Disclaimer: I don't even own my life let alone anything related to Fringe. Fringe, its storyline and characters are all propriety of Bad Robot. No copyright infringement intended.
Author's Note: I know, I know, I have to update 'Run'. But, for some reason, inspiration just decided to come these days, and this idea popped into my head this morning while I was in that state of not quite awake but not sleeping anymore. It forced me to get up and write it, so I did in a little over an hour (and cried while doing so, probably out of grief (and I did spend a few more hours editing it, ok)). I'll have you know (if you care) that yesterday I did write over 2k words on 'Run' , but there is still much work to be done so I won't update any time before the next weekend (sorry). Inspiration has been generous and I'll take whatever it's giving me while it does. I hope you enjoy.
It had been a natural decision, calling their daughter Henrietta. Olivia wasn't particularly fond of the name itself, even though she was the one who came up with it. It had just felt right to her though. Peter had frowned in that early morning when they lay there in leisure just being with each other having made a point to take the time to "sleep in" while they could. The golden rays of sunshine illuminated their new bedroom brightening the emptiness of the walls they still hadn't gotten around to decorate, their ridiculously big king size bed the only thing in the room completely set up, and only because they really needed it.
Summer had been in full gear, and even though their newly installed air conditioning made the room quite comfortable, she still had to kick off the bed sheets in the morning overheated by Peter's body pressed firmly against her back. She had pulled her black tank top up folding it over her breasts that at twenty two weeks along had still been larger than her growing belly. Peter's hand had immediately found its place right on the left side of her slightly protruding belly button, his thumb moving slowly up and down encouraging the first kick of the morning.
She had been convinced their daughter was going to take after her father because her kicks were always slow and far apart in the early morning, sometimes having to be coaxed out of her as if she was a teenager asking for five more minutes of sleep when it was time to get ready for school.
Sometimes, in those mornings, they just lay there, just being together. Sometimes they made love so slow she'd grow impatient. Rarely, they talked. When they did, their voices were hushed as if not to break their beloved and so hardly attained sense of peace.
"Remember the night we got back together?" she had said, her eyes closed.
"Yes."
"Remember what you told me the next morning?" She felt her pillow move as he nodded and adjusted his position against her uncomfortably. She had been careful bringing up this subject, because even after they had found out they were pregnant, they had never dared to talk about it. But it had been there, hanging over Peter like a dark cloud. And she had known that his over enthusiasm and extreme protective behavior was him compensating for the child he had lost, or never had.
"I want to name her Henrietta." She had whispered.
His head had shot up, and she had turned to look at him staring at her, the deep line between his brows a canyon compared to the valley it usually was. When she had first had the idea, she had frowned at herself too, because when he had told her about his son, the materialized consequence of one of the most painful moments of her life, she had had a mix of feelings so intense she had to completely shut them down. She had tried not to feel betrayed and had been consumed by the effort to try and pretend it never happened. But deep down, she had realized that she had only been jealous, jealous that the other Olivia had taken that too from her.
Once she found out she was pregnant, though, seeing Peter try to deal with the constant reminder that he had wiped his son from existence, struggling silently with the pain and guilt, had broken her heart and made her feel all kinds of shame for only thinking of herself. It was then that she had completely understood and forgiven him for what had happened.
"It feels right." She had covered his hands with his and smiled when he smiled back gratefully before settling back down behind her and wrapping her in a comforting tight hug.
Choosing to name their daughter Henrietta hadn't just been an homage to that child who had never had a chance, but it had also been her way to tell him she forgave him.
When she got pregnant the second time around, their child had had a name even before conception. Peter had insisted they'd give their daughter a baby brother or sister since she had turned two, but Olivia had refused, having gone through physical and psychological horror during her first pregnancy and knowing quite well that they had lucked out big time with Etta. She simply wasn't going to go about trying her luck again, not when it came to that.
It wasn't that she hadn't wanted it, no it wasn't that.
After Walter disappeared though, everything had changed. She had been overcome with a sense of security and hope that she couldn't explain. It was like she had climbed to the top of a mountain and was able to see far ahead into their journey and all she had seen was a clear and bright straight path.
But Walter's disappearance was tough on all of them. Peter had been beyond himself and Etta's questionings about her grandfather hadn't helped. For weeks, he had gone back to the lab knee deep in denial trying to make sense of what had happened. Olivia, Astrid and Broyles had used all their FBI knowledge and connections to look for him everywhere in spite of the message he had left.
A month later, Peter had come home and suggested they had some sort of memorial to help Etta understand, he had said. They all put together a casket with his lab coat, his Geiger counter, an old batch of brown betty Peter had found in the lab, his favorite chemistry book, a few redvines and buried it. On the stone they had written only his birth date. The next day, they had left Etta with Nina and gone to the lab to send off Gene and pack Walter's stuff. Peter had cried finally, sitting on Walter's bed holding a picture of Walter, him and Etta they had taken the past Easter, that Walter had resting on a frame on his bedside table.
Olivia had taken that picture, the sun had been shining bright, bouncing off Etta's blond hair and the three of them had sat together at a bench at the park, Etta on Peter's knee wearing a fancy pink dress Walter had gotten for her because, according to him, it was appropriate to dress nicely and go to brunch on Easter Sunday. They had all been smiling bright, all three sets of blue eyes shining, and no one could deny the resemblance between the three of them.
That day at the lab, sitting by Peter's side, looking at that picture and rubbing his back as he cried quietly, Olivia had decided to try and get pregnant again, knowing right then and there what their son's name was going to be.
Of course, it hadn't been hard for her to conceive again, and six weeks later, she smiled as she saw the two pink lines in the pregnancy test. That night, Peter pulled out a bottle of wine after Etta went to bed and when he poured her a glass, she had smiled and refused.
He had frowned, studying her face as if trying to tell if she had once again been replaced, "Why not?"
"Because I'm pregnant."
His reaction had been much like the one he had had when she had told him she was pregnant with Etta, and she felt so happy to see that smile on his face that she had even entertained the idea of having a third child just to see that look on his face again.
They had found out it was a boy much earlier than with Etta, boys being easier to determine given there is something to see when one is looking for "the sex." But they had never talked about names. It was like they had some sort of unspoken agreement.
When he was born, one week overdue, after a twelve hour labor and weighting staggering nine pounds one ounce, the midwife had asked her if he had a name, and Olivia had answered without a second thought staring at her son's blue eyes as he rested on her chest.
"Walter."
A.N.: So, what do you think? I thought it was right for Etta to get a little sibling and for them to try to get over the loss of Walter by adding new life to their family. Do you think it feels right or am I deluded because of my baby fever?