Hi gang! How's that for an update! Ye be warned, fluffy POlivia ahead! Keep on reviewing/reading, I'll keep on writing.

Onward, my friends!

A Hero's Lament

Over There

Olivia had seen war.

She had witnessed first hand the divide between government and anarchy through faith and belief; between trust and triumph; between what was right and what was easy. It was a delicate- almost invisible line in a weave filled with tension. All it would take was one single fray; one vengeful flick of the wrist and it would unravel completely. She had stood in this similar spot many years ago gazing over a fire-filled landscape, where the only thing to echo in the middle of the night were the booming sounds of cannon fire and the cried of terrified children. She could feel the cold, black, unforgiving metal of her weapon in her hand, the grime and blood on her cheeks and the crushing weight of the world on her shoulders.

She had always been a soldier. The way they dressed, the way they spoke, even the way she moved was strict, precise and with dignity. What they taught her in basic training, however, was nothing like the real thing. There was two things all soldiers knew, and that was how to defend and how to kill. They were conditioned to believe that anyone who tried to hurt them, to hurt the soldiers of the United States of America, the brave men and women of freedom and belief, was an enemy. They were the evil visionaries that would destroy their own world to press their views upon them.

They were the 'good guys' as it was viewed; the proud men and women who would risk everything to see the United States through some of the worst periods of history. But how was one considered 'good' if her side the invaders? How, in the spectrum of human existence, was invading one country to save another a commemorated act of kindness? It was a question Olivia pondered each day she served in the Marines, and counted the fatal bullets she unleashed upon the foreign men and women.

There was no positive outcome to war, despite the pressing media. Anyone who had been there would know that. In order to defend their rights they had to become the very people they were trying to stop. How was it a good thing to press upon someone else's land? What were they fighting for? Cheap gas prices and flat beer? In truth they had become the enemy, the invaders; the murderers. The bullets she unleashed had killed the person with the same ideals she was trained with. Protect their land, their country and their family- and in an instant, with the squeeze of a trigger, she had become the enemy.

The situation here was the same, with the same outcome. The very universe that had become their enemy was suddenly at the mercy of hers. Her side had become the invaders, the bad guys; the evil humanity had been trying to rid itself of for thousands of years. There was no way to hide it, she knew.

Over Here, she was the betrayer, the invader, and the destroyer.

Over Here, Olivia Dunham was no hero.

Standing on top of a pile of rubble- the remains of the Chevrolet building, according to Lincoln, she spun in a slow circle and took in the scene around her. After completing her round, Olivia stopped and felt her heart drop towards her feet; her lungs turn to unyielding iron. All around her buildings crumbled like dust to the wind, a sand tower that withstood no fight from the oncoming ocean waves. In one breath they were gone, collapsed and molded into nothing but lumps of lifeless rubble. The strong pavement of the streets were cracked in all different directions, once everlast now had the strength of egg shells; dirt, grime and gravel pouring out of its protective covering, stained yolks spilling helplessly into the Earth. The movies did absolutely nothing for the actual feel of war. They made it seem like this were horrible, disgusting, and yet somehow hopeful obstacle that mankind would soon triumph over.

She knew that wasn't true. Olivia had seen wars before. Two tours across seas had taught her that in war, there was no triumph, no hope; only the broken souls of those who had lost everything. This was nothing compared to the cinematic expressions Hollywood would make the viewer believe. There were no hope, no descriptions, and no prayers that could bring this world back. This wasn't just an awful, undeserving event as the history books would call it.

It was, for lack of a better word, purely catastrophic.

This was no longer a war; this was the aftermath.

Cars were flipped like matchbox toys, street sights bent like yarn, and visible bodies tossed like paper dolls. Buildings leaned and creaked around her, hot glass to the blower. Everything about this world screamed fragile. She was afraid to breathe, fearful to see something else collapse with the gentlest change of the atmosphere.

One simple breath, she knew, and the world in front of her would incinerate in the blink of an eye.

Glancing at her, Lincoln bowed his head and continued their tour through the disheveled city streets. She could smell the burning of raw materials from where they stood, even miles away where there were no plumes of smoke. It was a firestorm of events. In some places flames still burned. They had abandoned all hope in controlling the infernos and just let them burn into the torn atmosphere. Ash fell like rain, a sour chemical that made her tongue singe. Heat was trapped all around her making Olivia's lung burn with corrosion and her veins turn to heated ice.

She watched in shock as the life forms around her worked in absolute silence. Sweat cut a path down the grime of their faces, tiny tear drops that plucked at the strings of her heart. Building after building they bounced to and pulled whatever remnants of humans out of the wreckage, and tossed their bodies into the piles. Every now and then someone would burst out a name and clutch the blackened remains close to their own hearts. Near her she caught site of a burnt taxi cab, and immediately the name popped into her head.

Henry.

She fought back the tears as his face came to mind, the curve of his chin and the calming serenity in his eyes. The picture of his wife and young daughter flashed its way into her vision and she found herself praying they had made it out alive. After the sacrifices he had made for her, surely the reward was unjust. If she found him she'd apologize tenfold, she'd cry with him. She'd tell him she was sorry for doing this and ruining the world he came to love.

"Lincoln," called a male voice and one she faintly recognized. Standing a ways away from them stood a man. She knew him immediately; his shoulders broad, his hair matted, and his eyes in absolute shock. "Liv?"

"Frank," Lincoln replied and made his way down the alleyway, with Olivia in slow pursuit, her eyes fixed on his familiar face. Frank Stanton, the long time boyfriend of the Olivia over here, was a man who she couldn't have ever forgotten. While she was over here, her mind abuzz with improper memories, this man had treated her with a kindness she had forgotten could exist with love. He cooked her dinner, treated her with respect and took care of her while she was a false marionette.

She watched curiously as Lincoln whispered something into Frank's ear, and his vision snap back towards her, his gaze heated and full of disbelief. As she climbed down the rubble he stepped towards her slowly and eyed her with a glowing apprehension. "You're not… Lincoln said she's been missing for over four weeks and yet here you are-" He fumbled over words. "Lincoln, what's going on here?"

"Some things are better left unresolved, Frank," she said, sighing heavily. "But no. I'm not her." she spoke and bowed her head. "I am similar to the Olivia you know, just… a different version of the one you do."

Frank blinked, his gaze darting between her and Lincoln, "I don't understand. What is she talking about? What about the baby?"

Olivia squinted, glancing towards Lincoln as well, "Baby?"

"Frank, I'm sorry, but we don't have time to hammer out the details now, later, I promise," Lincoln grabbed her hand, pulling her past the wide eyes of a rather curious and awestruck man. "Come on, there's more to see." They walked quickly past him. "Frank," Lincoln called back, turning on the ball of his heels, "If you see Marilyn, please… don't tell her."

Frank paused, and then gave a slow, confused nod. He watched them walk away quickly, his mind abuzz with endless possibilities. He tried to go back to work but this incredibly strange, and yet distant face haunted his every thought. He looked like her, sounded like her, even moved like her, and yet… it was something in her eyes that gave her a completely different silhouette that changed her completely.

She was right, in some strange and insane reasoning, she was right.

She wasn't his Olivia.

Not anymore.

New Fringe Division
8:00pm

Sitting hunched over her tray Olivia breathed silently. She became lost in a plate of what she was told herself was dehydrated chicken and rice. It took most of her energy to let the heavy breath she had been holding deep within the crevices of her lungs finally go. It was all too real, the things she had seen and the sites she witnessed as Lincoln brought her around the city. She could still smell the stale blood and dirt mixing between the buildings. She could hear the screams and pleas of those still trapped inside the iron bellies of fallen giants. The taste of sour chemicals still lingered on her tongue. After touring the ruins of New York, Lincoln had brought her back to the place he called work, and the only thing he had left of a home. Sitting two floors below the offices Olivia swallowed the two words she had often been too proud to say.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into the pale, candlelit ambiance around them, her fork dragging lazily on the unbalanced metal plate, "For not believing you Lincoln, for letting them cage you and Charlie like lions."

"You couldn't have known, Olivia," he whispered back, swallowing a mouthful of room-temperature water. "I'm sure if the situation was flipped we would have done the same thing, too, so I can't really blame you. Apology not needed." He gave her a small, crooked smile that she returned below half-moon eyes. "But I can't help but wonder... why did your side want ours destroyed?"

She pressed her lips together. "It's not what we wanted, believe me. We didn't want this to happen. We never intended this to happen. After what W- Secretary Bishop did to me, the threat he posed by turning on the machine first and threatening my universe, I thought maybe you were here on some kind of revenge mission."

"Wait, the Secretary did what? He turned on the machine first?" Lincoln asked with eyes wide.

Olivia nodded. "It was a Tuesday, last month. I had spent the night at Peter's and my Broyles called me around six in the morning to investigate a phenomenon. After some detective work, we discovered that Secretary Bishop had activated his version of the machine with the intention to destroy our side first. We only turned ours on in self defense."

He sat back and took it in. "So your side didn't want to… destroy ours?"

She shook her head. "We were searching for a way to stop the destruction, to try and fix whatever rifts had been torn and find balance between the two worlds. It wasn't until the integrity of our universe was threatened did Peter enter the machine. He chose our universe. We were told that the machine would only save one. We… thought it would be a clean erase, but apparently our thoughts behind it were mislead. Had we know this," she gestured, "Would have been the outcome I assure you things would have been different."

Lincoln let his head bounce in realization. Pressing his lips together he whispered, "I'm sure they would have."

Olivia bit her lip in curiosity. "What did he mean by that, Frank, that I… she was supposed to be missing? I had kind of assumed she's be here waiting for you and Charlie to return."

An uneasy silence fell over Lincoln as he placed his fork down gently on the plate, clasping his hands together. "My Olivia," he sighed, "Has been missing for going on six weeks, ever since the first wave hit. She had gone over to the Department of Defense the night it happened to try and convince the Secretary to turn off the machine, and that was the last I saw of her. I brought Henry to her mother's house, and the next thing I knew we were ducking for cover in an old cellar."

Her eyes scrunched. "Henry?"

Lincoln nodded, hesitating, as he spoke quietly. "Her son, he just turned three months."

With that revelation Olivia became lost for words. She tried to respond but a quiet gasp of air was all the sound she was able to produce. For months she had thought of her double as a viper, a slithering, slimy trickster that had only her own intentions at heart. She was a deceptive, arrogant, incredibly egotistical, maniacal bitch that had made Olivia's blood boil whenever she thought of her. But this woman, this snake of a human being was more than just a woman. She was something else, something that had changed the entire equation in an instant.

Over Here, she was a mother.

"You okay?" Lincoln asked as her cheeks turned pale; concern flashed in his face.

"Can I see him?" she responded quietly, "Please?"

He hesitated for a moment before standing and led Olivia two floors up to where the nursery was. Opening the door they slipped quietly into a room painted in black and navy blue from the night. Tip-toeing to the crib carefully Lincoln reached effortlessly over the bar and removed a sleeping lump of blankets, cradling him in his arms. Rocking him gently the baby cooed, his tiny fingers closing around Lincoln's. Grinning, he placed the baby gently in Olivia's arms, admiring the wide smile that graced her pale lips.

"He's absolutely beautiful," she whispered, rocking the baby back and forth gently in her arms. "She must be very proud."

Lincoln smiled as he adjusted the cap on Henry's sleeping brow. "She was- she is. He's a miracle. She wasn't supposed to be able to have him, you know. Her sister died during child birth from a blood virus that killed her and her baby girl. Liv was positive for the same disease." He caressed the baby's warm cheek with his finger, his eyes lost in thought. "We didn't think he was going to make it, but by some grace he pulled through. Makes me believe some miracles are still possible."

Stirring gently in her arms Henry stretched, grasping hold of Lincoln's finger. "I take it Frank didn't want kids then? That's why he left her," Olivia muttered, rocking Henry in her arms. Lincoln gave her a sideways look; "I could see it from the way he talked to me. She must have been devastated the father of her-"

"He isn't the father," he whispered, averting his gaze to the floor. "The only reason he survived was because her pregnancy was accelerated."

Slowly the gears in her mind began to turn, connecting one dot to another. Suspicion became an unwelcomed visitor that had made her mind turn precariously. But the answer she had questioned was resting in her arms. In this small bundle, sitting comfortably against her chest, was everything she had imagined her child to be. In him she saw her own reflection- her alternate's reflection. He had her cheeks, and her lips. But in his nose and his brow and in his eyes she saw someone else, a face that had not taken shape until now.

Peter.

"I'm sorry, Olivia," whispered Lincoln upon seeing the distress on her face. "I didn't know until the day he was born." Tears lined her eyes as Lincoln placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't know, does he?" muttered Lincoln, caressing Henry's miniature leg; he'd take any distraction from seeing the shock on Olivia's face. "Peter, I mean."

Olivia swallowed her growing grief. "No," her voice cracking as her mouth filled with cotton, "No, he doesn't."

In the darkness around them Lincoln sighed, staring at the floor. "Are you going to tell him?"

She shrugged carefully, her voice small. "I-I don't know." Rocking Henry in her arms, she felt her body go numb.

"I think it's only proper for you to tell him," he squeezed her shoulder, "when he's ready."

Olivia said nothing and returned to rocking the sleeping bundle in her arms. Deep within her she found some satisfaction in watching his face contorted from aggravation back to that of a sleeping angel. Lincoln turned away, leaving them alone to fetch a bottle, Olivia couldn't take her eyes off of him, this beautiful miracle that rested in her arms. This she mused; this was what her future held, what her children would look like. The strength in their hands, the tranquility of their eyes, everything was there. But this was not her child; just a painful reflection of what could be- on how her alternate was her- but better.

She always hated keeping secrets from Peter. He had been honest with her; it was the least she could do for him. But this, this was something entirely different. The revelation of Peter's son multi-universal son was something inspiring to try and mend the worlds. It was something that could bring them all closer together, with the inspiration to heal both words for the sake of the children.

He still has feelings for her.

That single, heart breaking sentence worked its way back into her subconscious. Perhaps this could bring them together. But this consequential event could do something that had brought a terrifying sadness into her heart.

It could be the one thing that could tear her entire world apart.

Over Here
One week later

Brighton, MA
10:30pm

Peter stood silently in the kitchen, his hands working furiously to wash the already cleaned plate that he held, to eliminate that one final, annoying invisible speck that would not leave the already glistening surface. It was something- anything- to take his mind off of the fact she had been completely distant towards him since she returned. What had meant to be a one day trip had turned into an eight day escapade that had literally turned her world upside down. He had received one message from her saying she was staying, that the assessment of the damage greatly outweighed the repairs they had anticipated. He couldn't lie and say her mission hadn't worried him; of course it did. She was going into enemy territory without any back-up or a plan. Seeing her safe upon their return that afternoon had eased his mind greatly, but the distance that echoed in his eyes was something he hadn't expected to see.

He had taken her home from Liberty Island in silence. Upon returning to her apartment she lead him silently inside without protest, stripped and headed straight for the shower. He had continued with his plan despite the silence she portrayed. Picking up her dirt-stained clothes he threw them into the hamper, all the while preparing her favorite meal; Penne vodka, chicken Marsala, fresh mashed potatoes and those crunchy fried green beans he made so well. On his way home he picked up her choice of white wine that would always enable her to relax.

But a delicious homemade dinner wasn't enough to set her mind at least. She ate in small bites, and miniature sips of wine. Her eyes avoided his, her lip trembled and her hands shook slightly. If Peter hadn't known better, she resembled a broken soldier returned from the war. It was the way her shoulders shrunk and her back hunched. The question that reigned in his mind was simple enough- what had she seen to make her like this? What on Earth could have shocked Olivia Dunham, the hard ass, take-no-for-an-answer FBI agent into retreating like a scared, defenseless child?

He sighed, putting the final plate and glass away and turned towards where she sat on her bed and stared out the window. Her shoulders hung low and her head bowed. It tugged at Peter's heart to see her this distraught. Finally mustering the courage he walked slowly across the wooden floors, bottle of wine in hand and knelt behind her. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on the curve of her shoulder. Peaking over he pressed his lips to her skin and sighed, seeing the object she stared at.

It was a worn, brazen Metal of Honor, and one Olivia hung proudly by her bedside. Peter knew the history of that tiny piece of metal- it belonged to her father. A well-known General in the United States Army, he was killed when Olivia was six years old. She received it before he died, as a reminder to her that a small amount of bravery and a minute speck of courage and she could change the world. She displayed it proudly, and carried it during her two tours across seas.

"I used to believe that my father was a hero," she finally whispered, her fingers tracing the sharp outline of the faded star, "And I wanted to be just like him. I used to believe that a man who would leave his family, his home, his country to fight for our beliefs was a man worth celebrating. I wanted to make that difference, to… to be able to know that I had a small hand in making this world a better place. But this," she shuttered, "This isn't what I had in mind- to end one world to save another, to take the lives of innocent people; of men, women, children," the image of baby Henry flashed across her mind, "This isn't the kind of hero I wanted to be, Peter; the kind that would spill the blood of one innocent human to save another. We're no different from the terrorist organizations we try and protect our country from," she breathed, tears streaking down her face. "We're exactly the same."

Dragging his warm lips along the crevice of her neck, speckling her neck with light, peppered kisses he spoke softly. "No, you're not. If you were the same you wouldn't be on the mission you are now. To err is human, Olivia, but to forgive is divine. Despite what they did to you, what they threatened to do to our home, our families, our universe, you still find it fit to make sure they have the better outcome in all of this. It's something I admire about you; it's something I've always admired about you. Heroes aren't created, they aren't molded by military training- they are born. What you've set out to do, to help those who cannot help themselves is beyond heroic; it's simply angelic; to look past your anger, to see between the differences our sides have and be willing to aide them- that's what makes a hero, Liv."

Pressing her lips together Olivia sighed and let her shoulders shrink into his chest. "I've seen war, Peter, and this…" she huffed, "this is beyond war. What we did to those people, those innocent, innocent people… it was genocide. You remember the cab driver, Henry?" Peter nodded into her shoulder. "I saw him yesterday with his daughter." She paused, "And I was too scared to say hello." Drawing a knee up to her chest and wiped a line of tears from her cheeks. "That's sad, isn't it?"

"No, that's normal, Liv." He responded. Peter knew what would come next. The irrational thinking, the typical phrases she'd use to put herself down and get herself worked up. Reaching behind them he grabbed the two glasses of wine he felt her suddenly jolt up as he handed her a glass.

"What was I supposed to say? 'Long time to see? Sorry for destroying your world, how have you been?" Sipping the drink she sat down in the chair next to the night stand. "I couldn't say anything- not a thing."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle. "Olivia, you had just discovered the world that kidnapped you had been through hell, I don't think a simple 'hello, how are you?' would have been proper." Reaching across the small crevice between them he pulled her back into his arms. Peter grinned, "Things aren't that simple. You know that as well as I do, but give it time. I'm sure Henry would be happy to see you."

She huffed, swallowing another mouthful. "Sure, I'm glad he'd love to see the girl who helped destroy his world."

"Sure, now wouldn't be the most opportune time, but I'm sure later on once you start this project everything will be fine. I don't look at this as the glass half empty," he said, pouring her another beverage, "more like the glass half full."

"How come you aren't as upset over all of this?"

"Three reasons," he said, pouring her another glass, "One, I've had almost a bottle of wine to myself tonight while you were wallowing in self-loathing. Two, because I know what no matter the cost we're going to fix this. With help from all those resources that we haven't pissed off in the last four years, I know we're going to fix it."

Finishing her glass in two swigs, she grinned, "What's the third reason?"

Peter couldn't help but smile. "You, Olivia, because once you set your heart to something you don't stop until it's complete. It's because of you that I know this is going to work. I still stand by what I said to you all those years ago. I have never seen anyone who can do the things you do, Liv, and I'll be right beside you every step of the way."

"You really think we can do this," she asked quietly, staring into the small pool of wine at the bottom of her glass. "You think we can help repair the damage?"

He nodded. "Quite frankly I don't see how we can ignore this, and given your demeanor when you came home," he paused, "I think it's the right thing to do, and whatever happens, no matter how horrid it may be, I'll stand by you." Closing his hands around hers, he smiled, "I'm in this for the long run, Olivia."

Pressing her lips together she reciprocated his smile. He placed the empty glasses on the bedside table and turned back toward her. Peeling the sheets away from the corners he pulled them up, allowing her to easily slip beneath the soft cotton. After closing the lights to her apartment he returned, slipping into bed next to her. She must have been more exhausted then she appeared, he mused, for the moment her head hit the pillow Olivia was sound asleep beside him.

Peter couldn't help but smile at the tranquility that floated over her cheeks, and the softness of her closed eyes. He paused for a moment and just watched her sleep. The equality of her breathing, the spray of her hair, the way the light bounced off her lashes had always amazed Peter. It was a sheer mystery of how something as beautiful as her could be so tormented. But he would stand by what he said. He had become too involved to let her slip away, to let everything he had worked for become something of the past. He had been good at that before meeting her.

It wasn't long until he too, was fast asleep.

Chapter 6 coming soon!