Chapter Title: A Very Fringe Date

Pairing: Peter/Liv, Liv/John Scott, Peter/Tessa

Characters: Astrid Farnsworth, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Rachel Dunham, Walter Bishop, Charlie Francis, Stanford Harris, Phillip Broyles,

POV: Olivia, Peter, Astrid

Genres: Family/Friends, Romantical, Humour, Angst

Spoilers: It's AU, son.

Warnings: It's long and unbeta'd

Challenges: Home Cooked Dinner, Bicycle, Salad, Zodiac Killer, Broyles

Part of a Series?: Yes, "A Very Fringe High School"

Word count:


Olivia sat on the edge of her bed, looking back and forth between her left and right hand. At the moment she held a folded piece of binder paper and the home cordless. She kept reading the numbers over and over, memorising them the moment she opened the piece of paper in the first place, memorising the six words that Peter Bishop had written.

"In case you wanted to call."

Last week she had found the folded note in her locker, obviously having been slipped through the vents to find its way on top of a forgotten sweater and some crumpled fliers that the cheerleading team had been passing out. It had left her hands clammy and her heart racing, but she didn't want to look desperate so she kept tucked in her jean pocket since last Friday.

Today was Tuesday and Olivia had decided that she had waited an appropriate amount of time, but finding the courage to actually punch the numbers into the phone was much harder than she had expected. 'C'mon, Dunham,' she thought to herself in the tone she assumed she'd be using with criminals in the future. 'Are you going to let this scare you off? It's Peter F'ing Bishop. If anyone should be nervous about this phone call, it should be him! He's just a troublemaker who, if anything, doesn't deserve your time and attention! You're pretty good looking! You've dated a Marine! You've been accepted into the FBI! Now call him up and show him what you're made off!'

"Yeah!" she whispered, all pumped up as she began to dial the phone number.

The phone rang once, then twice and almost a third before an anxious sounding Dr. Bishop answered. "Hello? President Faust?"

All of her charisma left, leaving her just as nervous as before. "Uh, no. I was calling for Peter?"

"Oh. Hold on." She could imagine him holding the phone out as he yelled, "Peter! Telephone!"

She waited for a moment before someone else came on the line. "Hello?"

Her heart began to race again. "Hi. This is Olivia. Dunham. We went to prom—"

"Yeah, I know," he said quickly.

There was an awkward silence and Olivia used one of the lamest opening lines she could have possibly managed. "So…what are you up to?"

"Watching "Transformers" in Spanish. You?"

"Not reading the most boring Shakespeare play ever," she said, glancing at the school copy of the Bard's most well known romance that she had tossed casually onto her nightstand.

He sniggered. "Yeah I hate Romeo and Juliet, too. 'Romeo, Romeo, where fore art thou Romeo, uh, kiss from a rose… or something',"

"That was awful. Peter, seriously, don't quit your dayjob," she said, shaking her head and smiling.

He gave another laugh then asked, "So, why are you taking me away from my movie?"

"I, I, uh," she said, suddenly finding herself stumbling over words.

"Ooh, have I left you tongue-tied?"

She could hear how big the smile he wore was, almost like a challenge. "I wanted to know if we could do dinner sometime. Or something."

He gave a surprised, "Oh."

There was another awkward silence and Olivia began to wonder if perhaps he hadn't heard her. Or that his phone had died. Or his section of town had lost power.

"You still there?" she asked timidly.

His voice was far more cheerful than she had expected. "Uh, let me brainstorm a bit."

Her heart fluttered and she couldn't keep from smiling. "Seriously?"

"I'll have something figured out by tomorrow. Is that okay?"

She wondered if she was imagining the shy tone in his voice and tried to sound casual as she replied, "That's okay."

"Good." He made a laughing noise again. "Now let me get back to my movie."

She didn't have to look in the mirror to know she was blushing. "Buenos noches."

"What?"

She felt like such a dork. "That's Spanish for good night."

"Oh. Buenos noches, Miss Dunham."


The next day at school before classes started, Olivia was a little surprised that Peter found her in the hallways, almost cornering her by the drinking fountains.

"Hey," he greeted.

She pulled her books closer to her chest and pretended she hadn't been thinking about him since last night. "Oh, hey."

"So, I wanted to know if you wanted to come have dinner at my house. Walter wants to get to know you better."

This surprised Olivia. "Oh. Really?"

"Yeah," he said looking a little embarrassed.

She smiled and nodded, really liking the idea. "Yeah, that would be great."

"Okay, so Friday. Would you like to dinner at my house?" he said in an incredibly formal tone.

"That would be really nice. I'd like that." She suddenly remembered she wouldn't be able to take a bus over to his house. "Hey, you'll need to give me a ride."

He gave her a skeptical look. "I've seen you with a car before. A 1982 silver Mercedes 380 series."

She sighed forlornly as she thought about her former vehicle. "I sold it during Christmas break. I need the money to move to Quantico to become an FBI agent."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I can't imagine selling my first car," he said sympathetically.

Olivia shrugged. "We all make sacrifices."

"Okay, am I going to pick you up from your house?"

She grimace and snipped, "No. My stupid boss at the Swirly Hut needs me to work after school on Friday. So you'll have to pick me up at the mall."

He nodded and pulled out a pen, poising it over the back of his hand. "What time do you get off of work?"

"Seven."

"I'll be there at seven then," he said, writing it down on the back of his hand.

And with that he turned around and walked away.


Friday classes always ended at one-thirty, so Peter shuffled his father to the Vista Cruiser after the final bell rang and made the first stop of the afternoon at Barnes and Noble to buy a cookbook. Sure they had cookbooks at home, ones that family members had provided after his parent's divorce, ones that they'd bought at yard sales, ones that they'd inherited after Grandma died. But Peter had spent hours scouring for the perfect recipe and Walter said he wouldn't cook a recipe to which had no picture (which meant ALL of their cookbooks), so they determined that buying a new cookbook would be best.

"Ah, I've found the perfect dish!" Walter declared as they sat in the aisles of the cookbook section of the bookstore, scouring for something that looked acceptable for a first date.

Peter looked at what his father was pointing at. "What?"

"A cooked chicken with parsnips and carrots and rice pilaf." His father jabbed his finger on the picture of the food. "Look at the photograph! They used a blue plate!"

"Okay, fine," Peter said, rushing his father with the book to the front of the store to buy it.

The next stop was to the market to buy groceries. Going out in public with Walter was a complete chore especially when the occasion would involve food. Usually they went late in the evening so there was less chance of people being around if Walter went into one of his fits which seemed to work for the most part. Today though, they were running on somewhat of a time crunch, so Peter was allowing his father out of his sight to retrieve items. So far he had brought back two of the ingredients needed and was scouting for a third.

"What the fuck is a parsnip?" Peter grumbled, studying the vast array of vegetables and greens.

Obviously his choice in wording offended the soccer mom shopping next to him and he rolled his eyes as she glared at him. He pushed the cart around while looking for a neon sign that pointed to the offending vegetable while Walter was off with the very specific job of locating chicken bullion on aisle five "next to the matzo meal".

And once all the items for the meal were gathered, his father got into one of his little moods, saying his blood sugar was running low and that he absolutely needed a Twix bar. Peter refused, insisting that he packed granola bars in the back of the station wagon. Walter began to throw a tantrum, so Peter threw a handful of the candy bars onto the conveyer belt, trying to shut his father up.

They were halfway home when Walter, reading the cookbook, asked what a "roasting rack" was, so that meant turning around and trying to find a store that might possess such an appliance. Peter eventually saw a sign for a store called "Cook's Kitchen," and dramatically pulled into the parking lot. Fifteen minutes and seventy-six dollars later, Peter ran back to the Vista Cruiser with both roasting rack and roasting pan in hand, absolutely ready to cook what was quickly becoming the most complicated first date dinner ever. EVER.

Finally home, Peter helped wash the vegetables and prep them, but his father seemed frustrated that there was more than one cook in the kitchen.

"Peter, go do your homework or watch some television. I have this all under control," the older man insisted.

Peter was a little nervous to leave his father on his own, but figured it would be easier to just let him have his way. After all, he could run in to assist if need be.

"Fine."


Two hours later, Peter decided that he had waited long enough check up on his father—his homework was complete, he'd watched two episodes of Man vs Wild, and he'd also managed to find a rag to dust the living room with during the commercials. He sauntered into the kitchen, expecting a tasty albeit messy looking dinner.

"So how's it coming? Sure smells—"

Peter quickly took in the sight of the kitchen, which was a mess. There were pots and pans scattered across the counters along with the majority of the ingredients still untouched. His eyes locked on the still wrapped poultry and he felt his stomach drop.

"Walter, you haven't started the chicken. What have you been doing?" he said, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread rush through him.

"I've been cooking!" Walter insisted.

Peter looked into the single steaming pot on the stove. "Two pounds of rice? What are we going to do with two pounds of rice, Walter?"

"The recipe calls for rice, Peter," his father said in the most 'Duh' voice ever.

"Rice pilaf. With chicken. And carrots with parsnips."

"Well, I didn't see you in here helping me," his father snapped, throwing his dishtowel on the ground.

"You didn't want me to! And god dammit, it's almost seven!" Peter felt like tearing his hair out. "Walter, I swear to god, do not mess anything up. I have to go get Olivia."

The drive to the mall seemed to take forever and Peter checked his reflection three separate times in the Vista Cruiser's window before actually entering the mall, not entirely pleased stress acne was occurring, but there was really nothing he could do. He rode the escalator to the third floor where the food court was located and strode over to the Swirly Hut, purveyor of fine frozen goods. Indeed Miss Dunham and a co-worker were wiping down the countertops as they chatted.

Peter approached the counter and demanded, "Are you done yet?"

Olivia gave him a smile. "Hey, hold on."

He thumped his fist on the counter. "Hey, maybe I'm a paying customer."

"Hey, maybe you're not," she retorted.

He pulled a waded up five dollar bill out of his back pocket and tossed it on the counter. "Hey, what do you call this?"

She threw the money back at him. "Something you shouldn't spend in one place."

Peter looked at her co-worker. "Does she always treat people like this?"

The girl, whose nametag read "Beth", smiled mischievously at him. "Only the good looking ones."

Dunham put on her best serious face and planted her hands firmly on the counter top. "Stop scaring away business."

He glanced around the empty food court and smirked. Leaning on the counter, he looked over her red and yellow polyester shirt. "You're going to change, right? I'm not taking home a Swirly Girl."

Olivia looked at her co-worker and planted her hands on her hips. "Can you believe him?"

"You're not very nice," Beth said innocently.

Peter smiled wolfishly. "Only to the good looking ones."

Olivia's cheeks turned bright red and an impressed grin spread across her lips. Peter felt rather smug to have won her over with fake insults and what he considered his "natural charm". Dunham turned to Beth and said in a rather giddy tone,

"Hey, close for me."

"Smack him if he keeps up like that," Beth said as Olivia hopped over the counter to stand next to him.

"I will!" she said cheerfully as they left the food court together.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked as she veered off towards the women's restrooms with her backpack.

She plucked at red and yellow button up she was wearing. "Changing."

Peter suddenly felt bad for teasing her about her work uniform. "Oh, hey, no. I was just kidding about that whole Swirly Girl thing."

She rolled her eyes. "Just wait here."

Three minutes later she returned with a different shirt on, a very nice looking blouse, in fact.

Dunham smiled as she spun around. "How's this?"

"Conservative," Peter said, offering her his arm.

She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Thank you."

Peter had to admit, he was really beginning to like Olivia Dunham. Sure, she was a bit uptight and somewhat of a stick in the mud, not to mention an advocate for following the rules, which in his book equaled "boring", but with her it didn't seem to be such a drag. He was used to girls who liked getting wild on Friday nights, ones who had more parking tickets than common sense, the kinds that wore heavy false lashes and expensive pushup bras until they could afford their implants.

Peter looked Dunham over regarding that last part. Her pale lavender shirt buttoned up almost to her neck and it looked like she was possibly wearing lip-gloss. He smiled. She looked okay, which meant Walter wouldn't be calling her a whore. It was a little unusual to see someone his age so dressed down as a form of dressing up, but Dunham pulled it off well. She definitely seemed to be a one-woman army, sort of like him. Well, he was more of a one-man army.

In the parking lot, he opened her door for her and as they cruised the streets he allowed her to pick the radio station. However, things didn't remain so well when she picked something off the floorboard and turned it over in her hand.

"What's this?" she asked curiously and as they stopped at a red light, he glanced over.

"Oh, that's Tess' old wallet."

She popped the snap open and glanced inside. "She's twenty one? I thought she was in high school."

He rolled his eyes. "It's called a fake ID, Duhnam."

"What does she need that for?"

"Really?" he asked sarcastically but then caught sight of how hurt she looked. He carefully took the wallet out of her hands and put it in the side of his door. "Just forget about it. She and I are history."

" 'kay," she said softly and turned her attention out the window.

The rest of the car ride back to his house was in awkward silence and he didn't know if it was because he had admitted he wanted nothing to do with Tess anymore or if it was because he had insulted her intelligence or if it was possibly because he didn't always watch his tongue. Regardless, he felt so stupid for always acting this way, like he was a fifth grader or something.

When he pulled into the driveway, he made the effort to show her he wasn't a total jackass by opening her door for her and carrying her backpack.

Peter dramatically opened the front door and yelled out, "We're here, Walter!"

From the kitchen, his father shouted, "This fucking chicken—"

"As you can see, your presence is a bit of a big deal," Peter grumbled, pushing Olivia into the living room and seating her on the couch.

She smiled at him and he quickly removed his hands from her shoulders. "What's for dinner?"

"At this rate? Two pounds of rice."


Astrid Farnsworth rode her beloved Schwinn beach cruiser to the Bishop residence, singing quietly as she pedaled past houses that were far fancier than the apartment complex she lived in. Though Little Hill Apartments really weren't that bad at all, she just thought it would be nice to have a yard and a home with thicker walls.

An old Vista Cruiser parked in a driveway gave away the Bishops' house and she slowed to a stop. There was a big tree in the front yard and she leaned her bicycle against its large trunk, careful not to bang the wicker handle basket against the bark; her two younger cousins had deemed her bike basket "dorky" but she really liked it. Hurrying up to the front of the house, still quietly singing and giving accompanying hand movements to the music she was playing in her head. She knocked on the door and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet as she waited for someone to answer.

The door flew open, revealing the younger of the Bishop duo. "Hey, Peter. I was supposed to come pick up…is everything okay?"

Peter looked flustered and he grumbled, "Walter invited Olivia over for dinner and he's completely losing it in the kitchen." He turned his head away and hollered out, "Walter! Astrid's here! She said she had to pick up…"

He looked at her and she told him, "Some Biology 2 papers."

"Some Biology 2 papers," he shouted back. "Where did you—"

Dr. Bishop appeared, looking just as agitated as his son. "You!" he barked, pointing at her. "In here now!"

She followed the Bishops back into their kitchen and surveyed the scene. "So what are we cooking?"

Peter tossed his hands up. "I really don't know."

"Yes, you do. Stop being a smart ass." Dr. Bishop looked at her and pointed to the array of uncooked food on the counter. "We're making rice with roasted chicken and carrots."

Astrid nodded, impressed. "Oh, that sounds really good."

"And a cherry cobbler for dessert," the teacher said pointing to a frozen pie on the counter.

Peter glanced over at her. "Are you staying?"

"Could I?" she shyly asked.

"Sure, why not."

Astrid smiled at the teacher, whom was smiling back at her. "Dr. Bishop, may I use your phone to call my mom? My cell phone's battery is dead."


After Astrid had called her mother to tell her where she was going to be, Peter commandeered the phone and announced, "Walter, I'm going to call for pizza. Have Astrid help you with the cobbler."

The Little Big Good Pizzeria was number two on speed dial and the Bishop address was more or less memorised by all the delivery boys.

"Hi, I'd like to place a to-go ord—

"Hey Peter," someone on the other end greeted.

"Oh hey, Larry," Peter said, scribbling with a sharpie on the notepad next to the phone.

"What's up, man? You're dad making weird food again?"

"Yeah, well I mean, no. We actually have company over tonight, so I figured that it would be better if we give them pizza instead of letting Walter poison them," Peter said, peeking into the kitchen to make sure his father hadn't actually heard him.

"The usual order?"

"No, we've got company. Cheese with extra anchovies and pineapple will not cut it tonight." He sighed, wishing he would order the Bishop men's favourite pizza without grossing out the two girls, but was more than willing to tough it out in order to impress Olivia. "Gimme three extra large pizzas, one pepperoni, one veggie, one Mediterranean. And one of those salad things."

"Thirty minutes, man."

"Thanks." Peter hung the phone back up and leaned his head into the kitchen again. "Dinner's on the way."

"Pizza, pizza!" Walter replied.

Peter stomped into the living room, where Olivia was patiently waiting on the couch. "I'm sorry this whole thing is turning to shit."

She smiled and shrugged. "It's okay. You guys didn't have to put all this effort into it. I would have been happy with grilled cheese sandwiches."

"I'll remember that next time." He sat down on the couch next to her. "I mean, if you ever wanted there to be a next time."

"Yeah, maybe," she said coolly, then her cheeks flushed slightly. "I mean, yeah, if it's not too big a deal."

"I've ordered pizza," he said with a nod.

Olivia, whom was flipping through the channels, asked a very good question. "Why are so many of the tv channels in Spanish? I thought you spoke Farsi."

He was so used to it that he had forgotten to explain to her their television's situation. "I ordered the wrong satellite package. Fortunately Walter likes watching his Austin Powers DVDs and we get the History and Discovery channel in English, so he can watch Monster Quest and UFO Hunters without a problem. I, on the other hand, am willing to tough it."

"By watching Transformers in Espagnol?" she teased.

He nodded, glad they were on the same page about foreign television. "For example."

"Cool. MTV in Spanish," she said, pausing on a channel showing a group rapping.

"Oh hey, the Man vs Wild marathon is still on. If you're interested in that sort of thing," he said, trying to sound like it was really no big deal.

She obviously took the hint and handed him the remote. "Sure. We can watch."

Astrid joined them a few minutes later. "The cobbler is cooking and your dad is cleaning the kitchen."

Peter gave her an appreciative look, thankful that she had taken care of a potential problem for him—he hated cleaning up after the man.

Olivia cocked her head as she studied the TV. "Hey, if that guy's been out there for two days so far, how come he still has the same five o'clock shadow?"

"Fake," Astrid proclaimed as she flopped down into the Laz-E Boy.

"Hey, if you have a problem with Bear Grylls, then you can leave," Peter said pointing the remote at both the girls.

Olivia turned her nose up in the air. "C'mon Astrid. Let's leave him and Mr. Grylls alone."

Astrid seemed to like debating and grinned slyly at him. "Oh, Peter, you know that this man is a total fake."

He glared at her. "Fine, if we all have a problem with Bear then we can always just watch Telemundo."

She smirked. "No, I want to see him eat that snake."

At the mention of something unusual happening, Walter appeared. "Who's eating a snake?"

"Bear Grylls," Olivia replied, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Walter sat down on the armrest of the couch and gave him a concerned look. "Peter, I thought that we discussed this man was a total phony."

"Who cares? I like watching him…okay, well that was obviously set up," he admitted as he watched Bear happen across a dead sheep that no doubt looked freshly slaughtered.

"I think it's cool," Dunham defended and winked at him.

Peter was relieved that she was on his side about this adventurer. While he had never believed in Santa Claus, Peter had absolute faith in this British fortune hunter, parachuting into exotic places, surviving off gross bugs, and using his wits to keep him alive. And any girl that was okay with Bear was definitely okay with him. Frankly, he thought it would be cool to live that kind of lifestyle.

Walter seemed a little surprised that Astrid was in the living room with them. "Oh hello! I didn't know you were here!"

Peter glared at his father. "Walter, she's been here. You wanted to give her some Biology papers or something."

"Ah, yes. Let me find those papers for you," he said getting up from the couch's armrest.

Olivia shifted in her seat as if she were about to jump up. "Dr. Bishop, could I look over that report I turned in on Wednesday? I realised I misspelled something on it and I wondered if I could correct it?"

"I don't usually allow that, but I'll make an exception for you because you're Peter's girlfriend."

Peter felt his face get red. "Walter, she's not—"

Olivia stared at her knees. "We're just friends—"

His father didn't seem to hear. "Come with me. They're in the study."

Astrid and Olivia followed after him and Peter rubbed at his temples, wondering if he would have a headache tonight. The doorbell rang and to somewhat of a relief it was the pizza delivery.

"Dinner's here!" Peter hollered as he paid for the food and carried it to the kitchen, where indeed his father had cleaned up most of the mess.

He found the fancy wedding china that his mother had never taken with her and set them out with the cut crystal glasses on the counter. He had no idea if he ought to serve juice or soda to their guests or if he was supposed to offer something healthy like milk or water?

"Fuck it," he grumbled as the girls and his father filtered into the kitchen.

"That smells so good!" Astrid said loudly as they began to serve themselves.

The doorbell rang again and Peter gave an irritated, "Who now?"

He went to the front door and opened it, though possibly the last person he had expected was standing on the front step.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Broyles," he greeted the principal of his school.

Broyles nodded and glanced past him. "Hello, Peter. Is your father home?"

Astrid peeked out from the doorway. "Hey Peter, c'mon the pizza's—oh hello, Mr. Broyles."

"Miss Farnsworth." Broyles raised an eyebrow as he looked a him. "Are you having a study party?"

Peter was a little unsure how to respond to the term "study party"; he never expected anyone to associate the outdated concept with him.

"Uh, yeah. Something like that," he mumbled. "Wait here while I get Walter."

In the kitchen where his father was offering Olivia a bottle of root beer, Peter pointed towards the direction of the front door. "Phillip Broyles is here to see you."

"If you'll excuse me," Walter said giddily, abandoning his plate as he hurried off.

"Feel free to pig out," Peter offered to Olivia as he put salad on his father's plate.

She laughed. "I don't pig out."

"I saw the way you ate at IHOP," he mumbled and Dunham playfully elbowed him as she took another piece of pepperoni pizza.

Walter returned and Peter handed him his plate.

"You okay, Walter?" Peter asked quietly, noticing his withdrawn demeanour.

"Yes, yes," his father mumbled as he took his plate of pizza back to the table.

The night obviously wasn't going the way he had anticipated, but as he listened to Walter telling hilarious stories about chemistry class and Olivia laughing so hard her ears turned scarlet, Peter decided maybe it could have been worse.


Once dinner ended and Astrid left on her bike, Peter suggested they leave. Though when they sat inside the Vista Cruiser, Peter looked at her and asked, "Do you have to be home right away?"

Olivia felt her heart skip a beat. "My curfew is eleven. Why?"

He nodded and looked as though he were trying to act casual. "Wanna hang out?"

Olivia was more than flattered that he wanted to spend more time with her and she gave an entirely too giddy, "Sure!"

He looked happy and backed out of the driveway, heading in the opposite direction of her house. "Cool, I know the perfect place."

They rode in silence, though their energy seemed to be more excited than awkward. And upon arriving at their destination, they exchanged shit-eating grins.

"Makeout Point. Classic cool," Olivia declared, smirking

"Makes me think about the Zodiac killer and all the young couples he murdered while they were in the throes of passion," he said casually, though not sparing an amused look.

"They never caught him, you know," she said quickly, gruesome crimes a bit of a passion for her.

"Maybe he'll spare us since we're not doing anything." Peter yawned loudly. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to close my eyes for a moment. I'm exhausted."

Olivia hadn't honestly expected rampant making out, but she was still a little disappointed it hadn't been offered. "Hey, no problem. I actually have that Romeo and Juliet report I can work on."

"Seriously? You brought homework?" Peter asked.

She shot him a look as she dug through her backpack. "Oh, be quiet."

He looked down at his calculator watch. "Would two hours be okay? I'll have you home in time for your curfew."

"Sure."

Peter leaned the driver seat back, settling against the brown material and folding his arms across his chest.

"Sweet dreams," Olivia said, not looking up from her notebook.

He snorted and from there they were silent.

Olivia worked quietly, finding herself very inspired to write about love, family, and misunderstanding, her pen flying across her notebook, filling page after page. She was a little surprised that she was suddenly able to write about these topics after spending the past few days with writer's block.

'It must be from the change in scenery.' She pondered a moment more. 'Maybe because I got to fix that paper I turned in to Dr. Bishop? Yeah, that's probably it.'

Peter made a noise and Olivia saw that he was sleeping. She observed him curiously, having never actually watched someone other than her sister or her niece asleep. His brow furrowed and she wondered if he was like a parent with a troublesome child—Dr. Bishop did seem to be a handful after all. And she was curious if he planned on leaving his father's side anytime soon. She had to admire that about him—

Movement caught her eye.

"Hey, Peter." She shook his shoulder. "Hey, Peter. Wake up."

"Canada" he said with a yawn.

His response caught her off guard. "What?"

"Canada. I dreamed I was taking my Econ. final and the answer I was looking for was Canada," he explained.

"What was the question?" she asked.

"I don't know." He stretched his arms "What time is it?"

"You've only been sleeping for an hour, but I thought I saw a car coming up the road."

At that moment a patrol car appeared on the road and Peter groaned. "Uh oh. The fuzz."

She turned to him, absolutely horrified. "Oh shit. Peter, I can't get in trouble with the police—"

He held up a silencing hand. "Stay cool, Dunham. I'll take care of this."

Olivia's heart raced as she pictured her life's dream of being an FBI agent being denied because of getting in trouble and she hated herself for coming up here to Makeout Point and now she wished she was at home—

Peter hissed. "Fuck. I know him."

Her stomach twisted. "Shouldn't that be a good thing?"

"Not if he's the one who's arrested me twice," he grumbled.

She felt like throwing up. "Oh no…"

The policeman had finally reached the Vista Cruiser and Olivia rolled down the car window as a bright flashlight was pointed at her face and then Peter's.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favourite juvenile delinquent," a voice said coldly.

"Hello, Officer Harris," Peter greeted snippily.

The light was swung back in her face. "And it seems you have company."

"This is my girlfriend, Tess." Peter put a hand on her shoulder. "Say hello to the nice police man, Tess."

Olivia was a little stunned as she realised he was protecting her actual identity. "Hi."

The policeman didn't seem to care that she was being polite as he demanded, "Can I see some ID please?"

Olivia balked for a moment then inspiration hit. "Um, Peter, didn't I give you my wallet when we went to the movies tonight?"

Peter looked a little confused and then his eyes lit up. "Uh…Oh! Yeah, it's right here!"

He pulled the pink leather wallet out of the side of his door and passed it to her. Olivia rummaged through it and produced the fake license for the Harris.

"Here you are, officer."

The officer pointed his flashlight at the license and then aimed the beam directly at her face. Olivia squinted as he accused,

"This says your eyes are brown."

The lies seemed to be rolling off Olivia's tongue with ease. "I'm wearing contacts."

Peter leaned over to look at the surly man. "So as you can see, Officer, I'm not breaking curfew as I'm eighteen now and I'm doing nothing illegal."

"We're having a study session. He's helping me with a report I have to turn in on Tuesday," she said, holding up the notebook she'd been writing in.

"You're having a high schooler help you with a college paper," the officer stated skeptically.

"He already took the class at MIT," she pointed out.

The cop obviously couldn't find anything to bust them for so he simply snarled, "Get outta here, Bishop. You're only getting a warning this time."

"Until next time officer Harris," Peter said pleasantly as he started up the station wagon.

Olivia watched the policeman in the side mirror as they pulled away.

"Holy shit, that was intense." Her heart felt like it was going to explode it was beating so fast. "Thanks for not giving him my real name."

Peter gave a relieved sounding sigh. "I had no idea you were so quick on your toes. Good thinking about the wallet."

"More like good thing you like blondes," she muttered under her breath.

"You shouldn't be so sarcastic. It's your personality's unibrow," he said.

Olivia wasn't sure if she heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Sarcasm. It's your personality's unibrow: a highly unattractive feature, if you know what I mean," he explained as he turned onto the main road.

"That's almost poetic, Peter," she said with a smirk, then slapped her forehead. "Oops. Sorry."

He didn't look at her, but she saw him smile. "And I see it's one of your habits."

She shrugged. "Yeah, well…"

They were quiet and Olivia how she had done for the night. Peter didn't seem like he was trying to get rid of her, but then again, maybe he was just a good liar. There were just too many things to consider—

"So did you take care of that report?" he asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

"What? Oh, you mean the one your father had. Yeah, I corrected it," she said.

He nodded. "What did you spell wrong?"

"Minuend."

"Ah."

They pulled up in front of her house and Peter smiled sheepishly. "Sorry that was such a boring first date."

As they got out of the station wagon she wasn't sure what to say. "Oh, first date?"

He looked a little taken aback. "Well, yeah…unless you wanted something more traditional like dinner and a movie. Then this could be considered a trial-run date."

She smiled and said shyly. "I think it was a first date."

"Me, too." He waggled his eyebrows. "So, no kiss goodnight?"

"Oh, I uh," she sputtered, feeling her face get hot

"I was just kidding," he swiftly explained.

"Yeah, of course," she agreed just as quickly.

This evening's handshake seemed to last a little longer as Peter looked into her eyes. "I'll see you at school."

"Definitely," she decided.

Olivia couldn't stop smiling as she walked up the walkway to the house.


There was loud knock on the front door and Walter sashayed to the door, singing Pippen under his breath. He wondered if his little assistant was back for another piece of cobbler—it was very good cobbler, after all.

He pulled the door open and to his horror, realised it wasn't the girl with the very forgettable name.

"Hi, Walter," Tessa said coolly as she tucked her hair behind her ear. "I was wondering if Peter was home?"