Okay so here's the deal. I got kind of tired with writing post-finale. Also, my laptop has told me that the S.M.A.R.T. thingy has detected IMMINENT FAILURE. Meaning that my laptop is going to crash any day now. Tragic. So I had to go buy flashdrives to back up all of my files. And now I'm currently saving up for a new laptop. It's between another HP or a purple(my favorite color) Toshiba. I've just got to do a bit of research before I decide. ANYWAY, the point is, while my laptop was in imminent failure mode, my muse returned and I was struck with this crazy idea that I just had to play with. Chapter One is pretty innocent, but Chapter Two is not (and not in a smutty way). So, it is my intention to rile you good people up with what I intend to do ;) (have no fear, it will all turn out alright in the end) For now, I'm making this T because there is no reason for it to be M (until later).

The gist of this is that it takes place directly after Northwest Passage, and that Peter did NOT leave with Walternate.

By the way, my brain is insisting on asking WHERE THE HELL IS NEWTON? He is obviously still on our side. Why? If Walternate had planned to destroy our universe, why leave one of his top men over here? What is Newton doing? I'M SORRY FOR MY MINI RANT BUT I JUST REALLY NEED SEASON THREE, LIKE, THIRTY DAYS AGO.

Oh, and obviously I do not own Fringe or any of it's characters or situations or anything related therein. I just do this for fun, and because I'm slowly losing my mind. DOWN WITH SUMMER HELLATUS.

Also, before I forget (and I apologize for rambling on like this but) this is the first time I've written from a specific character's first-person point of view, so let me know how I did. It really wasn't that easy for me, because when I write, the whole thing plays out in my mind and occurs all at the same time and I am essentially just observing it. Oh, and I tend to listen to music when I write. This chapter was fueled by an absolutely amazing song called Strange by Tokio Hote ft. Kerli from the Almost Alice soundtrack =)

Okay, I think I'm done now, so, ENJOY!


PETER

I awoke to the faint sounds of a bustling hospital. I could hear someone breathing over me. I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt so heavy. Each breath in and out caused an aching to ricochet through my entire being. I'd never felt like this before. Sure, I'd been in massive amounts of pain, but this, this was different, strange. My head was throbbing, my muscles were sore, and I felt very disoriented. I didn't know which was worse, the physical pain, or the emotional pain. When I finally opened my eyes, everything was a blur. I tried harder to focus. Blonde hair and a warm smile greeted my tired eyes. Olivia. I focused on her smile. It was so genuine. She looked so relieved. For a second, guilt flashed through my mind at how angry I was at her. But no, she had betrayed my trust, she deserved my anger. "Welcome back." I heard her state. She knew. Liar. I forced a smile as she offered me ice. I wanted her out of here. I needed to confront Walter. Besides, if I had to stare at that concerned expression on her face for another minute I would eventually not be angry with her. I wasn't ready to not be angry with her. I was still too hurt, and I was nowhere near ready to let it go. As soon as I could, I was going to get the hell out of here and run as far and as fast as possible from this poisonous place. Away from these liars.

I thought of this as I sat on the motel bed. I no longer had even a vague semblance of an idea as to who I was anymore. Apparently, I was worth killing for, whatever the implications of that fact were. The bitter thought crossed my mind as I glanced down at the disc Krista had made me. Peter Bishop from Boston. With hearts instead of "O's". What the hell. I placed it into my CD player, put on the headphones, and lay back. A faint smile flickers across my face. I love Band of Horses. Suddenly, I feel a presence in my room. There is a gun pointed at me and I shoot up so quickly the room spins momentarily. It's Newton. I don't stand a chance against him from where I am, but he doesn't move to kill me. He looks over his shoulder and beckons for someone deemed "Mr. Secretary." I cannot hide the complete and utter shock as my father, my father, the Walter from the alternate universe, enters my room. I'm just sitting here with my hands in the air, dumbfounded, looking like an idiot, or at least feeling like one.

"Hello, son," he says to me.

"Hello," I stutter back questioningly, lowering my hands.

"You've no idea how long I've been trying to cross over," he told me, in a tone that was more matter-of-fact than anything else. I stared back at him, blankly. My mind was unable to process the situation fast enough. I felt like I was lagging behind. He crossed the room, and for whatever reason, I followed. He spoke again, "I can take you back where you belong, son. They have our coordinates. But if you come with me, you won't be able to come back here. You have to make a choice, Peter."

Again I stare at him like a simpleton. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice is telling me that this is all just too much and it's begging me to run. Running away from my problems is what I do best, at least it was until... I shake my head to focus. I need to give this man an answer.

"I," I begin, but my voice falters. I need to continue, "I can't. At least not yet. I'm not ready. I need some time."

A grim expression crosses his face as he reluctantly nods his head and grumbles out a terse, "Fine."

He motions to Newton, "Come, we have business to attend to."

"But sir?" Newton seems confused. Join the club.

"Now," The Secretary's voice is commanding.

He heads out the door of my motel room, and Newton follows. "Sir, you haven't come all this way just to..." and his voice trails off as they are now out of my earshot.

Crossing again to the bed, I sit down, rubbing my hands over my face. "So," my mind begins to piece things together, but instead, it comes out a long string of tangled yarn, "Newton works for my actual father, who is the Secretary of... of something, but what? Doesn't matter, his position makes him Newton's boss, or superior, or whatever. Newton tried to kill my fath- Walter, this Walter. Newton's shape-shifters, are really his shape-shifters? They have continually, on several separate occasions, tried to kill Olivia. Newton follows orders. My father's orders, the Secretary's orders. He ordered those hits. He wants Olivia dead. Olivia." My mind pauses and focuses on the subject of Olivia Dunham, and before I can stave it off, images flood into my brain. Her smile, that laugh that I solicited in the bar, those eyes so full of every emotion ever known to man and then some. "Stop." I tell my own mind. My eyes burn as I feel the sting of the saltwater, blinking back the tears I will not allow to fall. I stand and start packing. There is someone that I need to speak to.


OLIVIA

The plane ride was nearly unbearable. Although I hated to admit it to even myself, I couldn't tell who was more anxious, Walter or me. For five hours, he sat, or rather, bounced, and fidgeted in his seat. He made several trips to the restroom, and twice I had to assure the flight attendant that he would settle down. I looked at Walter, staring out the rental car window as we drove through Washington. He looked so sad and so scared, like a terrified child. Overall, this was his fault, the Cortexiphan trials that started this, that was his fault, and Bell's of course, but he wasn't here to take the blame, so it had all fallen on Walter. That wasn't fair. However, this specific situation, Peter leaving, this, this was my fault. Peter had every right to be mad. I don't blame him for running. I won't blame him if he refuses to forgive me. Though, I desperately want him to. Then maybe I can forgive myself for what I've done.

I turn into a motel parking lot, park the sedan, and take a deep breath. "Walter," I spoke softly, "we're here. Are you coming in with me?"

He looks like a startled animal backed into a corner, "No," he murmurs, "I think I'll wait in the car."

He didn't say why. He didn't have to. I shake my head and pat his arm, giving him a reassuring smile, even though I wasn't sure of anything. I lock the car behind me, force of habit I guess, and head to the front desk. A short, stocky, middle-aged man stood behind the desk. I notice he has crumbs in his goatee. I grimace slightly. He peers at me from behind the rims of his reading glasses.

"Can I help you with something?" he asks curiously.

I flash my badge, and he stands up straighter, apparently nervous. "Yes," I state, "I'm looking for this man." I show him a picture of Peter. Relief and recognition flit across his face as he realizes I am only interested in speaking with one of his guests.

He glances down at his records, and shuffles back and forth through the pages, "Ah, yes," he says, "Man by the name of Gene. Gene Cowan. Room four."

Despite the unfortunate circumstances that brought me to this motel and the pain that I wouldn't admit that I was feeling, I laugh. Gene Cowan? Clever. I laugh again. The man behind the desk eyes me cautiously as he hands me a key to the room. I just turn and walk down the hall, shaking my head, still smiling.

However, the smile quickly dissipates when I come face-to-face with an unlocked door to an empty room. I walk slowly through the room, surveying every centimeter. I was too late. Again. I'm always too late. I always fail. I failed to stop the shape-shifters from retrieving Newton; I nearly failed to tap into my ability in time to save those people in the building that transferred itself to the other side. If it weren't for Peter, I wouldn't have been able to see it in time. Peter. More failure. I failed to tell Peter the truth. About himself, where he was from, what had happened to him as a child, about my feelings towards him. Failure, after failure, after failure. I suddenly feel very unqualified to do this job. The comforter of the bed is wrinkled. I sit down on it. It's still warm. He couldn't have left too long ago. I close my eyes and blow a deep breath of air out of my mouth.

"Hello, Olivia," a familiar voice taunts.

My eyes fly open. They're met with the black barrel of a gun. "Newton," I state in a tone that conveys more emotion than I'd have liked.

He smirks at me as Walter enters the room. But Walter is wearing a suit and looks very well put together. My minor confusion lasts only a second as I realize this is the other Walter, or as my Walter would call him, "Walternate." I swallow hard.

"Where is Peter?" I demand, looking past the gun Newton has pointed directly at me to Walternate.

A fiendish smile graces his lips. "Funny," he mutters, "I was going to ask you the same question."

I'm so beyond confused at this point that I hardly know what to do. I listen as he gives a short explanation.

"I offered to take my son back to his rightful home with me; however, he turned me down. Thing is, though, I will not leave without him. Something is holding him here, or, now I can see, someone." There is a smugness to his tone that sends a chill down my spine.

"What?" I ask dumbly.

He doesn't waste time and bluntly asks, "How long have you and my son been romantically involved?"

I blink. What the hell? Romantically involved? I speak, "No, we aren't. We're just. I...he... No." I think to myself how very profound the words tumbling off of my lips must sound. I wonder what would give him the impression that Peter and I were...are...romantically... My mind brakes hard and I feel my pulse quicken. My feelings for Peter swell to the surface and more than anything at this very moment I want him here with me.

"You're not romantically involved with my son?" Walternate questions disbelievingly, as though he knows otherwise. I shake my head "no" and he scoffs, "You know, I've been watching the two of you for months now. It's quite apparent that you are in love with my son, so there is no need to lie."

I lower my head and bite back tears that have been fighting to pour out of my eyes from the moment I'd seen Peter's glimmer. "We are not involved," I reiterate firmly. A "hmming" noise escapes Walternate's lips. For whatever reason, my mind chooses this exact instant to remember my Walter, alone in the car. I quickly raise my head and adrenaline takes over as I realize that I very much need to get out of here not only to get myself and Walter back to the safety of Boston, but also to find Peter, again, and protect him from this wicked man.

Newton obviously wasn't expecting me to fight them. I base this assessment off of the shocked expression on his face as I knock the gun out of his hand and it skitters across the floor, under the nightstand. I reach for my gun, but before I can un-holster it, his fist collides with my face. I feel my lip split open; the scent and taste of iron fill my senses as I feel blood trickling down my chin. I knee his balls hard, and drive a powerful fist into his abdomen. His fist again aims for my face and catches my right eye. With all the force in my being, I deliver several painful blows to his body and he falls to the floor, writhing in pain, unable to fight back. I smile, satisfied, but Walternate slaps the satisfaction right off of my face, literally. His hands grip around both of my upper arms and he's squeezing with such force that it's sure to leave bruises. He pins me to the wall and I'm squirming under his firm grasp, trying to free myself, but it's futile. The next second his hand is around my neck and I can hardly breathe. He tightens his grasp and I feel my eyes widen from the pressure of struggling to breathe. My heart is pounding in my chest.

His face is mere inches from mine as he goads, "I will find him, and he will return with me. I will get him back."

A flash of sentience graces my mind and I reach for my gun. I pull the trigger. He falls to the floor grabbing his leg, howling in immense pain. I bolt out of the room, and slow the pace to a brisk walk past the suspecting guests in the lobby. I hit the button twice and the car beeps as it unlocks. I slam the door shut and floor it.

"Olivia, what happened?" Walter's voice is coated with concern.

"Nothing, he wasn't there," I try to come off sounding somewhat calm and at the least collected, but I'm still shaken.

"Are you alright? Who did this to you? Who was there?" Walter is pleading with me.

I stare at him and swallow. Something dawns on his face and he asks, "Was it me? The other me?"

I nod and add, "Newton too."

"Oh God," I hear Walter groan. He looks even more distraught then before.

"What is it, Walter?" The concern in my voice is audibly growing.

"I can't remember, but I just know that it's something awful, and it has to do with Peter and why they want him back," he was near tears.

I decided not to press him any further, and drive on more determined than ever to find Peter.


I have the rest of this in my head, the following chapters, I mean. So, writing them is not the issue. Finding the time, though, will be difficult. I promise to make it worth the wait if you stick with me on this. I know, I'm evil. Just wait 'til you see what happens next ;)