This will be a One-Shot for the time being, however I do have plans for it in the future.

Springfield, MA. 10:31 a.m. EST
Present Day.

"Just another turn and we'll be there," Peter instructed as Olivia twisted the wheel to the right. The SUV slid neatly onto a dirt road and trundled along, tires popping on frequent twigs and stones. Glancing over, the agent notice Peter check his phone before saying, "That's it, right ahead."

They parked and, simultaneously, pushed open the door and climbed out. Astrid hurried over to greet them, wrapped in an indigo scarf that surprisingly went well with her leather jacket. In her grasp was the handle of a hard suitcase with what Olivia knew to have their equipment inside. Agent Farnsworth smiled at the blond before turning to see if their mad scientist was coming or if he needed to be prodded off the "ass-warmers," as he dubbed it.

Olivia started up the slight slope to the house, painfully aware of Peter a few paces behind and easily catching up. He remained quiet, which was unlike him, but she didn't issue any need for conversation. It wasn't that she was angry, necessarily. She was more... disappointed in him, really. She paused her thoughts and reconsidered. Yes, anger was in there, but it wasn't the only one. It coincided with the disappointment and a touch of jealousy for the other her; the better version. The one that smiled more, the more extroverted one, the smarter one, the…

She shook her head. The case, she told herself, the case comes first. Focus on the case.

They arrived at the house and the police let her and Peter in with a quick flash of her badge.

They looked around. It was ordinary house, similar to the others she investigated previously. It had the same cleanliness, the same coziness, the same home-y feel. Olivia could imagine the smell usually associated with these houses, except all she smelled was a harsh metallic scent of blood and something like burned flesh. She wasn't why she was lingering on this. There had been countless places where crimes had been committed that smelled worse than this one.

Taking a deep breath, Olivia shut her eyes briefly. Everything went back to Peter. Why did everything thought go back to Peter? She forced herself onwards and forwards. Always onwards and forwards, onwards and forwards…

"FBI, fringe division," she said automatically to the man who opened his mouth, about to ask. He paused before closing it and nodded. With his blond head, he motioned for his partner to leave as Olivia stepped into the room, surveying the scene. A woman's body lay on the floor, motionless and her back turned away from her. Her head rested to one side and the newly arrived agents could see her wide, never-closing eyes stare vacantly into nothing. Peter knelt by the body, searching for clues. Olivia was bending over to examine it when the blond man's partner crossed the room, catching the agent's eye. She straightened and stopped the man.

"May I ask who you are?" she wondered, smoothing her ponytail with her hand. The man turned.

"FBI," he said with a slight smirk, flashing his badge. Something about that smirk threw her off, and it was not just how unprofessional it seemed. Olivia narrowed her eyes a little, showing her own.

"What are you doing here? Wouldn't you know we had it covered?"

"We were in the area," he replied instantly, causing the gears in Olivia's mind to turn. The man took out a card from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to the fringe agent. "If you have questions, call our boss."

In all her years in her profession, she never heard an agent say the words 'call our boss'.

After the investigation, Peter suggested he take up the wheel for the drive home, giving Olivia some rest. She wanted to protest, but agreed anyway, climbing into the passenger's seat and facing the window not before buckling up. Closing her eyes, she expected her tired body would drift off to sleep, but her brain was too wired for that. It spun with the recent encounters and tried to make sense of it all.

Sometimes she didn't need a deprivation tank to pull up memories she thought had long fallen to subconsciousness...

Jacksonville, FL. 5:46 p.m. EST
1986

She recalled the shouts of laughter as she ran in a field of white flowers. Tulips. They were white tulips. She remembered a boy. A blond boy. He was chasing her around the flowers. She rarely caught him, but it didn't matter. He made her smile. He made her laugh. He made her forget the things she wanted to forget. Bad things, evil things. Her stepfather. Things she wanted to be gone.

Sometimes they talked. Both would sit on the perimeter of the meadow and exchange stories. Her of her evil stepdad, him of his constant moving. She listen closely to the details—details were the best part—but at the end of the day she could barely remember the big picture. That was okay, though. She'd see him the next day. And the day after that. And after that. It seemed it would never end.

Except it did end. One day, he disappeared. She had run away just to seen him again. Excited, ready for another day carefree and innocent. But he wasn't there to greet her with his usual sarcastic grin and cocky aura. She could feel the disappointment bloom like a flower and multiply around her until all the previous exhiliration she felt was simply gone. She sat down amidst the field of tulips – white tupils – and waited. She made up her mind that she would wait until he came back. She'd wait, and wait, and wait. And the world would have to wait with her.

That is… Until Walter's son came by and found her there. It wasn't the same as her blond-haired, smirking boy but at least she had some company.

And then the worried and panic-stricken workers from the "lab" came over, worried and panic-stricken looks on their faces. They took her back to the daycare and life went on… without the blond boy.

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