I do not own Fringe
He sees her again, years later.
He's walking along the shore, watching the waves as they lap lazily at his toes. He wonders, blandly, if they ever get bored doing the same old thing: in, out, in, out, never stopping.
And then he hears it, and his head whips up, and he spins around, not daring to believe his ears.
It's her.
It's really her.
She's sitting on a beach, laughing with some guy he doesn't recognize. She's spread out on a towel and she's laughing, laughing because the guy's tickling her.
She's happy.
He's smiling. He hasn't smiled in six years.
She's happy. She's found someone.
The diamond glinting at her finger catches his eye. His heart aches but he doesn't pay attention to it, he just takes in her eyes, and her smile, and the happiness that's rolling off of her in waves.
After years of wondering, years of worrying, years of losing sleep over it, he knows.
She's happy, she's found someone, she's moved on.
And now he can, too.
He turns away and he doesn't look back.