No copyright inFRiNGEment intended.
Note: spoilers for The Road Not Taken. Filler. One shot. This takes place after Olivia and Peter's visit to the trekkie.
"So, aren't you going to say anything about our little conversation with Grayson?" she finally asked, glancing in his direction. "I sure didn't expect any of that crap. How did he get his hands on this photograph in Budapest? And the… what was that? Roman war?"
His eyes sparkled in anticipation and he slightly turned to her. "Romulan war." They stopped at a red light.
"So?" she said again.
"How would you like to know," he smiled.
"Well," she cleared her throat, "to be honest, I never quite pictured you as a Star Trek fan," she trailed. Her mouth twitched involuntarily and she wrinkled her nose. Her hands were flat on the wheel and she was monitoring the traffic with a distracted eye.
He shifted on the passenger seat. "I bet you didn't."
Silence. She bit her lip and engaged in the traffic. She had to decide whether they were heading to the lab or her office and she needed those special moments in the car with Peter to get her personal balance back. A convertible almost crashed into her SUV and she downshifted brutally and zigzagged through the lane instead of stepping on the brake.
"See, you're proving my point. I could never do that, not in a million years," he said in a crisp tone.
"It takes practice."
"… nor blink down lights or set fires with my mind. I guess that Noonien Singh could have, given the proper training. You know that the Khan was originally a human."
"The Khan? You must know that I don't know anything about Star Trek, hence I don't know anything about the Khan."
"It's the super soldier our conspiration theorist/lobbyist Emmanuel Grayson just told us about. Khan was originally designed to fight in the Romulan Wars, he was the product of a selective breeding and genetic engineering program. Does it ring a bell?"
"No pun intended?"
He smiled back half heartedly. "Do you understand the implications?"
"Super-soldiers?" she shrugged.
"But the guy is insane Peter!"
"Really?" Peter folded his arms against his chest and sulkily watched the road before him. "I wouldn't be so sure."
"That would mean that William Bell is a Star Trek fan?" she joked.
"As far as I'm concerned, I don't mind if Bell is a Star Trek fan or Spock himself for crying out loud! If he's the one who wrote the Z.F.T. manifesto, he's got to be put away -- permanently. I don't care about Walter's protests of good faith and ethics."
"What do you mean?"
"For some romantic reasons I don't want to digress about, Walter won't admit that Bell is a mad man 'Livia, and it takes one to know one. He still trusts the man after all these years even though his precious Belly probably secured a nice bed for him in Sainte Claire's seventeen years ago. I know that Bell is probably off limits, but I have to concur with our very own son of Sarek, Bell is probably an industrial tycoon who does whatever he fancies, and most of the times outside the boundaries of law. If he hurt people already, you got to put him away. And you got to do it as fast as possible and my advice to you would be to lose the key."
"Hmm, you seem really upset."
"Upset? Upset doesn't even begin to describe what I feel right now. If not for me, do it for Walter."
"He really grew on you didn't he?"
Peter frowned seemingly absorbed in his thoughts for a brief moment. "Yep, I guess," he shrugged. "He can be very… lovable sometimes."
"How can you be so sure that Walter didn't treat you with Cortexiphan as he did me?"
"I can't. I just have to believe him when he says he didn't."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"That's not enough for me," she said with an edge in her voice. "I want to know the truth Peter. And I'm sorry but it's not part of my plan to spare Walter if he worked with Bell on a scheme to rule the world."
"Still, you don't think you're a super soldier?"
"No? What is it then that makes you able to disarm a flickering bomb and dream your buddy's life? And to…"
"Okay. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm Robocop," she chuckled.
"I'm not sure that's a compliment."
"I'm not either. Are we going to your office?" he finally asked when they turned to Newbury Street.
"I guess we are. I must have…"
"No sweat, I love your office, so functional and warm. And you've got to admit that what Broyles's done with the place? Man, I can't get enough of it."