about you, you needing to allow yourself some down time."

"Who cares about me?" she snaps back without thinking, and she knows she's already asked that before. "I need to stop whatever's happening to those people because of my dreams."

He gives her a small smile, then, and she knows he remembers it, too.

What he had answered the first time.

"You need to start letting people in, Dunham," he says softly. "Believe or not, there is more than one person in your life who cares about you."

She stares at him, loving and hating the way her heart beats a little too fast within her chest at that moment, as she stares into his blue eyes.

And against her better judgment, she decides to be honest.

"I've got trust issues," she admits, before biting down on her lip, almost apologetically.

He chuckles again, tilting his head, and giving her his favorite crocked smile: "Yeah, I figured that out ten seconds after we met, sweetheart."

She gives him a glare that isn't really a glare, then, and turns around muttering: "You didn't just say that."

And as they walk to the exit, he replies behind her: "You'll come to love it, Dunham. You'll come to love it."

He doesn't add 'Trust me.'

She likes that.


No matter what happens to you in life, how many betrayals you experience, how many people hurt you, there will always be at least one person you'll let in without hesitation.

Those people are rare, but they exist.

At first glance, they are like any other people; they have qualities and flaws, they have regrets and things to be proud of.

They have dreams and nightmares.

And yet you simply trust them, unconditionally.

Because how could you not trust your guardian angel?

"You can fool the doctors, kiddo. You can't fool me."

And he was right, of course. Charlie Francis has always been right, ever since that first day, when he had told her so gruffly and honestly: "You're gonna be fine."

She had believed him when she hadn't even believed her dying mother.

She never was able to fool him. He always saw right through her from day one, always knew what to say to make her smile, or make her spill her guts out to relieve the building anguish inside her chest.

She trusted him blindly because she had absolutely no reason not to.

And yet, he had apparently managed to fool her.

When she pulls the trigger again, aiming for his head this time, she knows she won't miss.

She's not a child anymore.

The bullet goes right through his skull and he slowly falls to the ground, red and silvery blood trickling down his forehead.

And she falls to her knees too, still out of breathe, and her loud intakes of air soon turn into half-broken sobs, as she rests her burning forehead against the cold concrete.

It appears that she was wrong again.

You usuallycan trust your guardian angel.

Unless there is a monster with silver blood wearing their skin.


A few months from now, Peter would say: "We all draw our moral lines in the sand."

And even if he won't say those words to her –not really, Olivia's feelings at the moment are relevant.

What do you do, when your own morality is put through trials, and you have to make a choice that will have disastrous consequences either way?

Because, as much as she might dislike that fact, she knows she and Peter's dynamic is deeply founded upon trust. She can lie to herself of course.

It's not him she trusts, it's the idea of him being always present when she needs him, only a phone call away.

She doesn't trust him.

Olivia doesn't trust anymore, remember?

But she cares; deeply enough for fear to explode within her when his face comes so close to hers that she can feel his breath on her lips.

"Peter…I'm scared."

Scared of doing this again, scared of losing him and everything he represents. Because that's what happens, when you go there. You get too much and then you lose everything.

But she can't move away. His fingers on her cheek burn her skin in the most delicious way, and he's so close, and he looks at her with those eyes that ignite another kind of flame within her.

But mostly, she's scared.

"Don't be."

She knows she can thank him for all the lives she's able to save that night.

That's why she has to tell him the truth.

She has to tell him about the glimmer, that shiny aura that surrounds him like a white shadow.

And she convinces herself that she will tell him. She can understand Walter's distress about this, though, because once the truth is out, it will affect her and their dynamics just as drastically.

She knows what betrayals feel like. She can't do that to him.

Honesty might be the painful way to go, but it's also the most considerate and respectful option.

And there he stands, in her living room, having come running at her call, and it's the perfect opportunity to tell him.

And yet, she doesn't.

She stares at him, and he stares back, smiling softly, apparently loving the fact that she has him on speed dial.

She doesn't want to lose him.

What she doesn't know is that it's precisely that fear of losing him that will take him away from her, eventually.


The woman standing in front of her is a perfect replica of herself.

And yet, she's not.

From the first time she has seen her, less than two days ago in the Opera House, Olivia could tell this version of her wasn't nearly as burdened as she was.

Watching her gives her the oddest feeling of envy.

It's as if she possesses something she's lost years ago. It's in the way she swaggers when she walks, or in that almost permanent cocky smile on her lips.

Olivia briefly thinks she wouldn't mind trying that care-free attitude and see how it feels.

You should be careful what you wish for, though.

But it's nothing but a fleeting thought among a hundred others that go through her mind at each passing minute.

Mostly, all her thoughts are intensely focused on one thing and one thing only.

"I need to speak to Peter Bishop. He's in danger here and he needs to understand that."

'Need' even seems too weak a word to express the aching yearning she feels inside of her when she thinks of Peter right now.

She hasn't seen his face in almost three weeks now, expect for the security camera's footage, and this desire to find him and make sure he's safe has worsened dramatically ever since she has discovered what was planned for him here.

She was delusional for a very long time, when it comes to Peter and her feelings for him; but at the moment, she doesn't care about pretending anymore.

She's pretty sure crossing universes for a man speaks for itself.

And now, her Alternate might be the only chance she has left to ever get to him; she needs to show her she means no harm –despite the fact that she's pointing her gun at her.

"This isn't just an assignment, is it?" She asks. "Are you two a couple? Is that what this is about?"

She's mocking her. She sees it her smile, hears it in her voice and her chuckle. Olivia doesn't like being mocked on serious matters.

But again, she just doesn't care.

She has seen her with her boyfriend. She can understand her situation, can't she? Wouldn't she do the same to save that man?

This is a delusional thought, and she knows it. She very well knows that to the eyes of everybody in this Universe, she's the enemy.

But this is not just any random person.

This is her.

"Please, I need to speak to him." She repeats.

But the face in front of her remains cold, unbending, expect for that little smile, while hers contracts with despair. So Olivia tries her last card.

Even if she highly doubts it's going to work.

All she can do is hope that this version of her really has fewer issues than she does.

"You gotta trust me," she says with a smile. "I'm you."

Unfortunately for her, it would appear that trust isn't something any Olivia from any universe gives easily.


Locked up in that room again, Olivia knows that hope is the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely.

There's nothing else for her to cling to, really.

And she feels so scared, all the time now. Every time the door opens, she thinks it's for the last time. They don't need her anymore, they've got what they were looking for, they have no reason to keep her alive.

Earlier, when they first put her in there and locked her in the dark, she thought that maybe, just maybe, they would use her to bring their Olivia back to this world.

But she doesn't need to be breathing for it to work, and she knows it.

And when she sees what they have actually drawn on her skin, she realizes they know it too.

They're going to cut her open and take whatever they want.

When the door opens again, she instinctively curls up into herself against the bench, awaiting the strong and unyielding hands that will grab her and force her down the hall to her death.

But instead, her last thread of hope enters the room.

When she'd seen him earlier in the hall, as they were dragging her to the lab, she had begged him.

Olivia never thought a time would come when she would have to beg for her life. But when death isn't a dark shadow in your mind anymore but an upcoming reality, preserving your pride becomes so irrelevant.

Philip Broyles is her last and only hope, and she will beg him on her knees if she has too.

"Thank you for not giving me up." He says softly. "You easily could have."

The spark of hope burns brighter inside of her, his honesty proving that he knows his wife and son are still alive thanks to her.

She pushes his soft spots harder. "How's your son?"

"He's sleeping through the night again. We owe that to you, I want you to know that I realize that."

She simply stares at him, waiting. Waiting for him to tell her he would help her.

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?" is what he asks instead, and her heart sinks.

But she smiles anyway, because that is what she does when despair invades her whole body so intensely it hurts. She smiles and comes closer to him, because she has nothing left, nothing left to lose.

He's her last chance.

She shows him the markings on her forehead.

"They're sending me back. They're gonna swap me for your Olivia. But…they're gonna kill me first."

She knows he cares; he can't keep his eyes locked with hers after hearing those words. When he looks at her again, she keeps going, matter-of-factly.

"They're gonna cut out my brain and study it."

He averts his eyes again, clenching his teeth, and she can't take it anymore, losing her strong demeanor.

"Please, help me," she begs softly again, grabbing his arms. "If you can get me out of her I can get myself home."

"I can't." He looks at her, his face hard now. "My world is dying because of what your side is doing to us."

She tries to convince him of the truth, that her world really isn't at war with his, but she knows how she sounds.

She sounds like a desperate woman, who would say about anything to get more time.

She only wants more time. And he knows it.

"You'd say anything right now because your life depends on it. But what if your side has every intention of our destruction? Am I supposed to just hope you're telling me the truth?"

"If you don't trust me… " she starts, but she has to stop because she doesn't miss the irony in what she's saying. She's asking him to risk everything for her, she asking him to trust her, when she has trusted so few in her life. But his trust is all she has left. "…then there is no hope."

And hope, that last thing that was keeping her from giving up, leaves the room with him a minute later.

Leaving her here to die.


He comes back for her, though.

Just when she thinks everything is over, that this is it, the bone saw about to cut through her skin and bones until it kills her, he comes back and saves her life.

A good shot of adrenaline on top of it is all she needs to get her determination back.

And with it comes her deep longing for home.

She knows she's getting a second chance, here, a second chance at life.

A second chance to appreciate it more fully.

And she thinks of Peter.

"Look, I've seen war. But if what you're saying is true…in the end, I have to believe in hope. Please make it worth it."

And as the doors of the tank close on the face of her savior, she promises herself that she will, if it's the last thing she does.


Isn't life ironic, though?

She comes home feeling more alive than she has ever been before. Quite battered by everything she's been through during last two months, of course, but her joy at simply being back home might be one of the most incredible feelings she has ever experienced.

So naturally, she should have known she was about to get crushed down again.

She's heard that ignorance is bliss. For once, she might agree with this.

From the moment she wakes up in the hospital and lays her eyes on Peter for the first time in months, she knows something is wrong.

He looks…heartbroken. Which is strange, really, considering the fact that she's back and alive.

When she smiles, he doesn't. When she thanks him for saving her life, he swallows hard and kisses her head.

She should have read the signs.

The fact that the first words he speaks to her are an apology is her warning. She ignores it.

As much as she ignores the fact that he seems to be avoiding her, avoiding her eyes, when all she wants to do is get lost into his.

She has missed him, so much. Out of the eight weeks she has spent stuck Over There, five of them were spent locked away, with nothing to do but think. Think about what she had lost, about the things she should have done, the people she should have loved more.

He was always on her mind.

Even when she was brainwashed, he was there, forcing her to remember who she was.

It isn't hard to understand why she's craving for some eye contact now that he's around her again, craving for some kind of connection.

But she spends three days in the hospital, and during those three days, he never visits her alone again. He's always with one of the others, and he barely ever speaks, unless she asks him something.

"We should have known, Olivia, I'm so sorry…" Astrid tells her with tears in her eyes.

Olivia smiles and squeezes her hand. "It's alright. Don't worry about it; I don't blame any of you, I'm just happy to be back."

Which is true. So true that she can almost feel her whole body vibrate at the same frequency than the rest of her Universe.

Standing a little farther away in the room, Peter stiffens at her words and briefly closes his eyes.

And she ignores that sign too.

She checks herself out the next morning, on her own. Not because she doesn't want company, but because she now has her freewill back and she's planning on enjoying it fully.

She has asked Astrid to bring her some of her clothes the day before, and she happily puts on her old coat.

Her first stop is Broyles' office.

And it's quite a buzz killer.

As she stands in front of him, images flash behind her eyes. She sees the other Broyles, the one who died for her.

Nobody has told her that, but she's a smart woman. The gunshots in the lab Over There were what made her cross over. And she sees it in his eyes too.

Somehow, he knows.

"Dunham, you should take more time off," he tells her, and his voice is softer than usual, and her feeling of déjà-vu increases. "You've been through quite an ordeal and I would understand if you needed some time to get back into things."

But she stares at him, suddenly feeling the loss of one of the only person who believed in her There. She thinks of Henry and of all the risks he took to help her, when he didn't even knew her.

She thinks of him, and his last words to her. "In the end, I have to believe in hope. Please make it worth it."

And she tells herself then that from now on, she will do better and trust people more easily.

The world might be full of guardian angels.

"I made a promise to a friend Over There," she says with a raw honesty she might never have used two months ago. And she knows he knows who she's talking about. "I need to go back to work."

And that's how she gets her gun, her badge and her life back.

Or at least that's what she thinks.


The first time Olivia comes back to her apartment, she doesn't even notice how wrong things are.

She sees traces of her all over the place, of course, but she had expected it. She had lived her life for two months, just like she had lived hers for three weeks. The similarities stop here of course, but the fact is that she doesn't want to worry about it too much just yet. She's got her job back, and she intends to get the rest of her life back on track as well.

Starting with her hair.

She dyes it back to blond as soon as she goes back to her place. She's barely finished when Broyles calls her and tells her they have a case. She dries it, ties it up in a ponytail and pins back her bangs.

She even smiles at herself before exiting the bathroom, loving the familiar image she sees there. Feeling like this might be the start of a good day.

Or not.

"I thought she was you, Olivia." Peter's words, even if they hurt despite her best intentions of forgiving him, are not surprising.

She knows that already.

But she keeps trying convincing herself that there must be another reason for his anguish look and tensed body.

"It's fine. We're good." She tells him with a smile.

She might not have been that forgiving in the past. But to be honest, she simply wants to put that whole thing behind her. She's ready to let it go. But he has to let it go, too.

He doesn't.

He swallows hard, and there it is again, all over his face and deep down in his eyes. That broken feeling she just can't quite figure out yet.

"No, Olivia, what I mean is…we came back from Over There, and I thought she was you. We…we picked up things were you and I left them, that night."

And just like that, the pieces come together.

What she sees in him, clearly devouring him from the inside, is guilt.

And her whole body goes numb, as realization dawns on her.

"You slept with her."

It's not a question. But he answers anyway.


She presses her lips together, hard, looking down at her coffee cup. Less than two minutes ago, a simple sip of that acre beverage had been enough to make her feels like she was home again. Like she belonged.

Now, the smell coming out of it makes her feel nauseous.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," he says, chocking a little on her name, but she still doesn't look up. "I'm so very sorry. I wish I didn't have to inflict this on you, but you need to know the truth."

For some reason, she immediately gets his insinuation, reminding her that she's lied to him in the past, and she wishes she could feel angry at him for implying it now.

But she simply feels numb.

"It's fine," she repeats then in a hollow voice, staring at the thin smoke swirling out of her cup, and for some reason, it reminds her of amber and quarantine. "Like you said, you thought she was me. I get it."

He falls silent, and so does she. When she finally looks up, the rims of his eyes are red, and the look of desperation on his face is heartbreaking.

But she simply feels numb.


The second time Olivia goes to her place, it feels all wrong.

She feels like she's suffocating the minute she steps in.

And really, she doesn't know what to do with herself anymore.

All her happiness, all her hopes, all her new found optimism and faith in people, it's all gone.

The numbness is clearing up alarmingly quickly now that she's back here, replaced by an ache she doesn't want to feel.

It suffocates her. So she takes a shower, hoping it would help her get rid of the smothering feeling growing steadily inside of her.

It does, for a minute or two.

Then, as she stands in her robe in front of her dresser's mirror, drying her hair with a towel, she catches a glimpse of something on the back of her neck. She had almost forgotten it was there.

She traces the shape of the tattoo, almost feeling the weight of the foreign ink on her skin.

She will never be able to get rid of her completely, will she?

A voice in her head agrees, and she's pretty sure it's her voice.

Because after all she's been through to be herself again, to come back here and take back what is hers, the truth is that she will forever be in her head now.

Just like she's impregnating everything around her.

And there it is, at long last; the anger she has been longing for ever since Peter's revelation.

She knows anger, she can deal with anger.

So she grabs an armful of the clothes hanging in the dresser and throws them on the floor. Grab, throw, grab, throw, and repeat until there's nothing hanging in there anymore.

She looks around, her blazing eyes stopping on the simplest things. There is perfume she has never worn before, make up she would never put on, concert tickets she would never have bought in the first place. Everything ends up on the floor.

But the most outrageous thing of all is of course the bed in the middle of the room.

She doesn't even want to think about it. She simply wants it gone, all gone, and so she lets her anger direct her.

She grabs the sheets and pulls hard, stripping it down until there's nothing left but a bare mattress.

She wants to ignore the fact that Peter has slept in those sheets with her, but as she moves them around hastily, his scent invades her nose, and she has to stop for a moment as the throbbing ache reappears in a flash.

But she will not give in. She will not yield to it.

So she gathers the bed's linens in her arms and walks to the washing machine. She turns it on, and as water starts to fill it up, something on the floor nearby catches her eyes. She drops the sheets in the machine and bends down to pick it up.

It's her Northwestern shirt.

And the most random memory imposes itself in her mind as she stares at it.

She opens her hotel room's door, toothbrush in hand, and there he stands, in his own grey M.I.T. shirt. She lets him in, smiling.

"What?" He asks.

She points at their shirst with an amused smile. "Cute," she says. "Except in my case, I actually graduated. I guess you bought yours to... impress the girls."

He nods at her perspicacity, looking exaggeratedly impressed. "More or less."

And as she holds the shirt in her hands, now, she doesn't even have to bring it close to her face to smell his scent and hers all over it.

She drops it abruptly as if it has burned her. But even when it's back on the floor, the burning feeling remains under her skin.

Except that it changes and transforms and grows into something else; something huge and implacable, invading her whole body from her toes to the tip of her wet hair.

Pain, like she has rarely experienced it before.

She grabs onto the vibrating edge of the washing machine, begging her own body to stop it, to just stop it now, she can't break down, not now, not after all she's been through.

But that's exactly the problem, isn't it?

Every single thing that has allowed her to survive Over There, it's gone. And somehow, she feels like all those things lead back to Peter, one way or another.

"You saved my life."

How stupid has she been? Being so honest and trustful.

Because she has been.

He is the reason why she has made it back. If she hadn't been so in love with him, her need to make it back wherever he was wouldn't have get her through.

"Because you belong with me."

Another trustful admission that is now biting a hole through her already shattered heart.

By telling him this, she has implied that she belongs with him just as much.

Because there it is.


Happiness, at the mere sight of him.

Comfort, with a simple touch of his hand.

A sense of belonging, with a soft kiss on her head.

Until the betrayal comes, as she should have known it would, and takes it all away.

Defeated, Olivia lets herself fall to the ground, hiding her face in her hands, as heart-wrenching sobs already start breaking her whole body down.

And she knows that there's nothing new to learn about love, here.

She already knew it all.


N/A: Um. Yeah.

I won't tell you just how much I hurt myself writing that last scene. I don't know how I'm going to survive this episode, seriously!

Anyway, I know this is depressing. It's actually SO depressing that I'm seriously planning on adding another part (JUST ONE I SWEAR, this won't be a WIP haha!), I already have it planned out actually; it would wrap the whole thing nicely and give us some hope for our Polivia (I'm a sucker for happy endings). I'm taking a plane for France tomorrow night, which means 8 long hours to write.

So if you want the happy ending, PLEASE, let me know :)