Notes: I was going to wait until after "Crash into You" was done, but I just couldn't resist getting feedback for this first chapter! So thanks for stopping by!

I had this idea arise after the epic season 3 finale, and all the talk of who the characters would be if a certain aspect of their life hadn't changed, or it had changed. Well, running with that, and it's taken me until now to get a solid storyline down. Mind you, this will definitely be AU from the series but hold elements of the seasons, so bear with me and I promise a wild ride in the making! We'll be flipping between timelines every few chapters, so stick with me and I promise a wild ride!

Timeline: Starts December 2008, sometime before "In Which We Meet Mr. Jones", AU since the series opener, "Pilot". Just read and see.

Reviews welcome!

Something to Fight For
Fanfiction by: White Time Ranger

Chapter 1: A Shimmering Glimpse

Harvard Lab
02:30pm, December 2008

"You look like hell, Bishop," came a deep voice that jolted Peter out of his not so pleasant sleep, the paper he had been writing on had stuck to his cheek now fluttered carelessly back down to the desk, the ink smudged. He could feel it on his cheek as he groaned and shook the sleep from his eyes. "Maybe you should consider actually getting some sleep at night instead of these random mid-day naps."

Peter huffed at the man leaning on the corner of his desk and shook the fatigue from his eyes, glaring at the man who happened to disturb him. The only thing Peter could do was simply grin. Agent John Scott wasn't always a kidder. In fact, Peter hated the guy when he first met him. The 'gung-ho super secret hot-shot FBI Agent' attitude was what drove Peter almost over the edge with annoyance for him, but that changed slowly over the past three months.

"Well perhaps you'd be willing to talk to your girlfriend about cutting me some slack," he motioned to where the eye-catching Agent Olivia Dunham sat across the lab, glasses perched precariously on the brim of her nose as she read through a file, taking notes furiously, "I've been averaging about three hours of sleep a night since this little Fringe Division project began. Talk to her then I'll stop falling asleep."

John chuckled. "Well unfortunately that's her call, not mine. Your super secret Fringe project Broyles has thrown together is still working out the kinks, I wouldn't fight for front row parking just yet." His eyes moved to where Olivia stood, stretched and obtained a new file from a cabinet, shucking her jacket off and hanging it on the hat rack. She ran her fingers through her loose hair. "I just bring lunch and come for a visit every now and then when I'm on my way back to the office."

"Oh come off it, I'm sure you could work some magic to get me at least a weekend off," Walter sounded off in the lab, making Peter roll his eyes, "Or at least a weekend away."

John slapped his shoulder and winked. "I'll see what I can work out, Bishop. No promises." He exited and hoped down the stairs and rounded a corner, working his way towards the other office where Olivia worked furiously. Peter watched as a small hint of jealously crept up his spine at the two. John knocked on the wood, startling the young Agent, making her smile widely as he bent down and gave her a quick kiss.

From what Peter had learned of Olivia Dunham in the past ten or so weeks, she wasn't a huge fan of public displays of affection towards her partner, the dual meaning to the term making him gag a few times. When it was just her and him, alone in her little office, fireworks seemed to fly. He'd sometimes catch glances of them kissing, and just once his hand snaking inside her shirt. John removed his jacket as well, joining hers. Rolling his eyes he turned back to the microscope. That didn't last for long as he heard her addictive laugh echo into his office, turning his eyes upward again.

She sat back, amused by whatever John was saying, then amazed, disbelief, then back to amusement. Whatever the conversation was it barely reached his hearing range as his heart fluttered watching Olivia laugh. He had a small admiration for her; her driving spirit, the way she could command a room or a scene with just her presence. Her looks didn't bother him at all either. But she belonged to John. He shouldn't be jealous of John, really. He owed his job to the Agent. In return for saving Agent Scott from the fate of the chemicals on Flight 627, John had made sure Peter's debts were paid off and that his job was secured, not only working alongside is eccentric father, but as a paid civilian consultant to the higher ups of the FBI, specifically to the Fringe Division, responsible for solving some of the strange, inexplicable cases that crossed their threshold, as well as trying to nab one of the most well funded, most wanted, and greatest government covered threat to the American way of life- a group known as ZFT.

At first, Peter wanted nothing to do with Fringe, with John, his father, and even Agent Dunham. But something changed one night a few weeks ago, when a mysterious man, an oblong capsule and a frightening interaction changed everything. This strange, well pressed and emotionless man knew Peter. Knew who he was, where he was, and knew what he was thinking. He awoke up on the floor, Olivia standing over him, her beautiful face filled with concern as he came to. After signing out of the hospital, he agreed to say. Something strange was going on. Strange was his cat's meow.

A phone rang across the hallway, gaining Peter's attention towards the young Agent once again. After swallowing a mouthful of water, Olivia answered, the laughter dissipated from her face as she jumped, grabbing her jacket and made her way over to where Peter pretended to work.

"Hey," she breathed and rapped her knuckles on his door frame, "That was Charlie, we've got a case," John handed Olivia her suit jacket, "Can you collect Walter for me, please?" Peter nodded silently and stood just beyond her field of vision, watching her and John as he kissed her goodbye at the door.

"Walter!" Peter hollered towards the back room, "Let's get a move on, kiddo, we've got a case!"

Walter bounced happily out of the bathroom, his pants nearly tripping him at the ankles, a wide smile on his wrinkled face. "Wonderful! I'll get my equipment!" Shimming back, Peter rolled his eyes and signed knowing it'd be another fifteen minutes or so before his crazy father was ready. He stole a glance to where Olivia stood, dialing her phone once again, and waved towards him, a 'we'll meet you there' gesture that he had come to know well by now.

As she left, Peter let his eyes linger on her bouncing blonde locks, and the shining glimmer in her eyes. He caught site of her out the window, entering her SUV, blue and red lights flashing as she whipped the siren and sped off towards whatever gruesome case they were assigned to. Finally Walter surfaced with his wool cap and the father and son duo left the comfort of Walter's lab and emerged into the bright afternoon sun.

Kensington Park
3:00pm

"Agent Francis, Agent Dunham," the young Agent's voice shook slightly as she stood tall and erect at the curb as Charlie and Olivia excited the vehicle, her eyes avoiding the SUV as much as she could. First day on the job, and already the jitters were overwhelming. There were few new FBI Agents who made it this far were able to contain their nervousness. Not when it came to gruesome cases like this. The last new Agent who arrived and worked a Fringe case lasted two hours before resigning his commission completely.

Olivia tried to comfort the new Agent. Her brown eyes showed promise. "You must be the new Agent assigned to the division," she greeted the young girl with a smile. "Name?"

The girl rose her chin slightly, her eyes daring to glance at her senior field agents, "Farnsworth, ma'am. Junior Agent Astrid Farnsworth."

Charlie nodded. "Well, Agent Farnsworth, welcome to Fringe Division. We have one rule and one rule only."

"Sir?" she asked, her curiosity spiked.

Charlie grinned, glancing at Olivia. "Whoever loses their lunch first buys dinner." Without skipping a beat Charlie continued into the crime scene, a small smile on his face.

Despite her darker complexion, Astrid went pale, eliciting a small chuckle from Olivia who gave her a reassuring slap on the shoulder, directing the young Agent towards their crime scene. Behind her the station wagon of the Bishops blasted to a stop, and Peter and Walter could be heard arguing over something petty. Turning towards them Olivia shook her head and directed Astrid inside to where the mangled body of a woman lay, dismembered and reeking of decay.

Astrid swallowed. "This isn't what they teach you in the Academy," she squeaked, swallowing the lump in her throat.

"Exactly. So tell me, Agent Farnsworth, what are you thinking?" Olivia asked curiously, reading the harrowing and yet enthralling look on her new Agent's face.

"Other than what you people do is absolutely disgusting," she began, licking her lips unevenly and glancing at Olivia, "Looking around the room, other than around the body there doesn't seem to be signs of a struggle." Astrid moved towards the windows at the lower level, examining them. "All the windows on the lower level are locked, so possibly one route of entrance and exit, the front door. Neighbor reports the front door being open when they came to check which means either the victim keeps her door unlocked or she knew the killer."

Olivia smiled. She was smarter than she let on to be. Stepping aside, she peered down around the body, "Anything else?"

Something curious caught Astrid's eye as she bent down. "Look," she pointed at the dismembered left leg, "These incisions are clean cut, not jagged, unlike the rest of the body. It takes a very strong person to cleanly sever an entire thigh in just one swing. Means the killer is strong, probably male with a stocky build and has access to sharp tools, possibly gardening tools."

"Not looking for a replacement for my job already, are you, Agent Dunham?" Walter's voice greeted them with a jolly call. "Well, for Peter's job at least."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Walter," she grinned. Beside her Peter dropped the cases and sighed. "Out of shape, Bishop?" Was that a tease or a mockery, Peter wasn't sure.

He huffed. "You wish, Dunham. I could take you on in an instant. I've got bigger guns," he flexed his biceps.

"I have actual guns," she smirked and moved behind Astrid, introducing her to the awkward pair.

Peter chewed his lip as she gave him a sideways smile, her emerald eyes dipping below her cheeks and she grinned. He loved to banter with her; it was more fun than arguing. They were both stubborn as mules and intelligent in their own ways, which always made it fun to throw it back to her. Not many women could hold to his sarcastic wits. Olivia Dunham was a good exception to his theory.

For the next few hours they spent scouring the crime scene for any and every piece of evidence they could find, speculating that any speck of dust may lead to a clue, that any small breath of wind held the scent of whatever they were looking for. Around seven in the evening they called it quits and packed up, the body shipping back to Walter's lab for analysis and to create any speculations they could find.

Ten o'clock rolled around quickly as Peter found himself alone in the lab with nothing but a lamp, his microscope and the intangible Agent Dunham sitting across from him chewing aimlessly on the pen cap, her eyes focused at reading whatever report had printed from the printer only moments ago. Walter had left long ago, brought home by the new Agent Farnsworth and received her first dose of Walter. Peter just hoped Walter kept his clothes on until he got home. If there was a time of day he enjoyed the most, it was here and now with just him and Olivia in the lab, reviewing case notes and cataloging evidence. Even in complete silence he felt most relaxed as the scent of limes and strawberries drifted towards him.

She let out a bellowing yawn, subconsciously stretching so the tails of her shirt ever so slightly cleared her pants revealing a small portion of her milky skin of her abdomen. Peter couldn't help but look.

"You know, if you're tired, I can walk to the hotel from here," he said, breaking the silence between them. Removing her glasses Olivia rubbed her eyes. Even in the dim lit light her eyes glowed bright green, their edges had a hint of ocean blue.

"It's fine, really. John doesn't normally get home till eleven or so anyway. No sense in sitting alone at home reading files when I can be here and have some company." She glanced at him over the papers, a small smile spread across her lips. God, he loved that smile. "Besides, he's cranky at night. I'd rather let him get home first; get to bed so I don't have to hear him complain. He's a teddy bear, but a grouch when he's up running a case all day."

Peter grinned. Her phone buzzed as she answered it, instantly Peter knew who was on the other line.

"Hi baby, you home already?" she spoke, the other line merely garble to Peter, "Well I'm glad they let you out early, Peter and I are finishing up some paperwork, I'll be home in a half hour or so." She listened, her teeth nibbling at the mangled cap, "Okay, oh-okay. I'll see you in a bit." Pause. "Love you too, bye." She hung up with a beep. "They got out early, apparently they nabbed the guy they were after, the guys went out for drinks and he's home. A little tipsy, but hey, you need to celebrate the good days, right?" she shrugged.

Peter nodded. "I'm done, so you can get home." She followed his nod with one of her own as they began to pack up, locking the files away and cleaning up their area. Closing the lights down they headed towards her SUV and began the short drive back to the hotel where Walter and Peter were being treated, compliments of the FBI.

He couldn't help but steal glances at her when she turned the car, her side profile glowed green and red with the passing streetlights, and white by the lamps, passing light across the bridge of her nose and bounced off her eyes, illuminating them. How could he not notice? Maybe the jealousy he felt from John was justified after all. She didn't flaunt it, but the Agent who pulled up into the parking lot wasn't bad to look at. Not at all.

"That'll be $23.50, Mr. Bishop," she chuckled and unlocked the doors.

"Put it on my tab," he said, exciting the door and leaning into the open window. "Maybe I'll take you out to dinner to pay you back. Drinks are on me."

Olivia smiled, dipping her head low, her cheeks glowing. "Good night, Peter. See you in the morning."

He smiled back. "Good night, Olivia." He watched her pull away and drive around the corner, his lips still pulled high on his cheeks. Maybe if John wasn't in the picture he would have had a chance. The chance of that happening, he knew, was slim to none. He wouldn't have a shot in hell. He had more fun arguing with her, and he wouldn't change that for the world.

"I am glad you are here, Peter," came the monotone voice behind him. A man emerged from the shadows of the building, brief case and pressed suit in perfect accord. "You need to see something. Please. Follow me."

Peter stood hesitantly. The Observers were something Olivia had warned him about, the mysterious bald guys who simply watched, observed- hence the name- and made no interaction. This was the first time they ever tried to contact one of his team. "What do I need to see?"

"Please do not ask questions," the Observer said, "We do not have much time. Follow me." Taking a small step Peter moved towards the Observer as he seemed to glide through the air, his feet barely making a connection with the concrete. They moved on top of a hill. "Close your eyes, Peter. Feel the future flow through you."

Peter sighed, doing as he was told. "This better not be some weird Yoda crap," he said and opened his eyes to find himself standing in nothing more than a hedge, the space between them small. He groaned as a branch stuck his lower back, cursing loudly. But he was silenced by the Observer as he pointed. It wasn't just a hedge, it was a backyard. In the middle of the night. A hot, humid, disgusting night by any accord.

What caught Peter's attention was the man sitting in a lounge chair, staring up at the starry night. A bottle of almond liquid was in one hand, the other covering his eyes. The man was crying, near sobbing. He could smell the alcohol from here, his face unclear from the distance and the darkness.

"Look at this man. He is broken, suffering an impeccable loss, one that no man should have to endure," the Observer spoke, his eyes trained.

His curiosity spiked. "Who is he? Why is he upset?"

"You'll find out soon enough, but what happened is tragic. His wife was killed by his father, in cold blood when all she was trying to do was make the world, this world, your world a better place."

Peter's heart sunk for this broken, sobbing and highly intoxicated man who was supported by the chair. "No one should ever have to suffer that kind of loss, it's heartbreaking."

The Observer turned to him. "In time, Peter, you shall know this man. He needs something to fight for, and you can help him with that."

"How?" Peter asked.

The Observer turned towards him. "Again, in time, you shall know. For now, we return."

In the blink of an eye Peter was back standing in front of the hotel, his head swimming by the image of the man he had witnessed, the man who the Observer took him to see. Who was he, was the mystery. Who was his wife and who was the man's father that killed her? Peter made a mental note to begin a small investigation and search for any women killed in, other than their case, in the past six months; maybe he could help solve both cases and put this aching man's heart to rest.

With the adrenaline beginning to wind down he made his way upstairs and showered, making his bed on the couch and closed his eyes, drifting slowly off into sleep. The images flashed easily, non-threatening in his head, of Walter, of Charlie, of the case, but one image, one beautiful image made him smile in his sleep.

Peter was standing on a church alter with wedding bells echoing in his head as he stood dressed in a tux, a smile on his face. Standing in front of him stood his bride, the dress clinging to her beautiful body as the bells rang loudly, cheers of friends and family bounced around him. Slowly he raised the veil to reveal her face, carved by angels with eyes glowing beaming emerald waves around them as four simple words echoed in his head as he kissed her lovingly, feeling her smile against him.

Olivia Dunham. My everything.

Bishop Residence
02:30am, year 2026

The night sky was clear, crisp and sprinkled with stars; each small, bright pinhole poked through the black velvet in which it was cased and illuminating with the shine of their own burning sun; an infinite light that reached the warmed atmosphere of earth from whatever increment of miles away they were with their small fingers of light reaching to be seen by the human eyes, to touch the inner soul of whomever was privileged to gaze upon them. Their shapes were never perfect, one of the reasons they were so amazing to gaze at; circular squares and triangular rectangles speckled across the beltway, rhinestones encased in black glass that seemed almost unbreakable, no matter how many times one pointed upwards at a constellation. They all had their own agenda, never caring what the others thought. They were their own matter.

Shades of black and purple cast dark spacey shadows across the heated earth, elongating everything it touched; its air electric with a spark of summer and the heaviness of sorrow. While the sun burned halfway around the world, the night cooled with the blanket of the glowing, vast emptiness that cased him in, a cocoon that wrapped around his tall, lean frame loosely, only echoing his own sadness and loneliness.

Second to sunsets, she always loved looking at the stars.

There were countless nights, as infinite as the stars, where he and Olivia would sit on the back patio of the Bishop's old house, curled up in a ball on the swinging deck chair Walter was insistent on purchasing. Despite its hideous features and haphazardly built wooden frame, the long moving futon was one of her favorite places in his house, secondary to his bed. Over the years they had worked their own grooves into the lumpy cushion. She would curl herself into his arms, sipping a glass of wine or whiskey and just stare into the sky, pointing out various familiar formations and even once spotted a shooting star. He'd often stare into her green eyes, sparkling with their own light and wonder how on earth she chose him to fall in love with.

Peter closed his eyes again as tears fell from them, another beautifully painful memory coming back to him. It was a few weeks after they started dating- officially dating, at least. It was after her thirty-second birthday. It was one of his favorite memories of her, a rare remembrance before the war between the worlds started.

"Peter," she yawned and stretched as she curled into him, her shoulder completing the puzzle against his as her arm sneaked around and settled in the void between the cushion and his back comfortably. Her other wrapped around his waist to lock her hands together around him. Her forehead tucked into his neck so perfectly as Peter draped his arm around her, his hand coming to rest on the outside of her sweatpants, the other lazily resting at his side. "You do realize it's almost four in the morning, and we need to be up for work in a few hours. That is of course if Broyles doesn't call at six like he has been doing."

Peter grinned down at her, sleep still hung heavy in her eyes. "Give it a few minutes, Liv, it'll be worth it, I promise." He lovingly kissed her forehead, letting his lips linger for a second longer before she snuggled against him; the warm summer night was rather welcoming to her skin, cooled by the air conditioning in the old house. "I still can't believe you've never watched a meteor shower."

She shrugged against him, yawned again and closed her eyes, sighing. "Never had time. I was always sleeping when it happens." He caught a small grumble in her voice that made him chuckle. She sighed again and relaxed against him, chuckling, "You know there's always YouTube."

Peter's laughed bellowed. "There's nothing like watching it in person. Have I ever given you reason to not trust me?" The only response she gave was to stare at him, squinting her brows together as she rose one teasingly, begging him to allow her to answer. "Alright, forget that question."

"Smart man," she said, placing her head back on his chest. A flash of light streaked across the sky, catching her attention and he felt her body wake up as the shower began. Slowly, once, twice, a shooting star fell across their eyes, and then stopped. A minute or two went by. "That was it?" she asked flatly, "I'm not impressed."

"Patience is a virtue," he said slowly.

Suddenly the sky burst with light as thousands of meteors came flying past the atmosphere, illuminating the purple sky with a pale, pure white light. Colors mended and blended as they flew past. Peter smiled as her eyes widened at the sight, her eyes following as many as she could across the sky's band. In and out they floated. He glanced at her eyes; the reflection of the light bounced across her green seas as she relaxed against him again, a rare, wide smile on her face as she clearly enjoyed the sight.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, "I guess I've been missing out." She turned towards him, meeting Peter's blue eyes.

Peter smiled back towards her. "So I won't get killed for this in the morning, then? As long as the coffee's ready, I assume."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," she smiled and kissed him.

He could still taste her honey-sweet lips on his as he replayed the memory over and over in his head. Despite the time in the morning, they made love beneath the illuminated night sky, their bodies shedding clothes rapidly until it was just her body beneath his, her skin melting into his, her lips always smiling against his. He remembered her body, each curve and crevice ghosted across his fingertips. He felt the weight of her hair on his shoulders, the scratching of her fingernails on his back as he moved above her tenderly, whispering her name over and over, and never grew tired of saying it.

Peter licked his dry lips trying to taste her again. All he got was the sting of the whiskey, masking her from him. Another tear streaked down his face as he sat alone outside and stared upwards at the heavens. It had been a month since Olivia was killed, gunned down in cold blood, a vengeful murder by a man he once called father. It was thirty days since her casket set afloat and burned, setting her once-tormented soul free. Every night he saw her body in the morgue, a nightmare that he could never shake free of.

The coldness of her lips, the limpness of her arms, and the lifelessness of her eyes made Peter want to die right there with her. His Olivia, his wife, his everything was no more. They had fought for years to have a happy life, and despite all the setbacks, the arguments, even the ongoing war they managed to stick together through it all. That dream was shattered by the image of her lying on the metal table with a bullet in her head was something he never wanted to see, but forced himself to do to say goodbye.

If only he had called Ella back when he got to the lake house; he may have had the chance to save her. Maybe he could have even died there with her. His head had been filled with so many 'what ifs' lately it drove him insane. What if he married her a year earlier than he intended? Would they have had kids? Would she let them have kids? Would she have stepped out of the field earlier? What if he never stepped into the machine? What would the war have been like? Would Walter have been imprisoned? But there was only one question that plagued him; one that the answer never changed.

What if he had killed Walternate when he got the chance, all those years ago when he first made contact? He knew the answer to that. She'd still be alive. Here. In his arms. She'd be alive, and smiling and cursing him for keeping her up late. Peter knew what he would do if she were alive. He would admit defeat, tell her she was right, that she was always right and make love to her over and over like they were two love struck teenagers until they were both tired and sore, and collapse into her arms. He'd tell her how much he loves her and would never let go. Ever.

But she was right. If he stayed off his feet after the explosion, maybe he could have convinced her to stay home and take care of him, rather, make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Maybe she could have run things from home. Olivia would occasionally do that, given the circumstance was appropriate. He always liked it when she did that. They could spend the entire day in bed, lounging around the house and take care of business from home. Astrid was more than capable of doing it herself when they went away from it all.

But now all that was just a memory, a breath of wind that was gone the very second it came. She was gone. The last eighteen years or so of his life with her, all their talks of kids, grand-kids, retirement, and being buried next to each other; all the conversations and arguments they'd never have and childish make-up sex, which Peter knew Olivia would never admit she enjoyed, were gone eliminated in a split second in an act fueled by revenge and hatred. Eighteen years of memories stained in glass, only to have it shattered in the blink of an eye. He closed his eyes as tears fell, and whispered her name into the silent night sky.

Opening his eyes again Peter gazed across the backyard of their house and froze as he caught sight of a man standing on the edge of their property. He blinked, throwing the hallucination to the three-quarters of a bottle of Jack Daniels he had polished off. Blinking again the man stood still, his glassy eyes reflected the night sky. Peter recognized this man, an old memory stirred. The pressed black suit. The plain fedora. The leather suitcase. The blank expression on his eyes. He hadn't seen this man in almost two decades.

An Observer. The one Olivia called September. Standing next to the Observer was a man. A familiar man, a face Peter recognized instantly.

Standing next to the Observer, was Peter himself.

The alcohol surged through his brain, mixing with the adrenaline as Peter Bishop stood and crashed to the ground, reaching unsteadily for his gun, clicked the safety off, and turned around to find the Observer and… himself gone in the blink of an eye, and leaving Peter once again, alone, baffled, with his bottle of whiskey and his only company being the stars that shone brightly overhead.

Chapter 2 coming soon! Reviews are awesome!