True North
It had been, to say the least, an eventful day. Earlier that morning, they'd finally pinpointed Walter's location within the Observers' compound, at which point Peter set about procuring a Loyalist guard uniform.
"How are you ever going to find one of those?" Astrid had innocently asked. Peter had given her a tight smile, and said nothing, knowing it was simply a matter of finding a guard his size, and taking it from him.
One dead (and carefully disposed of) Loyalist guard later, Peter was having a temporary tattoo inked on his face by his daughter's loving hand. "I want it to say, 'Fuck you, bald-headed fascist scum,' okay, hon?"
"Peter," Olivia hissed at him.
"Not four anymore, Mom," Etta said dryly as she started her work on her father's cheek. She patted his freshly-shaved face. "Sorry you had to shave, Dad. I know how much you love that."
"Small price to pay," Peter replied, his face darkening as he closed his eyes. "He's been there too long already," he said softly.
"Hey, you've been working day and night to find him," Etta scolded him gently. "I'm surprised you haven't collapsed by now. Did you get any sleep last night?"
"Sure," Peter replied.
"Nope," Olivia countered.
"Quisling," Peter snarked. "Sleep is highly overrated."
Etta sighed. "Tough guy," she muttered. "So, what do I get to do in this operation?"
"You'll be standing point on the south side of the building," Olivia instructed. "Astrid is on the east, and I'm north, making sure your father has egress."
"The south side?" Etta exclaimed as she put the finishing touches on Peter's tattoo. "Seriously? That's the furthest from where we've pinpointed they have Grandpa! If you think I'm gonna…"
"You're gonna do as I tell you," Olivia said sternly. "Your father and I are running this op."
"Dad?" Etta appealed, using her best divide-and-conquer technique.
"Your mom's the boss on this, and she's right. I need you covering my back." Peter sat up and took the mirror from Etta's hand. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
"What's it say?" Olivia asked, walking over to her husband and daughter. "I'm still catching up."
"Serve. It's a big favorite among the security brigades." He stood and grabbed the uniform jacket from the back of his chair, flashing a proud smile at Etta. "You always were a good artist. Thanks, honey."
"You're welcome," Etta replied gruffly. "I still don't understand why I'm the one who's been dealing with these bozos for how many years, and suddenly I'm relegated to standing by a door."
"I know, Etta, it's just…"
Olivia interrupted Peter. "You don't need to understand. Your father, Astrid, Walter, and I know these… people, for want of a better word. You only know them as the ruling party. We know how they got here. Puts us one up. Now, if you don't like the structure of this particular cell of the Resistance, Henrietta, feel free to walk out that door and find another one more to your liking, one that would put you in charge immediately. With your impulsiveness on full display lately, I feel sorry for them already."
"Well, excuse me if I don't want to just sit around and brainstorm while those ratbags are frying my grandfather's brains, okay?" Etta yelled.
"Henrietta!" Peter barked. "That's enough."
"It sure as hell is. Heed, Obey, Serve," Etta grumbled, storming off.
Olivia started to go after her daughter, but Peter stood in her path. With a warning look, Olivia said, "Don't start, Peter. Just don't."
"What? Liv, she needs time to get used to this. You both do," Peter said calmly.
"And what about you, Superdad? How come she takes everything you say to heart, and never argues? You were out of the amber how much earlier than me? Three days? Quite the quick adjustment period, but then again, she always was her Daddy's girl." Olivia turned away from Peter and walked over to her makeshift desk at the other end of the room.
Peter took a deep breath, and buttoned his uniform coat. Astrid came up behind him and rubbed his back, feeling his muscles tense at her touch. "You okay?" she asked gently.
Peter nodded. "Yup, I'm okay," he said. "Thanks, Astrid. We ready?"
"As we'll ever be. If I wasn't so totally creeped out right now, I'd say you look very dashing in your uniform," Astrid joked, trying to lighten the mood.
"I'm a regular Loyalist chick magnet," Peter replied. "Let's round up the dueling Dunhams, shall we? We have a mad scientist to save."
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The rescue itself went as smoothly as the infiltration of an enemy stronghold, and extraction of a prisoner of war, could go. Astrid had managed to piece together comm devices from various bits Peter had scavenged from an abandoned electronics plant, allowing the team to be in constant contact.
"Hall's clear," Peter said. "I'm going in."
"Status South?" Olivia's voice broke in. Peter smiled at the sound.
"All clear south," Etta replied. "Wait… I have three hats heading inside, main hall. They look pissed."
"How can you tell?" Peter muttered sarcastically. "Time to get this show on the road."
"South, East, move in," Olivia ordered.
"No way, really?" Etta droned.
"Reel it in, Bishop," Peter snapped.
"Yes, sir," Etta said sheepishly. "Sorry."
"Just get moving," Olivia said.
Peter entered Walter's holding cell with a curt nod and an order of, "Step aside," to a much younger, very nervous guard – first hurdle cleared.
He didn't expect the biggest hurdle to be Walter himself. When Peter walked into the cell and laid eyes on the broken form of his father strapped to an interrogation chair, he had to will himself to take his next breath. Shock, anger, and terror threatened to overwhelm him in equal measure, but that small voice in the back of his mind – the one that had gotten him out of far too many impossible situations to count – snapped him back to reality. Keep moving, straight ahead, do not stop, it whispered. Handle this.
As he knelt in front of Walter, taking in the sight of the blood caking under his nose, dribbling from his ears, Peter gently unbuckled the crude leather straps around Walter's wrists. "Hey, Walter, it's okay now, let's get you outta here," he said soothingly.
As soon as Walter's hands were free, a growl escaped from his lips, and he launched himself at Peter, clawing viciously at his face and drawing blood. Nearly toppling under his father's weight, Peter clutched at Walter, saying, "Walter! Walter, it's me. It's Peter. Walter!" He held Walter's face in his hands, staring deeply into his bloodshot eyes. "I'm Peter."
"My son is dead!" Walter screamed. "My son is – "
"Right here," Peter said firmly but softly, maintaining his grip on Walter's face. "I'm right here, and we have to go."
Walter reached a shaky hand to touch the bleeding scratches on Peter's face. "Peter?"
The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood up, and he pushed Walter back down in the chair, spinning to face the Observer behind him. He could vaguely hear gunfire in the halls outside as he countered the swift, lethal moves of his bald assailant, all the while reaching to take the Observer's gun from its holster on its belt.
More Observer footsteps sounded in the hall as the fight continued; Peter thanked his years as a bouncer in the Philippines for some of the moves he was using right now. Otherwise, he would probably be a dead man. He was almost distracted by the sight of two blond heads appearing in the hall behind the approaching Observers, firing as they ran.
Etta took down one of them as her mother shot the other. She looked into the room in time to see her father wrap his arms swiftly around his attacker's neck, snapping it with vicious efficiency. Etta looked at her father's bloody face, with its vacant, almost mechanical eyes, and shuddered. "Grab their weapons, Etta," Peter commanded as she and Olivia entered the room, Astrid following not far behind.
"What's the point?" Etta said as her father took the gun from the Observer he had just killed. "Nobody can use them."
Peter placed a hand on the crown of her head, pushed her aside gently, and fired behind her. Three Observers disintegrated before her eyes. "I can," he said simply.
"Etta, help your grandfather," Olivia said gently.
"Astrid, you good?" Peter inquired of the petite agent.
"Five by five," Astrid smiled wanly. "Are you?"
"I'm fine," Peter said tightly, turning to Walter. "C'mon, Walter, let's get you up again. Etta?"
Etta joined him on Walter's other side, and together they pulled the dazed, injured scientist to his feet. "You're gonna have some stories to tell now, Grandpa," Etta said lightly, beaming at her grandfather. "You beat 'em."
"We beat 'em," Walter murmured as he slowly shuffled from the cell, supported by the two people he loved most in the world.