Summary: "He was a human," Peter begins, unable to stop the quiver in his voice. "As faulted as he was brilliant, but a human... a man far greater than you, or I, or anyone." Peter Bishop tells his young daughter Etta about the grandfather she will never know.

Tulip Petals
HUMANITY (1)

"Do you mind if I finish up and head out?" When his wife's voice causes him to disengage from the papers that he has so desperately been trying to get through, Peter is grateful for the disruption. He shakes her head, sending a small, secretive smile, one that has only been meant for her for a long time. Although they talk often, usually, Olivia and Peter Bishop are able to communicate just through the looks they share. There is, somehow, some kind of invisible thread that ties them together, connecting their brains. Olivia returns the smile, before casting a glance to an arm chair. Upon it, a bundle of blankets is rising and falling, the movement only slight, but definite enough to be seen. "You want me to take her back? Or are you ok with her here?"

"No!" Peter realises he has answered far too quickly. He lets out an awkward cough, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. "No, it's ok. I can drive home with her later. She's only just got to sleep... we probably shouldn't wake her." Despite the fact he has made an attempt to cover his initial panic with nonchalance, he knows it is futile. Olivia falters uncertainly in the doorway, her face a picture of concern. Her intense stare is raking over him. Peter knows it silly, it's his wife that is watching him, but in that moment, he feels horribly exposed. That blue gaze is powerful. It burns through the clothes on his back, scorching holes that penetrate through the layers of flesh, muscle, skin and bone. Olivia sees right through him, straight to his core, just like she always has.

But just this once, she lets it go.

With a sad smile, she gives him one last nod before collecting her coat and slipping out the doorway.

The truth is, he doesn't want to be left alone. Not here, not in this place that holds so many painful memories. In the room around him, things have barely seemed to change. It is the same, mismatched, haphazard collection of medical instruments and high technology tools that shouldn't exist but do exist that it's always been. They are scattered everywhere. There is no real order to the lab - things just seem to be abandoned and discarded, as if an unruly herd of pre-school children had gallivanted about the place playing, but their teacher had not returned to clear the mess. There was no order, but at the same time, there was. It was his order.

This was not Peter's lab. It was his father's.

Without him, no matter how many people are assembling in the cluttered room, Peter feels hopelessly alone. Walter Bishop's presence is everywhere and no-where to be found at exactly the same time. There is an unmatchable silence in the air, even when the five or six of them that group together to try and explain the inexplicable are all hypothesizing and predicting, talking over each other all at once. The lab is not the lab without the ridiculous undercurrent of mindless babbling that flowed continuously from Walter Bishop's lab. There was a silence that couldn't be filled, without the yelps of delight at the prospect of a new body being wheeled into the room. It was too mute, too quiet and too depressing without the physical presence of Walter Bishop.

"Daddy?" It is the high-pitched, sweet voice of a five year old girl that provides Peter with salvation, rescuing him before he has a chance to delve head first into a bucket of bittersweet memories. She has emerged from the bundle of blankets on the new armchair (the only change in the lab) dragging herself into a more upright position. Her lids are heavy over her blue eyes, her blonde hair messy and tousled in their pigtails. Peter smiles at her, happy to provide her with a greeting as she wakes from her sleep.

But on seeing her father, the small girl suddenly looks troubled. Her forehead is creasing, her brow furrowing, lips gluing together in a thin line as she simply looks at her father, in an expression startling similar to Olivia's. Of course, Etta did not only inherit her mother's cool intellect, but also an almost otherworldly ability to comprehend that feelings and emotions of the people around her. But she is a child. So unlike Olivia, she does not recognise his need to be left alone. It is a simple, childish question that she asks. "Why do you always look so sad here?"

A simple, childish question... yet one that has answer more complex and painful than Etta could ever comprehend.

Sighing heavily, Peter fully abandons his work. He drops his pen, moving across to the armchair where he dislodges Etta. She squirms in the air where he has lifted her, momentarily annoyed, but soon settles as he drops into the armchair, placing her comfortably on his lap. He is thinking of some kind of excuse to make, one that would ensure Etta would never ask him a question about his emotions in the lab again. But then she turns to look at him, her big eyes seemingly hypnotic. Up close, he can see that they do not merely resemble Olivia's eyes... they are Olivia's eyes. In some lights they are blue, in others they are green. But there is a depth to them, a barely fathomable deepness that holds a sense of knowing, a promise of understanding that makes Peter realise that she'd just know if he had lied to her... but more than that, he does not want to lie to his daughter. "Do you remember your grandfather?"

The question seems to catch the child momentarily off-guard. Her mouth slips open a little, her eyes narrowing as if she is squinting into the distance. There is some recognition there, but it's as if the figure that she is seeing is too far away for her to fully engage with it. After a few more lingering seconds, Etta finally shakes her head. "Not really."

Peter nods, a lump forming in his throat. If he could have wished for anything in that moment, it would have been to be able to pull Walter out of God knows where and deliver him straight to his daughter. If anyone should have known Walter, it was Etta. Walter's social etiquette had been somewhat questionable. He had never expressed particularly good people skills, but for some reason, he had found it almost ridiculously easy to bond with children. The amity in his voice in conjunction with his own childlike wonder had connected him with young minds on every level. "I'm sad because I miss him. Very much."

"He used to have a cow, didn't he?" Etta says suddenly, pointing a finger to the empty stall across the room. A heap of old straw is piled in the corner.

"Yes," Peter smiles. "He did."

Etta is throwing looks all over the room, her entire face creasing into an image of concentration. It seemed as if she were willing herself to remember the man that her father had miss. Sometimes, her face smoothed out in a delighted smile. Other times, she stiffened, confused. After five long minutes, all of the trying drained from Etta's expression, leaving her face clear of everything, except a hungry desire. "Tell me about him!" She prompts, jiggling herself on Peter's leg. "Please!"

Again, Peter exhales heavily. He wants to tell her everything about him, but Walter Bishop is such a vibrant, multi-layered being that he doesn't know where he should even begin. Walter was bad, but so invariably good. He was illogically logical in the face of danger, a man that was ultimately driven by one emotion: love. It is the acknowledgement of everything that Walter was and simultaneously wasn't that shows Peter where he should start.

"He was a human," he finally begins, fighting to stop the quiver in his voice. "As faulted as he was brilliant, but a human... and a far greater one than you, or I, or anyone else ever will be."

A/N: Here is a lovely atmosphere stopper :D

So here is the grand launch of my new Fringe drabble series. I've recently been rewatching all the series (because of course it can be unanimously decided upon that watching Fringe and torturing ourselves with heartbreak of reliving the entire experience is much more important than exams...) & I have just been inspired to write. So these will be the deliverance of my mind ramblings involving Fringe.

As the title of this particular drabble suggests, yes, there will be a part 2.

Yes, it will probably be up soon.

Dedicated to 'chole blu' (HippoPoo on 'ere) because she is an "Exclamation Milk"

LOVE AND PEACE.