The Road From Here
The movement of the train hurtling smoothly down the track had lulled Peter Bishop into a half-doze, but the sudden feel of breath on his neck startled him awake. He looked down to his right to see a blond head tucked just under his chin.
Olivia? He thought groggily, until awareness slapped him in the face. Of course not. Impossible. But then, who… ?
Oh, my God, he thought, his arm tightening instinctively around the shoulders of the girl he didn't even realize had fallen asleep against him. No, not girl, he corrected himself. This was a young woman sleeping safe and secure in his arms, a young woman he effectively did not know. But he didn't care about the years in between right now; all Peter cared about right at this moment was that his daughter, his little girl, was here with him. She was still alive.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, a sudden shiver running through him as he remembered the last time they had been together...
"Daddy! Daddy! Come quick!" He'd heard her voice coming from the playroom, and had taken off at a run. He had left Henrietta with Walter, who had promised they were simply going to read stories and perhaps play with her new doll. He should have known better.
Peter arrived in the playroom to find his four-year-old daughter covered in paints of various colors, giggling as little girls do. "Daddy! Isn't Tesla pretty?"
"Pretty isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe him," Peter said tersely as he stared down at the family dog, who was covered in even more paint than Henrietta.
A mad swirl of blue, black and yellow paint covered the Golden Retriever mix that Walter had brought home two years ago. Olivia had been skeptical about keeping the skinny, mangy animal. "We have enough trouble handling Walter and the baby, Peter," she'd scolded him. She was about to tell him the dog had to go, when she looked over into the next room to see two-year-old Henrietta plop herself onto the floor next to the freshly-bathed dog and pat his head.
"My doggy, Mama," Henrietta said, her huge blue eyes twinkling with delight. "Good doggy!"
Olivia had looked back at Peter – whose same huge eyes looked at her pleadingly. "It's a conspiracy, I tell you," she'd said, only half-annoyed, and the dog stayed.
"Isn't it extraordinary, son? Henrietta has recreated almost perfectly, Van Gogh's 'Starry Night' on the animal's coat!" Walter exclaimed proudly.
"Oh, it's extraordinary all right, " Peter said through gritted teeth. "Henrietta, what do we always say about Tesla?" he said.
Henrietta's laughter stopped abruptly at her father's stern voice. "He's fambly," she said somberly.
"That's right. He's family, just like me, or Grandpa, or Aunt Astrid. Now, you wouldn't slap paint all over me, would you?" He folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at the now-pouting four-year-old.
"No, Daddy," she replied, her lower lip trembling.
"Well, that's good to hear," Peter replied, his tone softening a bit. "So, what do you say to Tesla?"
Henrietta leaned over and scratched the miserable-looking mutt behind his left ear. "I'm sorry, Tesla," she said sadly as the dog gave her a forgiving lick on the cheek. She then turned her teary gaze to her father. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Mommy wouldn't like this, would she?" she added, two fat tears streaking down her face.
Peter rushed over and sat on the floor next to her, scooping her into his arms. "It's okay, 'Etta," he soothed her. "Mommy would say the same thing as me. Just don't do it again, right?" The child nodded against his chest. "Okay, then." He took her face in his hands, and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "It's gonna be all right, Toots," he said, using one of his nicknames for the child.
"Right," Henrietta sniffled, her tears finally stopping.
"Honestly, Peter," Walter chuffed, "It's finger paint. Water-soluble. You're making a mountain out of a – "
"Henrietta, why don't you go clean up, and get the dog shampoo, huh? Grandpa and I need to talk for a minute," Peter suggested. "Then we'll get Tesla all cleaned up."
"Can we use lots of bubbles?" she asked, her face brightening.
"Sweetheart, I think we're gonna need lots of bubbles," he said, chuckling as the girl bounced out of the room, her golden hair swinging on her shoulders.
When he was sure Henrietta as out of hearing range, Peter rose and rounded on Walter. "Walter, I specifically told you not to do anything to that dog again," he said, his voice tight. "First, there was the pot blend in his dog food, now this? And you're getting my daughter in on your little misadventures?"
Walter stood as well. "She's a gifted artist, Peter," Walter said by way of an excuse. "And there was no paper for her to paint on. You have to admit her work bore a startling resemblance to Van Gogh's original work."
"I don't give a shit if she's the next Van Gogh, Walter," Peter snapped back. "I told you not to do something, and you just went ahead and did it. And you've undermined my authority with my child. Jesus Christ, Walter, I'm having enough trouble keeping it together for Henrietta, you can't help me out this little bit?" Feeling his self-control slipping – something that he felt quite often these last few months – he turned away and started to leave the room.
Walter's quiet voice called him back. "You're right, son. I'm sorry." He turned back to Walter. "You've been doing such a wonderful job with Henrietta. She's as happy as she can be under the circumstances. You're a magnificent father, Peter. Everything I never was."
Peter felt tears in his eyes. "I can't do this all by myself, Dad. I can't. I need your help, okay? Please. Olivia would… " His hand went to his mouth at the sound of her name; he shook his head as the tears fell.
Walter walked and, repeating Peter's gesture to his child, drew Peter into his arms. "It's going to be all right, son," he said. "We'll keep her safe. And Olivia? Olivia would be so very proud of you… We'll keep Henrietta safe… "
Peter's mind was drawn back to the present by Etta coming to wakefulness in his arms. He looked down at her as her eyes opened, and his breath caught in his throat; Etta had grown to be a perfect amalgamation of him and Olivia. "Hey, Toots," he said softly. "Sleep well?"
"Dad?" she mumbled, studying his face. Feeling him shiver beneath her, she straightened up immediately. "Are you okay? You're shivering."
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, missing her warmth against him. "Probably just a slight after-effect of the amber. I'm okay, sweetheart. I promise." He touched her cheek affectionately. "How are you?"
"I… I'm not sure," she replied honestly. "I can't believe you and Grandpa and Aunt Astrid are here. And… " She gestured to his face.
"Yeah, it must be a little weird. I look just like you remember, but it's twenty years on." Her face fell, and Peter was taken back twenty years to that remorseful, shamed four-year-old. "What? Henrietta, what's wrong?"
She placed her own hand on Peter's stubbled cheek. "I… I'd forgotten your face," she said tearfully. "I tried so hard to keep it in my mind, but it's been so long, and there's been so much… stuff… and I couldn't let on to anyone who I was, so I couldn't keep any photographs, and… "
"Hey," he said gently. "Hey, it's okay." He hugged her again, just as he'd done so many years ago. She sobbed into his chest as he rocked her. "It's gonna be fine, Daddy's here now. Daddy's here… "
A moment passed, and Etta sat back, drying her eyes. "Sorry," she said, regaining her composure with a look that was pure Olivia. "I can just hear Simon now. 'Pull it together, Agent.'" She laughed mirthlessly.
"I know I said this already, but I'm so sorry about Agent Foster, honey," Peter said, the guilt weighing on him like an albatross. "He sacrificed himself for me."
"He's not dead, Dad," Etta replied. "We'll figure out a way to get him back."
"We most certainly will, my dear," Walter said as he approached them. "He's a good man," he said. "A bit chatty and easily distracted, but resourceful. And clever. Quite a bit like you, Peter," he added, eyeing Etta at the same time. "It looks like you and your mother have similar taste in men, Henrietta."
"Grandpa!" Etta gasped, mortified.
Peter's eyebrows raised. "Wait a sec. You… and Agent Foster?"
"No!" Etta protested. "We were partners! We're friends!"
"That's what your mother said for a while," Walter said mischievously.
"Walter!" Astrid scolded from behind him.
"All right, that's enough now, Walter," Peter agreed. He looked at the device in Walter's hand. "Whatcha got there?"
"It's the device Simon invented to reverse the amber process. Terribly flawed, but it worked well enough for Astrid and myself. Not as well with you," Walter said.
"That's an understatement," Peter concurred. "Well," he said with a deep breath, "We're gonna find a place to lie low for awhile, and work on this little baby. And then, we're going back to get Simon."
"Dad, it's too dangerous," Etta protested.
"And it was too dangerous for you and Simon to come and rescue us," Peter countered. "Henrietta, listen to me. If Simon was clever enough to design something like this," he said, brandishing the device, "Then, we need him." He tucked an errant hair behind his daughter's ear.
Oh, God, Olivia, help me do this, he said in a silent prayer. "And if he was selfless enough to sacrifice himself to save your father, then we want him. Are we clear?"
Henrietta nodded. "We're clear," she said, pride and love shining in her eyes. "I remember you now," she added. At his confused look, she said, "You're Peter Bishop. The man who would do anything for love."
Peter actually felt himself blush. "Yeah, well, that's enough of that. We've got work to do, so let's try and get some rest. We'll be in Boston soon, and we'll need to hit the ground running." He took his jacket off, and placed it around Etta's shoulders. "Stretch out over there, and try and get some sleep. I'm going to look over Simon's device."
Walter, Peter and Astrid watched as Etta obediently retreated to the empty seats on the other side of the car, and lay down. Astrid rubbed Peter's back. "Good job, Dad," she said, leaning her head against Peter's arm.
"Yeah," he said flatly. "It's fine for now. But the road from here? I don't know…"
"We take that road one step at a time," Astrid replied confidently, the hand on his back reaching up to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. "And we take it together."
Peter only nodded.
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