In A New Day in the Old Town, the cuts really helped for pacing, but I kept wondering how everyone reacted afer the initial shock of the accident, particularly Peter. Please note that all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe, its characters, or even Mr. Payaya. I'm merely fond of fiddling with them, like Walter's tinker toys. I promise to put them back in the toy box after I'm done.

"There was an accident. 15 minutes ago."

It didn't take much in the way of intelligence to deduce who this pertained to. His mind by default had already jumped there. And as much concern as that would warrant from the pair, still wandering in environs that screamed of normalcy that had no business existing, what stilled him more was the timing, the fact Olivia's direct superior was on the line, this soon, and that Peter was the one he called. His jaw set as what little information was relayed to him. Hanging up the phone he turned around. Whatever elusive sense of light spirit he had experienced 30 seconds ago had vanished.

"Walter, forget the custard. Leave the cart. They're sending an agent and a car."

The drive took longer than it should have and Peter found himself shuffling through a deck of information that was missing 3/4ths of the cards. This didn't make sense. With something of this nature occurring, calling him and his father wouldn't have taken precedence. If Olivia had been in a car accident, there was little of benefit he or Walter could do, short of meeting her at the hospital. The FBI, Broyles, wouldn't have bothered sending a courtesy call their way, notifying them that one of their team was injured; that was an unnecessary step in protocol, and efficiency often took a high priorety. No, this wasn't just a car accident, fitting with why they were being called on scene. Pressing the agent driving at ridiculously low speeds got Peter nowhere, and ended up agitating Walter.

"Son, is she all right?"

He swallowed. "I don't know, Walter."

"What did Agent Broyles have to say?"

Nothing that could be considered helpful."

"You could ask the gentleman driving."

Peter shifted in his seat. He couldn't manage this now. "I did, Walter. Just now. And Mr. Stiff Suit here is just as ignorant as the both of us. He doesn't know Agent Dunham's condition, or any details. You'll just have to wait till we get there."

No extraneous circumstances ever presided without relevence in their crazy world, he had found. This was pattern related, or Olivia was in worse shape than he would have initially thought. Even so, the both of them would have been informed, were that the case. And New York? What was Olivia doing in New York? Peter understood that one of the few senses of security she had was in her self sufficiency, her independence in the job, and she often went at it with a reckless disregard. Well, fine. But it paid to inform someone, anyone of the hows and whys, that way when something like this occurred, at least they had a chance of keeping up, of being some use. Snapping back to reality, he was suddenly digging in his pockets. Charlie. Punching in numbers, his sudden hope was squashed when he was redirected to voicemail. His patience was fraying and the anxiety was starting to rise.

"Don't you have a siren?" he snapped.

The agent, who made it clear he was just annoyed with Bishops Jr. and Sr. as they were with him, turned to look at him. "The traffic is bad. If I turned on the sirens it would just cause more of a mess, with everyone trying to scramble out of our way and no where to go. Our ETA is five minutes, Mr. Bishop. We'll be there as soon as we can."

There were lights flashing ahead. Caution tape draping the streets like bad christmas garland. A silver car was off to one side, a dent in the front. Police were walking around, irritatingly calm, cataloging the scene. He saw Olivia's SUV as they pulled up. Twisted metal and broken glass were everywhere, but her car seemed mostly intact. Peter scanned for an ambulance, a sign of a blonde, a familar face. Nothing. He nearly jumped out of the car before it had stopped. Hearing the door behind him signalled that his father had managed to get his seatbelt unbuckled. The odd set up of this, the seemingly mild nature of the accident, the fact that Olivia wasn't here and on her feet made him more unsettled. There was something wrong with this. It didn't add up.

The new agent was in his face. He found that no one knew what was going on.

"Excuse me, how can you not know?!"

How could they not be privy to how she was, where she was? The other driver had left on foot. Peter was fairly certain the liklihood of the individual fleeing because he didn't have insurance was slim. The doors were locked, no impressions from mass, no one in the car upon impact... More puzzling facts he filed away, he couldn't even begin to piece this together. The important thing now was finding Olivia, who for all intents and purposes has seemingly vanished into thin air...

And Peter found that he had been thinking too slowly, hadn't been associating what he knew with what had happened here. He'd need to consult Walter, but he couldn't with this woman here, blantantly fishing for information that didn't do him or Olivia one bit of good. Glancing over he saw his father in the car, and decided to give him time. The female agent, Jessup, continued with her inquiries, and he had a hard time reining in his anger. Where the hell was Charlie, Broyles? Why was this woman on the scene. If he and his father managed to get here, where were they?

"I would love to cooperate, as soon as you find me an agent who can actually help me!!" He was gripping his crossed arms more tightly. Partial defense against the situation, partial effort to keep himself from knocking the woman over, he couldn't tell. Maybe both.

Walter was out of the car, anxiety on his face. The lights were flashing, the radio loudly filtering through channels. The whole electrical system of the vehicle in distress. Peter's yelling ceased. What would cause the car's system to malfunction that way? Some unknown charge? He couldn't seem much in the way of damage and it hadn't affected the other vehicle. Walter was still backing up and Peter had just enough time to interpret that he was anticipating something before there was a surreal quiet, and then shattering glass. A mass was catapulting through the car's windshield. For an absurd second it almost looked like a load of flying laundry. There was crunching and the figure toppled hard onto the asphalt like a deer who had just been struck by a semi. Rolling to a stop at Peter's feet, on her back was Olivia Dunham.

The area had frozen. For a prolonged second no one moved. Bystanders stood stock still, some pointed. It took Peter a moment to process what had just happened. Another second to recognize that the person who had just been shot through a sheet of automobile glass and was lying at his feet was Olivia. Walter was shaking minutely in the background, his hand coming up to his face. There was sudden shouting from Jessup for an ambulance. Peter's mind snapped back like a rubber band after having been stretched along with reality. He was rushing toward her along with his father, who had come to his senses a moment before his son. She was staring sightlessly through him. Peter noted no voluntary or involuntary response, no movement, couldn't tell if she was breathing.

"Walter!"

Peter pressed two fingers to her neck, had to double check when he found a faint pulse. His father was looking her over, his features distressed, poking up and down her arms for nerve responses, reflexes, her abdomen for signs of internal bleeding, chest for collapsed lungs or broken ribs, and he found himself yelling angrily again. "Where are your paramedics? Get them over here now!"

Walter was then gingerly probbing her scalp. "Olivia? Olivia, dear, can you hear me?"

A crowd of police and crime scene analysts had formed around the trio and two paramedics with an EMT rushed through with a stretcher. He hadn't even heard their vehicles arrive. Peter found himself and his father pushed out of the way, being reduced as just another set of helpless bystanders. They both watched as the neckbrace went on, and she was transferred to the stretcher. They all lifted her and started moving for the back of the ambulance. Peter ran after them, Walter closely behind.

"Peter, we need to be on that ambulance. If I can be at any use at all..." his voice sounded quiet, almost shell shocked.

He didn't need to be told twice. "Hey, we're riding with this woman." No one was paying attention to him as a blur of people continued to jostle past. The team of EMTs had lifted her into the back of an ambulance facing the street. Police were rapidly taking down tape ahead to clear a pathway. Men and women being ushered off the pavement. Flickers of light came from cell phones and cameras, and shocked chatter was coursing through the small collection of witnesses like electricity. There wasn't time to be concerned with what they had seen. Peter was forcing his way through the small crowd that were shouting vitals and stats. The ambulance's engine turned over.

"Hey! You need to let us on!" The back of the ambulance held Olivia, blood on her face, her clothes ripped, no signs of life. An African American paramedic was shuffling around, starting an IV line and quickly attaching leads. Another was searching for vials, a headset on, relaying instructions to someone on the other end as he started to close the doors.

Peter ended up knocking a police officer over, forcing his way to the both of them. "Are you hearing me?"

"Sir, you need to clear the vehicle, this woman has to get to the hospital."

His tone turned sharp. "I am aware of that-"

"We have to get her stable and there isn't any room to house you. I suggest you talk to an investigating agent in charge."

Before he could say anything else, or at least attempt to be diplomatic the doors had closed in his face, the sirens screaming and the ambulance quickly navigated off the crime scene and into traffic.

"dammit."

"Son...she came through the windshield."

He turned his head to look at his father, and then to Olivia's vehicle where his stomach lurched. He had seen it, but he couldn't comprehend it. Spinning around from where the ambulance had been just a second ago, he quickly scanned the scene again. More markers were being placed, the SUV being further photographed, the windshield now destroyed, stunned passersby being herded by what little crowd control was available. He found what he was looking for and stalked off. "Walter, stay with me."

They were moving through the wreck to the brunette, who was slightly paler than before, giving fragmented orders to police and investigators. She had just enough time to turn around before Peter was towering over her with Dr. Bishop not two steps behind, worriedly watching his son.
"I need to know what hospital she was taken to, transportation to that hospital, and I want a copy of the report on what happened here. I know that you don't know what you're doing and that you shouldn't be handling this. But if you want to help the agent who was just hauled out of here, you need to allow me to do my job and get my father and I where we need to go. You'll be handing this to Charlie Francis anyway, so continuing to push me for information I don't have isn't going to help either one of us."

Before she could respond with what she wanted to say, her phone was ringing. She addressed Peter as she pulled it out of her pocket. "She's been taken to New York general. You can leave in the same car you arrived in; Johnson is still here. I can't however send you a report, you'll need to talk to your Boston affiliate for that." She gave him another glance, more frazzled than anything, then proceeded to talk into the phone. "No, sir, we're going to need you to hold those tapes. This is being classified as an FBI matter and they cannot be released..."

"No," Peter interjected. "It will be a half hour before we manage to arrive and the agent who drove us can't seem to operate anything that goes faster than a horse and buggy. You're gonna need to do better than that."

Jessup gave him a furtive glance before lowering the phone to her shoulder. "Agent Johnson!" she called over her shoulder, "Where's the other ambulance? See that they carry these two to the hospital Olivia Dunham was taken to."

Peter relished in a relief that was only marginal. Walter was already walking toward the second ambulance, parked on standby on the west corner of the street.

The sirens were on this time, and they were whizzing through streets. Cars were pulling aside, and there was blessedly little traffic left. Walter was leaning up next to the driver, asking questions, while playing with a blue tourniquet he had pilfered from one of the medical trays.

"How long is the drive between-"

"We're around 3 minutes out."

Peter continued to stare out the window.

Walter, pulling at the tourniquet, lost his grip and it went snapping into the roof, eliciting an uncertain look from the other paramedic riding along in the back with them. He then shifted, pulling himself closer to the driving EMT. "Do you know, is there anyway to get on your walkie talkie and find out how Agent Dunham is?" Peter tore his eyes away to glance at his father. The driver looked to Walter, turning onto an adjacent street, going at a speed that still oddly seemed too slow.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I don't know that information and it goes against standard procedure." Walter nodded and sat back, now playing absentmindly with a spare syringe. 30 seconds later they had pulled around to the back of the hospital, a medical team still waiting expectantly on standby.

"Olivia hasn't arrived yet?" Walter had registered exacty what Peter had. "These infernal people. With her type of injuries it was imperative she get here as soon as possible! What did they do, stop for snowcones?"

Peter had a sudden alarming thought that something unusual had happened in transit, and was about ready to bully the EMT in the front to confirm where the unit was before he heard the sirens and saw unit 233 pulling in and screeching to a stop.