Conveyer Belt of Memories
A/N: Hi all! So in honor of it being a year since our fabulous show ended, I've decided to participate in "The Little Show That Could" challenge on Tumblr that the awesome Polivias are currently orchestrating. This is a drabble that I wrote ages ago but thought that it was rather fitting for the occasion. I do not own Fringe.
Enjoy!
Peter had caught the red-eye flight back to Boston and could feel it all over. His stiff joints would make a protesting popping noise anytime he moved, he had a head-ache from having to squint at the small print of the book he brought, and to top it all off his back was killing him. He pondered, when had he gotten so old?
It seemed like yesterday, he was at this very airport with his mother, staring at that very same baggage claim carousel when he was nine years old, waiting for his scientist father to return home from his business trip. He had been so excited; when Dad came home it meant whale-shaped pancakes and fascinating tales of far off lands. Having his father is what made his house feel like home.
However, the high opinion that he'd had of his father no longer existed by the time he was fifteen.
What a shame.
At seventeen, he was back this airport, a high-school drop-out looking for a new adventure. He kissed his mother on the cheek and told her not to worry, that he'd be back by Christmas. He said aufwiedersehn to his old and boring life, for he was off to Germany. She had waved to him and blew a kiss as he stepped through the gate to board his plane. He returned her affection with a confident smile and pretended to catch her kiss and stick it in his jacket pocket.
Peter would end up breaking his promise of returning home for Christmas that year, and again the year after that.
Two years passed.
At nineteen, he found himself desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. He grabbed his bag and hailed the nearest cab. Of all things to happen to him on today of all days, his already twelve-hour flight from Moscow had to be delayed seven hours on top of that. Finally in Boston, he was seated in the taxicab, he rubbed a hand over his scruffy unshaven face and told the cabbie where to go; the cemetery. Peter arrived at his mother's funeral wearing a ragged sweat shirt and ratty jeans. Being so late, he didn't even have time to put on a proper suit. Regardless, he stayed by her grave side long after she had been buried, and just cried. His father had never shown, the psych ward he had been committed to years previously hadn't permitted him to leave. It didn't matter though, Peter didn't give a damn about that deranged man he'd once called "Dad" anymore.
He met Tess Amarel and became involved with Big Eddie in less than a month.
Nearly a decade later, Peter was back in Boston this time with a blonde F.B.I women, Agent Dunham, she had told him in a stern tone. She claimed need his father's expertise for an investigation. Peter watched as she barked orders into her phone while he loaded his bag in her back seat, intrigued by her no-nonsense manner. He casually wondered if she even knew how to smile as they drove to the Federal building. He couldn't help but imagine what her smile would even look like, probably pretty he had mused- even with her sensible shoes.
Another year passed and he was leaving Boston for the first time in months, that same blonde agent, Olivia to him now, by his side. Strangely enough, they were going back to where their unofficial partnership had begun, Iraq. After that first case, they discovered that the two of them made a good team. He got a job as a Civilian Consultant and bought a house for him and Walter, the man who was more his father now than ever before. Peter had set down roots for the first time in years. That F.B.I woman became his best friend. Every now and then he could even get her to crack a smile, although not nearly as much as he'd like. That smile, he decided, was the most beautiful image that he'd ever seen.
Since then, his life had been full of twists, turns, and the occasional jump to an alternate universe. There were plenty of times when he almost left, and twice when he actually did. Once on purpose and the other by divine force. Yet every time, Olivia was always there to bring him back. Now here he was, a few years from forty and waiting to be picked up at the airport again.
"Daddy!" A high pitched voice broke him out of his revere, the sound much too loud for 7 a.m., but not nearly loud enough for a four year old. He crouched down while he held out his arms. Within seconds, a small body of a little girl with wild blonde hair filled them.
"Hey kiddo!" Peter picked up his daughter and held her close. He looked over her shoulder and saw his wife waddling towards them, her huge swollen pregnant belly slowing her normally hurried gait. Once Olivia reached him, she leaned up and gave him a sweet but brief kiss.
"Welcome back," She smiled as he intertwined their hands, feeling their wedding bands clang together from the contact. They walked out of the airport while their four year old told her daddy about all she did during the two-weeks that he was gone. He listened to every word she said with enthusiasm and would wink at his wife every so often. It was the seemingly perfect moments like this when Peter would miss Walter the most. However, wherever he was, whenever he was, Peter knew that he would be proud.
Walter would be proud that the once cynical nomad that he'd had as a son had found his way home at last.
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please make sure to leave a review, even if you hated it! Also on a side note, I'm working on the next chapter for "Girl With the Broken Smile" so it should be up soon.