CHAPTER TITLE: Perfect Strangers

FANDOM: Fringe

CHARACTERS: Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop

GENRE: Sci-fi

RATING: M

CORRESPONDING EPISODE: 1.01 "Pilot"

WARNINGS: None

AUTHOR'S NOTE: None

Olivia arrives in the miserably hot, war torn city of Baghdad feeling exhausted emotionally and physically; she wants nothing more than to curl up in her bed and forget anything ever happened but she couldn't even if she tried. Her mind is so hardwired to finish a job that she's been moving nonstop to get things accomplished, try to fix the problem that deep down she knows is unfixable but she keeps going, resolved to get what she wants.

She spots the man she's been seeking, his face burned into her mind after studying his DMV photo the entire flight over. "Peter Bishop? Olivia Dunham. I'm with the FBI."

He doesn't look impressed. "Okay."

"You've heard of flight 627?" she asks, trying to keep her friendly smile from looking too forced—she wants to cut the crap and tell him to get on the plane with her, but she knows enough about him to keep from straight out demanding he return to Las Vegas for her and John's sake.

He nods. "The Hamburg flight, of course.

"You may be able to help us with that," she says pleasantly.

He seems a little confused. "No, I think you've got the wrong guy."

"Your father is Walter Bishop."

She can see his body language change immediately. "The last time somebody asked me that it was an accusation," he says darkly.

She tries to remain calm. "Well, he's the man we're looking to speak with, but due to his current status, you're the only one who can provide us access."

"And what possible help could that man be to you? And what is it exactly that you're expecting me to do? Hop on a plane with you back to Las Vegas? I just got here, honey."

"I can have you on a return flight here in four days, but first—"

He cuts her off. "Let me save you the time. I'd rather stay here in Iraq. That's how much I want to see my father."

She hates begging, but she has to do anything for John. "I'm going to beg you as one human being to another. Your father may be able to save someone who is dying. Someone I care about very much."

"Sweetheart, we all care about someone who is dying," he smirks. "I can't help you, I'm sorry."

He starts to leave and Olivia realises she's going to have to play hardball. Her eyes narrow and her tone becomes nastier, dangerous. "I know why you're here. I have your file."

His eyes widen a fraction and she can see that she's got him now. "What file?"

Now it's her turn to be in control. "The one the FBI would say doesn't exist. And it has everything. Where you've been, what you're running from. And what you need while you're here. So, either you come with me, or I let certain people know your whereabouts."

His smile returns, a harsh mockery of happiness. "When do we leave?"

Peter still feels like a hostage and after making a few snide comments about tax payer money being used for FBI joy rides and the government's desire to help themselves before they helped others, he settles into the private jet, drinking from a water bottle provided to him.

Dunham has her cell phone pressed close to her ear, trying hard to hold still, otherwise she'll fuck up the signal inside the private jet for a third time. "Did the doctor say anything else? Yeah. Thanks, Charlie."

She closes the phone, biting her lips and looking lost in thought; he can see even with an update on the injured agent, her mind hasn't been eased. He wants to remark on her comments about 'someone I care about very much', but he decides to save those cards for later—it might not be in his best interest to get her too mad.

Tired of watching her wallow in her own angst, he turns the attention back to him—after all, he's the one being blackmailed back to the States. "Let me ask you something." Her eyes turn to look at him, looking as though she'd forgotten he was sitting across from her. "My father, not my favourite. He is without a doubt the most self-absorbed, twisted, abusive, brilliant, myopic son-of-a-bitch on the planet. So he was a chemist. That much I already know. He worked out of a basement lab in UNLV, doing research for a toothpaste company. I also know that there was an accident at the lab one night, when my father was arrested. Beginning the first truly peaceful period in our home, but here is the thing, Olivia: my gut tells me that your friend's life—the one hanging in the balance?—is not going to be saved by a tube of toothpaste."

Her brow furrows in confusion, shaking her head slowly. "He worked out of UNLV, but not on toothpaste. He was a part of a classified US Army experimental program called Calvin Genetics. They gave him the resources to do whatever work he wanted. Which was primarily in an area called 'fringe science'."

He stares at her for a moment, expecting her to laugh and say 'Just kidding!' but he can tell she's serious. "When you say 'fringe science', you mean pseudo-science."

She gives a slight shrug. "I suppose. Things like mind control, teleportation, astral projection. Invisibility, genetic mutation, re- animation, fertility—"

He holds up a hand to stop her. "Whoa, excuse me for a second. Re-animation, really? So you're telling me...what? My father was Dr. Frankenstein?"

She bites her lips again, looking incredibly uncomfortable and he can see that yes, that's exactly what she's trying to tell him. He gives a tired sigh and prepares himself to ask difficult questions.