Author's note: This season, I am thankful for all your kind reviews. They always make me smile. Happy Holiday!
Agents Broyles, Kholler, Grant, and Carthwright, the head of organized crime, were all sitting around the table looking at the packets of information put together by Grant's team. Peter and Olivia were the last to arrive and sat in the seats Broyles had orchestrated to be left empty for them. Peter was at the end of the table, next to the commander of the Fringe division; Olivia sat in the middle of the table, between Kholler and an empty chair. Both Kholler and Grant noted the setting choices, and seemed confused by them, but neither said anything.
"Now that we're all here, Carthwright growled. "I think we can get started. Agent Broyles, I believe you said your team had uncovered some very important information."
"That's right," Broyles said. "Agent Dunham, if you would."
"Yes sir," Olivia said officially. "As Peter and I were preparing for this meeting at my apartment, we were visited by Gennie Giordano-Martin."
"The sister?" Grant asked, bewildered.
"She wanted to contact me personally because she was upset by your behavior, Agent Kholler," Olivia said. "You were at their son's soccer tournament earlier today, weren't you? And you spoke to Kevin Martin without his parent's permission."
Everyone turned to agent Kholler. They all knew such action was highly unethical and skirted dangerously close to illegal. Kholler, however, tried to blow the accusation off.
"On my time off, I chose to go to a public park," he said. "If I had seen a wanted fugitive, I would have notified the authorities. But I didn't see a fugitive; I saw some soccer games. I talked to a few of the kids playing about the games, and nothing else."
"But while she was telling us about your highly inappropriate behavior, she told us something else as well. She said Giordano had a friend in the FBI, someone who was going to help him escape."
"Bishop," Kholler said quickly, motioning to Peter.
"You," Peter replied darkly. "Or, rather, Agent Kholler."
"What do you mean by that?" Grant asked. But he was ignored.
"Agent Kholler's bank account is very interesting," Olivia said. "He'd been pulling out large sums of money, $2,500 here, $4,000 there, and occasionally depositing large sums of money, at fairly predictable times for the past six years."
"Super bowl, World Series, NBA playoffs," Peter supplied.
"Ok, so I like a little action to make a game more interesting," Kholler said. "Perhaps it's not wholly legal, but what does it have to do with . . ."
"Until last February, when you started taking out $1,200 in cash every month," Olivia continued.
"Steelers Fan?" Peter asked.
"I don't see why you should care how I pay my debts," Kholler said.
"But then last week, a total of $100,000 was placed into your account," Olivia said. "And you haven't made your monthly withdrawal."
"I paid that debt," Kholler said. "And the interest. The deposit was . . . you know what, I don't see why I should tell you where I got that money until you tell me what you are accusing me of."
"The same amount of money was withdrawn from Edward Giordano's personal account," Olivia said. "He claimed that it was needed to pay for taxes and other fees on the family's vacation property in Florida. The IRS hasn't gotten back to us yet on whether or not that's true, but I'm going to bet that the criminal lied."
"You're accusing me of being on the take?" Kholler said, his face growing red as his voice rose.
"Agent Kholler was obviously in trouble," Peter said. "Big Eddie offered him a very good deal. No one would get hurt. Everyone would get what they want. Those are the kinds of deals Big Eddie specialized in."
"Sir," Kholler said turning to Carthwright. "If someone is going to accuse me of something, I respectfully request it be done officially, through internal affairs. Not by some fringe department whose only contribution to our investigation was losing the prisoner!"
"I'll admit that we lost the prisoner," Peter said. "But you can't be investigated by internal affairs, because you're not the one who accepted the bribe. You're the one who offered it."
"What?" Grant asked.
"The shape-shifter who had been Big Eddie was hard wired to keep track of me," Peter said. "And he couldn't do that from behind bars. However, if he was an FBI agent, he'd be well placed to keep an eye on one of their less-reputable contractors. So, saying that all he wanted to do was escape prison, he cut a deal with Agent Kholler. He'd make sure the gambling debts went away, and give the agent some pocket money on the side – all Kholler had to do was make sure Eddie was out of the house on last Saturday night. Eddie would even provide a plausible excuse for the outing.
"Everything went according to plan. While Eddie kept us occupied in the lab, Kholler took care of the surveillance cameras and Campus Security. He brought chloroform, as Eddie had requested, and helped the gangster abduct me at midnight. He even agreed to be chloroformed himself, to make sure I was pegged as the accomplice. Then, you killed him. Where's the body, Eddie?"
"You think he's the shape shifter?" Grant asked, incredulous.
"I know he's the shape shifter," Peter replied flatly. "Eddie, where's the body?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kholler insisted.
"Maybe you don't," Olivia said. "But, a blood test should let us know for sure. Astrid is on the phone with Judge Lee right now, getting the warrant."
"Blood test?" Kholler asked. "Why would you . . ?"
"Mercury," Peter said. "Shape shifters have mercury in their blood. Humans don't."
"This blood test—it's fool proof, right?" Grant asked. "There is no way it could be wrong?"
"No way," Broyles said. "So, if you are not a shape shifter, Agent Kholler, I would advise you to explain the nature of your interactions with Edward Giordano. If you are a shape shifter, I advise you to tell us where we can find the remains of Greg Kholler."
"Sir," Kholler said, turning to his superior officer. "You've got to see what they're doing! They lost our prisoner and now they're trying to blame me for it –or maybe even say I'm him. It's insane, sir. And they're going to prove it with some kind of test that they'll administer and interpret. I'm being railroaded by lunatics!"
Agent Carthwright's expression changes from a dissatisfied glower to a concerned glower. "Can anyone else perform that test?" the head of organized crime asked.
"Dr. Bishop developed that test specifically for our team," Broyles said. "Only he and Agent Farnsworth have ever performed it."
"Eddie's known accomplice's own father, for gods-sake," Kholler said. "Sir, once more I'm going to ask that any questions about my behavior be channeled through internal affairs."
Olivia glanced at Peter. They both saw how this was going. The fact was, Kholler's request was reasonable – and their explanation of events defied reason. If they didn't act soon, Carthwright would challenge the warrant and the shape shifter would get away again – doubtlessly choosing a random identity in which he could lay low, possibly forever.
"If you're really agent Kholler," Peter said quickly, "Then you should be able to answer a simple question. What instrument does Grant's daughter play?"
"What?" Carthwright asked. "How does that relate to the matter at hand?"
"Because I know the answer, and Grant hates me," Peter said. "Someone who's been his friend for years, who's worked closely with him – surely he's got to know."
"It's kind of an obscure thing to know about a person," Kholler stated uncomfortably.
"But, you do know it," Grant said. "Chloe played at your own sister's wedding."
"I know what it is," Olivia said calmly. "If you don't, then I think you need to tell us where Agent Kholler is."
"Greg, just tell them to shut them up," Grant insisted.
"She plays the piano," Kholler spat out dismissively. "Like every other kid ever."
"My god," Grant said softly, staring at the man who, that moment, he'd thought was his partner.
"She plays the harp, Eddie," Peter said. "Now, why don't you tell us where we can find Agent Kholler's body."
For a moment, the room was silent. Kholler turned from one person to another, desperately looking for someone to take his side. But his wrong answer had clearly alienated Grant. Carthwright was taking his cues from his field agent who was above suspicion, and his departmental counterpart who was an expert at playing the Bureau's political games and could make Carthwright's situation very uncomfortable if he was provoked.
Finally, the shape shifter seemed to accept his situation. He locked eyes with Peter and said, "I'll talk to you, Peter. If everyone else leaves the room, I'll tell you."
"Out of the question," Carthwright said. "If one of my agents really has been replaced by a pod person, I demand full disclosure."
"You'll get it," the shape shifter said. "You think Peter here is anxious to keep my secrets? But I'm not anxious to spill them to a room full of feds. I'm not programmed like that. I tell Peter, and only Peter."
"Doesn't that put him at risk?" Grant asked. "How do we know you won't turn into Bishop?"
"Because you'd get suspicious if agent Kholler disappeared and you found my corps in the meeting room," Peter said. "Besides, he would never hurt me."
"I think it would be expedient to allow this request," Agent Broyles said, pushing his chair back and standing up. Olivia quickly followed suit. "We will wait on the other side of this door," Broyles told everyone. "And will come in at the first indication of trouble."
"I suppose it cannot hurt," Carthwright said, following Broyles. Grant followed his superior. The head of the Fringe division opened the door and they all left the room, though before he exited, Broyles walked over to Peter and placed his side arm in front of the young man.
"We want him alive," he said. "But we want you alive more."
"Yes sir," Peter replied.
With that, Broyles left.
"You're clever," the shape shifter said once they were alone.
"It took you this long to figure that out?"
"I didn't think you'd think to look close to home. I thought you'd be afraid of the boogeyman 'out there'."
"You thought I'd be on a boat to South Africa."
"Well," the shape shifter chuckled. "I did think that, it's true."
"What did you do to agent Kholler?"
"Like you said. I dosed him with chloroform – kept him knocked out until you were safely on the boat. Then I smothered him, took his identify, and bashed his scull so that no one has a chance of recognizing his face or even reconstructing his dental work. After that, I dumped him in the run-off canal north of the harbor. Good place to dump bodies."
"I suppose you would know."
"You might get lucky and find more then Kholler when you dredge it."
"Are you confessing to another murder?"
"Like it matters," the shape shifter scoffed. "I'm not going to get a trial this time, am I?"
"No," Peter said. "People have trials. Machines do not."
"Last time you treated me like a person."
"And we lived to regret it," Peter said. "You're going to be shipped off to a heavily secured lab where scientists are going to take you apart piece by piece to figure out how you tick."
"Are you trying to be a badass, Peter?" the shape shifter asked with a chuckle. "Because it doesn't work with me. I can't help but see the little boy who was determined not to cry when I set his broken wrist bone, and the young man who was trying to impress his friend's mom by reciting Greek poetry."
Peter looked at the shape shifter spitefully, but didn't trust himself to respond.
"You should help me, Peter," the shape shifter said after a moment of silence.
"After what you just said, you're lucky I don't shoot you," Peter replied.
"No one in your life has been there for you like I have."
"You stalked my childhood and threatened to kill me when I was an adult."
"I was looking out for you!" the shape shifter insisted. "Protecting you! No one has ever protected you! No one! Your real father couldn't cure you. Your real mom gave you to a kidnapper. The man that kidnapped you went insane. The woman that raised you went crazy too and killed herself. But I was there for you! I was right there, watching your back. You should be grateful, but I don't mind if you're not. All I want is a chance to finish the job. All I want is to know that you will be safe, Peter Bishop. All I want to know is that you will walk away from this place, from the FBI, and Massive Dynamic, and the damn machine that'll kill you."
"You have it all wrong," Peter said, forcing the words out through a constricting throat. "You said I'm a con. I'm not one here. Here I'm me. You said I'm abandoned, that no one's ever looked out for me. That's not true either. They look out for me. When I ran away, they crossed through the universes to find me."
"They want you in the machine," the shape shifter pressed. "They want you to die for them."
"They didn't know about the machine," Peter said. "They wanted me because they loved me.
"You're right when you say the people in my life were not what they should have been," Peter continued. "Not as stable or protective as a kid should have. But this Walter, this Olivia, they love me. And it turns out I love them. That is why, Eddie, or Kholler, or whoever you want to be from now on, I will always choose them – even if it kills me. Because that is real, and it's worth dying for."
The shape shifter looked at Peter, crestfallen. "You don't think I love you?"
"I don't think you can love," Peter answered.
"What I feel for you, it feels like love," the shape shifter said.
"What I feel for you feels like hate," Peter replied.
"Well, then," the shape shifter said clearing his throat and looking determinedly past Peter at the shapeless corporate modern art on the wall behind him. "I guess that's all we've got to say to each other."
Had the shape shifter been human, Peter would have felt ashamed for how cruelly he'd spoken. The shape shifter was, after all, a man who had just learned his life's work was not only futile, but had actually done harm. Peter's basic sense of decency compelled him to say something kind, something that would temper the extremely harsh words. But his reason told him that the shape shifter's emotions were, at best, the result of some very cleverly written code and, at worst, affectations.
"Good bye, Eddie," Peter said, picking up Broyles gun and pushing back his chair.
"You gonna kill me?" the shape shifter asked dejectedly.
"No," Peter said. "I told you, you're going to a lab. A lab that, I should mention, belongs to my father. So, just like you looked after me, you can rest assured I'll be looking after you."
"Oh, that's nice," the shape shifter said. He sounded relived. "That does make it better."
~B~R~E~A~K~
"This is very exciting," Nina Sharp said to no one and everyone as the shape shifter, handcuffed and shackled, was escorted onto the Massive Dynamic transport vehicle, assisted by two Massive Dynamic security guards and two low ranking federal agents. "A live shape shifter. The kinds of information we can gather from him is, well . . ."
" . . . stretches the bounds of what we consider possible," Walter finished.
"Exactly," Nina replied with a smile.
"I'm so glad you're both happy," Peter said, not sounding remotely happy himself.
"Just so we're clear," Broyles said. "The prisoner is being given to you on the condition that you share all of the information you learn with us. Any research you hope to do based on the findings must be cleared through homeland security."
"And Massive Dynamic will be given the patents and the contracts to produce whatever devices that research generates," Nina said, still smiling. "I think we're perfectly clear, Phillip."
"I cannot wait to start the experiments," Walter tittered, like a child in line to see Santa Clause. "What do you think, Nina, shall we start with structural integrity under electrical shock, or should we ask him to become a large dog?"
"A large dog?" Peter asked, bewildered. "Why would you want to do that?"
"Conservation of mass, my boy," Walter said. "He could not possibly become a Chihuahua."
"I meant, why a dog at all," Peter clarified.
"Well, to see if he can, of course!" Walter said. "You cannot tell me you have not been curious."
"Intelligent, programmable livestock have extensive uses in the field of battle as well as in domestic surveillance. There are even commercial uses, in agriculture for example," Nina said, as if she had also spent time thinking about whether or not shape shifters could become animals. "But, of course," she said, catching the unenthusiastic expression in Broyles eyes, "We'll have to do a large amount of preliminary research and submit a proposal before any such experiments could be conducted. For the time being, Walter, we'll have to work with the shape shifter to decrypt the data chips which Peter collected with such initiative."
"Quite a bit of initiative," Broyles commented, sending Peter a sidelong glare.
Luckily for Peter, the conversation shifted when Olivia walked up.
"Hey," Peter said eagerly. "Any news?"
"Hey," she responded to him, and then turning to the group as a whole, she said, "They found Kholler, right where he said he would be. The face was destroyed, just like he said, but they could still identify him by finger prints."
"Another few days in the salt water, and that wouldn't have been an option," Broyles noted. "Good work."
Olivia nodded, acknowledging the commendation, but her expression made it obvious that she did not think they'd done good work. She felt that very lowest denominator for a job well done was that everyone lived through it.
"We're ready, Ms. Sharp," one of the Massive Dynamic security guards called from his position by the secure van.
"Well, gentlemen, Miss Dunham, now it's my turn to do good work," Nina said.
"Oh, Nina, will you let me come too?" Walter asked. "I would very much like to witness the subject's initial reaction to the control environment."
"Walter," Nina laughed good-naturedly. "It's your company. You can do whatever you want without my permission."
"If he goes with you to New York . . ." Peter started.
"I'll see him safely on the train back to Boston tomorrow," Nina assured him. "You know, you really should consider taking up residence in New York. It would be much more convenient."
"For you," Peter said. Glancing at Olivia, he added, "I like Boston."
"I know when I'm out-bid," Nina replied with a knowing smile. "I'll have someone call you in the morning, Peter, to coordinate your father's travels arrangements."
"Sounds good," Peter said. "Have fun, Walter."
"Oh, I shall, I shall," Walter said excitedly as he got into Nina's chauffeured luxury sedan, which would be following the secured van. He paused right as he was about to shut the door. "Are you sure you do not want to come with, son?"
"Absolutely positive," Peter replied. "See you tomorrow."
"Yes, yes," Walter said. "Goodbye, Peter."
The cars drove off and for a moment, Broyles, Olivia, and Peter watched them. But before the van even reached the parking lot's exit, Broyles turned back to the building. "I have a prodigious amount of paper work to complete," he grumbled. "I'll expect both of you to be back here bright and early tomorrow to help me finish it."
"Yes sir," Olivia said crisply, recognizing the night-off for the reward it was.
Once he was gone, she turned to Peter and smiled. "A whole night. No work. No Walter. No specter of bloodthirsty mobsters or body snatching shape shifters lurking in dark corners. What do you want to do?"
"I don't know," Peter said, taking a deep breath. "It's been a long time since nothing was lurking in dark corners. I'm not sure how to behave."
"If it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure there are still things lurking in those corners. We just don't know about them yet."
"Yeah," Peter said with a laugh, "That's a load of my mind."
"I think the Red Sox had a double header today," Olivia offered. "Second game should start soon, and we're only ten minutes from Fenway."
"Do they, now?" Peter said smiling. "Do you know the last time I went to a ball game?"
"I'm guessing at least six years."
"The answer is 'too long,'" Peter told her.
"Then let's go," Olivia said with a smile. "I'll even buy the first round of beers."
"An offer I can't refuse," Peter replied.
The End