AN: Looks like I pre-empted certain developments in 'Welcome to Westfield' when I wrote this last week. Which is quite amazing, because I can't usually figure out where the show is heading. Originally this was prompted by my frustration about the absence of any kind of decent Peter whump so far this season. So I decided to revisit scenes from the more prolific earlier seasons. Still, definitely no inFRINGEment intended.

This will be a three parter, and it's basically finished. I just need to incorporate some suggestions from my wonderful beta mvariorum - thanks so much, hon, as always - to the other two parts so updates should come pretty quick.

This picks up right after Jones escaped through the portal in the quarry.

"Olivia?"

The sound of Peter's voice barely permeated the daze she found herself in as she stared at where the hood of her SUV should have been. But now it ended barely a foot beyond her windscreen.

"Olivia!"

This time Peter's tone was more insistent, and there was a definite trace of panic in his voice. Olivia lifted her radio to her lips and managed to say, "I'm here."

There was a brief pause, then Peter's voice again.

"You're okay?"

Olivia tried to suck in enough breath to reply, but her wildly beating heart constricted her air intake. So it took a little while until she was able to reply, 'Yeah… I'm okay."

It really had been an incredibly near miss, and if she hadn't braked at the last moment due to Peter's warning…

"Olivia?"

Lincoln's voice this time. She sighed in exasperation. Couldn't he give her at least a moment to recover?

"Yes," she said into the radio, unable to keep a note of annoyance from her voice.

"I could use your help. Peter caught a bullet in the arm, and it looks like it nicked an artery."

There was no explanation for the sudden rush of dread and worry that slammed like a fist into her solar plexus. Or the sudden vision of Peter lying unmoving on the flat roof of a building, while an Observer who stood watching him from a distance pocketed a strange looking gun.

FringeFringeFringe

Peter sucked in a hissing breath as the pain fully hit him. With the adrenaline pumping through his veins earlier he had been only marginally aware of his injury. But now that Jones was gone and Olivia was safe, he became acutely aware of the bullet hole in his arm.

"Ouch - dammit, Linc…"

The fingers of the FBI agent were digging deep into Peter's biceps on the inside of his arm, sending spikes of red-hot fire coursing up into his shoulder and all the way down to his fingertips. It felt just like the effect of the Observer's magic stun gun. Funny, he hadn't thought about that episode on the roof in a long time.

"I'm sorry," Lincoln replied, his tone of voice managing to convey both worry and exasperation, "I gotta keep pressure on the artery, or you'll bleed out."

Peter just nodded in reply, unable to talk through his gritted teeth.

The sound of running steps heralded Olivia's arrival. Peter could see her eyes widen in shock when she saw the still growing puddle of blood by his side. Trying to reassure her, he gave her one of his trademark smirks.

"You should consider putting sleeves on these vests," he managed to grind out. "Sleeves would come as a real bonus."

"I'll get Massive Dynamic to work on it," Olivia replied.

Peter's grin morphed into a grimace of pain as Lincoln further increased the pressure on his arm, pretty much grinding the artery into the bone.

An agent came running with the first aid kit from the SUV, followed at a somewhat more decorous pace by Broyles. Peter watched Olivia take the kit from the agent and start rummaging around in it. By the time Broyles joined the group Olivia had found a bag of blood plasma and an IV needle.

"An ambulance is on its way," Broyles announced, "but its arrival will be delayed by the bad condition of this access road."

Peter was only half listening; instead he was watching Olivia busily swabbing the back of his hand with disinfectant. He wondered if this incarnation of Olivia had an aversion to needles as well. But even if she did, he knew he was in good hands. After all, this particular phobia hadn't stopped his Olivia from coming through for him after he'd drunk the poisoned milk from Walter's fridge, either.

FringeFringeFringe

Olivia was concentrating on getting the needle into the vein when another vision sliced through her brain - Peter convulsing on the floor as she stabbed a syringe into his thigh.

"Dunham? What are you waiting for?" Broyles barked, shattering the image.

"I'm on it," Olivia replied, sliding the needle home and starting the IV. What on earth was wrong with her?

Shelving the answer to that question for later perusal, Olivia stood.

"Sir, I suggest we load him into a car and meet the ambulance half way. With the amount of blood he's losing every minute counts."

"Good idea." Broyles looked at Lincoln. "Will you be able to keep up the pressure during transport?"

Lincoln raised his chin defiantly. "I'm not letting go," he declared.

Peter's eyes had closed, and his head had dropped back against the concrete pipes he was resting against. But the scene was overlaid by yet another vision in Olivia's mind. Peter in a pea coat and scarf, crumpled against the fender of an SUV as blood was trickling from his ear. With an effort, Olivia shoved the unbidden image away. She was starting to get a headache from all these inexplicable snapshots suddenly flooding her brain. Could she have been subjected to some kind of radiation from Jones' portal device? Had it caused her to somehow see things that had happened to her double on the other side? But that made no sense, Peter hadn't spent enough time Over There to experience all these scenes she could see. And for some inexplicable reason it was this phrase that kept echoing in her mind. Not enough time… not this time… time…