So I was watching 'How I Met Your Mother' the other night and this just popped into my head. I'd been meaning to write a post Jacksonville fic too, but it just seemed like everyone else had all of the scenarios covered, so I sort of combined my ideas into something that was a little bit different. I hope you like it.

Unbetaed, and all written today, so sorry in advance for mistakes that might appear.

"Mommy, why don't I have a daddy?" the little girl is still using colouring books, but she's impossibly bright for her age- something she no doubt inherited from her father. You had hoped to postpone any conversations of this sort until she was far older, and now that you're required to give an explanation of sorts, you don't know what to say. She has obviously been watching too much television- clearly noticed how all of the children on TV have a set of two parents while all she has is one lonely old widow. Or close to it, anyway.

"Everyone has a daddy, sweetheart" you smile thinly, and somehow the use of Peter's old endearment helps, "Yours just can't be here right now."

"Why do you hate Grandpa Bishop?" her eyes are wide with curiosity and you know her well enough to understand this isn't an accusation. It's a simple question, but as you reply, you hear your voice rise unnecessarily.

"Don't be silly, Katie. I don't hate him." It's true, in a way. If it wasn't for him, you would never have met Peter and you would never have had such a beautiful daughter. But you can't help but resent him, if only a little, because if it hadn't been for him, you and John would most likely be living together in wonderful, blissful ignorance right now.

"Grandpa Bishop says you do. He says that the only reason you let me visit him is because you promised daddy." You frown. You will have to have words with Walter in the very near future if he insists on talking to your seven year old this way.

"Well that's just not true." You lie unconvincingly. You hope she can't tell.

"How did you meet daddy?" She's a little older now, but now quite yet a teenager. It's the calm before the storm if Rachel is to be believed. For now, Katie's off school with some sort of stomach bug, and has been glued to some rubbish old Jennifer Aniston rom-com for the best part of two hours. Naturally, such tripe has filled her head with romantic notions which couldn't be further from reality, and now any tales of Peter will pale in comparison to what she's just witnessed on screen.

You know she wants you to say you met Peter's eyes across a crowded room and just knew. She's still young enough to believe that all the best sorts of love occur at first sight, but it just doesn't work like that. Not for you, anyway.

"We used to work together" you reply, and at once she sits up, eager to hear more. You don't continue, however, wondering what else there could possibly be to say without traumatising the poor girl.

"So you met at work, and then he asked you out?" she prompts, and amused, you shake your head.

"It took us a year and a half to build up to a first date, and even then it was me who asked him." You're smiling now, recalling the giddy nervousness you'd felt as you'd dialled his number in the aftermath and the butterflies that had coursed through you when you'd approached his front door. You try not to think about the moment where you first saw the glimmer that you grew to loathe. Your daughter, however, is frowning and you realise that, as predicted, this isn't matching up to her romantic expectations.

"We were friends first" you carry on, hoping that will appease her slightly, "Best friends." She still seems less than pleased.

"Where did he take you?"

"To a bar." Her face falls further, and so you amend it slightly, "Well it was a restaurant, but we just got drinks."

"So it wasn't love at first sight and you didn't have a perfect first date?" she rolls her eyes at you, "You're just so unromantic, mom." You have to hide a smile. The first date had been far worse than she could ever envisage. It was, on no uncertain terms, a complete disaster. He'd tried. It had been obvious that Peter was trying so hard to make sure you had a good time, but every with every glance towards him you sunk a little deeper into depression.

You notice your little girl is staring glumly at her DVD collection, looking for the next romantic comedy to put on, and you cast your mind back for something that will please her.

"He sent me roses." You say suddenly, "On Valentine's Day, two weeks after the date from Hell, he sent roses to my apartment. Your Aunt Rachel… she was living with me back then… she saw them first and she was in hysterics by the time I got home. She'd always wanted us to get together." Finally, your daughter gives a satisfied smile and turns back to the television. For now at least, all is right in her world.

"Is my dad dead?" her question isn't exactly unforeseen, but it still throws you for a second. The young girl before you has grown into a headstrong teenager with a general thirst for answers, and you know you can no longer hope to distract her from thoughts of Peter.

"No" You answer simply, and as far as you know, honestly. You know she'll be less than happy with that response, but you can say no more because you know she's still far too young for the truth. A disgusted look appears on her face, and she turns away from you.

"Then he's a bastard."

"Don't say that" you reply, firmly, but she's clearly been thinking about this for a while, and she refuses to let it go.

"I've never even met the guy and by my count, he owes you a hell of a lot of child support. He's a bastard."

"No, he's not." You answer, with just as much passion as Katie, "He had to go away."

"Why?" she snaps back, "You always say that, but as far as I can tell there's no reason why he can't be here. I'm fourteen mom and I'm not stupid." There's silence now, and you merely frown. What are you supposed to say to something like that? Sorry Katie, but your daddy had to go away to stop his home universe colliding with ours? That he's probably curled up in bed with some other version of mommy right now, barely thinking of us?

"Peter loved me" you finally whisper, with more emotion than you should probably be showing your daughter, "But he had to go. Trust me, he did." She just gives you a disbelieving, pitying look before she walks out the door to meet her friends. You sigh to yourself and reach for the scotch. It's times like these that you miss him more than ever.

A year passes and Katie is upstairs getting ready for her first real date. You can't help but feel nervous for her, as you wait downstairs while she goes through your closet for a bag to match her shoes, or vice versa. There's still an hour before the boy, this James, is due to arrive, and so you're surprised when you hear her footsteps on the stairs.

"Were you ever married, mom?" there's a strange aspect to her voice, and you suppose that this would be an odd question in any other household. But you've been forced to be so secretive about so many things, you suppose she has every right to wonder.

"No. Why?" Silently, she presents you with a little square box that had long since slipped your mind. You don't need to open it to know what's there- a simple, silver engagement ring, inscribed with the single word, 'Always', but you do so anyway.

"Your dad didn't give me this." You pre-empt her next question, swallowing hard as you stare at the ring. You'd never wanted to have this conversation with her.

"Then who did?"

"His name was John. We were nearly engaged, once."

"Nearly? And he let you keep the ring?" her voice is marred with disbelief and you sigh, knowing that this is one topic at least you have to be truthful in.

"He died before he could propose" you admit, "Right before I met you dad."

"So you and Peter were never…" she's long since ceased to refer to him as 'dad', but you just know she still holds onto a fairytale vision of you and him.

"We probably would have, but we had no time to even think about marriage. I told you how he sent me those roses, right? Well we kissed that night, but a few days after that, there was an argument. Between me and your dad, as well as him and Grandpa Bishop too. There was a time when I thought he would never forgive either of us."

"But he did?"

"Well he forgave me. He and Walter were never the same after that" you sigh.

"Then what happened?" All thoughts of her own date had clearly long since evaporated.

"We knew after the fight that he had to go away soon, so we tried to get things back to normal, but then one night he just told me he loved me and I felt the same, so we decided we should be together for as long as we could."

"And how long was that?"

"About six months." A lifetime's worth of kissing and lovemaking and general displays of affection had to be shoved into six short months. When you combined that with work, you had little time for dates and no time at all for thoughts of the future.

"So why didn't you just go with him?"

"It doesn't work like that," you sigh, "If I'd gone too, it would have turned out just as bad in the long run."

"Just as bad as what?" she asks desperately.

"I can't say." Those secrets are classified, but one day you will tell her, when the time is right. She makes a frustrated noise and snaps that she has to go finish getting ready. You let her go.

"I was an accident, wasn't I?" it comes from nowhere, one night when the pair of you are sitting watching TV, and you blink in surprise.

"What?"

"If you and Peter had, and I quote, 'No time to even think about marriage' then you definitely hadn't talked about having kids." Her tone is matter-of-fact but her eyes betray her painful fear. You want to lie to her, to deny it, but she's far too smart to believe you and it's obvious this has been on her mind for some time now.

"No, we didn't plan for you to happen, but when I found out… when we found out, we were both so happy that we were going to have you." Her eyes brim with tears at your words and she whispers,

"You said you were together for six months…"

"He was gone before you were born, but he loved you. I swear he did." She looks down for a second to collect herself, before she finally catches you eye,

"Mom, where exactly is he?"

"Later." You promise and sighing, she nods.

The phone call comes when you least expect it. It's been fifteen years since you last laid eyes on Phillip Broyles and aside from the odd Christmas card, there's been no further contact. He's as abrupt as you remember him, but you've always appreciated how he can get a point across in so few words. He's been talking to Nina Sharpe, who's apparently still in contact with William Bell. And it turns out that Bell has been employing a certain ex civilian consultant of yours for the past decade and a half. According to Bell's calculations, the universes are finally far enough apart again to permit a visit, and a lengthy one at that.

Peter spent about thirty years in this universe before the ill effects began to manifest last time, and so it seems that now he can return for at least ten without either world suffering ill effects. He is to return tomorrow.

You hang up, feeling completely overwhelmed with surprise and sheer joy. Peter's finally coming back. After taking a few moments to collect yourself, you call your daughter downstairs. At once, she looks worried as you order her to sit.

"I think it's about time I told you about your father." She leans forward, her breath catching slightly and you have to smile, "So it all started with this plane…"

So I gave in to the happy ending... I'm a romantic at heart.

Thanks for reading :)