The thing about Charlie is that he always knows.

He had known about John, and he had graciously kept his silence. Had been considerate to not chide her for her transgressions when every bit of evidence pointed to the possibility of her having been fooled by the man she had loved.

He knows her too well, knows the ways her mind works, the way she engages with the job.

He understands her silences better than her words.

"Do you trust him? Bishop…" He asks her casually one day as they sit at the bullpen, a few weeks after John's death, after she begins working for Fringe division.

"Which one?" She asks him, like she already doesn't know.

"You know which one." His voice is knowing, a tad too much.

She cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless question, daring him to verbalize what exactly he was implying.

He shrugs by way of explanation, "Seems like a bit of a loose cannon that one."

"That he is." She nods in agreement.

"But…" He pauses.

"I trust him." She says with conviction. "I don't know why, but I do."

He nods. "That's all I needed to know."

"You were right about him you know." He tells her later as they're in the car one day.

"About who?" She's distracted in her own thoughts, thinking about what Lobe had told her.

"Bishop… he's surprising in his own ways."

She can't help a smile at his befuddled tone.


"Yeah." He nods, telling her about the phone tap. "He seemed really willing about helping you out, even though you technically blackmailed him." He points out, and she knows he's watching her face for a reaction.

"He's not so bad." She manages to say in a bland tone.

"Do you think he'll stick around though?" He asks then, like he was echoing her own concern.

"I don't know Charlie." She shrugs, not letting on more than that.

"Let's hope he does." He gives her a reassuring smile. "He seems like a handy guy to have around. Don't you think Livy?"

She smiles and doesn't say anything.

It's started to rain, the cold water pouring down her face in rivulets. She's soaked in a matter of two minutes.

But Olivia shivers for a different reason.

Its how Peter finds her, on her knees, her gun still pointed towards the corpse who wears her friend's face and is bleeding silver mercury trails onto the asphalt.

He reaches out laying a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Olivia…" His voice travels through the sound of thundering raindrops and her own painfully beating heart, and she glances at him, her face crumbling.

He bends down to meet her at eye level, the rain water leaving dark wet patches on his jacket, concern evident in his expression.

"Charlie…" Her voice is a broken whisper. "I killed him."

"It isn't him." He says, gently wrenching the gun from her hands, pulling her into a hug.

"It's not him." He whispers over and over again.

" Peter..." She pleads for something...anything. She doesn't know yet what that is.

" It's okay Olivia. I am here now. I've got you."