A/N: Hey all! I'm actually super surprised that I'm posting another Fringe story so soon. I saw Saving Mr. Banks yesterday and the solo piano version of Chim Cheree was just one of the saddest things to hear. So a little plot bunny started jumping around in my head and this came out. I decided to publish it on its own since it's nearly 2,000 words (a little longer than I'm comfortable calling a drabble). Hope you enjoy!

A father, a mother, a daughter a son
The threads of their lives unraveling undone

It was late. And dark. But what was the point of turning the lights on? How could he invite a light that wasn't his little sunshine into his space? The house was quiet and the silence stabbed him in the heart. Two months and still nothing. Three years, three months, and eight days old and she was out there somewhere. Alone. Scared. He sat at the piano, playing a slow, tinkling tune, eyes staring into nothing. It was nights like this he wanted to give up. Wished he could give up. But he knew he'd be right back at it come morning.

Her heard her key in the door, but didn't move, didn't falter in the haunting melody. His heart lifted minutely with hope, but sunk quickly back down when he heard only two grown sets of footsteps shuffle through the door. Of course she wasn't with them. His phone would have gone off hours ago if they'd come up with anything useful. Without much interest, he followed their movements with his ears. They shed their jackets and Walter padded slowly toward his room, stopping briefly and Peter felt his sad eyes on his back. But there was nothing to say, so Walter continued on his path.

Olivia hung up her jacket and gave Walter a small smile in lieu of a goodnight. She stood in the entry settling her eyes on the hunched form at the piano. His shoulders were nearly always hunched now. None of the easy, confident charm he'd exuded when she'd first met him. She recognized the tune immediately and had to take a deep, steadying breath as it socked her in the solar plexus; chim chimeny, chim chimeny, chim chim cheree…

She walked slowly towards him, slightly hurt, though understanding, when he still didn't acknowledge her. Sometimes she feared he'd started to blame her for not finding any new leads, for trying to be practical. She blamed herself sometimes for those very reasons. She was FBI, it was supposed to be her job… She sat next to him on the piano bench, facing out into the room. Still no words were spoken, but she knew what he had to have been thinking about to play that song.

Peter continued to act as if he were alone. If he spoke, if he asked, Olivia would tell him that there was still nothing. That Broyals needed the manpower elsewhere. That the world was still ending. He couldn't bear to have such words disrupt the silence under the tinkling of the piano keys. He felt her shift and lean her head against his slumped shoulder. He nearly let go of the tether on his tears as he heard her soft, hopeless "Oh, Peter…"

He couldn't stop playing. It was as if he could feel her remembering with him. Of a time so not very long ago when the tune incited smiles instead of tears.

()

It was Henrietta's third birthday and after an exhausting day at the amusement park with presents and ice cream cake at home afterword, they'd tucked themselves together on the couch to watch a movie. Rachel had given Etta Mary Poppins and she was nearly bouncing off the walls to watch it. Etta was entranced and sang along to every song as best she could. Despite the length of the movie, Etta was still as energetic as ever at its end and Peter thought that perhaps they needed to keep better tabs on her sugar intake from now on. "Daddy!" she jumped on him, grinning from ear to ear and took his hand to drag him to the piano. "Daddy play the Sugar song!" He laughed at her three year old exuberance and her belief that he could do anything in the world.

"I've only just heard it Babygirl. I don't know if I could play it without the music." He tried to be serious, but he caught Olivia's smiling eye-roll and could barely contain himself. He could hear a simple tune like that once and play it like a pro from memory and they all knew it.

Etta giggled at her father's obvious joke. "Just play it Daddy! Just play it!" And she gave him one more tiny shove before she started in on the chorus and grabbed Walter's hands so he could dance around the room with her. Peter shared a grin with his wife as he stepped right into the song, exaggerating the notes as he hit the keys a little harder than necessary and added his loud baritone to the fray. Olivia stood leaning against the doorframe and shook her head at his behavior. "You too, Mama! You too!" And small hands pulled Olivia to dance and sing with her daughter and father-in-law. Before too long she was laughing so much she could barely get the lyrics out. They jumped around for near around half an hour while Peter tapped out the more upbeat tunes from the movie, ending with a big flourish after a final rendition of A Spoonful of Sugar.

"Alright Babygirl," he picked a laughing Etta up and threw her over his shoulder, "time to get ready for bed. I bet if you wish real hard you can dance with penguins in your dreams." He turned so she was facing the other two adults. "Say goodnight to Mama and Grandpa."

Still smiling, Etta pushed her unruly hair out of her face with chubby hands and kissed her mother and grandfather goodnight in turn. "Goodnight, Sweetheart. Happy Birthday." Olivia called gently, not envying her husband in the struggle of getting their hyped up daughter to sleep.

"Night night!" Etta waved, still slung over Peter's shoulder, as he carried her up the stairs. Half an hour later, washed up, tucked in, and story told Etta was finally giving in to the jaw-cracking yawns and heavy eyelids. Peter sat on the edge of the bed, stroking his daughter's hair.

"Did you have a good day, Baby?" He asked lowly, hoping his voice could sooth her into dreamland.

His little angel smiled and nodded vigorously. "Uh hmm! I love Mary Poppins."

Peter smiled affectionately. "Why's that?"

Etta snuggled down into her covers, another yawn taking her over. "They're just like us."

This caused Ptere's brow to quirk. "Oh? How's that?"

"Well, Grandpa Walter is like Uncle Albert because he's really funny and laughs all the time. And Mr. Banks is like Uncle Philip because he always looks mad but he's really nice." It was starting to take quite a bit of effort for her to keep her eyes open.

Peter kept himself from laughing. "And what about Mama and me, huh?"

Etta's eyes closed. "Oh you're like Burt because you're so silly and Mama's like Mary Poppins of course. Because she's really fun, but still makes me clean up." Her little face scrunched up at the last part and Peter lost his battle at holding back his laughter.

"What about Auntie Astrid?" He lowered his voice even more, knowing she wasn't going to be able to keep herself awake much longer.

Etta yawned again and Peter wondered if she was going to stay awake long enough to answer. "I don't know. I don't think she has a character. We should make her one." The last part was mumbled as she drifted off.

Peter leaned down to brush a kiss across her forehead. "I think that's a great idea Baby." He whispered before turning out the butterfly lamp next to her bed.

()

Peter hadn't realized he'd stopped playing until he focused back on his hands a realized they weren't moving. He wanted to rip his heart out of his chest because nothing could be more painful than constantly having it crushed within his chest at the end of every day when she still isn't in his arms and often several times a day when an idea doesn't turn into a lead and a lead goes nowhere. Olivia hadn't moved from her position next to him. Her breathing was steady and he hated her for it. How did she do it? How was she so strong? How could she continue working on other cases when their baby was still out there somewhere?

He couldn't do it. He'd stopped working at the FBI a week ago after he'd blown up in Broyals' face for suggesting they reallocate resources or stop searching completely. He spent most of his days and some of his nights in the lab at Harvard. He felt like he was stuck, like time had stopped in the horrifying moment he'd realized that Henrietta was missing.

But not Olivia. She kept walking forward. She helped the missing persons team as much as she could as she tried to keep up with the new demands on Fringe Division. And then ever so gradually threw herself more and more into her job as a Fringe Agent. He felt like she was leaving him behind in the nightmare. Had already left him maybe. He loved her, of course, he would always love her. But he couldn't help but hate her a little. For moving on. For being able to move on. Most of the time he didn't know if he hated her for doing it, or because he couldn't. She sat next to him, the weight of her head on his shoulder. But he still felt cold; like she was a million miles away.

"Peter…" She wanted him to talk to her. She always wanted him to talk to her. But he couldn't. So he continued to stare at his hands. The hands that had failed to keep his daughter close to him. She sighed and got up from her seat. He heard her ascend the stairs towards their bedroom.

Their perfect lives had been unraveled and there was nothing he could do. There wasn't enough sugar in the world to temper the bitter taste of what their lives had become.

So he began to play again to fill the silence his little girl had left. Chim chimeny, chim chimney, chim chim cheroo…

Somethin' is needed to twist 'em as tight,
like string you might use when you're flyin' a kite