Back again with more Peter angst. What if Peter had slept with Rachel? How would he handle the aftermath? Stick with me Bolivia shippers :)

Starts right after "Bad Dreams." The song lyrics referenced are from Seether's "Careless Whispers."

I own nothing to do with Fringe, Fox, Bad Robot, etc. I just obsess over the show .

Totally unbetaed. All mistakes are mine. Rated T for language.

The Road Not Taken

He had finally done it.

He had reached the point at which he disgusted even himself with his venal and mischievous behavior.

It was an old protective pattern of behavior that he could not seem to break. As Peter Bishop zigzagged into the middle lane of the Longfellow Bridge he thought about how he wished he could go back in time and undo the damage.

It had been so easy. Flirting with the little sister. First with smiles and winks. Later with long, calculated phone calls. And finally with elongated, clandestine visits to the brownstone. Rachel had been a more than willing participant of his folly, and for Peter it was just like old times-a challenge of the fairer sex with "can do" written all over it. And where had it gotten him this time!

Peter had to stop thinking for a second and fight the urge to vomit. He knew that if he threw up the handful of Dr. Walter Bishop homemade drugs he stole from the lab an hour ago, he would be more aware of what he was about to do, and he wanted none of that. Swallowing hard, Peter jammed his earbuds in and cringed in response to Seether's opening chords. The screaming guitars made his made his fuzzy head vibrate. Yeah, feel that you fucking bastard! Thought you'd get away with feeling nothing, huh?

If someone had told Peter Bishop a year ago that he would feel gut-wrenching, bone-chilling guilt over sleeping with a particular woman's sister he would have laughed his ass off at them. But as they say "that was then, this is now." Dammit! He really wished he could go back in time and re-live the last few weeks of his life. Call a do-over. What the hell were you thinking, Bishop?! Well, duh, obviously you weren't! His inner voice continued screaming as he started burping.

Unfortunately Peter's conscious effort to keep Walter's drug mix in his stomach wasn't working too well. He groaned as he wandered over to the guardrail, leaned over it, and puked. Maybe he shouldn't have had those drinks before the drugs. Watching the happy couples in the pub, earlier, had solidified his plan of action. Of course he hadn't given any serious thought as to the consequences of Walter's drug cocktail mixing with several ounces of the house's finest scotch.

"And there's no comfort in the truth,

Pain is all you'll find."

Yeah, Peter felt pain alright. But unlike in the past, it was mostly for someone else. Olivia.

God, it hurt to say to himself that he loved her but he knew it was true. And his heart ached in addition to his stomach. He thought about how, close to an hour ago, he had slipped a piece of paper under the door of her office that said simply,"I'm sorry." And how he had left a similar note on Walter's workbench. Peter wiped off his mouth with his arm and staggered back into the slow lane of the bridge. As he closed his eyes the earlier events of the day played out again in his mind.

Honk! Peter jumped at the sudden loud horn of the white Escalade just inches from his head.

"Move over you fuckin' moron!" the driver yelled at him. Peter just glared as best he could at the driver, the crease in his forehead like a chasm. Wait! Was that a BLACK SUV? Olivia! She's found me!

Peter blinked as the darkness of the SUV turned to white. He shut his eyes again and sighed defeatedly.

Hours earlier Nick Lane had made that stripper kill herself. Olivia had become so agitated even while she was dreaming. She had looked so lost and pale lying on the table moving her head jerkily all over the place. Peter wanted to go to her that instant. What he had really wanted to do was lift her off that table, carry her to her bed, cocoon her with his body, and never leave her.

Walter had told Peter to go comfort Olivia. And he did, but he felt dirty and ashamed. He held her lovely, small, unspoiled hands with his hands that had defiled her sister! It took all the strength he poss-

essed to keep the tears from falling in front of everyone. He ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him. All because he couldn't resist a challenge. God, what a stupid fuck. When the hell are you going to GROW UP!

Honk! Another driver veered around Peter and gave him the finger. Peter reached into the left pocket of his navy peacoat and wrapped his fingers around the plastic bottle of trimethylchloride. Yeah, and the antidote is in the other pocket, you chickenshit!

In Peter's peripheral vision two identical bald men in suits with no eyebrows appeared. They bore an uncanny resemblance to the man in the graveyard who had known his thoughts, and had shot him.

The two baldies were staring at him, shaking their heads and showing their disapproval.

"The fuck you looking at?!" Peter barked at them.

"Your father would be so disappointed in your current actions, Peter Bishop," they said as one voice.

"They are not consistent with a man of your intelligence and," they paused, "abilities. But, fortunately for you and Walter there is more than one of everything..."

Peter stopped walking and just stared at the pair of bald men who started to merge into one, a bad feeling beginning in his already sore gut. And then everything went black.