FRINGE

Fourth Time is the Charm - part 6

No inFRINGEment intended. I'm just playing with the characters and I promise I will put them back in their box when I'm finished.

Note: It's Christmas and not everything always goes as planned.

-o-

They had been riding back in silence from Beth's place and the car radio was playing some obnoxious Christmas carols medley. She was glad that she had taken Peter at his word. It had been a magical afternoon with Beth and her family and she was wondering why they were now estranged after years of casual friendship. She knew why already. That's what life does to people, we are not dreaming teenage girls any more, she thought.

"How does she manage to pull a stunt like this?" said Peter, out of the blue.

Olivia glanced towards him before giving her attention back to the road with the eerie feeling that somehow he knew what she was thinking. That was more than being in sync. But the road was icy and windy and the last thing she wanted was to be stranded in a snowy ditch with an exuberant dog and a sarcastic witty young man.

"What?"

"Dinner for numerous guests, the taking care of the kids, not to mention that she's charming and a successful lawyer and still have a life --and a dog?"

Her right eyebrow rocketed and she smiled.

"You're asking me? How on earth would I know? I'm thirty-ish," she trailed, "and I can barely take care of myself. My fridge is third world, I have virtually no friends, and now I practically live at the Bureau or in your father's lab. The way I see it, it's nowhere near to improving and with your help, I have no doubt that my life will eventually sink to uncharted levels of dysfunction."

"On the other hand, I can take care of myself," he protested playfully. "I'm not the one who came all the way to Iraq to beg a dysfunctional adult for his assistance."

"Please, let's not bicker over that again Peter. I'm so tired."

"Yes, as I. Let's hope that Sammie will put some sense into you."

"What?" she said again. She sounded like a broken clock.

"That's the whole purpose of the dog, Dunham, to put things right that once went wrong and derive some perspective from the experiment. And probably to put you to the test, to confront your old demons, to face reality blah blah blah… you know the drill don't you?"

"You never really told me why I would need a dog in the first place --and you, for that matter."

"Well, let's put it that way. For half the population of occidental countries, a dog is not only a part of the family but a close friend and a confidante. I understand that you're too afraid to let me help you and I'm guessing that Sammie can pretty much fill that empty space in your heart that desperately needs a friend. So let Sammie be your surrogate friend, and I'll be watching over the two of you."

"Okay, sounds like a plan," she smiled, pulling over in front of her building. "For the time being, you will have to walk Sammie though while I'm on the phone with Broyles. I have to report today before he sends in the cavalry."

"I can walk Sammie. I have to check on Walter anyway, make sure he's not turned our hotel room into the Bellagio or worse."

"Worse?" she smiled tilting her head. She let the dog out and Sammie shook herself on the sidewalk before sniffing her way down to the corner of the street. She slammed the door and pressed her key, the car bleeped and blinked.

"Liv, if you want my advice, and I know you most certainly don't, call in sick tomorrow. Without Walter that nanite stunt is in limbo and as far as I know he doesn't plan to return to the lab any time soon. We can take Sammie with us tomorrow and spend the day in the countryside."

"Call in sick? I don't think…"

"Dunham, it's holiday season, you don't have to work yourself to death. And last time I checked, today's Christmas, and there's nothing you can do about it."

She shoved her hand deep inside her coat pockets and smiled, swaying her weight from one foot to the other in the slush. "You're right. I'll… --I'll go make this call now."

"Okay," he smiled back pressing the speed dial.

"Walter? It's… yes, merry Christmas to you too Walter. I just wanted to… yeah, I drove Olivia safely back to her place last night…. Walter, don't even think of going there. She's a… I know you know. I just want you to understand that… no, nothing happened Walter. Listen, I was actually calling you to…"

She watched him crossed the road to the park, Sammie walking by his side and unlocked her apartment door. She went inside and switched on the light, tossed her keys onto the console by the door and her coat on an armchair. She checked her face in the mirror above the console. She did not look as weary as she thought. Peter might be right. All she needed was some company, and some time off.

"Merry Christmas Liv," said the voice in the shadows.

The reflection in the mirror was John's. She started shaking and dropped to the floor, unable to speak a word, hiding her head in her arms, her arms wrapped around her legs, while her mind was yelling for help.

-o-

The dog slipped by Peter and rushed inside. He slammed the door behind him.

"Liv? You there? Walter is okay, more than okay actually. I hope that you sorted things out with Broyles and that you're going to be able to spend some quality time with Sammie. She's a fantastic addition to our already so dysfunctional family. Liv?"

He took his coat off and threw it carelessly on the couch along with his scarf and gloves and turned back to the dog which was desperately squealing and wagging her tail beside a crumpled form on the floor.

"Olivia?"

He was kneeling by her side, holding her, stroking her hair. He pushed away strands of loose hair and managed to get a peek at her pale face and frowned. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her lips colourless and she was mumbling softly. He embraced her and stood back on his feet, carrying her full weight on his arms. Sweeping her off her feet, he carried her to the bathroom and stepped inside the shower. He put her back on her feet, and holding her tight, he turned on the water.

They stayed standing in the stall for a long while, Peter hugging her and Olivia holding onto him for dear life. He was gently rocking her in the hope that the sprinkling tepid water and his presence will eventually soothe her.

-o-

"You feeling better? Now, can you tell me what happened?" he asked. He could not help thinking that the expression 'nervous wreck' had been invented just for her.

She was sitting on her bed, a white sponge bathrobe over her damped clothes, a towel on her hair and she was so pale that could see her veins pulsing through her translucent skin. He waited for a moment, knelt before her with the dog at his feet, not expecting her to say anything right away, simply stroking her hand. She finally locked her eyes on his and her mouth twitched.

"Peter…"

"Yes, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere."

"He was here."

"Who, John? John was here? When? When I was on the phone with Walter, that's what you're saying? Silly me, I should have known better that letting you go inside alone," he stood up and started pacing.

The dog immediately jumped and rushed to the front door.

"Peter, it is my home," she pleaded. "It's hard as it is with my father… and," she stopped, tears welling up in her eyes. Her chin sank to her chest and tears started pouring down on her cheeks.

"Liv, we've already gone over this postcard topic and as much as I don't want to sound insensitive, this is more serious that facing your child fears. Tell me everything."

"I will. But you've got to change first."

"What?"

"Peter you're soaked. You're going to be sick and of absolutely no use to me."

"No use, really? What do you mean exactly?" he teased her.

He was rewarding by her blushing.

"Well, I can see you feel better already," he joked, "the Bishop's touch, no doubt."

"Peter, I'm serious, put your clothes in the dryer already and we'll find you some clothes."

"There's no way I'm going to wear any of these fluffy bathrobes of yours."

"I was thinking that I put some clothes in the garage yesterday."

"You're kidding right? You want me to wear a dead man's clothes when he comes haunting you on a daily basis, is that what you're saying? 'Cause I discern a pattern here and it has nothing to do with your fringe science nonsense or Massive Dynamic. You're just trying to hit a new low aren't you? Let me rephrase this for you: are you insane woman?"

She smiled.

"Yes, you're probably right. So what do you prefer, pink or Laura Ashley's?"

-o-

"I assure you that if you do exactly what I've told you, nothing can go wrong," he said, slumping down on the couch beside her.

"Okay," she grinned.

She's almost back to her former self, he thought.

"You seem unsure somehow…" he grinned back, facing her.

"You're right, I am. You're absolutely certain about the plash of lime?"

"Totally. The only thing you might probably want to skip is the Tabasco dash. But I would strongly recommend against it."

He sat his drink on the coffee table.

"It was a fun evening after all," she said hesitantly.

"Yep… didn't turn that bad huh, except for the clothes part…"

"You don't like standard FBI material? I think you look great in gray…"

"Who doesn't? I'm not so fond of the inscription on the back. I probably never really pictured myself as standard material."

She smiled and stared at him. Peter finally broke the silence.

"I shall retrieve my clothes from your dryer now and if it is any consolation, everything is going to be back to the world as we know it. And after that, I will walk the dog and… you still want me to stay over, don't you? Because the only alternative for you would be to share my bathtub at the hotel and the last thing I want is to put some crazy ideas in Walter's mind."

"Yes," she bit her lower lip, "I wouldn't want that either not to mention that he's probably got enough of his own," she chuckled, "let me grab a sweater, I'm coming with you."

"You want to help me get dressed?"

She gave him a nudge and blushed. "Walk the dog?"

"Oh yes, absolutely. You do that. By the way, I never had the chance to ask, did you call Broyles to talk about our trip tomorrow?"

He stood up and held out a helping hand. She slowly shook her head, seemingly back to her broody mood.

"I can't…"

"You can't call him? I can't think of any reason why you…"

"I can't go on a trip with you."

"Wait a minute. Is it the 'go on a trip' part or the 'with you' part that you don't want?"

"I can't ask Broyles for some time off."

"Work's not the answer to your problems Liv. You need to take a break and as much as I never thought I was going to say anything remotely close to that notion anytime in my present life, I think you should consider going back in the tank. Let Walter help you."

"For a third time?"

"You know what they say. Third time is the charm."

-o-

So? What say ya?