Chapter Title: Hanukkah

Pairing: Peter/Liv, Astrid/Walter, Olivia/John Scott

Characters: Astrid F, Olivia D, Peter B, Walter B

POV: Walter, Olivia

Genres: Holiday, Family/Friends, Romantical, Humour

Spoilers: You have to pretend 1.10 never happened as this was started before "Safe" and I'm not writing happy stuff without Liv

Warnings: sexual humour, alcohol, um… pen sets?

Challenges: December 22 2008, Hanukkah,

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

Chapters: 2/3

Word count: 3963


One thing he hadn't been allowed to do in St. Claire's was play the piano in the game room because the orderlies claimed he always sang songs about mellified men, which was preposterous because Walter could clearly remember playing "Jailhouse Rock" that one time. But here in the lab—HIS lab, he could sing whatever he wanted and right now he was in the mood for holiday music, specifically the music of the Tribe.

Just like Peter, Walter was capable of memorising a tune he had only heard once or twice, and the song he was itching to play was one that one of the Jewish nurses would sing along with late into the night during the eight days of Hanukkah. He had been able to hear it through the door and over the years he had learned both the music and the words by heart. Now he had the opportunity to share the festive tune with the three young people.

The lovely assistant-who-belonged-to-Olivia-but-should-be-his was standing by the keys where he was warming up. She had brought in eggnog and while it was unprofessional, the alcohol was considerably relaxing the three younger members of his team to more agreeable personalities. At the moment she was sipping the liquid from his "World's Best Scientist" mug, which was a gift from her that he had received almost a month ago.

"Be a lamb and sing along, my dear," Walter said as he beckoned her closer to pour more of the spiked eggnog into her/his mug.

He was hoping that she'd be more inclined to sing if she had a good buzz and she sat down on the piano bench next to him—she had obviously had a few drinks in her and this made him very happy.

"I dunno…I don't want to embarrass myself," she said and he could see a slightly pink tinge to her cheeks.

"You'll only regret it if you don't try it," he offered as his fingers played out chopsticks.

She looked like she was having a hard time keeping the smile off her face. "Fine. What are we singing?"

"Put on your yarmulke, here comes Hanukkah! It's so much fun-akkah to celebrate Hanukkah!" He turned to look at the assistant sitting next to him. "Hanukkah is…the festival of lights. Instead of one day of presents, we have eight crazy nights! When you feel like the only kid in town, without a Christmas tree, here's a list of people who are Jewish, just like you and me."

She giggled and set her mug down on the floor next to the bench.

"David Lee Roth lights the menorah. So do James Caan, Kirk Douglas, and the late Dinah Shore-ah!" she sang along with him. "Guess who eats together at the Carnegie Deli? Bowzer from Sha-na-na, and Arthur Fonzerrelli! Paul Newman's half Jewish, Goldie Hawn's half, too. Put them together—what a fine lookin' Jew!"

Peter finally looked up from his workstation, where he was busy soldering wires and pieces of metal. He had an amused smile and Walter was relieved he had done something to make his son happy.

"Walter, how do you the lyrics to Adam Sandler's Hanukkah song?" his boy asked.

"They played it at St. Claire's—O.J. SIMPSON: NOT A JEW!" Walter shouted happily along with the piano notes.

Antrax laughed gaily as he trailed the music into another Jewish song, "Hava Nagila", which apparently she recognised and began to sing along to it as well. The blonde girl that Peter was so found of came out of her office, obviously enticed to leave her paperwork with the sound of music.

"This makes me want to dance," Olivia said with a slight laugh as she came down to where he and the assistant sat.

"Dance? I have the perfect song for that." Walter jumped up from the piano bench and hurried over to the record player.

He found a dusty record, the sleeve depicting a California coastline sunset and dropped the needle on the selected song that fit both the day and the mood.

"Dick Dale?" Olivia called out over the loud rush of beach guitar.

Astatine came over to him and turned the music down slightly. "It's actually a Jewish wedding song, though originally created by Greek refugees. Misirlou is Greek for "Egyptian Girl" and it was—"

Walter interrupted the girl because he had the sudden urge to dance. "You don't mind if I dance with your girlfriend, do you, Peter?"

The blonde refused to accept his hand. "I don't dance, Walter."

"And we've been over this—she's not my girlfriend," Peter called out.

Walter began to do the Charleston by himself, ignoring Algebra whom was glaring at him with crossed arms, obviously upset that he had interrupted her boring story. Olivia shook her head and smiled, then turned to leave but Walter reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

"Come, Olivia. Let me show you something I made for your office."

She looked a little surprised, but followed him to the space that had been organised as her office. Peter watched them go by, but apparently the soldering held his attention and he didn't trail them. Waiting on her desk, he had constructed a menorah out of a nine-across test tube stand, glass vials, and phosphorescent gel. Only one of the test tubes had the glowing gel, which he had put in this morning—Peter had refused to let him to do it last night.

"Ah, the Festival of Lights. Isn't it beautiful?" he said, holding the menorah up.

"Are you Jewish?" Olivia asked, and Walter could see that she felt ignorant for not knowing the Bishop men's beliefs.

"No. But Peter is circumcised if that's what you were wondering."

She made a face. "I wasn't."

"I just want to make sure everyone's religious beliefs are included and respected. Plus, I like the chocolate gelt and lighting candles." He carefully carried it to the light of the window. "Now you must keep it in the window."

"Why?" she inquired, trailing a few steps behind him.

He paused, quite thoughtful. "I don't know. Tradition."

She nodded and then he decided to add, "You really ought to learn how to dance."

"I do know how to dance, I just don't."

"Peter likes to dance, you know," he said pointedly.

He didn't miss the slight smile on her face. "I'll remember that."

"Oh! Before I forget!"

He rushed out of the office and back into the lab, making a beeline to Gene's stall. He grabbed the object he had tucked away into a shadowy area and brought it over to his assistant, whom was putting a new typewriter ribbon in his beloved machine. She still seemed to be in a huff from his earlier disruption and wasn't looking at him.

"Your Hanukkah present," he offered up, hoping to make her happy once more.

She snuck a glance over and upon seeing what he held, her eyes became large and an excited smile graced her lips. "No way. No way!"

"It's purple!" he agreed enthusiastically.

She took the present out of his hands and declared, "A hula hoop!"

Peter made a face. "When did you buy her a hula hoop?"

In all honesty, Walter couldn't remember. "It doesn't matter! Try it out!"

"I love hula-hoops!" Astatic said as she began to spin it around her hips. "I was the hula-hooping champion of my block, you know. I was probably the best in grade school."

"I could watch this forever," he admitted as he leaned on the top of the piano.

"Oh, I'm not that good," she said modestly.

Inspiration to sing took over. "Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, with you I shall play. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, right here I shall stay. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, this is what I'll say, dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, with you I will play."

The girl made the ring move faster around her core. "Cute song, Dr. Bishop. Did they teach you that at St. Claire's?"

"Teach me what?" he asked, a little confused.

"That dreidel song."

"I wasn't singing about a dreidel."

"Walter, you were singing about a dreidel," Peter argued.

"No, I wasn't," he murmured in a sing-song voice.

The girl gave a laugh and winked at him.

Olivia herself looked very amused. "So, Walter, what did you get me for Hanukkah? Not a hula-hoop, I hope."

He pointed over her his shoulder and said flatly, "Your present is in the top drawer of the desk and there's one for Peter too."

He could hear the door open and the unwrapping of tissue paper. "Pen sets. Thank you, Walter."

He ignored the blonde and balanced his chin on his hand as he watched the assistant continue the long streak of rotating the purple ring around her waist and hips. "See if you can go for five more minutes."

"You know, in some work places this would probably end in a lawsuit," his son called out.

"She's having fun, Peter. That's not illegal," Walter disagreed.

"You should know better, Astrid," Peter chastised.

"Spin faster," Walter insisted.

Astrakhan shook her head, which caused her curly hair to bounce. "I'm actually getting a little sore, Dr. Bishop. I think I need to take a break."

He grinned. "It's been a while since I've had a woman say that to me—"

"Walter!" Peter shouted.


Walter had worn himself out dancing and was napping on a cot bed that Peter had set up next to the radiator in Olivia's office, which gave the three younger people to spend time with one another. They were sitting comfortably around one of the desks, finishing off carton five of the eggnog Astrid had provided, adding their own alcohol.

Olivia was trying to remember a time when she had seriously celebrated a holiday. John hadn't been much for "the meaning of" and he certainly wouldn't be making extra effort to decorate to such extremes, she thought to herself as she looked at the Christmas tree in the corner of the bottom half of the lab. It had been decorated by the four after Christmas dinner with ornaments Astrid had brought in and Olivia had spent the whole time thinking about how John laughed off any thought of using poinsettia patterned napkins, let alone spend an hour setting up an evergreen with bulbs, tinsel and a little nativity set at the base. And over time Olivia had grown to believe that she too thought holidays were ridiculous and impractical, just another way for massive corporations to weasel money out of her wallet.

Now she was looking at the Christmas tree, the beautiful Christmas tree, wishing for the thousandth time that week that she could spend every winter holiday watching Peter Bishop untangle stings of lights, place a golden star on the top of the fir, argue about what the proper amount of tinsel was…yes, she had fallen in love the feeling of the season once more, wondering how she could have ever forgotten it in the first place.

And the heinous sweater the Bishops had given her was tucked away safely in a bottom drawer at home, where she had also tucked away the hopes she'd get to wear it again next year—grudgingly, of course. It was criminally ugly, after all.

Peter pulled out a thermos that Olivia suspected was filled with bourbon and poured it into the mouth of the carton. He closed the cardboard mouth once more and shook it up like a martini mixer, then poured the frothy drink into his Starbucks cup. Astrid took the carton from him and poured herself more as well.

"I must confess, I don't usually drink this much," the junior agent said.

"Suuuuure," Olivia teased as she filled her mug as well.

Astrid's cheeks turned a vivid pink as she smiled. "No, I'm serious! I think it's because I'm in good company."

"I'm flattered," Peter said, his own face taking on a light blush and Olivia wondered if a few sweet words was really all it took to get that out of him.

"These past few months have been the best," Astrid continued.

Peter looked skeptical. "Including being drugged and the fact Walter can't remember your name?"

The younger woman nodded, a placid look on her face. "Absolutely. I could never have imagined getting to work with people as great as you two. And Dr. Bishop."

"To us," Peter toasted, raising his Starbucks cup.

"To science," Olive added, holding up her mug.

Astrid's blush deepened. "To Hanukkah for bringing us together."

Peter drank heavily from his salute then with an eggnog mustache said, "That is such crap that Walter bought you a hula-hoop and gave us pen sets."

Astrid looked fondly over in the direction of her Hanukkah gift. "What's wrong with a pen set? I seem to remember that you like being prepared. And now you won't be without a pen."

"You got a hula hoop, Astrid. What the hell," he grumbled.

"Jealous?" she asked smugly.

"I'm going to take it for a test drive," Peter declared, standing up abruptly.

Olivia choked on her eggnog. "You're kidding."

"Nope," he said, stumbling slightly as he picked up the purple ring and climbed into it. "Turn up Miserlou."

Olivia happily followed his request and turned up the volume on the record player so that Dick Dale was much louder; she swayed her hips slightly, dwelling on the thought that Peter liked dancing.

"I'm beating your time," Peter said smugly as he glanced at his watch while he hula-hooped.

"No. No, this isn't right. I know I'm better at this than you," Astrid said angrily, crossing her arms.

"Wrong. In a hula-hooping competition I would win," Olivia declared competitively, though she wasn't sure if this was true.

Peter snickered. "Yeah, like anyone can picture you hula-hooping."

Olivia frowned. "Fine, when you stop, I'll prove it."

Peter pointed to Astrid, who was drinking straight from the carton of eggnog. "Astrid is going to be completely shitfaced by the end of the day."

"Hey! Don't say that!" she said angrily then grinned. "I'll be blitzed."

Peter rolled his eyes, still spinning the hula-hoop. "Oh, sorry. I didn't realise there was a difference."

"There isn't. I just thought it sounded more festive. On Donner, on Blitzen!" Astrid sang loudly.

Olivia decided it was time to hide the thermos of suspected bourbon.


Walter awoke to the sound of laughter out in his lab. He was a little surprised to find himself lying on a cot by the heater in Olivia's office, a warm fleece blanket covering him. He snuggled against the soft pillow that smelt like royal icing and he smiled, thankful that once again he had woken up somewhere other than St. Claire's. He stretched his arms and legs, releasing his body from the confines of the plaid-patterned blanket. There was something very important, very, very important that if forgotten could result in disaster. And possible staleness.

He sat up and let the blanket fall to the floor, ignoring it to rummage through a shoebox he had hidden behind a tower of file boxes here in the office. He could smell the contents of the box and the anticipation of showing the three younger members of his group was almost more than he could handle. Finally grabbing what he had been searching for, he hurried out of the office and into the lab.

The blonde FBI agent was hula-hooping, Peter was pouring himself more eggnog and Ascidium was transfixed on a stopwatch in her hand. Olivia noticed his appearance first and let the hula-hoop drop.

"I smell gingerbread cookies," she said as his assistant cheered and pumped her fist in the air.

Walter held up the shoebox proudly. "I remembered that I had been decorating these when you were sleeping last night. I wanted them to be a surprise."

"Gingerbread men!" Olivia said taking one.

Peter and Astringent came over as well, though unfortunately didn't have the same reaction of joy.

"Oh my god—why are there exit wounds on the back of their heads?!" Peter said recoiling from the box.

Asyllabic gagged slightly and Walter frowned.

"They aren't exit wounds, Peter! They're yarmulkes! I ran out of blue icing," he explained, distressed at his son's overactive imagination. "Besides, everyone knows that exit wounds don't look like that."

Olivia took a bite of the gingerbread man's head and admitted, "They are pretty good."

"Take one," Walter growled, forcing the gingerbread towards his son and his assistant.

"Walter where did you get these cookies?" Olivia asked as she reached for another one.

"We bought them at Safeway the other day. I had forgotten about them until now," Arkose explained as she examined the red icing yarmulke on the back of her gingerbread man.

"I'm hungry. Let's have dinner," he begged, eyeing the refrigerator.

"I'm hungry, too."

"Armiger! Bring me my wok!"

The girl sighed, rolling her eyes as he had obviously mispronounced her name yet again, but went off to find his cooking ware. Forty minutes later after a lot of heated oil, plenty of preshredded potatoes, a call to the nearest Chinese takeout, and an argument regarding the best way to eat Oreos, Walter's feast for the Festival of Lights was ready.

"A traditional Hanukkah dinner of latkas with applesauce and sour cream, sufganiyot with apricot and plum jelly, grapes, pecans, and chow mein," he announced proudly, admiring the food he had arranged.

"This looks great!" Peter said, emptying most of the first carton of Chinese noodles onto his paper plate.

Walter opened his mouth to say something he had been rehearsing all night while working on the cookies.

"To a wonderful Hanukkah!" Olivia interrupted before he could speak and Walter glared at her.

"Ha'ahava hi mekor hachaim," he said softly as he shifted his attention to Aeolis.

"What did you say?" Peter asked, but Walter wasn't paying attention to him at the moment.

The girl had one of the most beautiful smiles on her face as she translated. "The love is the source of life."

"You speak Hebrew?" Peter asked through a mouthful of sufganiyot.

Her eyes were still locked on his and Walter could see the humour twinkling in their brown depths. "Enough."

"That's beautiful, Walter," the blonde said before taking a big bite of a latka.

Walter was sure the other two weren't looking as he raised his glass to towards Asbestos. Her smile broadened and she did the same.

"It's snowing outside!" Olivia declared suddenly and they all turned to look at the windows.

Indeed, fine delicate flakes of powdered snow were falling from the evening sky. Walter had always loved the snow.

"You know what this reminds me off?" he asked. "What it looks like to dust confectioner's sugar across a woman's—"

"Stop!" Peter ordered, pointing his chopsticks at him.


They were sated a few hours later and had moved from the desk to seats arranged in front of the television where they were watching a "Knishmas" special regarding a little purple raccoon who lived in a glorious land called Marzipan.

"Marshmallow dreidels," Addle offered, holding up a clear plastic box.

Indeed in the box were four marshmallow dreidels, coated in blue sugar and topped with a pretzel stick.

"Any more sugar and I'm probably going to get sick," Peter said, but reached for the treat anyway.

"I love marshmallows," Olivia admitted as she grabbed hers.

"I love the colour blue!" Walter cheered as he snatched up his.

"What if we were all named after food?" Walter pondered through the gooey white candy. "I would want to be called "Walnut!"

"Because you're nutty?" the blonde asked with a laugh.

"Root Beer," he said pointing to Armistice.

"You'd be Meringue," he added with a nod to Olivia.

"And Pecan!" he christened his son. "Because you love pecan pie!"

"Yes, I know," Pecan said.

"And it starts with a "P"!" he added enthusiastically.

"I know," the boy glowered.

The blonde laughed and stood up. "Hey, I think I'm going to go home. I have to meet Broyles early at the office tomorrow."

"And then you'll come here?" Walter inquired.

"Of course. What good would Walnut, Pecan, and Root Beer be without Meringue?"

Walter made a face. "What are you talking about?"

"I'll walk you to your car." Peter stood up too and put on his coat. "Astrid, would you mind—"

"Watching Walnut? No problem," she said turning off the television.

His son looked firmly at him. "Walter, get your coat on while I'm gone so we can leave when I get back."

"Yes, sir!" he said with a mock salute.

Peter shook his head and left with Agent Dunham, leaving him alone with Adenosine. He suddenly found himself very nervous and self-conscious. Walter stood up and went to the coat tree by the door, selecting his charcoal-coloured wool coat.

"Viscum album," he said pointing to the ceiling above the doorway.

She looked a little confused but followed his finger, seeing the mistletoe. "Oh."

"Isn't it funny that a parasitic plant is used to give lovers the opportunity to kiss?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

She cocked her head as she put on her own jacket. "I suppose it is."

"Are you a fan of it?" he inquired as they sat comfortably on the cold cement steps to the lower half of the lab.

"Mistletoe?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

He nodded.

She shrugged her shoulders as though she hadn't given it much thought, but the hint of a smile suggested otherwise. "I've been known to take advantage of it."

"I would use it as an excuse to kiss pretty girls," he admitted sheepishly.

She smirked. "I bet you did."

They sat there in the dark, the silence palpable and he wondered if he ought to try and take advantage of the moment. He rubbed his palms nervously across his corduroy pants, briefly wondering if he had ever told Peter "thank you" for doing the laundry.

"Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight…" he began to count, trying to calm himself.

"Thirteen, twenty-one…

He turned to her and smiled. "Thirty-four, fifty-five, eighty-nine…"

"One hundred and forty-four," she finished in the softest whisper, and he leaned his head in close to hers.

Her soft curls brushed his forehead and he wondered what she was thinking aside from the Fibonacci sequence. Maybe she was imagining the numbers of Pi, or dare he hope, the beautiful forms of the Lute of Pythagoras. He could picture the star fractals lining themselves infinitely within her mind… the sound of her breathing was matching time with his and he looked into her eyes…brown ones that were deep like the center of the universe—

The door to the lab opened and they both jerked their heads away to look at who had come in. Peter, bundled in his black peacoat and dark scarf, stood in the doorway, peering into the dim room.

"Walter, are you ready to go?" he called out.

Walter stood up, as did the girl. "Yes."

"Thanks for waiting with him, Astrid," his son said.

She nodded, neatly wrapping her purple scarf around her neck. "My pleasure."

The three started to walk out the door but Walter quickly grabbed his son by the arm.

"Careful, Peter. Mistletoe," he said pointing to the ceiling.

Peter gave him a strange look. "Uh, thanks, Walter."

Walter smiled at the assistant as he held the door open for her. "After you, Abstinence."

She smiled and Peter sighed in annoyance. "Her name is Astrid, Walter. Astrid."


A/N: aw snap and you thought I was gonna let them kiss.

Astrid hula hooping is now my number one "I wanna see this happen on the show."