Blown Up
Spoilers: Post "The Road Not Taken," you've been warned!
Author's Note: Another little plot bunny that refused to detach itself from my brain until I wrote it down. Enjoy!
"So I hear you almost got blown up again today."
"Again?"
"Well, yeah. You don't remember turning off that light box bomb with your mind? Who knew you could diffuse a human being too."
"Peter…not right now, okay?"
"Okay…"
"I just have a lot on my mind right now."
"Okay."
"And he burst into flames, he didn't blow up."
"Right. Because that's why Charlie said there wasn't enough left of him to fit into a trash bag."
"Peter!"
"Sorry! Really, I surrender. Want me to leave now?"
"No."
"Okay-"
"Why have you been calling me Dunham?"
"Huh?"
"You've been calling me by my last name, lately."
"Well…"
"Don't tell me if you don't want to, I was just curious."
"Because I care."
"Huh?"
"If you haven't noticed before almost everything that Walter comes in contact with or has been in contact with for long more often than not blows up in his face, literally or figuratively. His mind, his marriage, his work, the list goes on. You could say that it's one of the few family traits we might share."
She moves for the first time since their conversation began, gratefully he can't see her face as anger and confusion floods her features over what they had found at the warehouse. Neither does he see her discretely hide said evidence under some less incriminating files on her desk. Normally she would have told him by now, but something keeps her from doing so this time.
Maybe it was that gizmo he'd made to recover Walter's old records that made her first see it, or maybe it had been happening for a long time and she'd unconsciously known the whole time, but it was there nonetheless. He was starting to care about Walter again, about his father again. She didn't want to be the one to take that fragile affection and snap it in two. Not to Peter, never to him.
Walter, on the other hand…
"'Livia?"
"Yeah?"
"Did you hear any of what I just said?"
"No."
Her voice sounds so small, probably just like it did when she was a little girl…when she'd been…
"Olivia, look at me."
She turns without realizing she has, instinctively seeking out his voice, full of comforting concern. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.
"C'mere."
It's not a suggestion, it's a command, and one she has no qualms following.
His arms wrap around her, warm and safe, and she hates herself. She should tell him, tell him everything, but she can't. She cares too, and she just can't do it.
"You're not like him, you know," she whispers into his shoulder, half wishing he doesn't hear her.
"Hm?"
"You're his son, not his clone. Not everything you touch will blow up."
"So you were listening."
She buries her head in deeper, inhaling. Soap, fabric softener, an a hint of cologne she's never been able to identify except with him.
"Maybe."
"Well, be that as it may, I wouldn't be so sure to put cloning past my father."
She shuddered at the thought, but for less comical reasons than she was sure Peter thought if his soft laughter was anything to go by.
Finally breaking from his embrace, not because it was awkward but rather quite the opposite, she gave him a quick smile of reassurance before moving like she was getting ready to go home.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, thanks."
She lies through her teeth, the truth on the tip of her tongue just begging to be let loose. But she won't, because he's not the only one who cares.
"Okay, have a good night, Olivia," He squeezes her shoulder comfortingly, and she bites her tongue.
"You too."
She watches him as he leaves, then dives for the bottle at the bottom drawer of that cabinet. Pouring a glass and shot-gunning it down, she wonders at the two men named Bishop in her life; how one could cause her so much anger and the other almost take it all away.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading and please do review!