Chapter 2

He felt a little like he did when he stepped out of the machine; his head was spinning with images of familiar faces in an unfamiliar environment, and the emotions associated with them ran the gamut from relief and elation to fear, anger, despair, grief...

He staggered a bit and dropped the rest of the mail on the table, steadying himself with one hand while looking at the line drawing of the tulip in his other.

He was still weak from being in amber all that time, still getting his bearings in a world where he'd been frozen for 20 years. Even in the dark, he could tell the landscape had changed considerably since his last trip to New York. Walter and Astrid told him what happened, how the modern day equivalent of the Fringe team put together a way to extract them… and how one of them, the male agent about Peter's age, pushed him out of the amber when their device broke, sacrificing his freedom for Peter's.

When he felt he could stand, he walked to the back of the train car and over to the window where the other Fringe agent, a young blonde woman, stood, gazing back at the city.

"I'm sorry about your friend. We'll do everything we can to get him back. I promise." His voice was rough with disuse.

Her reply surprised him. He was prepared for any number of reactions, almost anything but the one she gave him. She studied his face intently. "Do you... know me?"

He gave her what he hoped was still his best apologetic smile. "Well, I don't know how I could." Her face fell and her eyes welled with tears. "I've been stuck in that Amber for over twenty years, you barely look old enough…"

Barely look old enough to be my daughter… he finished the sentence in his mind as he took in her long blonde hair, blue eyes, and slender frame. Fringe agent. Stubborn. Bad ass, at least from the way Walter had been describing her. After all this time… it wasn't possible.

But the longer he studied her face, the longer she gazed up at him with tears just before spilling over, her lips trembling and a mixture of longing and fear on her face… he was sure. He had to ask. He raised his hand to brush her hair back; long and straight now, instead of the towheaded curls he used to push out of her face a hundred times a day – but he stopped. What if…

"Henrietta?" He whispered cautiously, afraid to hope. He cupped her cheek.

The tears fell now, and the smile that illuminated her face assured him that this was Olivia's daughter, HIS daughter.

"Hi, Dad."

He pulled her to him, crushing her to his chest. He was never letting her out of his sight again.

The memories were coming faster now, snowballing…

Finding Olivia in Markham's apartment, that bastard…

Holding her again, hearing her say his name… and the joy of being able to say "I found her…"

Watching his two girls embrace… for so long, he thought he'd never see that again.

Moments of panic seeing his daughter in danger, and at the same time, swelling with pride that she was so brave, so fearless, so willing to fight for her world.

Rescuing Walter… the terror he felt seeing what Windmark was capable of doing firsthand…

Holding Etta as she cried over the sight of Simon in the Observers' lab…those images were seared into his brain, just as the sound of her sobs forever would be.

Seeing the joy on Etta's face when he gave her the necklace, knowing he put it there, feeling her hug.

Looking down at her blood on his hands, at her lifeless body.

He felt as if his heart was breaking again, even as he heard his daughter's much younger self laughing gleefully as she played with the bubbles in the bathtub upstairs.

Seeing Walter reunited with his old friend, Donald. Watching his eyes fill with affection as Donald called his name.

In the lab, watching another of Walter's tapes, this one addressed to him. "You will be looking for me, but I won't be there."

Walter, looking at him with tears in his eyes. "I know, in my soul, that this is what I'm supposed to do."

Standing in the street, watching Walter extend his hand to a young boy, knowing that he would not see his father again. "I love you, Dad."

"Peter, are you ok?"

He felt Olivia's hand on his shoulder. Somehow, he'd ended up on the stairs, slumped against the banister, still holding the sketch, the white tulip, in his hands.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, not trusting his voice to speak yet. He handed her the sketch, and she drew a quick breath.

She sat next to him on the stairs and leaned against him, resting her head against his shoulder.

"Liv… I know this is crazy, even for us, but – "

"Do you remember?"

He looked at her sharply. "Remember… remember what?"

She looked at the slip of paper in her hand.

"How long, Olivia?" His voice was rough with emotion.

"Since this afternoon, in the park. When…." Her voice broke. "When you called Etta and she ran to you."

"At the point the timeline changed."

She nodded. "When…"

"Just now. When I opened the letter from Walter…" He took the sketch from her hand. "I guess seeing this made me remember. All of it."

Peter stood up unsteadily and handed the sketch back to Olivia. He patted the pockets of his shorts, looking for his cell phone. "I've got to find him."

As he waited for the connection, he paced, running his hands through his hair.

"Peter… he won't be there. He told us."

As his call went to voice mail, Peter stopped. "Walter, pick up. Walter, it's me. Pick up the phone." He paused. "I'll call you at the lab. When you get this, call me. Please."

He repeated the process, leaving a similar message at the lab. His next call was to Astrid's cell phone.

He skipped the pleasantries. "Astrid, have you seen Walter today?"

"Peter! Hello to you, too…"

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"This morning. I ran by the lab to check on him. What's wrong?"

Peter looked at Olivia, who shrugged her shoulders. "Nothing, nothing…" He tried to sound unconcerned. "Just trying to get in touch with him, that's all." He took a deep breath. "Did he seem ok to you?"

"Peter, he was fine. You're scaring me. What's wrong? Do you want me to check on him?" Astrid's voice took on a tinge of anxiety.

He looked at Olivia again and shook his head. "No, no, everything's fine." He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to recover a sense of normality. "We'll see you tomorrow, ok? Sorry to bother you."

"Call me if you need me, okay? I can run over –"

"No, thanks, Astrid. I'm sure he just didn't hear the phone. We'll see you tomorrow." He stood silently, staring at the phone.

"She didn't remember, did she?" Olivia spoke quietly. When Peter shook his head, she stood up and rubbed his arm. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, hon." He sighed in resignation, already knowing what he would find, but unable to accept it without proof. He slipped the phone back in his pocket and picked up his keys from the table, where he'd dropped them with the rest of the mail. "I won't be long."

"Peter…" She moved to him, and wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his chest and rubbing his back gently.

He embraced her loosely and rested his cheek against the top of her head. He didn't want to move. As long as he stood there, he could pretend to deny that there was anything wrong. His three year old daughter was freshly scrubbed and sleeping in her bed upstairs. His wife was happy, with him and with her life, and content in his arms. And his dad was puttering around the lab, probably stoned and playing his music loud enough to drown out the phone.

"If you change your mind… if you need me." Olivia whispered. "I can ask Amanda from across the street to come over for Etta."

Peter tightened his arms around Olivia and kissed her head. "I just need to be sure."

Olivia pulled his head down to hers and brushed her lips against his. "I love you, Peter. I WILL be here when you get home."

He hugged her close, not trusting his voice, then headed to the lab.

ooo

It was late when he returned to the house. Olivia was in bed, her black reading glasses perched on her nose as she reviewed case files, scanning the latest batch for any indication that more had changed than just their outing in the park today. So far, everything was just as she remembered it.

She heard Peter's SUV pulling into the garage, the door opening and closing, his footsteps on the stairs. The door to Etta's room made a little squeak; they'd talked about oiling the hinges, then decided they liked the idea of an early warning system in case she decided to wander after bedtime. She heard the drowsy voice of their daughter, and Peter's low, comforting response.

She looked up as the door to their bedroom opened. His eyes were red-rimmed and his shoulders slumped as he walked heavily to the edge of the bed and sat down, toeing off his flip-flops. She dropped the files beside the bed and grabbed her robe as she moved to sit beside him.

Wordlessly, he handed her a DVD. As she slid it into the player, he mumbled, "It's a copy of the tape he left."

As they watched it, tears welled in Peter's eyes. Olivia, seeing it for the first time, couldn't tear her gaze away from Walter's face.

"…I don't want to say goodbye…but I will say I love you, son."

When the screen went black, Peter leaned over her and picked up the remote with a shaking hand. He stood up and clicked off the TV, but seemed to be unsure of what to do next. He stared at the darkened screen.

Olivia stood and took his hand. "Peter, come to bed."

He nodded numbly, then went into the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. He returned in a pair of dark blue boxer briefs, curls still damp, eyes still red. Olivia pulled the covers back on his side of the bed and he lay down, pulling her close. She wrapped her arms around him and nestled into his chest, hoping that he could find what he needed that night in her embrace.