A season one summer time plot line (because it can't be winter all the time in Boston, right? )

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Olivia snapped her cell phone shut and sighed loudly. She couldn't believe that this was happening. Again.

"What's wrong, Dunham?" asked Peter as he set down a cup of (probably stale) coffee on her desk. "Someone run over your puppy?"

She attempted to muster up the energy to continue their verbal tete a tete. "Nope," she said with a strained smile. "The puppy's fine, thanks for asking. That was Broyles - we have another case."

Just then Walter skidded across the lab floor, dragging an amused Astrid in tow. "Peter, you wouldn't believe what Afro and I found in the ball-pit at McDonalds!" He cupped a hand to his mouth and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial (but still quite audible) whisper. "Over six different species of ring-worm!"

Peter grimaced. "That's nice, Walter, very tasteful. Now go get your lab kit; we've got a case."

"Excellent, I hope there are bodies. I have some new forensic enzymes that I've been aching to try out," Walter murmured and puttered away to get his things. Peter shook his head and smiled.

Olivia bent down on the floor to file the last of her paper work back into her brief case when she felt Peter's touch on her shoulder, causing her to flush even more so than usual in the summer heat.

"Olivia, seriously – what's wrong? You've been in a funk all week," he said.

"It's nothing," she dismissed him. She bent down once again, her falling in front of her face like a curtain between them. Always the gentleman (or maybe just refusing to let her shut him out), he dropped to the floor as well to help her so that both of them faced each other on their hands and knees.

She bit her lip. "Just… Rach and I have always gone to the beach for one week in July, ever since we were kids." She smiled nostalgically. "We've even kept the same house: this gorgeous little cottage up in Cape Cod. Anyway, this is the week, and I've already delayed going twice – first I had the board meeting and then I had to finish my paper work, and now we have this case. I'm worried that I won't be able to make it up at all. I can't disappoint Ella like that."

"Livia," he said seriously. "Have a little faith. Ella understands how demanding your job is; she's a pretty cool kid."

He tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear and smiled. "Besides, there's no need to worry about not making it up there. We'll solve this one extra quick for you, I promise."

Olivia took a minute to survey the area before getting out of the car. The Boston suburb bloomed in all of its summer glory: the July sun beat down radiantly without so much as a cloud in the sky; children shrieked and giggled as they ran through the sprinklers on perfectly manicured lawns; glamorous housewives gathered on the porches in groups of two and three, sipping glasses of ice tea and gossiping to each other; fathers wiped sweat off their brow as they worked on the vegetable garden or washed the family car. The Stepford Wives-esque scene hardly seemed like the place for even a minor crime, much less a Pattern Incident.

"What have we got?" Olivia asked the startled looking cop as they arrived on the scene. The brown haired, wide eyed youth attempted to stutter through an explanation before Walter interrupted him with an "Olivia, come and look at this!" and dragged her through the throng of police officers to see the body.

"Fried to a crisp – like a potato chip!" Walter declared almost gleefully as he began the preparations for the autopsy.

And indeed he was. The dried, mangled corpse in front of her was hardly recognizable as a human being, much less identifiable as a person.

"Do we have a name yet?" Peter asked, seemingly reading her mind.

"The local coroner identified him as Bryce Johnson," she responded.

"Ok," said Peter crossing his arms, "So why does a simple electrocution get classified as a Pattern case? It could have just been a malfunctioned iPod, which while law-suit worthy, doesn't necessarily warrant the attention of the Fringe division."

"Well the body was found with no electronics on it of any kind, so it couldn't have been a malfunction. Plus this is the third body that authorities have found in this state in the last year," Olivia scanned her note pad. "all of them boys around the same age."

She raised an eyebrow. "Weird enough for you?"

Peter smirked. "It's getting there. Personally I'm waiting for the–"

"That's my boyfriend!" a voice cried out, interrupting him. From the crowd sprang a teenage girl, probably eighteen, with curly blond hair and a lean, model's figure. She sprinted over to the crime scene and threw herself upon the body, ignoring Walter's cries of "Don't touch that! Science at work!"

She looked at Olivia, her blue eyes filled with tears. "What happened to him?"

Olivia gently placed her hands on the girl's shoulders and guided her away from the horrifying sight. "We think he was electrocuted."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Electrocuted? By what?"

"We're not sure yet," Olivia admitted, "but I promise that as soon as we do you'll be the first to be informed, miss…"

"Miranda," she replied with a sob," My name's Miranda Pratt."

"Miranda, would you mind waiting with the rest of the crowd, just until we finish our investigation?" Olivia asked kindly.

The young woman sniffed and nodded. Olivia wandered back over to the Bishop men, only to find Walter on the verge of a temper-tantrum.

"Peter," Walter stammered, looking very close to tears himself. "Her prints…DNA...all over the body…contamination!"

"It's alright, Walter," Peter replied soothingly, attempting an awkward pat on the back. "I'm sure it's not as bad as you think.

Olivia bit her lip to hide her smile and was relieved for the distraction when her phone rang.

"Olivia, it's Astrid," said the voice on the other line.

"Hi Astrid, what's going on?"

"Well, I cross referenced the names of the three electrocution victims that you gave me, and something came up on their Facebooks: all three of them had dated the same girl."

Olivia frowned. "What's her name?"

"Miranda Pratt."