A/N: So...I started another Fringe fic and then completely lost my inspiration for it. After Olivia. In The Lab. With The Revolver. I got really inspired and started this. It's probably going to be seriously AU after Thursday if the promos are any indication, and this is a definite oneshot. Enjoy!
Peter bit the inside of his lip to keep his whole jaw from quaking. Walter had never been good at the 'big' conversations. Peter had to repress the sex talk to survive most of his adolescence. He didn't know what psychological defense he would have to build to survive this experience.
"This isn't funny, Walter," Peter snapped.
"No, son, it isn't," Walter agreed, looking at his shoes.
"Son?" Peter asked, advancing angrily toward the older man. "Is that who I am? Because it's written in stone that your son died twenty-five years ago!"
"You did. He did. He did die," Walter replied, blubbering.
"Then who the hell am I?"
"You're Peter Bishop."
"But you are," Walter said, motioning emphatically with his hands. "You are Peter Bishop. You're just…from somewhere else."
The weight of Walter's vague words fell on Peter's shoulders like an anvil. He just stared as Walter continued, "He was dead, but I-I had built a window to see the Other Side, and you were alive, but you were still sick. You father, he-he missed the cure, but I saw it. I had to cure you. I had to save you. I didn't intend to take you back, but…there was an accident, and I had to bring you to this side. Afterward, despite my best intentions, I couldn't take you back. Your mother and I, we couldn't give you back. You were ours."
"But I'm not."
He slapped away the hand Walter stretched toward him. Bitterly, he said, "You started it all, didn't you? You punched a hole in the universe. How many people have died because of you?"
"But you didn't," Walter replied, a tear rolling down a wobbling cheek.
Peter shook his head. "I'm just a man," he said, "and you're a selfish bastard. Find your own damned way home."
Walter fell to his knees by his son's grave as he watched his son slam the door of his old station wagon and speed away.
Olivia started as she heard her phone vibrating against the surface of her kitchen table. The screen identified Astrid as the caller.
"Olivia, hey, I just picked Walter up at a graveyard a couple of miles outside of Cambridge."
"A graveyard? What was he doing there? Have you called Peter?" Olivia fired off rapidly.
"Uh, that's the strange thing," Astrid answered, "Walter told me that Peter left him there, and, Olivia, the grave Walter was at when I got there was marked 'Peter Bishop.'"
"Oh, God," Olivia breathed.
"It said 1978-1985," Astrid continued. "I used to think that sort of thing would just be a weird coincidence, but '78 is the year Peter was born and Walter is really upset about something. I can't figure out what about, but—"
"Astrid, I-I know what's going on, but it's not my place to tell you," Olivia told her. "I'm going to look for Peter. You keep Walter calm, okay."
"I'll do my best," Astrid promised.
Olivia ended the call and hooked her gun to the belt of her jeans next to her badge. She pulled on her leather jacket and grabbed the door, opening it to find Peter standing haphazardly on the other side. His clothes and hair were disheveled, and his eyes were so bloodshot, the whites were hardly visible. He reeked of alcohol.
"I am very drunk," he told her, gripping the doorframe. "But you can probably see that, or smell it, or both."
"Yeah," she agreed, nodding awkwardly and refusing to make eye contact.
"Did you know?" he asked her.
"Don't you dare play dumb with me, Olivia," he told her, glaring.
Tears were starting to pool in her eyes. "I saw," she finally admitted, barely above a whisper.
"Why the hell didn't you tell me?" Peter shouted, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists.
"Peter, it wasn't easy for me, but it wasn't my secret to tell," she replied, a tear sliding down her cheek.
"He stole me!" Peter yelled, advancing toward her and stumbling into her apartment. "He took me from my family and damaged the entire world, and for what? So he could have a son?"
"You were dying!" she blurted out. "He saved you, Peter. He saved your life. If Walter hadn't taken you, you would have died on the Other Side like you died over here. He would have told you that if you'd given him half a chance, but you didn't, did you?"
"Don't you dare turn this around on me!" he shouted.
"Miss, are you all right?"
Their attention swerved to the hallway where an elderly woman peered into Olivia's apartment from the doorway Peter had left open.
"We're fine," Olivia assured her, moving around Peter in one fluid motion.
"Are you sure? I can call the—"
"Lady, she is the cops," Peter cut the old woman off, glaring at her with his bloodshot eyes.
Olivia smiled tightly and moved her jacket aside just enough to reveal her gun and badge. The old woman's eyes widened as Olivia repeated, "We're fine."
She closed the door and turned back toward Peter. His jaw shifted angrily on his face.
"You have almost as much reason to hate Walter as I do," he began with false calmness. "How could you keep a secret like this for him?"
"I didn't do it for Walter," Olivia told him.
"Then who did you do it for?"
"Me!" she answered loudly. "I did it because I can't lose you. I need you, Peter."
He laughed mirthlessly. "You're just as selfish as he is."
He glimmered before her eyes as fear wrapped its fingers around her spine. She grabbed his hand before he could turn the doorknob and held onto him tightly.
"Einai kalytero anthropo apo ton patera tou," she quoted firmly.
He turned his head toward her slowly. "Why would you say that now?"
"Your mother knew, Peter," she told him. "She knew what Walter did. She knew Walter was the only reason she had you. Knowing that, why do you think she would say that?"
"Walter was in an insane asylum," Peter bit at her.
"Yeah," she conceded, "but she knew the truth, Peter. You said it was a code between you, that it meant you should keep your people close and take care of the people you care about. Walter, our Walter, crossed to a different universe to save your life. That other man hasn't done as much just to get you back. Who do you think loves you more? Who do you think your mother really meant?"
Peter just stared at her for a long moment. Then his throat choked on a sob. His hand slid from the doorknob and Olivia had to wrap her arms around him to keep him upright. He held onto her as if she were the only thing that was real in the world.
"I don't what to do," he cried into her shoulder. "I don't know anything anymore."
"I can't say it'll be okay," she whispered, "but I'm here. I'm here as long as you are."
"'Livia," he said hoarsely, "I need you, too."