Summary: Thank God for friends in strange places. Or, rather, Olivia thanks God for Peter's friends in strange places. Too bad Walter isn't being any less clam-like. But maybe they won't need his help after all…
Disclaimer: Don't own Fringe.
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She was so happy at that moment, she could have kissed Peter. On the lips, in front of her boss. But she managed to restrain herself.
"This was the girl who came out of the supermarket? After the explosion?"
Olivia examined the photograph she held in her hand. A wild-haired young woman in a red jacket slouched against a telephone pole, her head tilted toward someone outside the camera's range. She had a strong profile, and a pale face that Olivia made sure she committed to memory.
Peter leaned over to take another look, his chest brushing up against her shoulder. "Yeah, that's her."
"Where did you get this?"
Peter looked at her sharply, and she could have smacked herself. She'd almost forgotten about Broyles.
He was watching them both with a raised eyebrow and calculating eyes. They both waited. Finally, he dipped his head, and Olivia breathed a sigh of relief. Just this once, his eyes assured her, Just this once I will let him be.
But that was okay—she wouldn't slip up again.
Peter shifted away from her, and instinctively she took a step sideways toward him. Then her brain caught up with her body and she forced herself to stay put. Case. Dead people. Focus.
"The girl's name is Nicolette. No last name known. But she's known to have been involved in some shady stuff before this—I'll take a wild guess and say she's messing around here too."
His eyes hardened and his jaw clenched as he said this, Olivia noted. He was keeping something to himself. Suddenly she was irritated. First Walter, now Peter…at least Astrid was still being honest with her.
I think.
"So where can we find this girl?" Broyles asked.
Peter shoved his hands into his pockets and eyed them both. "Mary's Pub. Weekday nights—she'll probably be there in about an hour."
Olivia glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. All right. She exchanged at glance with Broyles, and he nodded at her.
"Plainclothes. Reconnaissance only," he warned, "until the elder Mr. Bishop comes up with a better lead for you."
"Yes, sir."
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he flipped it open with a flick of his fingers. Olivia took that as her cue to leave; Peter was already halfway down the hall. Broyles glanced back at her.
"Agent Dunham? Be careful. And bring a gun."
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Walter was confused. That in itself was cause for amazement. But not only was he confused, he was asking her for help.
She wondered if he'd remembered to take his medication.
"Now, Asterine, I want you to think very carefully. The power to control those around you. How would you go about it? Through some kind of persuasion? Force? No, no keep your eyes closed, damn it!"
Astrid quickly shut the dubious eye she had cracked open. Role playing. Oh boy.
"Umm…controlling other people. Like…mind control? Zombies?"
"Be rational child, this isn't a horror film!"
Wasn't it?
"Okay. No mind control. Fine. Then I'd say force. Or manipulation—like blackmail."
There was a long pause. Walter's shoes squeaked on the floor as he paced. "Interesting, yes, very…but not what we are focused on at the moment. There will be time for that later. Maybe we are going about this in the wrong fashion. You may open your eyes now, Agent."
Her eyes popped open, and she almost heaved a sigh of relief. That had been too weird.
"Now, my dear, tell me something. Suspend all thoughts of reality. If I told you those people were ripped apart limb from limb, what would you think?"
"Walter! That's disgusting!"
He snapped his fingers at her impatiently. "After that! Who would you immediately consider a suspect?"
"Nobody! People can't tear other people apart; physically it can't happen. Well, maybe if you were Superman on crack or something…Walter?"
He was staring at her with a look of shocked wonder on his face. She shifted uncomfortably, unused to the attention. No one had ever given her a look like that in this lab.
"But of course! How could I have overlooked it! Even you picked up on it!"
…and then the moment was over, and she was back to being just the lab assistant without the right degree.
Which, if she were being honest, was perfectly all right with her.
"Come on Astarith, quickly! Bring me that benzaldehyde, and the nitric acid…"
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Olivia waited until they were both in the car to ask him about the girl. This way, he couldn't deflect and walk away.
"Are you going to tell me how you know her?"
"No."
"Why not?" She slowed down and pulled to a stop before the red light, using the opportunity to take a look at him. He stared straight ahead. He had his poker face in place—she wouldn't be getting anything out of that.
"Because."
"I see. Are you going to give me anything more than a one-word answer?"
His lips twitched briefly. Her eyes followed the movement. "No."
The loud honk of a horn behind them startled her, and she jerked her attention back to the road. "What if I told you I needed a witness to testify against her to put this girl behind bars?"
His head snapped over and he stared at her. "I don't think so. I put my ass on the line already to get you this far; my part in this is done."
Finally.
"Really. So you do know this girl. And, obviously, she knows you. But now you're not on speaking terms. What happened?"
He clammed up again and refused to answer. She briefly considered letting him be for the moment, and getting Charlie to help her pry some answers out of Peter later on. By sitting on him, if necessary.
Maybe the threat of it would be enough? No, he wouldn't respond to threats of violence. So, "Fine. Don't tell me anything. But I hope, for the sake of Charlie and myself, that you're not holding back anything important. Because we're going in alone and completely uninformed."
They had arrived at the lab. Olivia shut off the car without looking at him and got out to wait in her little office.
During the next twenty minutes she finished Sudoku in the local paper, and filled out approximately one quarter of last Tuesday's New York Times crossword puzzle.
Any minute now.
"Olivia?"
Peter stood in the doorway of her tiny office, leaning against the frame. She gave him a half smile and a nod.
"Peter." Her insides were doing a little victory dance.
"Tell Charlie you won't be needing him tonight."
What?
"I'm coming with you."
Oh dear God.
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An hour and a half later, they were feeding the parking meter across the street from Mary's Pub. A large faded sign hung over the doorway, and another in neon letters across the window advertised Budweiser.
The purple and blue paint was chipping, and long scratches marred the window where it looked like it had been subjected to the business end of a house key. Olivia raised an eyebrow.
"Classy place."
Peter shrugged. "They think so."
She looked at him. "They?"
He shook his head. "You know better than that, Liv. It won't be that easy."
He wasn't wearing his poker face—not exactly. This was one she hadn't ever seen before. He was smiling, but it wasn't a nice smile. His eyes were cold as ice. She knew instinctively that the Peter she knew was gone, replaced by…whoever he had become the last time he was here. She would tread carefully tonight.
He was unpredictable enough as the man she knew—how much more so would he be as a man she didn't?
They crossed the street together, and he courteously opened the door for her and held it. She stepped inside cautiously. There were not many people for a Friday night, but that might have been due to the overall seediness of the bar.
She grimaced as a woman sitting across the floor winked one heavily made up eye at Peter. An arm snaked around her waist, startling her.
"Don't worry," Peter whispered, close to her ear, "I won't forget what we came for."
Breathe. In. Out.
"Good," Olivia managed.
He stepped away from her and smiled cryptically. "Let's go find a table."
Shaking her head, she followed him to a table. My hormones and I have got to have a talk. Soon. But not now.
He sat down across from her and ordered a beer. She ordered a sandwich and water—no ice. Then she began to discretely scan the rest of the room for the girl. Nicolette?
Nothing. Or, at least, not yet. She turned back to Peter.
"So. What do I need to know about this girl?"
"Nicolette?"
She nodded. He paused, then said. "The first thing you should know is that's not her real name. It's a good safety net—nobody knows who anyone else really is. Or, at least, they aren't supposed to," he concluded bitterly.
And then the full realization of what he was doing hit her for the first time. This had been his old gang. He'd been involved with these people—illegally, more likely than not—and now he was helping her bring one of their members in. Or possibly the entire group, depending on how this questioning went.
And he was doing this visibly. Whatever happened to them, they would know he was responsible. She made a mental note to make sure there was someone with Peter at all times until the end of the investigation.
"They're also ruthless, Olivia. No, I won't tell you what they do," he said, rolling his eyes at her when she opened her mouth. She shut it, and he continued, "I would warn you not to get involved with them, but I think it's probably too late."
"You know, you don't have to do this," Olivia said.
Their gazes locked, and then his eyes slid upward and over her head.
"Too late," he repeated in a murmur.
Olivia twisted around in her chair, a sinking feeling in her stomach. A slender, curly haired young woman in a red jacket stood in the doorway next to an older man and another man in a suit.
Her lips slowly curved up into a smile. Teeth flashed, and then she turned to tug on the sleeve of the elderly man. He looked at her, and then he spun to stare at them as well.
Her heart sped up, and she turned back to Peter. He looked resigned, and maybe even a little bit sad. But he was looking at her again.
"Here we go."
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A/N: So. I feel pretty awful about the wait on this chapter. Fringe stole the plotline for my story. You think I'm joking.
Anyway, I'm going to ask for a big favor. The next chapter introduces Big Eddie & co. I have seen all the episodes of Fringe, but I don't have time to re-watch them all. If you could send me any/all information you remember about Peter's past (PM, or review) I would be so grateful. It would make this story so much better!
Thank you!
