Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

Author's Note: This was only supposed to be a oneshot, but then my brain started churning out ideas, and this is the beginning of what it's become. Well, I hope you like this first bit, because it's only the beginning. I'm not sure how long it'll be, because I've only very loosely planned it out, but stick with me, because we'll be getting into the real action next.

Interference

I.

He supposed that not many returned to this—that is, if anyone else had been wiped from existence—and he was grateful for that. His memories, though intact, had been falsified by this change of events, and he'd been forced into the world of the same people who had sought to eradicate his very being. He seemed to be the only one to remember the world, as it once had been, when he'd still been a part of it. And now, he had the burden of holding onto those memories, as he traversed this strange, unfamiliar universe, now simply observing.

He supposed he should've been content, merely with the fact that he was alive, but he wasn't. That wasn't his nature. He had the clothing—the fedora, the suit; a strange cadence to his voice was even beginning to come through. However, the mind reading skills they seemed to have, among other quirks, hadn't come to him, not yet, anyway. His individuality had been dulled, but it was still there.

He was still Peter Bishop.

He rebelled, as he'd always done, to the life they'd given him. He was only supposed to watch, and report back his findings, but he found it hypocritical, after how significantly they'd interfered with his own life. It was like walking around as a ghost, seeing everything, but no one really saw him.

He was told that if he didn't interfere, everything would stay as it would, as it should. Should? He didn't think that was right. He'd existed previously, and who were they to say that it should be otherwise? Inter-dimensional time travelers, that was all they were, whose attempts to regulate the balance of the universes usually ended up creating more problems than they could hope to solve.

They'd saved lives, his and Walter's notably, multiple times, but it was only for their own gain, or the gain of their cause. He knew that, now. They'd brought him back to this world, gave him a purpose, but that didn't mean he liked it, or that he'd follow through with it.

These feelings of anarchy brought him to Olivia's doorstep, and a twinge of anxiety to his stomach. She wasn't going to be the Olivia Dunham he knew, because she hadn't been affected by their meeting. For all he knew, she could now be a completely different person, but something told him that wouldn't be the case. Her nature was still the same. And though he knew (and how it pained him) that she wouldn't recognize him, he knocked. He didn't realize how late it was until she opened the door, groggy-eyed; he didn't sleep anymore. Her right arm was straight at her side, barely concealing her gun behind her leg, as she said,

"Who're you?"

The words caused his breath to hitch. He didn't quite know how to answer, and so he took a moment, removing his hat, grateful that they'd allowed him to keep his hair. At last, he held out a hand. "Peter Bishop."

She took his hand, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch; a sure sign of annoyance. At least that hadn't changed. "Well, Mr. Bishop, it's nearly two in the morning. What is it you want?"

Peter shifted, his hand dropping; a dead weight to his side. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Recognize you? No. Should I?"

The twinge in his stomach grew. "We used to be friends." More than that, even. His hand burned where she'd touched it.

She crossed her arms. "I don't know what you're getting at. I've never met you, and friends don't come to the door at this time of the day, asking for—what is it, exactly, that you want?"

"Just to see you, honestly."

He knew what she was thinking. She had an eidetic memory; if they'd met before, she would've remembered. "To see me?" She cocked a brow. "I'm flattered, but I don't know what to say, other than that."

"Well, maybe if we could just talk, I could jog your memory a bit. How about that?"

"Talk?" Olivia snorted, moving to lean against the doorframe. "Now isn't a good time to talk."

He was near begging, now, wanting to get anything he could from her. His hands were spread in front of him, his forehead creased, as he said hurriedly, "No, it has to be now. Please."

Olivia Dunham didn't take (what she considered to be) shit from anyone, especially not Peter Bishop, especially not now. This was genuine, but she couldn't have known that. This was a whole new person he was dealing with, he had to remind himself, as she murmured an insincere apology and closed the door in his face. She called through the door,

"If you'd like to come back in the daytime, then perhaps I'll give you a chance to tell me what's going on."

Then she was silent after that, and he listened in vain for any indication that she was contemplating opening the door for him again. He so wanted to knock again, or to break down the door, and force her to remember him. He couldn't do that.

Walter had once said that memories were never truly gone. If that was true, then there was some hope, for Peter to be able to retrieve some semblance of life as it was. But there was the issue of whether or not the Olivia and Walter, and the others he'd known, still existed, or if entirely new people had replaced them with his erasure from non-existence. Though he was technically an "Observer", he had not been born one, and he still had only vague knowledge as to their origin and true purpose. No, he'd only been given the uniform, as a sort of free pass to explore the Earth that had been born without him on it.

He was told he'd eventually begin to change, to lose his hair and the use of some senses, to gain the ability of mind reading, and to travel between universes as easily as they did. He wasn't looking forward to this, because it meant he'd be losing more of who he was. That was the opposite of what he wanted, because the purpose of his trip tonight was to assess just how far gone he was from the lives of those who had known him. The outcome was worse than he'd expected; there had been nothing in Olivia's eyes, no impression that he was at all familiar to her.

Peter left her apartment building, his gut knotted, his throat dry. The street was empty, save for a lone figure on the opposite side of the street. He knew they'd be waiting; they always knew where he was, and this was certainly a breach of whatever contract he'd agreed to, for them to allow him to stay here. It was the Observer he'd come to recognize as September, as emotionless as always, as he turned to Peter and said,

"You know that was the last time you will be allowed to see her. You should never have come here, it is dangerous to the balance of the universe."

"Does that mean she can still remember me? I mean, otherwise it wouldn't matter, right?" Harshness crept into his voice; a tone he often took when speaking with them. He'd never been fond of the bald men, and certainly not now, with this torture. How could they know what it was like for him, to have to watch the people he cared about living on without him, without knowing he'd ever existed.

September avoided the question. "If you come back here, your position will be jeopardized. You do want to stay here, don't you?"

His lip caught between his teeth for a moment. He did, he really did. It was much better than being caught in limbo, or something of the sort. He didn't exist, after all. He didn't have much leeway to be making these kinds of choices. "I do."

"You cannot tell her your name, nor anyone else. That name, particular to you, has been wiped from existence, as it should be. You already served your purpose, and we have done you an act of kindness in bringing you back. We can take this privilege away just as easily. You are no longer Peter Bishop, you are one of us, and you will do your duty as it has been assigned to you. You cannot interfere with anyone's lives, most predominantly those you had previously been involved with, due to the instability of the situation. Listen; there is one thing you must leave tonight knowing.

Do not interfere with Olivia Dunham's life again."