Disclaimer: Fringe owns my heart for the rest of my life, but I do not own Fringe.

Spoilers: All the way up to 5x13 "An Enemy Of Fate"

Rating: K+

A/N: This is it, then. Fringe is over. How gorgeous was these last 2 episodes, though? So much love and hope :') Good thing we still have fanfics to deal with our feelings. So this is my take on what might happen right after the very last shot of the finale. Enjoy, I hope :)

Thank you to Ferris for going after my typos!

THESE TIMES THAT NEVER WERE

Her daughter's weight feels unfamiliar to her.

Olivia remembers that sensation from years ago when she would only see her niece sparsely, and months would sometimes go by without her being able see her sister and Ella. She had always loved kids, but before her niece was born, she never had any reason to hold one, especially not a small child under the age of three or four. She remembers how odd Ella would always feel in her arms whenever she picked her up after spending weeks apart. She always had this irrational thought that she might 'break' her at the slightest squeeze, yet was unable not to notice the barely contained energy that was emanating from such a small human being.

After spending three years holding her own child from the moment of her birth, back when she had only been twenty-three inches long and had barely weighed more than seven pounds, that peculiar feeling had long ago disappeared, to the point where Olivia sometimes felt like her hip had been specifically designed so that her daughter's body would fit there perfectly.

And yet, today, as she walks the small distance between their bathroom and the master bedroom, carrying Etta tightly wrapped in a fluffy purple towel, that strange sensation is definitely back, that feeling of having a foreign weight in her arms, overwriting the familiarity that used to be there.

She had also felt it when she had carried her home from the car, the ride having made her sleepy, like it always does. She sees herself with perfect clarity, coming down the stairs with Etta on her hip only this morning, and yet, it feels like it's been months since she had last held her toddler in her arms.

She knows exactly why she feels that way. In her mind, in some twisted ways, it had been months.

Ever since the park, Olivia finds herself constantly pushing these thoughts away, the thoughts of what had been, and yet never was. It's hard. Honestly, part of her still expects to be waking from what feels like a beautiful dream at any moment, even if deep down, she knows she is awake, and that the dark memories swarming in her head were the nightmare. It doesn't matter, though.

It's not important.

The only thing that matters right now is the wriggling child she has lain down on their bed; she's definitely not sleepy anymore, now trying to free herself from both her towel and her mother's fingers, in fits of giggles and squeals. Olivia keeps on finding all of her 'ticklish spots' without even needing to think; she may have to get used to the weight of her again, but there is not a single thing she has forgotten about her baby girl.

Every time her daughter laughs, her heart aches a little more, in the most amazing way.

"Stop it mama!" she keeps on giggling, which translates as 'Don't stop!' in her three year old vocabulary.

Olivia does eventually stop, the muscles in her cheeks hurting, as she's incapable of not continuously grinning, probably quite idiotically. Who could blame her, though? Despite her confusion and strong bewilderment, she feels intoxicated by the mere sight of her child, alive and well in front of her eyes.

Quite impulsively, she brings her face down, pressing her lips upon her daughter's skin, somewhere right between her neck and shoulder, a skin that is ridiculously soft and smooth, still somewhat damp from her bath.

She's perfect, and all hers.

She breathes in deeply, inhaling her baby's scent, feeling beyond dazed. The gesture is tender and swift, but to Etta, the moment she feels her mother's breath upon her neck, she interprets it as being another tickling attack, and half a second later, she has let out another loud, delighted shriek.

Before long, she has squirmed away from her loose grasp and sprung to her feet; within seconds, she's bouncing excitedly on the bed, stark naked, her wet hair bouncing against her back in cadence, sending droplets of water flying as she sings loudly about monkeys doing the exact same thing and ending up bumping their heads.

Only the night before, Olivia would have quickly reminded her that she shouldn't be bouncing on their bed –or on hers, or on the couch, or on any surface that was not the ground or her small trampoline, a rule Etta loved to ignore on a daily basis.

But last night was a lifetime ago to Olivia, and at that instant, she's simply too entranced by her child's liveliness to think about scolding her in any way.

She has been doing her best to behave as normally as she possibly can so as to not alarm them, Peter more than Etta obviously, but the enormity of what they have done is becoming more difficult to ignore and to push away with every passing minute.

Etta abruptly interrupts her bouncing and singing, frowning in the most endearing way as she gives her mother a questioning look. She's clearly too young to be able to put into words what she's feeling, but it is obvious that the way Olivia silently stares at her instead of asking her to stop jumping is troubling her.

"Come here…" Olivia tells her softly, opening her arms in an inviting gesture, offering her a small, reassuring smile.

Etta doesn't hesitate, bouncing her way back to where her mother stands, throwing her small arms around her and squeezing her as firmly as she possibly can. Her grip isn't that firm of course, but it is a hold full of genuine love, and it makes its way within her, entrapping her pounding heart.

Olivia squeezes her back, embracing her tightly and pressing her to her chest, as she buries her nose in her wet hair. She has learned the hard way that you can never hold onto your child strongly enough.

Her weight might still feel somewhat unfamiliar, but she fits perfectly in her arms, always has. She belongs there, having become a part of her from the moment she started growing inside of her.

"I love you, baby girl," she tells her softly, rocking them gently on the spot, her eyes tightly shut. For a moment, she allows herself to be swallowed by the tremendous wave of gratitude that has been growing steadily within her ever since she watched her husband catch Etta in his arms.

The world had never exploded around them, and they had taken their baby home.

"I love you too mama!" Etta immediately responds, patting her on the back in mock comfort, and then, she's out of her arms again, back to bouncing excitedly. "Can we eat pasghetti?"

It is all it takes for Olivia to start smiling again. "Spaghetti, honey," she corrects her without thinking, an automatism that feels more soothing than it should be. "And sure, that sounds like a great idea. Let's put your tushy into some pajamas first, shall we?"

The next ten to fifteen minutes are spent battling with her, because her child can simply never stand or sit still for more than ten seconds at a time, and it is as difficult to put her into clothes as it is to give her a bath without ending up flooding the entire bathroom. She does settle down long enough to let her mother comb her hair, though, and Olivia quite deliriously thinks she would be happy to keep on doing this for the rest of her life.

It isn't until later when they finally come downstairs that she begins to wonder about Peter's absence. She had just put Etta into her bath when he had briefly appeared in the doorway to inform her that he had to run a quick errand. She hadn't thought much of it, still way too captivated by her daughter to be able to focus on anything else. By the time she was turning her head to acknowledge his presence, he was already disappearing.

But now, as she sends her child to play with her toys in the family room and enters the adjacent kitchen, distractedly getting a bag of frozen meatballs out of the freezer, she cannot help but wonder where he is, and what errand he had to run. She's not worried, though.

It's Sunday, and Peter has always liked going out to buy them 'special treats' on weekends –more for Etta than for her, obviously, but who is she to try and come in between the two of them? She has already started heating up the red sauce and is about to get some water boiling when she notices the white tulip drawing on the counter.

It efficiently stops her momentum.

"Peter will receive a letter."

Walter's voice suddenly echoes in her head, so clearly that he could have been standing right behind her at the kitchen table, teaching Etta how to make taffies, like he had been barely a month ago.

Except that many more things had happened since that day; the whole world had darkened, and her family had been torn apart. She had lost her daughter, twice, almost losing her husband too, and the only reason why she is standing here right now, in her kitchen, with the enticing smell of spaghetti sauce already permeating the air, is because her father-in-law sacrificed himself.

She feels shaky all of a sudden, and more than slightly ashamed of herself for having been so completely enthralled by Etta and this life she thought she had lost for good, that she hadn't even thought about Walter until now.

Worse, she has completely neglected Peter, too.

To her defense, up until this very moment, she had honestly thought that he didn't remember anything of the nightmare they had just escaped. At the park and on their way home, he had behaved absolutely normally, while she had been stunned into silence, almost in reverence, slowly assimilating yet another timeline that did not really happen.

She still cannot be sure that he does remember, but there is this drawing, and his sudden 'errand'. Walter's words are so vivid in her mind now; she sees him standing in front of her in the lab, its sickening amber glow reflecting on both their faces.

It had been the last time they would ever speak. He had managed to isolate her for a couple of minutes, shortly before she and Peter had to leave for New York. He had gotten straight to the point.

"In order for the plan to succeed, I have to go with the boy. I will take him to the future, and in turn, I will be erased from the past. You, Peter, and Etta will be back to a point in time right before the Invasion, but I will not."

She hadn't questioned him, hadn't tried to convince him that there must be another way. Truthfully, all that had really mattered at that instant was the throbbing yearning in her chest, driven by the thought of seeing her daughter again. It was an unusually selfish thought for her to have, but she didn't care anymore; they had lost too much.

She wanted her baby back.

"I believe you will remember everything after the reset," he had continued, untroubled by her silence. "You were always special that way. Peter might, too, though maybe not right away, or maybe he never will. I told him everything. We had a chance to say goodbye, and I hope for his sake, and yours, that he will remember. We both know how driven he gets when he loses someone he loves. I'm afraid it's a dominant trait in the Bishop's genetic signature."

Despite his quivering smile, they had both known how true that statement was, remembering all too well Peter's latest impulsive act, and the tech he had put into his brain.

"Peter will receive a letter," he had added, his voice low now. "I hope it will help. I know he will be alright, eventually. He will have you, and Etta. Nothing matters more to him than family."

"Walter…" she had managed to articulate eventually, even though she didn't know what to say, and he had shaken his head.

"It's alright, dear," he had smiled again, and he had seemed both serene and deeply saddened. "We both know what it's like, to lose a child. And you deserve to get yours back, for good this time. You deserve it more than I ever did. After everything I put you through, it is the least I can do for you."

She would never know who initiated their hug, and it doesn't really matter. Because they had been hugging, then, a strong, comforting embrace that had held much more meaning than the one they had shared in the van only hours ago. She had felt very young, suddenly. She had also felt very loved.

Above all, she had felt more hopeful than she had in weeks, knowing that Walter meant every word he said; he would do everything in his power to give her her daughter back, even if it meant never seeing his own son again.

There was so much she had wanted to say, and yet no word seemed appropriate. But she knew he understood.

"I always did want a daughter," he had said quietly in her ear. She had tightened her hold, chuckling tearfully when he added: "And a grandson. A grandson would be lovely, Olive."

She remembers it all now, standing motionless in the middle of her kitchen. She had picked up the white tulip, staring at it in dismay. The joyful aches she has been feeling ever since the park are now mixing with melancholia and sorrow, her thoughts focused on Peter.

She gets her phone out of her pocket and dials his number, her heart having become a large lump somewhere in her throat.

He picks up after only two rings; he doesn't even greet her with a hello, and his silence is all she needs.

She can picture him perfectly, standing in the middle of his father's lab; traces of him would remain everywhere he looked, and yet, Walter would be nowhere to be found.

When he finally speaks, she almost wishes he hadn't.

"He's gone, Liv."

She closes her eyes, the pain intensifying. She understands in that moment that he does remember; maybe not everything, she cannot be sure of that until she actually gets to look at his face and see the depth of his pain, the months of hardships they have gone through darkening his gaze and deepening the crease on his brow.

But he remembers enough to know that his father is indeed gone, to a place far beyond their reach.

And so she does the only thing she can do.

"Come home, Peter," she tells him softly, suddenly shaken by a strong feeling of déjà-vu, remembering how she had called him and begged him to come home, to come back to her, in the aftermath of Etta's death.

As if on cue, she feels her daughter's grip on her shirt, as she tugs at it almost impatiently, only realizing now that Etta has joined her in the kitchen, and has heard what she has just said.

"Daddyyyyy! We're having pasghetti!" she shouts excitedly.

Even though the call isn't on speaker, Olivia knows he has heard his daughter's voice, and she holds back a sigh of relief. Her words alone might not have been enough to get him to leave the lab, but he has always been powerless when it comes to Etta.

And now that he remembers, he's probably longing for the sight of her, the way she has been all day.

"I'll be there soon," he says simply, quietly, but there is a promise in his voice that makes her close her eyes again.

He's coming home.

…

The rest of the evening is somewhat of a blur to her.

Again, she finds herself too overwhelmed, putting herself on autopilot instead, letting the familiarity of their routine take over; from the instant Peter passes the threshold of their house, it is obvious that he's doing it, too, for their daughter's sake, if anything else.

He acts as cheerfully as ever with Etta, their three year old jumping into his arms and hanging from his neck the moment he comes home. Olivia lets them be, watching them quietly like she often does. Or used to.

Peter takes over the cooking while she sets the table, intently listening to Etta's endless babbling and patiently answering every question she comes up with, the way he always does. The three of them then eat their 'pasghetti', talking about Elmo, Caillou, and Super Reader, even laughing when Etta and Peter enter a 'slurping' contest that almost sends Etta back into her bath.

Above all, Peter and Olivia manage to avoid making any sort of eye contact. Not yet, not now.

She lets him put Etta to bed, knowing he needs this even more than she does right now. Etta is already half asleep in Peter's arms when Olivia gives her a loving kiss, exhausted from their day in the park. She lingers in her scent and his a bit longer than usual, drawing a few soothing circles on her back.

"Sweet dreams, baby girl…" she whispers in her ear.

That is how she comes to be alone in their bedroom.

Without really thinking, she goes to her dresser and opens her jewelry box. She reaches in, and slowly, she gets the bullet out.

It is already on a chain, like it has been for almost four years now; she's the one who had taken the initiative to turn it into a pendant, in the aftermath of her 'temporary death'. Back then, it had been a way to help Peter heal from what had turned out to be quite a traumatic experience. It had helped her, too. She had worn it around her neck for most of her pregnancy, until he had been able to joke about it, at which point she had known it could be stored away safely, hidden from view but never forgotten.

"The bullet that saved the world."

She almost jumps at the sound of his voice, pulled away from her thoughts. She raises her head to find him standing in the doorway, leaning tiredly against the frame. For the first time tonight, they truly look at each other; Etta is safely tucked in her bed, now, giving them the opportunity to finally focus on one another.

He looks tired.

She feels tired, too.

She offers him a small smile. "Several times, as it turned out," she comments, talking about the bullet, having a sudden and ephemeral vision of Windmark's brain matter splattered all over a car.

"It would probably end up in a museum, if people knew what it has accomplished," he adds, still somewhat jokingly.

She knows better. There is a pain in his eyes no joke can ever conceal.

Her gaze leaves his face to stare at the bullet again, rolling it between her fingers. It's back to its original shape, the one it had taken after perforating her skull, that is. After using it to kill that man in the warehouse, it had flattened noticeably. Her brief abduction hasn't happened here, though.

A lot of things haven't happened here.

She feels him move closer to her more than she sees him, keeping her eyes down. When he stops in front of her, she does look up to meet his gaze, and they say a lot without saying anything at all.

She's not really surprised that she remembers. She's too much of an anomaly to be surprised by this kind of thing anymore, and it's not like she hasn't recalled events that never actually took place before. She has experienced so many lives now, it's a miracle she's not locked up in St. Claire's.

She didn't think Peter would remember the Invasion and 2036, though, despite what Walter had told her, and the most protective part of her almost wishes he didn't. But who is she kidding. He has become quite the anomaly himself; born in another universe, brought back to existence from another timeline.

Ultimately, she's relieved that he does remember. She could have carried that burden on her own, like she carries so many others. But she long ago learned that her burdens are easier to carry when she shares their weight with him.

"How much do you remember?" she eventually asks, almost afraid to speak the words out loud, as if it might break the spell and send them right back to the future, where they had watched Walter and Michael walked into that wormhole.

But nothing happens, if not in the way Peter swallows hard and blinks, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. "Too much," he answers in a thick voice, his distress only worsening her own.

She brings a hand up to his face, pressing her palm to his cheek, and he leans into her touch. "I'm sorry…" she tells him softly. "He talked to me, before we left for New York that night."

A long minute goes by before he speaks again, his voice low and sorrowful. "Part of me refuses to believe he's gone for good," he admits. "To be honest with you, I'm still fighting the urge to go back to the lab right now, and to stay there until I find a way to get him back."

"I know," she says quietly, trying to soothe him with her thumb on his cheek.

Slowly, his eyes leave hers. He looks down between them, and she follows his gaze. He reaches for her hand, then, the one still holding the bullet. He opens up her fingers, exposing the slug, but he doesn't take it. He stares at it instead, swallowing hard again. Her other hand has gone from his cheek to his chest, and she feels the strong pounding of his heart, one of the many signs of his grief.

"I would be a fool if I went and acted impulsively again, though," he admits softly, "if I shut you out. It would be an affront to his sacrifice, and to everything we lost…there." He meets her eyes again, and he looks so lost, so young, too, the way he always does when he's in pain.

She is once again overtaken by that same intense feeling of déjà-vu. It is as if this timeline is trying to merge with the one that never really was, except for the scars it has left on both their hearts and souls.

She sees him as he was, kneeling in the rain in front of her, having to decide between avenging their daughter, or facing his pain by honoring her memory.

"Etta's not gone, Peter," she had told him, having nothing left to lose, having no other choice but to open up her heart, and be as vulnerable as she will ever be. "She's alive inside us. And there's nothing that Windmark can do about it, because the love that we can share with her now is invulnerable to space and time, even to them. And I know that our hearts are broken and that it hurts, but that's what makes us human."

She remembers the nightmares she used to have, the following nights. She always had nightmares after escaping the Amber, but these were always about Peter refusing to listen to her, often disappearing and leaving her alone on that balcony. But they had been nightmares. Peter had heard her words. He had taken the tech out of his brain.

She had pressed the bullet into his palm, then, quietly promising each other that they would never let go of Etta.

Just as quietly, she grabs his hand now, and gently puts the bullet in it, closing his fist around it, the way she had that night. What she's promising him now is that they will hold on to Walter just as strongly. He might be living centuries away from them, but he will never be gone from their lives.

She meets his eyes again, and she's not surprised to find him so close to tears.

"He gave us our daughter back, Peter," she whispers, unable to speak any louder, and his face crumbles as he nods, both in defeat and acceptance.

He almost lets himself fall into her arms then, another déjà-vu from the balcony. But while he had been limp and broken against her chest back then, he holds on to her in a death grip now. She hugs him just as tightly, soon feeling a wetness in the crook of her neck that is becoming too frequent. She hates it, truly, hates to see and feel this beautiful man repeatedly breaking against her, because it breaks her, too. But she knows this pain they feel is also their biggest strength.

"He gave us our daughter back…" she repeats in a murmur, more to herself than to him this time, needing this reassurance, too.

She knows only time will eventually quiet the last of her fears, as they get to watch their child grow up, slowly becoming that extraordinary young woman who existed in a time that never was; this version of their daughter who had found them, saved them, and died to save their world.

It is with that thought in mind that Olivia adds, echoing words he had once said to her, "…and we're going to dedicate our lives to making sure that it means something."

After another stretch of silence, Peter nods against her, before straightening up slightly. His face is tearstained, but he doesn't care, and neither does she; they've seen it all, been through it all together. They love each other and soothe each other's pain without any pretense.

She sees the depth of his sorrow in his eyes, knows that he will need time to heal, too. But there is so much hope there, too.

"I know he will be alright, eventually. He will have you, and Etta. Nothing matters more to him than family."

Olivia has always known that; she had understood it years and timelines ago, probably even before he had admitted himself that he didn't want to jeopardize what had been, back then, their weird family unit. Family is what governs in the Bishops' heart; another dominant trait that was definitely passed down to their daughter, one that is now engraved in her own flesh as well.

This is how she will give Walter the thank you she couldn't say out loud. She will ensure that his son is loved and surrounded by his family, for as long as he will live. She can't imagine a better way to spend the rest of her life.

As if reading her thoughts, Peter takes her hand again, the left one, and brings it to his lips. He presses a kiss to the golden ring now back around her fourth finger, as if it had never left at all.

She feels its infinitesimal weight; it had felt somewhat foreign earlier, just like her daughter had felt in her arms. But already, the sensation is fading, replaced by a familiarity that could never be erased.

It's a familiarity and comfort she will always find whenever she breathes in her baby's scent, whenever Peter cups her face in his palm like he does now, wordlessly bringing their faces closer together to nuzzle her nose tenderly. It's a certainty that comes in knowing that she is exactly where she belongs, with the people she loves.

As she lets the warmth of his hand seep through her skin and all the way down to her bones, threading her fingers through his hair in a loving caress, Olivia hears another ghost from a time that never was.

You're gonna be fine.

This time, she might just believe it.

FIN

A/N: I have tried to avoid reading negative comments on the finale as much as possible, because all that matters to me is that I loved it and felt very satisfied with the way things were wrapped up. But it's impossible not to stumble upon things when you're part of the fandom, and one of the complaints that seems to be shared by people is that by doing a 'reset', everything that happened in season 5 and all the lessons that were learned, were lost.

I understand this, it's a valid point, but I wanted to show that I personally believe that everything they went through will never be lost (especially since I obviously believe they both remember 2036, and I won't accept anything else xD). I honestly think that after going through the devastating loss of their child (twice!), they finally learned how to deal with their grief together, and that they will be able to deal with Walter's sacrifice without one of them (*cough*Peter*cough*) going insane. I am so, so very grateful for this ending. I wasn't sure I wanted a "Park reset" at first, but now, I am just so relieved, because after going through so much suffering and loss, they can finally have the happy ending they deserve.

Thoughts? Reviews?