A/N: I had never intended to write Fringe fiction for the same reason I don't usually read it: because the show, even at its most piercing moments, it's always been satisfying in ways I didn't know were possible for a TVshow. Seriously. So many emotions... You know what I mean.

Anyway, I am in heavy denial now, have been this whole season, and I guess that the need to write, to try to calm down the revolution on my brain - which keeps conjuring up thousands of probable scenarios of what is to come -, was a side effect of such denial.

This is a little scene of what could be a post-everything. Here or in some other timeline. It's kind of bittersweet; it's got to be.

Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing. I wouldn't have been able to make the show that epic.

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A Bedtime Story
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There's some light in the room when she wakes, although it's dark outside. She's alone in bed. Again. For a moment she feels extremely disoriented and it takes her a real effort to put together the pieces of this reality. She runs a hand through her face, her hair, trying to adjust to the place; old but new. Or new, but old. Almost incongruous, anyway. His side of the bed is still warm to the touch, so she must have felt the lack of him beside her immediately, that's what must have waken her up from her light sleep. The alarm clock announces it's not even midnight and she wonders if they'd ever be able to rest again; if the weariness and tiredness they suppressed for months, or maybe years, and seem to have manifested mercilessly since they're back, will ever ease off.

She can hear his footsteps fading, but there's no creak of wood steps, so he's got to be still upstairs. She knows where and, to be honest, she really feels like being there as well, where he sure is. Be there, with him. She leaves their bed and walks out of the bedroom. The corridor is lit only by the dim glow of the street lights that filter through the side windows of their house.

He senses her before he even hears her. He knew she'd end coming. Moving his whole body toward her, to welcome her, he has to fight hard to keep his emotions under control. The faint light makes her hair shine, her whole self shine. She looks so young… She's tired, he knows; they both are. More than a human body should resist. But she's gorgeous and things are settled now and they're where they're supposed to be. Now, they can finally relax. Not much, though. None of them would be a fan of such a monotonous life.

Taking in the pretty sight that she makes, he smiles and simply waits for her to get to where he's standing, outside the room. When she's right in front of him, he circles her waist and pulls her in for a kiss. Meant to be just a soft kiss, it deepens almost inadvertently on its own volition, both being powerless to their mutual attraction, to their love. Powerless to the odd, yet amazing - although sometimes bittersweet - feeling of their new situation.

"Hey." His eyes are bright and match her happiness when they part from the kiss. Her rosy cheeks and her thick voice only a hint of the ways they affect each other. He presses her lips once more to hers and eases his grip just so that he can look at her eyes. "What are you doing up? Did I wake you?"

She purses her lips to avoid saying that yes, the lack of him in bed was what ultimately caused her to get out of bed this time; but she wouldn't have slept the whole night, anyway. None of them does anymore.

"I still feel jetlagged." She scrunches her nose up, and tries a smile. But he can see through it. The anxiety, the worry. "You know?" She continues, prompted by his intent look. "That odd feeling you have when you wake up in a different place… when you're away from home…"

He smiles and slides his hands down her arms, until he's intertwining his fingers with hers, rubbing with his thumbs the inside of her wrists.

"But we're home."

"Yes…" She smiles under his intense gaze; their eyes displaying a set of emotions that are impossible to put into words. "We are."

Rising their entwined hands she kisses his palm. He uses the move to free his other hand and touch her face, gently caressing her cheek, following the bone with his thumb while the rest of his fingers find their place in her neck.

"If you weren't beside me every morning I know I would go crazy." A wave of feelings overcomes her at the confession and she gasps, melting under his touch. It's wonderful that after all they've been through, the years, the timelines, the losses, the resettings, the fights… they still feel the same. Or even more.

"I don't know how you managed when the timeline was rewritten the first time."

He sighs, gets her closer to press their foreheads together, and speaks quietly, in an answer meant only for her soul.

"I focused on getting home. To you. To your love; our love."

"And it worked," she whispers back, recalling the moment the memories started to come back until the timelines merged and things got readjusted on her mind.

"In a quite surprising way for me." He laughs softly, moving his head in incredulity, and steps back to lean on the wall opposite to the open door; he lets his back slide until he's sitting on the floor, and tugs gently at her so that she sits by his side, which she does. "Thank God you were high on Cortexiphan by then," he says jokingly, nudging her knee with his from their sitting position. But she can see the discomfort he still feels at the memory, the fear. It must have been tough, having that other version of her that was really herself but without recollection of… anything. No, but she did remember. She had this… feeling. Hadn't she ever told him?

"I would have remembered you the same." She states, solemnly, no hint of doubt on her sweet voice, on her body, which is perfectly aligned with his, knees, calves and arms pressed together, side by side, both relishing on the warmth of the certainty of their love. "There was this…" She stops to find a way to say it, gesturing at her chest to try to convey the reality of it. "… this thing deep down that kept driving me to you. It was there all the time nagging at me, claiming its place, wanting to go out. I remember that feeling of being… missing something. " She tilts her head and looks at him, to let him see. Everything. "It was just like asleep inside."

He rearranges their positions so that they can be closer, puts an arm behind her and pushes her to him. She goes willingly, with a sigh, curling up into him until she is completely wrapped in his embrace, her head on his chest, their legs tangling and his arms securing her.

"Just like waiting for a true love kiss." His voice makes his chest rumble and she smiles, caresses the fabric of his t-shirt just above his heart and presses a kiss just where her lips are, at his sternum. Even through the fabric, she can feel his skin, his sharp intake of breath and the joyful thumping of his heart.

They stay silent for some moments, gentle touches of reassurance between them, until she exhales a heavy breath of contentment that breaks the quietness, followed by the faint sound of a muffled chuckle. Easing his grip on her just a little bit, he stares at her curiously, waiting for an explanation.

She nuzzles his neck, kissing that spot of his jaw she loves before resuming her place, so close to him that they're like one. He can feel not just her smile, but her joy. And it shapes his.

"We made a pretty epic love story." She murmurs, pleased, serene. His heart squeezes at the truth of her words.

"We sure do." He answers, equally content, and places a kiss on the top of her head, at the same time stroking her back, her arms… "It's only been a couple of months, we'll get used to it… again."

"I guess." She nods on his chest, hypnotized by his touch and lulled by his voice, so relaxed in his arms that she can't help thinking that she could be like that, forever. He kisses her temple and runs his hand through her hair; she reacts instantly, closing her eyes and lifting her head so that he can have better access to her.

"And this is a good timeline," he adds, sprinkling her with little kisses, on her eyelids, under her eyes, on her nose. She makes a sound of agreement that resembles a moan, and doesn't bother with more. It is great. Not perfect, but good enough. "It's like…"

She opens her eyes to his tender caress and, waiting for his mouth, whispers.

"Like what?"

"I was going for like a dream, but that'd be confusing."

She nods. "This is true."

She moves to straddle him and they kiss again, deep and with deep feeling. Each kiss erases a little of the pain they've endured. But it's a lot. And it seeps through the cracks on their hearts sometimes. Often.

He smiles wistfully and holds her tight, hands stilled at the base of her spine.

"I only wish that Walter were here."

"I know." She responds with his same troubled tone, her slender fingers stroking his nape, thumbs below his earlobe.

"We've lost so much." He breathes heavily, filled with guilt, despair, sorrow… "All that hurt… I…"

She calms him with a soft shush and with her mellow touch, her fingers caressing him to solace.

"It's hard for me too." She murmurs, angling his head so that he can look into her eyes, a bittersweet expression on her face. "But we've also gained something back. And he wouldn't have wanted us to be miserable because of him. To be anything but happy."

"I know… It's still difficult."

"I know."

He tucks a loose lock of her now messy ponytail behind her ear and strokes with his knuckles her cheekbone; she presses her face into his caress and moves to brush his skin with her lips, both reveling in their mutual warmth for an instant.

He inhales deeply and, with his hand on her back, prompts her to turn around and look at the open door in front of them. She gets to her feet and stretches out her hand to him. Both standing, he takes the two steps separating them from the room.

"She…" He nods to the dim bedroom and then looks at her, asking silently to join him. She comes to where he is standing; the same spot where she found him when she walked out of their bedroom in search him, where she knew he'll be.

He holds her in front of him hugging her loosely, his arms cross over her abdomen and she falls into his embrace, both staring at the interior of the room with matching faces.

"She gives you strength." She smiles understandingly, running her hands absentmindedly through his arms.

"I just can't stop looking at her." The deep rumble of his voice resounds on her back and puts her nerves on fire. He's such a good father. It almost makes her want to cry, out of gratitude, of elation, of love…

"Yeah…" She talks through the piercing emotion. " I can barely suppress the need to hold her tight to my chest and never let go."

He tugs her closer and she rests her head on his shoulder. "You think we'll see him again someday?" It's such a delicate issue, still. Walter and his crazy ideas and odd behaviors and absolutely impossible resolutions. He had taken a decision, regardless of the consequences. They knew the probable consequence, the fatal outcome. But nothing is set on stone and death is not a state of matter anymore. Not after all that happened; not with what they know now. Not while looking at their missing child.

"I'd love that he and Etta had the relationship they used to have," she whispers. It's more a prayer or a wish, than a real answer.

The little girl stirs in her sleep and rouses enough to see both her parents standing on the door frame.

"Mom? Dad?" Voice filled with tiredness and that tilt of worry that is not yet really worry in the mind of a child. "Is it tomorrow already?"

Peter lets Olivia go and she walks to the little bed. "No, sweetheart," she answers tenderly while tucking her daughter back to sleep. "Go back to sleep."

The little girl closes her eyes but, still has the willpower to ask for something, with childish happy sleepy voice, "Can Daddy tell me a story?"

"Of course, Etta."

Olivia reaches out for Peter and he leaves his privileged spot by the door, from where he was admiring the beauty of the scene; a scene he thought would never witness again. Hiding misty eyes, with a tiny smile and a heart filled with gratitude and love, he takes the hand her wife offers and sits beside her on their daughter's bed. Her grasp is reassuring, tethering him to reality. This reality. Their little old new world of happiness. Her smile eases the knot on his throat and her tender touch, rubbing his arm, manages to get through the overwhelming exhilaration of his heart, made of pure feeling. He finally finds his voice.

"Which one would you like, honey?"

"The Story That Never Was, Daddy." She mutters, slowly, already on the verge of sleep. "With the warrior princess from the future. And the crazy scientist with the golden heart."

Olivia nods and he smiles. They may have recovered their daughter and the life they had been supposed to have. But they lost people in the way. And they did lose her girl, not once, but twice. And that second time they swore to make her death count, not to let their sacrifice go unnoticed. They're going to make her memory survive. And the memory of the crazy scientist with the golden heart.

Olivia lets herself fall back into his husband's embrace. It's hard, but it needs to be done. They need to remember.

They close their eyes and get ready to hear the kindest version of the story which, despite having happened, never was.

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"Once upon a different time, in a different Universe, there was a place inhabited by some dim creatures. They were similar to humans, very intelligent and more advanced, and very efficient in what they thought was important. But they were incomplete, because they didn't know how to feel. One day they found out they could no longer live in their world, so they started travelling through space and time until they found a kingdom that they liked very much. In that kingdom lived…"

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A/N2: Thanks for reading. Being my first Fringe fic, it'd be great if you shared your thoughts with me.