A/N: So this is something I wrote right after Over There: Part One, but I never got around to posting it. Except to see more Fringe fics from me soon. :D
Disclaimer: Don't own them or the show.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
This is the road not taken.
Or maybe the road you were never destined to take. Like I believe in that, you think {the piece of folded up parchment burning a hole in your back pocket tells you differently}. Peter would have said….
You stop the thought, clear your mind, push on.
Why you were in route to see something that could only bring you more pain, you would never be able to figure out. Surely by now you could be classified as a masochist {file that behind military brat, FBI agent, test subject, aunt, sister, lover}.
You don't know what to expect. Different choices, even miniscule ones, they can make all the difference. What if you had never transferred to Boston? You would have never met John, never would have had to save him. You wouldn't be thrust into this world {technically now is it two?}. You wouldn't be facing the possibility of losing everything {you can't even remember when he became everything}. Boston would be a challenge...in hindsight you feel as if you almost asked for it.
You're there. Unfamiliar house, unfamiliar street, unfamiliar city. You are even foreign to yourself. You watch her red long hair blow in a slight breeze. Did she dye her hair? You never remembered any red-headed relatives. Did she ever have a stepfather? She smiles and you think she probably never held a gun in her hands as a child. She never had to make that choice. Smiling doesn't come easy to those who are haunted.
Then there they were; silhouettes of the non-you and a man. You tried to keep it below the surface {you always try to keep it below the surface}, but you could feel it, the desperation, the loneliness, slowly bubbling and swirling at the pit of your stomach; the fear that you would lose him {maybe you already had}.
The street was a glimmer.
Two roads, two parallel lives. You wonder were the fork in the road had occurred.
You wonder, if you had the choice, would you go back?
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