Spoilers: Up to "Entrada"

Disclaimer: No inFRINGEment intended. (Yeah, I know, how original of me, right?)

Author's notes: I have wanted to write something like this since "Entrada" aired but I just found the right words and the time, hope you like it.

Unbeta, so sorry about the mistakes.

Spring cleaning

This is not happening, this is not happening, this is not happening…

It was the only thing Peter could think of right now, how could this be happening? Why? Why?

He has been on the verge of losing it at just seeing the FBI agents going around her apartment as if this was just another crime scene, going around collecting prints and dusting with their white gloves, he just wanted to scream at them, he had in fact, the poor FBI agent had just backed off and looked at Broyles confused.

"I think this is enough, let's pack up." Broyles looked at him, he even looked sorry, even Walter understood and waited outside the apartment for him.

Out! Out! Out! – It was all his mind could think about, they were violating her space, her kitchen, her walls, her bed… and he had done the same, he was as much as an stranger at were the others, he was not supposed to be here, not like this, not alone, not yet, not without her.

He had to calm down or he was going to break something or punch a wall; he rested his forehead on the wall outside the bedroom, still in boxers and t-shirt, placing his hands on the wall on each side of his head, it was cold… breath Peter, just breathe.

But that was the problem, he couldn't for his life breath, he was numb, dead; she was not here.

She was not here.

How the hell did he came back from another universe with the wrong woman and not notice for eight fucking weeks?

HOW?

It was so stupid, really, he was supposed to know her, he loved her, you are supposed to know the woman you love, don't you? Apparently that was not true in his case.

Everything had been a lie, a freaking lie. God, he felt so stupid, she conned him, like, for real.

He wanted to cry, to just curl on the floor, and just like that he snapped out of it, she is not here.

Peter ran to the bedroom where his clothes form the day before laid and got into them, only one thought in his mind: I'm coming for you Olivia, I am, I will get you home.

He gave the apartment a last glance before leaving, he would have to come back and clean, he can't let her come and find she usurped her life.

And he closed the door.

Peter opened the door slowly; kind of afraid of what he was going to find, but it was all still as they had left it the day before.

Olivia; the right one, was at the hospital; it had been hard to leave her even for a little while, she had clung to his arm the whole day, asking him without words to not leave her side, people went in and out of her room; Astrid, Broyles, Walter, and she never let go, not even in front of Broyles, she was kind of giddy because of the drugs they were giving her so they could always attribute it to that

She had slept for most of the day, the doctors, including Walter, said she was going to be fine, her blood work was fine as were her MRI and x-rays, she didn't even had a scratch on her, just a couple of bruises, needle marks on her forearms and those huge dark circles around her eyes, but she was fine. Peter knew that it was not going to last.

He still felt terribly stupid, even with the wrong hair color it was obvious she was Olivia; the warmth in her eyes, her strong but yet fragile body, the way she even held herself screamed Olivia, but he had been so fucking blind, he thought it was because of him, because somehow she was changing because they were together, he thought that for once she felt there was someone there for her to share the burden, that she had finally let him share it, and she was displaying this happiness, this lightness, she looked relaxed and he thought it was because of him, because of his love and her ability to feel it, he thought his love was changing her.

It had all been a lie.

He managed to unglue himself from the door; he was still an intruder in her house, a stranger.

He started with the kitchen, going through cabinets, looking for things he might have brought, nothing jumped as out of place, next he went to check the fridge; he threw almost everything out (Did Olivia really like avocados?), he couldn't quite decide what had been there on the first place and what she had bought; that's when he noticed there was no alcohol, and it was just stupid, she would have alcohol and no food, not the other way around, because Olivia was like that, you have to almost force her to eat but there would always be booze on her house.

He had made pancakes, blueberry, and instead of eating them on the bed as he had planned they sat at the kitchen table, she had syrup going down her chin…

He looked in one of the cabinets and make sure that there was coffee; she had been asking for coffee since she woke up, and threw the rest to the garbage.

He couldn't quite decide if the bed tray had been here in the first place, he even examined it looking for a hint, risking it he threw it away.

He went to the living room next, and he really didn't even know where to start, had she bought anything new? Had she moved the books on the shelves? Had she rearranged the furniture? He hadn't been here that many times before… before, maybe he should call Rachael and ask if she had a picture or something… shit! Had she talked to Rachel and Ella? She said so a few weeks back, but, had she really?

Peter closed his eyes and ran a hand through his face, he really, really hoped she hadn't, it would be difficult to explain the change, because Rachel surely noticed something if she saw her, and that damn bitch had tainted so much in her life already that he didn't want her tainting her family, he was going to have to call Rachel just to make sure.

He went around the living room, the mail was open but there was nothing he could about that, he tried to put everything in order observing the details, he didn't really know if Olivia had her books alphabetized or by any other order, better not to risk it.

He noticed the U2 cd's, he would burn those if possible.

He went to the bathroom next, throwing away things as he went; make up, brushes, he knew she didn't use those things, so why had he neglected to notice again? He replaced what it needed to be replaced and throw the towel away too, along with some things he had brought.

He had come into the bathroom to brush his teeth while she was taking a shower, he could see her silhouette behind the curtain, she was so sexy…

"You see something you like Bishop?"

He wanted to pour acid on his brain and erase those memories.

Then he came face to face with what he was really avoiding: the bedroom.

The bed was still unmade, he had been sleeping on that bed not 48 hours ago, he shouldn't have been there, maybe he should have brought Astrid along to help, but he knew that that hadn't been fair; he had to do this alone.

He stripped of the bed and threw everything but the comforter away, then he went to the drawer he knew she kept the linens and made the bed, he shouldn't have know where the linens were.

The closet was next. He stopped his hand on the handle; this was just wrong and sick, he shouldn't be going through her clothes, but he had too, there was a lot of pain to come and right now this was the only thing he could do to minimize the damage a little, he still have to tell her he slept with her.

With that thought he opened the closet door roughly and went straight to the drawer, the one she had emptied for him, he angrily took the few pieces he had brought along and threw them in a bag, he got whatever it was on the hangers that was his and threw everything on a primary color in to the garbage, she didn't wear colors; and then he went to the underwear, he so shouldn't be looking at her underwear but he knew that all the white ones were hers, he noticed that too , her sudden change from black to white underwear, he blushed and again, this is so wrong.

"I thought you liked black."

"I needed a change, don't you like it?"

He finished as fast as he could.

The last part was the night stands, there were few things, a book or two, Casablanca and a few other movies he had got along… and a pack of condoms.

He threw those on the garbage with vengeance.

How was he going to explain this to her?

I'm sorry I didn't notice she wasn't you, I'm sorry I slept with her, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… none of it was going to cover it, no matter how many times he said he was sorry it was never going to be enough, this was never going to go away.

Last he took the TV from her bedroom and replaced it on the living room; they had moved it together so they could watch it in there.

He picked up the garbage bags and went to threw them out, returning a few minutes later to take his bag.

That was it; all evidence of them ever being together was gone. So easily.

He would have to do the same at the lab.

Probe of a life along her was gone, and it hurt.

His cellphone rang on his pocket. Astrid.

"Hello?"

"Peter? Olivia is awake and she is asking for you."

"I'll be right there." He heard her voice on the background telling something to Astrid.

"Olivia asks if you could bring more coffee." She heard Astrid laugh.

"Sure." And he hanged up.

He was surprised by the tears so he wiped them away angrily. He had no right to cry, he had been having the good life with her while Olivia was being brainwashed and fighting for her life in another reality, because he had been stupid enough to come back without her.

He wasn't crying for her, he was crying because it was gone, that life he wanted so much, that intimacy was gone, he was mourning something that wasn't real, something that wasn't supposed to have happened, not yet; he was saying goodbye.

He took the bag from the floor, turning the lights off; he gave a last glance to the apartment hoping he hadn't left anything behind.

"Goodbye."

And he closed the door.