A/N: Be careful, this is written in the 2nd person, so a few of you may not like it. Also, it switches POV a few times, but I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe.

"Olivia, thank God, you're here." He knows you, there's no doubt about it. His relief at seeing you and the recognition in his eyes are genuine, as far as you can tell. The problem is, you don't know him.

"Who are you?"

And then again, you do. He's the man in your dreams, whispering words that you can never hear. He's the man Walter's been seeing, forcing him to practically lobotomize himself. And he's the man you saw in the energy cloud Cameron had been trying to destroy before you had stopped him.

A look of utmost panic and fear crosses the man's face. "It's me, Peter. You don't remember me?" Of course, you do remember him, but not in any way that makes sense. Your head spins for a moment and you try to ground yourself. This could all be explained away as a coincidence. You'd dreamed of a generic face, and now had bent your memories to fit with this man's features. "Peter" could have found out your name any number of ways; he looked pretty shifty, perhaps a conman. Besides, working with the Fringe division, you'd seen weirder things, hadn't you?

And then again, you hadn't. Your pocket feels heavy all of a sudden, as you remember the folded drawing tucked in there. Hands shaking, you pull out the paper, unfold it, and compare. Yes, the faces are one and the same. "Peter" peers over your shoulder. He bites his lip. "Olivia…" he tries tenderly.

What had you felt in those dreams? It wasn't indifference; no, it was more. You'd cared. Maybe even…You don't want to think about it and you don't want to have to deal with this, especially when there are other perfectly capable agents in the hallway. You turn around, fast enough that your hair hits him in the face. "Agent Broyles will be in to see you soon," you say, leaving.

"I don't want Agent Broyles, I want you!" you hear him shout after you.

…

They're not the same people, you realize that soon enough. Your absence in their lives isn't glaringly obvious, but then again, it's quite noticeable once you take some time to really look. You understand why Walter's a bit more unhinged than when you left him; watching your kid die twice would be hard on anyone. But Olivia's even darker, more alone than you remember and you have no idea how that could be possible. You miss the warmth from both of them you were finally able to break through. And now… those three years of progress have vanished. You wonder if you'll ever get back to where you came from.

You gain an insight into Olivia's changed past one morning in November. Walter walks out of the lab's kitchen with a vanilla custard in hand. You quickly remember what day it is: Olivia's birthday.

"Happy birthday, Olivia!" Walter shouts loudly enough to make Astrid cover her ears. You were used to ignoring this usually happy day, just offering a bit of encouragement to a gloomy Olivia at the end of the day. But Olivia's expression bursts into a smile as Walter pulls out the candles.

"Wait, you like your birthday?" you ask. Olivia's face wrinkles in confusion.

"Why wouldn't I?" You look at the differences, at this shell surrounding her, and quickly come to a conclusion.

"You finished him, didn't you? You killed your stepfather." An awkward silence falls over the lab. "Where I came from, you didn't. And he sent you cards on your birthday, just to remind you that he was still out there." Olivia's mouth twists into a grimace, unsure how to respond.

"Olivia, do not listen to this buffoon. It is a time to celebrate!" Walter interrupts, snatching the candles from Lincoln's hands and sticking them into the soft custard.

It was odd, the irony. Before, you had been the abandoned son, refusing to call Walter dad. Now he was the one who wouldn't call you son.

Olivia blows out the flames and you can't help but feel that your presence here is unwelcome.

…

You're not his Olivia, and he doesn't belong in your timeline, you establish soon enough. But you saw him in your dreams and you felt something and he's here. And then Lincoln kind of sort of asks you out and you're distracted for a while.

Failing to save another person from the evil shapeshifters makes you want a drink. Then you remember your doctor had said to cut down on the alcohol consumption, and you decide to head for the bridge room, maybe sort a few more files in the cold stillness of the place. You find Peter there, hands deep inside a panel on the machine's base.

"Hey," you say softly, to catch his attention. You take a seat nearby as he pulls off his greasy goggles and gloves and turns around.

"Hey."

"So Broyles is letting you work on the machine? That's a nice surprise." Peter can't hold back his grin; you can tell he's happy he's one step closer to where he came from.

"Yeah, I was pretty surprised, too. Broyles trusts me already."

"You've helped us solve practically all of our cases since you arrived. He'll do whatever you want." Peter looks down for a moment, clenches his jaw, guilty, you can tell. "What is it?"

"I didn't tell Broyles this, but…" he pauses, takes a long breath. "If I succeed, there is a chance that this universe, your universe, won't exist anymore."

Your first instinct is to bolt, to pull out your phone, call Broyles, and inform him that your initial suspicions of Fringe Event #237 have been confirmed.

But something changes your mind. Something from the heart, not the brain, that reminds you that you know this man even if you think you don't. You can't shake the feeling that he's the reason you can't sleep at night, the reason you don't notice that hole in your life all that much anymore, the reason things with Lincoln aren't working out as they should. Besides, from what he's told you, the original timeline seems like a much better place. A world where you didn't murder someone at the innocent age of nine, where Walter leaves the lab to go to sleep in a real house. You want to take a cold shower, slap yourself; you've gone soft. (Those rare times that he smiles at you, you can't help but smile back.)

Peter can't hide the shock in his face when you reply, "Well, if we don't exist, we can't really care all that much, can we?" You stand up slowly, feeling the creak in your joints. "Keep working. I hope you find your way home."

…

The machine releases you and you barely make it down the stairs before your legs buckle and you fall to your knees. You'd failed. Of course, you could always try again, tinker more with the mechanics, but you'd seen pretty clearly while up there and you're pretty sure that you don't have a home to go back to.

Walter approaches, places an old, wrinkled hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, son," he says, for the first time with a bit of feeling in his voice. "I know how badly you wanted this to work."

You look up in surprise. Son. He'd called you son? And you see Walter in those eyes. The Walter you know, the Walter who'd raised you.

Walter, too, seems surprised at his cordiality and shuffles away quickly, while Olivia helps you up.

"You okay?" she asks. You brush the dust from your knees despondently.

"Yeah, yeah," you wave away her concern, seeing as, in this timeline, you barely know her. "I probably should have seen this coming." Olivia shrugs and it seems for a moment that she's at ease with you.

"It happens to all of us," she assures you. Pointing over her shoulder to the door, she adds, "Hey, I'm going out for a drink, wanna join?"

It occurs to you how self-centered you'd been, how self-centered to think that your absence alone would have changed these people irreparably. The people you know and love are still in there somewhere; it was just that after three years of working to get to where you had been, you hadn't been particularly inclined to start over.

"Lincoln coming?" you ask. Olivia smirks, perhaps mischievously, and your heart starts pounding.

"Eh, too much of a lightweight for me."

"Well, then you've picked the right person."

You look at Olivia, still the strongest woman you've ever met. And Walter, a little agoraphobic, but still Walter, nonetheless. You love these people and you will get back to them. Just, as it turns out, you don't need a universe-bending machine to do that.

After all, the only difference is that you weren't there. But you're here now, aren't you?

You decide it's time to make up for all those lost moments.

(And one day you hope to be able to look into her eyes and say "I did get back to her" and to have her smile, one of those constants that have remained the same despite the apparent delicacy of the time space continuum.)