Author's Note: My friends… no words can describe the appreciation I have for your patience other than thank you. These last four months have been nothing short of a nightmare. Between work, three funerals and a whole bunch of other things I had to put this on hold. I'm looking to update soon. You all truly are the world's greatest fans. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.

Something Human

They both turned around quickly to find Sam Weiss standing behind them, a leather bag draped across his shoulder. His hair was shorter, his shoulders more square and determination shown in his eyes. "Part of me heard what you had to say, Olivia, and part of me wanted to ignore every aspect that you may be right. I owe it to Walter for giving me my son." He turned his eyes towards Peter. "For that I owe it to you. I'll tell you what you need to know, but this won't be easy. The knowledge I was told seems to be incomplete, perhaps even incorrect but if you trust this Observer as much as he lead on I think you'll find what you're looking for eventually."

"Who was the Observer? Did he tell you his name?" Olivia asked intently as Peter grabbed a pen and paper.

Sam nodded once. "He did. He said his name was September…"

Montana

July 2012

Despite the lingering summer heat there was bone-chilling stillness in the air, as if the Earth suddenly stopped rotating. On occasion the gentlest of winds blew from the south breathing against the back of his neck like a secret whisper. Any other day this would be a welcomed tingle. Not tonight. Tonight was different. It was, for lack of a better word, dangerous. Steam rose from the streets; a shimmering static that was uncomfortably electric, sparks igniting deep within his chest that burst into a firefight that meant trouble. Sam sensed it the moment he stepped out of the grocery store. Suddenly the winds ceased, the Earth beneath his feet stood impossibly still. Even the insects had seemed to retreat for safety, not a cricket chirped, nor the fireflies dance in the twilight.

That's when Sam felt it- that unmistakable, shivering paranoia that made his mind dizzy with a haunting anticipation and his body drunk with urgency. It was the horrifying adrenaline rush that scared Sam knowing someone was following him from the shadows, their eyes trained like hot lasers between his shoulder blades. It made his legs numb as he pushed forward in any hopes to avoid those invisible pair of electrifying eyes.

Glancing left to right he silently quickened his pace, his keys cutting into the palms of his hand as he gripped the chain. Just ten feet, he told himself until he reached his truck. Nine. Eight. His steps shortened in length, his heart pumping faster as he broke out into a cold sweat. Five steps. Four. His keys shook in his hand as he jumped the last yard, forcing the keys into the lock, rattling it nervously until it slid left. He was sure the moment the brown bags hit the seat next to him the eggs had broken, a fragile crack fell upon deaf ears as the bag began to darken. He had to breathe; his mind told him and let the false panic fade away. His vision soon became hazy as he exhaled sharply before turning on his car.

He jammed the shifter down harder than intended as relief spread across his body. The headlights glowed before him as Sam pressed the accelerator. Before him the car lurched forward and stopped suddenly, sending a jolt through the vehicle like he had hit something. Glancing over the steering wheel Sam felt his body freeze in a panic to see the man standing before him, his arm bent slightly and his palm open towards the nose of the car. Once, twice, even three times Sam tried to break free but to no avail, the engine roared and tires squealed as the smell of rubber penetrated the windows.

Reaching underneath the dashboard he pulled a small handgun from its hiding place and nestled it into his waistline. If something was going to happen he was not going down without a fight. Bravery was certainly not one of Sam's strengths but he found a way to muster up what he could before exiting the vehicle slowly, examining the man that stood before him.

"What do you want?" Sam finally managed trying to hide the small crack in his voice. The answer Sam received was not what he expected.

"You are Samuel Weiss the seventh, are you not?" The pale-faced man before him questioned. "You are the descendant of Samuel Weiss the First, the man who discovered the manuscript. I have been searching for you for… quite some time. Please. Walk with me. We have much to discuss." He turned sharply in his heels and proceeded to walk away from Sam, pausing only momentarily to look back.

Intrigue was a devilish temptation to ignore but the tranquil demeanor of his man did not put Sam at ease. Releasing the breath he held Sam moved next towards this strange man dressed in nothing but black- a pressed suit, glossy shoes and a velvet fedora topped his rounded head. For a few minutes they walked in silence, mystery pressed upon Sam even more. It wasn't long until the entered the park that was a few blocks from where Sam had parked his car.

There was something about this man that Sam could not put his finger on. While he appeared to know the area well there was a certain sort of fascination that glazed over his eyes, like a child seeing the world for the first time. He would stop and stare at a piece of art or an old building in the town, examining it in detail before moving on to the next piece of history.

"I have not been alive long," he finally spoke, calm and even, "But for the short amount of time I have been, I was presented with many opportunities to explore various times. This era has been my favorite. The people, the history, everything about it is memorizing. The technologies I have been able to witness have helped my people to thrive." A small smile crossed his lips, "I guess you could say I have fallen in love with it."

Speculation laced Sam's words. "What do you mean you've traveled?"

A small smile ghosted the man's alabaster lips, "Like you I am not the… traditional classification of human. I am… something else."

For a moment Sam stared at this man, a distant memory flashed before his eyes. "I've seen you someplace before, about a year ago. Yes, you were at Liberty Island the night…" Realization made his dark eyes widen. "You're one of those… beings I heard about. You're an Observer aren't you?"

"I am," he nodded, and then shook his head side to side, "and yet I am not. The Observers you speak of no longer exist. We are a new breed of genetic hybrids created specifically for one purpose… to record events in history that have been altered or improperly scripted. But I am aware of this Observer you speak of. My creator has told me many things about the being I resemble."

"Your creator?" asked Sam, "Who is your creator?"

The man diverted immediately. "I have come here to ask a favor. It does not require money or any laborious task. There is someone I am trying to help, someone who is very dear to my heart but due to my disposition I cannot be directly involved. Someone will come in search of my Creator soon and the clues I leave will lead them to you. They will ask questions about the device. I ask you answer them truthfully for you are the sole informer they can trust." Reaching into his jacket pocket the man pulled a neatly folded envelope and handed it to Sam. "When the time is right give it to him to open. It contains all the information they need to complete their mission. I have researched this for many months and I believe this will bring his father home without consequence."

Sam stared at it curiously and slipped his finder behind the flap, "What's it-"

"Do not open it," the man cautioned heavily, "Until the time is right it must remain sealed."

"Well how will we know when to open it?" Sam quizzed. "And who is coming to find me?"

The man sighed, "When the time is right you will know. You must have faith in your instinct. They will remain true to you." In the distance a bell sounded from the clock tower, signaling midnight. "There is one more thing I must do, for you and your son's protection. Do not be alarmed."

Sam watched curiously as the man reached into his jacket and pulled out a small gun, no bigger than the size of a softball. "What the hell is this?" He hollered and raised his hands slowly.

"For your protection. It will not hurt I promise." He sighed, "Please. When the time is right, give him the envelope. It will answer any questions they have. I am going to shoot you, Sam, leaving you with nothing more than this memory."

Gripping his finger around the trigger Sam spoke, panicked again, "Who the hell are you?"

"September," he spoke softly, "My name is September." With those final words September pulled the trigger, sending a spark of blue energy from it, a quiet puff of air that knocked Sam backwards. He landed ten or so feet from where he stood, his head thumping against the concrete rendering him unconscious immediately. Lowering his weapon September slowly walked towards him and pressed two fingers against his neck, satisfied to find Sam's pulse strong and bounding.

The blue energy he released hovered slightly before him. Reaching into his pocket he pulled another device out and held it flat against his palm, the energy suddenly shrunk and disappeared. Turning to his left he continued to walk until he disappeared, blending in effortlessly with the pressing dark around him.

Liberty Island
2016

"I was out for five days almost. The next thing I remembered was Belle Tuckerton wiping my face and Wes holding my hand. I couldn't help but apologize to the kid. The look in his face, the fear, the uncertainty," his words choked his heart, causing a tear to stray from his eyes, "It was… unbearable. She told me he went to get her after I came home and collapsed. At first I thought it was a dream but then I found the letter tucked in my pocket. I know it had to be real. What other explanation could there be? So I did what anyone else would do. I waited and waited, and eventually you two showed up at my door." Sipping his coffee Sam sat back and sighed.

"So they ask you to wait for us and then he shot you with some magic gun in order to keep his whole mascaraed a secret. I don't get it, why hide what he's planning?" Olivia asked, "September was always secretive but if it was important he'd make his presence known."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know but he wasn't quite like the Observers I remember you telling me about. He dressed almost the same, he was completely bald and straight posture but there was something… human about him. There was an emotion I couldn't place in his face. His eyes were almost desperate, pleading, even, to help and some resounding hope in his face when I agreed. "

Next to Olivia, Peter sighed heavily, a deep burden weighted on his chest. "Walter's plan succeeded that we know for certain. Through Michael he was able to show the scientist in Norway that human emotion is a necessity not a hindrance. It was the reason he gave up his life here. Walter created him. There's no other explanation as to why this September would do anything different. Walter watched him die and his son had no time to mourn. Perhaps it was the justice he felt was owed."

Sam shifted unevenly in his chair. "So now you've got me here. What's the next step we take?"

Peter, grateful for the change in direction, pointed up. "The machine. I think it may help us find Walter and bring him home. Its original purpose was to create or destroy that we know. A few years ago we were able to alter it with the thought of bringing me back to my timeline."

"Alter it?" asked Sam, "How?"

Standing Peter pulled a file up on the computer. "Walter and I were able to create a biomechanical interface that would allow me to control the machine using my genetic profile. We were able to tune it to function at my frequency and lock it into my brainwaves. But fortunately we didn't need to use it." He glanced over at Olivia, "Turns out I was home all along."

Hiding the blush in her cheeks Olivia cleared her throat and turned back towards Sam. "We had Peter key into it to shut it down. Up until this time it's been dormant since we closed the seam between the universes. Peter thinks he may have a way to use it to find Walter, like the machine used him. We just need some input from you."

Leaning back on the chair Sam sighed, "I don't know everything about the machine but I'll do my best."

With his fingers pressing against the keys Peter pulled up the schematics of the device. "I was playing with an idea last week. Considering we made the interface to fit my needs, what's to say we can't reprogram it to do the same? The machine was able to pull me out of a timeline. What if we could do the same for Walter? What if we could do it again? What if we could tweak the machine to search and operate for him instead of me?"

Peter continued. "The night we fought the Observers we opened a wormhole to send Walter and the boy forward in time to a specific date. If we could find the schematics of the device Walter had initially planned on building perhaps we could figure out a way to do it again using the machine instead of the dock stabilizers and the beacons. We could swap one device to the other and mix and match, so to speak."

Sam hesitated slightly. "You're asking me if I know how to reprogram a device that is decades beyond our technology to function as a portal?" Peter nodded. For a moment Sam was quiet as he thought. "The theory is possible but you're forgetting one thing here, Peter. We'd need Walter's DNA and a computer that would be able to crack into the motherboard of this thing to apply some sort of patch. Unfortunately the technology here isn't compatible with the machine's software. We never were able to break into it."

Peter bit his lip. "The technology here can't do it, you're right. But what if we could go somewhere that we know has been able to activate the machine before." Both Olivia and Sam stilled, their steady gazes focused on Peter. "The interface I used only worked when our machine was connected with the machine on the other side."

Olivia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you saying, Peter?"

"Quantum entanglement," he responded strongly.

"That would be impossible, Peter, we turned the machine off and I don't have the ability to cross over anymore. There's no way to turn it back on in the capacity that we had before, even if crossing over was an option," rebutted Olivia, a sudden uneasiness crept through her words.

"I'm not saying use the machine, Olivia. The device Walter built, the one Lincoln and I used to cross over… Massive Dynamic still has it. It still works. You, me and Astrid, we could cross over and talk to their Astrid and maybe Walternate. If anyone knows more about computers and codes then our Astrid, it's theirs. You've seen their technology, Olivia, its years beyond what we have here."

"It's impossible, Peter," Sam rejected.

"We've seen impossible, Sam, and we've overcome it," Peter challenged, his eyes pleading. "There has to be a way. If I am the sole conductor there has to be an override to enable me to use it as I see fit. There has to be a back door around the firewall. All they are is programs and codes and microchips. There has to be a way around it."

Sam pressed his lips together, "I'd have to research it through my records and see what is written, if anything, about changing the machine. It was built for you, Peter, only you can operate it. Let me see what I can come up with." With those final words Sam retired, jotting down notes on a small legal pad and stuffed it into his bag. "Meet me at Massive Dynamic tomorrow and we'll talk." He left quietly, mumbling something inaudible as Peter glanced at Olivia.

For a few minutes they remained quiet. "Do you think he can help us?" Olivia finally asked, her tense shoulders dropping and her grip on the table loosened.

Peter shook his head, "I think the question is will he help us. What we've asked him to do is defy generations of knowledge and tradition that was passed onto him."

"I wasn't talking about Sam."

Peter's brows rose in understanding. "Oh," his lips rounded, a heavy sigh escaped his chest at the question she proposed. Leaning his head in his palms Peter sighed. "I don't see why this would be any different. The last time I went to Walternate asking for help he said he would. After all," he hesitated, his words thick and foreign, "We're family."

Olivia fell silent again trying to read whatever thoughts Peter had floating in his mind. She could see the hopeful conversation he would have with Walternate and his wishes for cooperation should their plan follow through. She sighed, realizing it was too early in the morning for such fantasies. "Come on," she tugged his elbow, "You haven't gotten a decent night's sleep in weeks. Leave this alone for one evening Peter, it's out of our hands."

Refusal was not easy on his part, not when it came to Olivia. Without rebuttal he saved their progress and shut down the computer. Quietly they walked, hand in hand, across the linoleum floor and towards the single door that marked the exit.

Behind them stood the machine, silent, still and shadowed- a distant memory for the waking.

Oslo, Norway
January 7, 2170

Standing alone in the shadows September leaned against the wall, a silhouette in the night as he arched against the railing. Silently he observed the duo before him, researching and gaining information on the lab floor below. Walter sat hunched over a glass table; several spreads of papers and books sat empty and open before him, inaudible words echoed on the high walls around him. Next to him sat Michael his concentration poured over the history encyclopedia that Walter had bought him almost two years ago. He was sure at this point Michael could recite the book line for line, word for word, and describes each picture with the greatest of detail. What they were both researching was something September did not bother himself to ponder- quite frankly he didn't care to fantasize about it. Instead he watched as an unsettling emotion stirred in his chest.

It was incredible the synchronicity they had fallen in to. Together they would scribble down a note, two separate ideas joined by the love of science. They would turn a page without thinking, their shoulders rose and fell evenly as they read, and even on occasion take a sip of the hot chocolate that sat in opposing corners, the steam rising in motion with their stretched arms. It was sweet at first but as the time continued slowly September became more annoyed at the ease between them. Watching the boy and his Creator interact had brought about an emotion that September could not have named until now.

Jealousy.

At first he could not decipher why but as the night continued he had discovered where this aggravating emotion berthed from. An old lab rat and a mute boy could not say a word to one another and still their conversation was more than September ever had with the boy. The way their eyes connected, the deep rooted understanding that Walter had formed with Michael was aggravatingly fascinating. In the months since his birth September had tried to connect with the boy much like him and yet… this mission had failed miserably on more than once. It was the seamless connection between the two that September secretly envied.

Since he had met Michael he felt something for him, most prominent was the undetermined necessity to care and protect for him. He had, on numerous occasions, tried to befriend this being like himself and yet Michael kept a wary distance. Should September make an approach the boy would run or retreat to his room and wait for him to leave. He had tried to key into his mind but Michael was stronger than he looked; the block he had on his thoughts was something September could not lock into.

It frustrated him to no end to see the boy interacting happily with Walter and yet September could not even entertain a glance from him. What had he done to frighten this child? Was it something he said? Did Michael read his thoughts and see something September could not? He tried everything, even writing a letter but Michael kept it in the envelope September gave him, tucked neatly in a desk drawer out of his sight. What could he do? All he wanted was to know this being, this hybrid human like himself. He was sure he could learn much from Michael.

Each time he tried to approach the boy September would suddenly stop the moment Michael's deep black eyes matched his. There was a chill in his gaze that would freeze September where he stood, his breath turned to ice in his chest. His eyes, Michael's deer-wide eyes had something frightening, saddening, and even mysterious about them. His pupils were dark, a hazy shadow of a man glowed in the back of his stare. Haunted was a word September used most often to describe it, as if Michael could look straight past September like he was a ghost.

After the first time September witnessed this he asked Walter about it. Each response he received was the same. 'When the boy is ready he will tell you.'

Watching them begin to pack up their belongings September parted, fading into the shadows and waded slowly down the hallway that lead to Michael's dormitory. In the atrium he waited, reviewing his plan over and over in his head. Tonight, September decided, was the night Michael was going to tell him. Curiosity was a dangerous decree but he had to know. Emotions stirred in him each time he saw Michael, something strangely… paternal.

It was tonight after Walter had put Michael to bed, after he read him a story and tucked his comforter around his shoulders and kissed him goodnight, that September would make his move. He waited silently as Walter finished their ritual. Even after the boy fell asleep he waited, his gaze never breaking from the crown that peaked just above the pale blue sheets. September moved fluently, a breath of wind in a cloudless summer sky. He took residence on Walter's stool and sighed quietly. Hesitantly he reached out and closed his hand around Michael's tiny fingers, watching with both fear and fascination as the boy subconsciously reciprocated.

If Michael couldn't speak to him while he was awake perhaps his dreams could unlock the riddle September was trying to solve.

"Tell me, Michael, I have to know," he whispered into the dark, "What did I do to cause you so much pain that you can't even look at me?"

At first he received no answer, no voice in the back of his mind to give him a blue. He waited and waited until he felt his hands tingle. Through the silence of the room, through the pressing velvet night and the single streak of moonlight that leaked past the blinds Michael's mind spoke in his sleep, his tiny voice clear and crystal in September's mind as his subconscious responded with four sorrowful, single words that tore through September's heart.

"You broke your promise."

September, pushing past the shock of the tiny voice before him, desperately squeezed his hand tighter, "How?"

Turning to his side Michael breathed evenly as he dreamed, two more precious words escaping from his mind. "You left."

He held his breath, "Show me. Let me in, Michael. Show me where I went wrong. Please, son. Show me." He could see a hint of hesitation in Michael's sleeping face as his eyes squeezed tighter then relaxed his cheeks soft and his body limp. Bowing his head September closed his eyes and thought, images flashed before his eyes.

It was in those dark images he found reason- the dream Michael experienced night after night bringing back the demons this small boy secretly tried to forget. He saw beings like himself and the hatred that flowed through their bodies. He saw Walter with two devices in hand, talking to a man he assumed to be Peter. He saw Michael, a hood crowned his head and the uncertainty that glowed in his eyes. But more surprisingly he saw someone he recognized immediately. Himself. What he felt next took him by surprise. Uncertainty. Hesitation. Anxiety. But most of all he felt something that sent a blood-curling shiver down his spine.

Fear.

"Get the boy!"

Jolting his head towards the direction of Walter's voice Michael turned his head; a sudden thump thudded against his chest. It was in that moment Windmark appeared outside the van that made his tiny heart stop and his pupils dilate. As the sound of breaking glass showered across him Michael drew in a deep breath as his body began to shake. Instead of trying to move away Michael did the only thing he could think to do when he was frightened. He closed his eyes.

In the next instant he hit the ground- hard, as Peter and Windmark struggled against the car. Still slightly stunned he backed away slowly watching as Olivia ran past him with an incredible fearlessness. Gunfire echoed in the distance, an unmistakable pop that made his ears ache. From the distance he watched as Peter and Olivia fought Windmark; their efforts valiant to save him from his would-be captor. He watched in both hesitation and anticipation as Olivia fell against the ground once again, her eyes set on the small bronze bullet that fell from her pocket.

What happened next was something Michael found fascinating. Beneath his feet the ground shuttered. Car alarms began to sound and the lights dimmed. Concentration was the name of the game, and the moment the cars slammed Windmark's body against one another he knew it was over. Finally she had understood. Silence was the weapon, the best weapon against one's opponent.

A familiar hand rest upon his shoulders as his father came behind him urging Michael along who immediately obeyed. His tiny hand in his September and Michael ran past the fog, through the barrage of gunfire towards a steady blue hum that gave Michael a strange feeling of hope. He had always wanted to spend time with his father. Finally he was going to have that chance- the one he always dreamed about. A small smile spread across his face as they passed the barricade.

All that hope, all those dreams he spent countless nights imaging were suddenly shattered as a single shot ran out and he watched his father fall to the ground lifeless beside him, the life draining out of his eyes and into a pool of blood behind him. Frozen in disbelief all Michael could do was stand there. Maybe it was shock; maybe it was the realization his dreams were shattered. Maybe Michael had been hit too. All these thoughts culminated within him as he felt his heart break, reducing him to a silent puddle on the ground.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the music box crank and turned it in hopes he'd wake up. He turned it and turned it but the vision did not go away. Wordless tears began to flood his eyes as he watched his future die alongside his father. Looking up he found Walter standing over him, tears in his eyes and a sad smile on his face. Slowly he extended a hand and gave Michael the tiniest of nods. Placing the music box back in his pocket Michael stood with his protector and held Walter's hand tightly as they disappeared into a flash of blue.

Opening his tear-lined eyes September let go of the breath he had been holding as he felt his heart begin to sting. He understood. He understood everything. He understood the silent grieving Michael was processing. He understood why he and Walter were near-inseparable and the sacrifice Walter had to make to save his family. More importantly September understood what he represented to Michael and the ghost he painfully resembled. Michael didn't care for the science or the research or the difference he and Walter had made. His dreams were evident of that. He wanted the simplest of needs- a home, a family. He wanted a father. He wanted his father.

'Perhaps some mysteries are better left unsolved' Walter would say when September asked, 'The outcome is not always what we hope it to be.' Blinking his eyes September bowed his head feeling the tiny pair of eyes that gazed upon his brow.

Before him Michael sat up straight, awake and alert to the man who just invaded his mind. An expression lay across his cheeks September could not read. Grief? Disgust? Anger? No, September finally decided. It was relief, an emotion September had never seen on his face before. Instead of his eyes being wide and evasive this seemingly small boy say before September with the sorrowful look only a child could give. Michael's wide black eyes glistened, his nose ran and his cheeks moist. In his hand he held the inner workings of a music box, the miniature sound of bells glistening through the room. Tears lined his shirt as he watched the emotions play over September's face.

September could not find the words to console the broken, grieving boy. Even after all these months the image of Michael's father still haunted his mind, reminding him of the man he knew so little about- the man who gave his life to save Michael's. Reaching out for Michael September moved slowly, cupping the boy's cool cheeks in his palms, running his thumb over Michael's moist jaw- the boy sat frozen beneath his familiar touch.

"Michael it's alright to cry," September pleaded between broken words, "Your father loved you very much. I could feel that. I do feel that. But please let me in. I may not be your father, but I want to be your friend. You and I are more similar than you think. We're not just a science project. We can feel. We can touch. We can love and we can grieve. But we can't do it alone. After everything you've been through grieving is not something you can do alone. Please. Don't do it alone. I want to help you Michael, because there is so much I can learn from you. Just tell me what I need to do. Tell me what you want and I promise I will try to help you through this."

For a moment Michael sat like a statue, his gaze never breaking from September's. In a surprise move Michael pulled his comforter back and curled into September's chest, his chin resting inside the crook of his chin and his arms wrapped tightly around his neck. He could feel the salty tears that spilled onto his skin Michael as he cried, silent sobs moving up and down over September's heart. It was then he heard Michael whisper the only five words the boy would ever speak.

"I want to go home."

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