FRINGE

Promise – part2

No copyright inFRiNGEment intended.

Note: Is Peter having second thoughts?

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"Where is Olivia? I got to talk to her," Peter said and he rushed inside the lab.

The door shut with a bang. He tossed his coat, beanie, gloves and scarf on the stair railing and sprinted to Olivia's office without a pause.

"Good morning to you too," said Astrid between her teeth. She frowned and turned back to her work. It was just another at the lab. Walter trotted up the stairs and followed his son.

"Peter, here you are, at last. You could have called me son," he whined. "I was really worried."

Peter turned to him and started to walk backwards at a quick pace.

"Oh, you were, really?" he said stretching out his arms to emphasize his words. "Like when you took me out for a day trip and left me hanging in the Swamp gift shop in New Orleans until the Audubon zoo finally closed and had to call Children's Services, or, let me see… Was it in Washington DC instead, that time you got me arrested because I had to "feel" the way it is to be in the pilot seat of Space Ship One at the National Air and Space Museum?"

"You know I would have much preferred the Enterprise, but it was not exhibited back then. Now that the Smithsonian transferred it to Dulles, I can take you if you want to."

"That's exactly what I'm saying. You don't give a rat's ass. So please, leave me alone."

Peter barged inside Olivia's office and stopped abruptly. Walter nearly collided into him and dropped his files to the floor. A multicoloured pile of sheets cascaded down at his feet. He gave them a tragic stare and shook his head in disbelief.

Peter turned around and barked in his face. "Where is she?"

"How would I know?" Walter had been snapped back to reality and his voice was loud and unsteady. "I saw her, and she was not exactly looking for you… In fact, she asked me for some… information…" Walter trailed sheepishly before walking out of Olivia's office to Gene's stall with a very agitated Peter in his wake.

"Information? What information? When?"

If she needed to see Walter to clear things up, that was bad, he thought.

"Oh," Walter waved his hand dismissively, "it was very early. I thought that we were under attack, she was pounding on our door, you know, like… She woke me up eventually. Well, she didn't really wake me up because I was already up and in the bathroom taking a l…"

"Walter? You should know that you don't want to make me extract this information from you."

"Oh, sorry, yes, I saw Olivia this morning."

"Walter…"

"But she wanted to see ME, not you," Walter squealed. He pointed a categorical finger under his son's nose, "so there's nothing that you should feel concerned about. You see Peter, not everything revolves around you."

With that, he scurried away back to his work. Peter slouched down on the bench and stared at the cow absently. Astrid startled him when she crouched down to gather the files.

"She was not here this morning," she said evenly. "She's probably going to work at the Division for a while, something about being behind her clerical work. You know how it is?" she stood up, shrugged, folding her arms on the files. "The Bureau, it's basically paper work and only ten percent sweat."

"Did she call you?"

She nodded. "She texted me actually. Around six. She had to meet someone first but she'll be downtown for the rest of the week. Except if there's a new case and she needs your father's expertise."

"Thanks Astrid. Could you…?" he gestured to his father.

"No problem."

-o-

Peter left the elevator and walked casually his way to Olivia's office. He didn't want to make a show of his visit, but bland in basically --not that it actually mattered to him but he just wanted to make sure that she had not assumed blindly that he was his private property and being hurt in the process. At the same time, he didn't want to rain on her parade that early in the day.

Not after that Nick Lane/Cortexiphan/buddy system revelation. Not to mention what Walter had told probably her without his knowledge. He had a pretty good idea of what revelation he might have done. Experimenting with children, for god's sake, he should have known better!

Deep down, he knew that the root of the problem was not only that she felt betrayed by her sister and a close friend. Her sister needed the attention and he needed the comfort, no real feelings involved, as it were. For whatever good or bad reason, they had missed that window of opportunity when they could have talked to her and come clean and they were found out, --and in her apartment no less.

On the other hand, she didn't tell me anything about being treated with Cortexiphan. Wrong, not the same –at all.

He stopped before her office door and tried to regain some composure. He was here to get her trust back, though he pondered it was practically mission impossible. And apologize. Profusely. Even if it was useless.

She still might be mad at him after their unlikely weird dawn encounter in her kitchen. She had been mad since he had called Rachel about the song thing anyway. He should have talked to her the next day instead of teasing her about it. At least, she had tried to make things right. Except that things could not be right. Rachel was her sister. Of all the girls I could have picked up? Rachel? Come on, it was a really dumb idea. He knocked on her door and let himself in.

"Hello Olivia, I was in the neighb…"

But her office was as empty here as it was back at the lab. Gritting his teeth, he stepped back, closed the door and leisurely walked into the agent pool and scanned the place for agent Francis.

He leant over the shoulder of an ordinary brunette who was busy with her computer.

"Hello there, can I ask you where I can locate agent Francis or agent Dunham this morning?" he asked with his best smile. "It's kind of an emergency, sweetheart."

The female agent rewarded him with a contemptuous glare and shook her head. "I have no idea. They must be around. I was with Charlie this morning near the coffee machine. And…," she squinted and read his tag, "Civilian Consultant Peter Bishop, you don't want to call me sweetheart," she said, going back to her work.

Okay, so much for his boyish charm and attractive good looks. He was losing his touch.

"Bishop, what can I do for you?" a bass-baritone voice said in his back.

"Agent Broyles." He twirled around and faced him. "I was… I am looking for agent Dunham. She-she asked me to do some research and I'm here to report to her."

"She asked you to meet her here?"

"That's complicated."

"I see."

There was something about him. He could have sworn that Broyles was laughing at his expense.

"Did you try to call her?" asked Broyles, drawing his phone out of his pocket.

"She doesn't answer her phone and I…"

"Agent Dunham?" prompted Broyles without averting his eyes from Peter, "are you finished? Yes… I understand. Please call me back when you're done."

Peter winced. Whatever Olivia was up to, Broyles knew. But what was the full extent of this information, was another matter entirely.

"Is it case related, Bishop?"

"Well, sort of, you see…"

"If it is, I have no doubt that agent Dunham will contact you in due course. In the meantime, I suggest that you go back to where your presence is necessary and to whatever project you're cooking with Dr Bishop today."

"I would rather…"

"I am not interested in what you'd rather like or not, Bishop. Agent Dunham is an invaluable part of my team, and if she doesn't want to talk to you, if she doesn't want to relate to you or to interact with you in any way, I take it that she has a valid reason to do so. You will simply have to wait for her to change her mind."

"But…"

"Good day, Mr. Bishop."

He turned on his heels and left. Peter clearly heard the brunette chuckling from her desk. This was a time for extreme measures. He strode back to the elevator and punched the call button.

-o-

"Thank you sir, I appreciate sir." Olivia hung up and turned to Charlie.

"Broyles?" he rasped with a nod.

"Yep. I'm pretty sure that Peter was at the Fringe Division. He left me like twenty messages or something."

She aimed at the target and fired half a dozen times.

"You know that you're going to have to talk to him, eventually?" he said when the sound finally stopped echoing.

She took a deep breath and simply pressed the trigger again. Every single bullet reached its intended destination.

"You feeling any better Liv?"

"Yep, target practice always helps."

"I'm much more of a cinder track fan myself. It took me forty-four miles once just to calm down."

"I'm impressed," she chuckled.

"But in the end, I found that beating the guy down to a pulp was a much more efficient way to relax," Charlie added with a deadpan look.

She adjusted her earplugs.

"I'd rather go for live fire exercise right now but here in Boston, it could prove to be difficult."

"Unless you provide the younger Bishop with the proper equipment," Charlie quipped, eliciting giggles from her.

"Then I guess he could take lessons from you, marathon man."

"No one can outrun a pissed woman and escape her rightful wrath."

"Amen," she laughed, placing another round in the 10 ring of the moving target, shredding it to pieces.

"I'm going to grab some lunch, wanna come with?"

She hesitated, her eyes on the target and back on her beloved Beretta M9.

"You're right. I really have to eat something."

"Good girl. Well, pack your gear, we're on our way."