Disclaimer: don't own Fringe. But that much is obvious. This isn't necessarily set around a specific time. Possibly after the finale but I dare say not too far into the future.


Mole

"I don't... know who you're talking 'bout. I swear."

Wiping at his mouth and chin in contemplation, Al Simm tried to weigh up the truth in the young man's statement. They said that he had an innate intelligence about him far beyond that of the circle that he was known to have run about in, and that his involvement with such playground thugs was only ever by chance anyhow. It started off as a hefty gambling debt and before he could even step back and reassess his situation, he was already on his downward spiral towards the plughole and gladly turning favours for the big boys to get Big Eddie off of his back. Unfortunately for him, however, 'Big Eddie' or formerly Edward Lynch wasn't exactly a friend of Al's so when he got involved with his gang for protection, he had unwittingly left himself open to being freely exploited as nothing more than a bargaining tool between the rival drug lords.

And now that they were holding him, Simm didn't care much for Peter's burnt bridges before high-tailing it out of Boston. All that concerned him was that he was here, on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back, and whose head had such a price on it because of the lump sum plus interest he owed Big Eddie that he made such worthy human collateral. Should Al want to pilfer property from Big Eddie – and he did – he could use Peter to bait the man.

"I don't know how long you've been back in town, boy, but it might interest you to know that Big Eddie has been trying to launder money through one of my clubs. Piqued the cops' interest. Whole, whole messy affair."

Peter raised his eyes to him, dim with defeat.

"Anyway. This is where you come in handy, Mr Rook. You hear?"

"I'm telling you the truth!" he tried a final time. "I don't know any Michael-"

Al bowed politely, giving consent to the man crouched just behind Peter. Smirking morosely, he watched as his friend placed a hand to the back of Peter's head and forced him into a bucket of water that they had placed in front of him some thirty minutes beforehand, his other hand gripping his shoulder to stop him trying to thrash about whilst submerged. Upon Al's nod, he knew to take a deep breath but as the seconds dragged by he knew that his willpower was slipping. The pounding in his head and behind his eyes was becoming unbearable and the tight pain in the centre of his chest was all he could think of until finally he gave up and began choking on the water he was immersed in.

"Phil," Al said softly.

Phil resisted a sigh when he was made to pull Peter up by the hair – matted in a wet clump beneath the man's fist – and out of the bucket entirely. He didn't care that all Peter could focus on was the urgency behind swallowing deep gulps and so he smacked him across the back of the head for good measure.

"Phil, please," Al smiled. "Let him get his breath back, at least."

Peter's uneven panting started to regulate into short, raspy breaths, and, blinking slowly to shake beads of water from his eye lashes that blurred his vision ever so slightly, he turned his face up towards Al again.

"So Rook," Al addressed him again. "Are you willing to cooperate with us or do I need to get Phil here to repeat the question again?"

"But I don't-"

He spluttered into the bucket again, this time feeling the weight of two hands pushing him down. Phil raised himself up onto his knees, holding him beneath the water until his own arms were soaked to the elbows and Peter had made contact with the base of the bucket. He was left to suffer for precisely thirty long seconds.

"Oh, Rook, Rook, Rook. I just don't believe you," Al shook his head, continuing to talk as if Peter hadn't been otherwise detained once Phil finally decided to bring him up for air once again. "You're to reacquaint yourself with Big Eddie's boys, right? And you might want to quit lying to me right here and now. I have it on good authority that you more than know one Michael Johnson. For supposedly having a few brain cells up there you damn sure shouldn't have beaten the guy up over an expendable little ex-girlfriend – and then proceeded to repeatedly lie to me on top of that."

"Look, fine, but as you clearly know we aren't exactly on speaking terms, me and Johnson," Peter tried to reason. "There's no point in me getting close to him if you want me to try to worm my way back into Big Eddie's good books. It just isn't going to happen."

"Johnson's a sneaky useless little grass. I've worked with him. Lynch has worked with him. He's motivated by money and money alone," Al explained impatiently. Peter watched him quietly as his leather gloved hand slipped into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "Here. 2K. You boys have fun kissing and making up, you hear?"

A small brown package was tossed at him casually, landing just short of the bucket.

"You should expect a little... check-up at the end of every week, Rook. I hope for your sake you don't take that little sum and go jump a plane somewhere thinking you can run it off."

"What makes you so sure that I won't?"

"Because you're smarter than that," Al clicked his fingers and suddenly Phil laid a hand on him again, but this time the heavy palm was to Peter's forehead so as to pull him backwards and the cold body of a knife was now resting delicately against his oesophagus. "Or so they tell me."

"And what if I fail? What if I work my way round Michael again, but Big Eddie he doesn't want to know? Or worse, he does. The man probably has a contract out on me by now – he's not exactly my biggest fan."

"No, no. You he used to like. We can use that. If he wanted you out of the picture, he would have done that the second he found out you were back in Boston. Rest assured, kid. If you come to him, if you're the one doing all the approaching – fine, I'll not lie, you probably will get your ass beat, but he'll listen to what you have to offer."

"And what exactly am I meant to be offering him?"

"Petey boy," Al winked, bending slightly and patting his still-dripping wet cheek. "You're offering him the greatest thing of all. You're negotiating a deal between him and, well, me. You drop my name and mark my words he'll bite."

"No offence Mr Simm but Big Eddie hates you more than he hates me."

"You leave the tales of loves lost up to me, huh? You just concentrate on your side of things."

"Which you haven't been kind enough to share yet," Peter reminded through clenched teeth. He mentally cursed his tone as the knife pressed more firmly at his neck.

"Let me put it this way then, shall I?" Al straightened up and wiped at the corners of his mouth again. "It hasn't escaped me why your big draw to Boston hasn't gotten you all antsy like it did before you first left. Hell, not one year ago if you bumped into Peter Rook on the street, it was likely that he'd be two towns over the very next morning. But what's changed all of a sudden that has my little Petey boy sticking around, hmm?"

"He has responsibilities besides just himself now, right Mr Simm?"

"Yes," Al agreed. "He's not just leaving a girlfriend with an abusive would-be boyfriend waiting in the wings, knowing, hoping otherwise, but knowing anyway that once he slips off into the night like the little coward he is, his precious Tess is going to start bumping uglies with Michael. Unless she'd long been doing that behind his back anyway."

"You lay a finger on her-" Peter struggled, the handcuffs beginning to dig into his wrists.

"Her?" he pretended to be surprised. "Oh, you're absolutely right Petey. I wouldn't dare touch Tess. She's one of Big Eddie's girls, right? What's Michael's is Eddie's and what's Eddie's is Eddie's, isn't that how it works? No, no, it's actually a different girl altogether that I have photos of you with recently. And a man. Your father."

Peter tensed.

"You were wondering what happened if you failed this little... assignment, yes? Well, it won't just be you getting a visit. Understand?"

"Perfectly."

Al sighed good-naturedly, "All right then. Phil."

Phil grinned, forgetting his knife to force Peter's face into the cold water enthusiastically. This time he was so unprepared that the punishment had blind-sided him, causing him to gag and gasp instantly.

"Clean this up when you're done," he ordered in a professional, emotionless tone. " Oh, and maybe have him dropped off... a few blocks away from the university, nothing too public mind. I'd love to stay but I have dinner reservations."

"Good evening, sir."

"Quite."