A/N: Many hints have been given in the show that another universe exists, beside the blue and the red one (over here and over there), so this is a story about how Peter and Olivia met in the yellow universe. Enjoy!
They meet on a dark night, the rain heavy, forming a mirror on the pavement reflecting the streetlights. It's late and silent, most people already sound asleep in their beds. But Peter Bishop isn't like most people, and so he's roaming the streets at three in the morning, thoughts slightly blurred by both alcohol and the want to simply forget it all, just for a night. His body doesn't agree with his wishes though, and no amount of liqour can completely make the throbbing pain go away. The picture of his mother, dead eyes staring up and a photograph of him clutched in her cold hand keeps replaying in his 21-year old mind, an endless loop of sorrow.
He closes his eyes, willing the image to go away, and doesn't even notice her until she walks right into him.
His eyes shoot open, and he's met by the sight of two green ones, creamy white skin framed by long strands of blonde, wet hair. Her eyes are wide open, and slightly glassed over with unshed tears, a haunted look in them. They stare at each other for a moment, too caught up in it to notice how awkward their position really is; her hands still pressed against his chest, when she braced herself for impact.
Reality catches up with them though, and as they quickly disentangle themselves the moment is lost.
"Sorry about that. I was a bit distracted." Her voice sounds through the rain, the harsh edge it carries surprising him. He'd expected something more... innocent.
"It's okay." He mumbles, not really interested in apologies but rather wondering who this girl is. She's young - 18, 19 perhaps - but somehow seems so grown up already, so shaped by harsh reality- just like he is.
So, he takes her for a drink. At three a.m., without knowing her name. It really isn't that unusual for him, except this time he really listens, wanting to figure her out, not just get her into his bed.
She doesn't tell him much, despite his encouraging smiles. (Underneath them lies no happiness, something she doesn't need to know but seems to anyway.) He feels drawn to her. Feels the pull of the mystery surrounding her, of that dark edge to her voice and the sadness underneath those at times seductive eyes.
He could kiss her. She'd kiss him back, he knows it. They'd go back to her place, and skin and lips and stifled words would all form a blur, and in the morning, before she'd wake up, he'd sneak away leaving behind nothing but the distinct smell of alcohol.
But for what? It'd be meaningless, and Peter Bishop likes a mystery way too much to pass up on one.
So when they exit the bar, its lights turning off and its last visitors not yet intoxicated enough to completely forget, he doesn't want her to leave. He still doesn't know her name - hasn't bothered to ask, because quite frankly, names are overrated.
They stand opposite each other again, the rain having slowed down to a drizzle, its rythm almost comforting. Neither want to leave but both know what will inevitably come next. They both go home, sleep off their drunken state, and life goes on. They will never meet again, never know each other's name.
And he doesn't want to, doesn't want to return to a broken life and grow old and drown in regrets.
"We could run away." He says suddenly, impulsively. He hasn't thought this through. He doesn't want to. "We could go anywhere. Just take the train and go anywhere."
The twinkle in her green, haunted eyes is answer enough to him.
A/N: If there were any mistakes, please let me know; I wrote this very quickly and haven't really looked it over much. Please review?