Disclaimer: Still claim no ownership, just dabbling in Abram's and Orci's sandbox.

A/N: Special and undying thanks to beta Chichuri, who speaks Peter so much better than I ever could. Sorry for the long wait, but it takes me a while to get things written out, and then polished up. I wanted to take a look at the change in Peter – through these instances – to highlight how far he's come since we first met him. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know how I did! May you all have a safe and Happy NEW YEAR!

Set between "The Dreamscape" and the end of "Safe"

Cause and Effect

"Peter"

Sitting in the row of chairs, idly running his thumb across the face of his cell phone, Peter wonders when she'll finally realize it. When she'll see that she can't do everything on her own. Watching her walk away, hair still dribbling water down her coat from that damned tank, Peter has an uncontrollable urge to trot up behind her and casually insist that he's coming along. Because she needs someone to watch her back. She's just stepped out of yet another psychedelic mind-fuck, courtesy of his father, and she's probably hiding the aftereffects in her normal self-sufficient way.

She needs someone there to make sure she doesn't lose herself in the need to vet out whatever "leads" John's memory gave her. She needs him. Peter's sure of it.

But Olivia had said no, albeit gently, and Peter is left to his own devices and distractions. One of which is currently on his cell phone – a picture of the address he'd followed Tess to. The muscles in his jaw tighten involuntarily.

Swiveling in his chair, Peter looks around the divider into the main lab and sees Astrid still at her computer, presumably sending the information Olivia had given her to the Federal Building. Walter is near the tank, jotting down God knows what in his journals and checking the different monitors.

Peter watches him for a moment, his body language and expression, realizing that Walter seems less enthused about Olivia's recent dream-walk than he was the first time. In fact, the old man was positively concerned about keeping Olivia "with him" as he attempted to guide her dreams.

Not concerned enough to say no, Peter thinks, angrily. Walter shouldn't have let her go back in. Hell, even Astrid should have known better than to…

Peter halts mid-thought, his stomach twisting painfully as he realizes that his anger is pointed in the wrong direction. He should have been there to talk her out of it. He should have told her that there had to be another way, that he would help her find some different lead in Mark Young's case. Anything was better than going back into that monstrosity of a deprivation chamber.

Turning back around in his seat and leaning his head back against the wall, Peter closes his eyes, and images of Tess's face swim to the forefront. Maybe it's naive, maybe he's just old-fashioned, but seeing a woman he cares about in distress touches something deep inside and sets it on fire. He remembers how every muscle in his body contracted at the sight of the finger-mark bruises on her small wrist, knowing who had put them there. He remembers following Tess as she met up with Michael, and the red-haze of cold fury and anticipation slowly settling over him that was broken by Astrid's phone call.

A lightning bolt of fear slashes through the visions and Peter hears Olivia's scream. Feels Olivia trembling in his arms after yanking her from the tank, her face contorted with terror and stricken with pain from whatever John chose to show her. She seemed so lost and alone those first few moments out of the tank, as her consciousness regained some clarity, and all Peter could do was watch while the guilt gnawed ravenously at his insides.

If he had been there, then…what? Would the outcome have been any different? Probably not. Peter has begun to equate the old phrase "unstoppable force, meet immovable object" with Olivia Dunham, and he knows that the only thing he can do most of the time is simply follow her lead and back her up. Hopefully, Olivia wouldn't be any worse off than she was the last time in the tank. All he could do was offer his help and his presence. He'll continue to remind her that he's there is she needs him, catch her eyes with his own and make sure she knows he means it.

Peter abruptly stands and strides out of the lab without saying a word. He has things to do. Michael's address itches in his mind. Peter's heart is already pumping faster in anticipation of meeting that stupid son of a bitch up close and personal again after so long. He ducks his head into the cold wind, pulling his coat tighter around himself as he walks to the beat-up station wagon.

Lingering thoughts of Olivia still fret the back of his mind, but the closer he gets to Michael's address, the more his building anger drowns it out. Olivia is fine.

Tess isn't.

Peter wonders again, for the umpteenth time, if he deserves his genius IQ. Because the mistakes he's been making lately certainly prove otherwise. It snuck up on him with the stealth of a cougar with a string of trashcans tied to its tail the moment he saw the uncertain fear in Olivia's eyes as she stood next to Walter in that bank and told them how John's memories were reshuffling the deck with her own. The bottom dropped out of his stomach right then, and it had nothing to do with the severed hand Walter was waving around.

Olivia isn't fine. He'd convinced himself that her latest foray into the Tank of Wonders hadn't irrevocably damaged her. He'd allowed himself to believe that excuse so that he could indulge in a little "physical therapy" convincing Michael to leave Tess alone. He thought he could handle his responsibilities to both women. That one's needs wouldn't come at the expense of the other's.

How incredibly wrong he was. If he hadn't followed Tess that day, then he might have been there to try to come up with a better option than Olivia subjecting her psyche to the tank.

Peter stands, arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the lab table – while Walter rummages in boxes brought up from one of his many hiding places – and considers which would be better castigation: drinking himself into oblivion, or allowing Walter to wire him up again and flip the switch.

The knowledge that he probably couldn't have changed her mind, and that the outcome would have still been the same, doesn't help the guilt eating his insides any. Peter's not used to feeling like this. His usual mechanism is to pack bags and haul ass when things get this tough. That way, he doesn't have to see the fallout on people's faces.

Like Tess's. Anger bubbles in his stomach again as he thinks about Walter's seemingly innocent little quip about his nomadic lifestyle. He realizes now that perhaps Walter's barb hit a sore spot that had been festering for some time. Under all the self preservation and adrenaline of starting risky ventures, Peter knows that he leaves a path of damage and disappointment in his wake. He's hurt people, people he didn't mean to hurt. He's had to do things that have far reaching consequences, the aftereffects of which he usually never sees.

But every cause does indeed have an effect, and Tess brought that effect right up and shoved it in his face – bruises and all. That ripped the scab off the wound. Walter didn't know he'd poured salt in the right place at the wrong time.

If you sow the seeds, then eventually you reap the rewards.

Peter mulls over the acidic aftertaste of his 'rewards' and thinks about Tess's warning. Every molecule in his body has been honed to heed her advice – to leave before the shit hits the fan – and yet, he can't. The Old Peter would have picked up and left a long time ago, left Olivia to her investigations and dumped Walter back at St. Claire's. He realizes, with dawning clarity, that the Old Peter would have seen the writing on the wall the minute Tess called his cell phone, proving that he could be found.

He feels a twinge of pain as he clenches his fists subconsciously, and when he looks down at his knuckles, the still-red cuts remind him of the lengths he went to in order to protect Tess. Michael damn-sure got the hint, but he also got confirmation that Peter was in town. Accessible. And no doubt Michael has spread the word by now. Fuck.

Cause and effect, Peter…

Peter brushes off the now glaringly obvious misstep, because there isn't much he can do to change it. He'll deal with the blowback when it comes. He has work to do…for Olivia. She needs his help, and he'd promised to be there for her. How often has he made that promise to a woman – to anyone – and actually meant it? He strains to remember an instance, but keeps coming up blank. If he'd made promises before, they'd been poisoned with the underlying truth that when the going gets tough, Peter Bishop gets going.

There's a nervous twinge in his chest when he starts to realize that Olivia Dunham, the Pattern and his father have somehow killed the Old Peter. And the new one left in his place is hanging in limbo. Like a fly in amber he can neither go back to the way things were, nor move forward without questioning himself. He's spent so long in the world of 'every man for himself' that this new gig of trust and mutual reliance is a coat that feels odd, heavy and ill-fitted for his shoulders.

Olivia trusts him. And that breeds a sense of responsibility in him to make sure she doesn't lose herself to the Pattern, to her quest for answers to questions they have no business asking…to her own obsessions. She jumps off buildings, for Christ's sake! He has to work the angles before his leaps. Olivia would dive headfirst into an empty pool if she thought it would save someone. Her bravery puts any adrenaline high he gets from working a new job pitch to shame. Without asking, she's relying on him to watch her back, to make sure there's water in the pool before she dives in. It's a job he doesn't think he's ready for, and his current score card of success is falling pretty damn fast.

Walter spreads the toys out on the table, intent on some sort of demonstration, and Peter fights the urge to call Olivia and apologize for something that even he, with all his vast knowledge, couldn't predict.

He sits in the lab, the early morning light diffusing through the high windows, and wonders how the take-down of the bank robbers went. Olivia hasn't called, and while that in itself isn't unusual, Peter's anxious to see her. She's infested his mind over the last thirty-six hours, unrelenting questions without answers tumbling over themselves in his head like stones in a polisher, only he can't pick one out to inspect closely enough.

Why didn't he catch it sooner? He professes to be a master at cards, but he missed the subtle tells all too easily. Bits of John are seeping into a very fractured Olivia, and now Peter questions where one ends and the other begins. He thinks back to the bar, where he saw Olivia let her guard down for a precious short time. She morphed from Agent Dunham to just Olivia in front of his eyes, and Peter would be a lying bastard if he said he wasn't spellbound by the view. But who was he really enthralled with – John or Olivia?

The uncertainty of it all makes Peter's heart tighten involuntarily. Suddenly, he hates John Scott with a passion that surprises him. The man played both sides of the game – playing Olivia at the same time – and yet even in death, he still manages to pull people's strings like a puppeteer. He still influences the game and keeps a stranglehold on Olivia.

Olivia's hushed words to John while she was submerged in the dreamscape – words that were private, intimate and never meant for prying ears – flood back into his memory, making his jaw clench again. Peter wants to grab Olivia by the shoulders and shake her. He wants to yell the thoughts that have never slipped past his lips.

How much more of you are you going to give to John? After all he's done, after all you've seen, how much more does he deserve, Olivia? He's got your love; does he get your life too?

"Grinding your teeth like that will wear away the enamel on your molars and undermine the tooth structure," Walter's voice snaps Peter back into the present. "While it's true that the enamel is the hardest substance in the human body, it can be worn away from acidic foods or subconscious grinding behavior. Like you're doing, son."

Peter frowns, wiping a hand over his face. "Thank you, Walter, for that peek into the fascinating world of odontia." He shakes his head, knowing he's been staring off into space and his body language is telegraphing his darkening mood. But no way is he giving Walter the honor of pointing that out.

His father pauses over his microscope. "You're stressed, Peter. Gnashing ones teeth is a clear indicator of-"

"I was not gnashing my teeth, Walter," Peter huffs, but there is no real bite in his retort. "Go back to measuring the rate of radioactive saturation in the bank robber's arm. Olivia might need that information for her report…when she gets back." He looks up at the clock over the lab's entrance, then again at his own watch.

"Indeed," Walter affirms. "I should have those numbers by the time Agent Dunham returns from…wherever she is…"

Yeah, Peter thinks. Question of the hour.

He's starting to worry. Olivia is more than capable of taking care of herself – he knows this – and yet, concern is worming holes in his carefully constructed guise of nonchalance. The Old Peter never let himself stick around long enough to feel like he belonged to anything. But this New Peter is grappling with the jarring truth that he has a definite place in this team. And that he likes it. Olivia has become a partner of sorts – at least, that's how he's begun to see it – and Peter doesn't like being left behind when he feels like he can make a contribution. She'd told him to stay in the car after they'd followed those ridiculous pigeons to that warehouse, but he figured he and his crowbar would be more useful circling around the back in case someone escaped. He liked it when she agreed to let him tag along to Emily Kramer's house, where he saw that sometimes Olivia needs a leash as much as Walter. By her side, he feels more than just useful. He feels … like he belongs.

Another glance at his watch and the coin comes out of his pocket. Rolling it smoothly over his knuckles brings a little order to his nervous, jumbled thoughts. Perhaps he should have asked to ride with her last night…

The door to the lab opens, and Peter's heart skips a beat, anticipating the sight of blonde hair and determined green eyes. But when Astrid's face comes into view, pinched with fatigue and concern, his guts freeze.

"Have you heard from Olivia today?" she asks.

"No. Why? What's wrong?" Peter's alerts have gone into Def Con Three.

"She's missing."

And in that moment, Peter realizes that life is a series of if-then equations. If he had been with Olivia, then she might not have gone missing. He doesn't care whether or not that statement holds water, they're the only words pounding in his ears, blotting out Walter's questions and Astrid's answers.

As he storms out of the lab, heading toward the Federal Building, another truism of the cause and effect equation taunts him in a tiny voice.

If he hadn't stayed, then he wouldn't care this much. But he won't let himself think through that particular logic.

Because he does care. And finding her is all that matters now.

END

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