Chapter eleven.

The morning passed without so much as a comment, but Peter could not bring himself to look at his father, whom only glared at the seat in front of him. Cold rage boiled below the surface of Peter's calm disposition, his jaw tight and his eyes steely. Olivia seemed to share his icy sentiments, watching the passing scenery with unseeing bitterness. Astrid only watched Walter, hurt confusion shaping her delicate features.

Strangely, it was Walter to break the silence, "Stop the car," he said quietly.

Peter ignored him.

"Stop the car," his voice was grainy with strain to remain composed.

Peter continued to stare ahead on the road, and Olivia and Astrid watched each of the Bishops in turn, uncertain of what to do.

"Please stop the car."

"I never give you any choices, Walter," Peter replied, "why would I change that now?"

Walter crossed his arms across his chest, settling back in the seat to work his jaw in angry silence.

Both looked up as Olivia began to laugh coldly, "Look at you two!" she exclaimed scornfully, addressing them each in turn, "Peter, the big man to burn off his elderly and insecure father. And Walter, fallen genius, throwing a fit that would make a five-year-old proud. What next? Are you going to threaten to turn the car around, Peter? Are you going to kick the back of the seat, Walter? Get a grip, both of you. Talk like adults, for Chrissake."

Both seemed shocked by her comments, then, abashed. They were quiet for a while, and Olivia struck a stray lock of hair from her face, sighing at the dashboard.

"What happened, last night?" Peter asked quietly.

"Nothing," Walter answered.

"Bullshit. Yesterday, you would have gleefully burned St. Claire's to cinders. Today you can't wait to hop back into a strait jacket. What the hell happened?"

"I almost killed a man," Walter said softly. Astrid issued a small gasp, and Olivia's eyes widened as she looked back at him. Walter gazed thoughtfully at his own hands, folded in his lap. His face tightened as he plead, "But I didn't, Peter. You have to believe me that I didn't. I stopped myself, before… there-there was this girl, and she was running away, and he was hitting her, and I grabbed what I could- th-the saw in the trunk, and I-" Walter was trembling uncontrollably as he babbled on loudly, tears flooding his eyes, "He-he just kept hitting her, and I grabbed him, I started on his clavicle, the laceration spanning… he was screaming, and she was screaming for me to stop… she just wanted to scare him, and I-I just- I wanted to kill him."

"Walter," Olivia said, touching his shoulder, and he flinched away, hiding his face, "Calm down, Walter. The man- what happened to him? Where is he?"

"He's with her," Walter answered, his voice muffled, "I don't understand! She asked me to do it, she said yes! But she stayed with him, she even cried, with her eyes swollen and bloody- she told me to go, to take the car… and I just drove!"

"Back to the hotel?" Olivia said calmly, "back to the hotel, to see Peter? Do you remember seeing Peter?" her voice was gentle, as if coxing a frightened animal into trust.

"No," Walter croaked, "I buried the saw. I sat in the rain for a while. I was afraid, Peter… I was afraid that I would hurt you, if I came back. I want to go to a place where I can't hurt you, Peter," His eyes were wide and glazed with tears as he stared up, into the rearview mirror, in desperate search of his son's eyes, "please take me back."

"You can't go back," Peter answered coldly, "I told you not to even ask. So stop crying."

"But Peter-" Walter begged, grasping for the back of his son's seat.

"Enough, goddamn it!" Peter roared, a tear batting his own collar, "Just shut the hell up! Stop asking for what you don't want!" his voice seemed to choke in his throat, and he swallowed, glaring ahead, "Selfish son of a bitch. You're not even going to give me a chance, are you?"

"Peter-"

"You didn't kill him, did you? What stopped you, eh? Why didn't you just have a grand old time, huh?! Seventeen goddamn years, and you just want to go slinking back to your cell?! Why the hell did you wait, Walter?! Why didn't you just die in there?!"

"I-I wanted-"

"I know what you wanted, dumbass. You wanted another chance. But chances aren't free, Walter; of everyone, I know that. You've got to fight for everything, or the world just goes to shit, alright? So if you want to curl up cozy with a fistful of medication in a padded cell, be my guest. But just know I'm never going to come back for you. No matter how things go to hell, I'll leave you to rot."

Walter was quiet for a few moments, and a smile slowly spread across his face, obscuring a path for the tears, "… well, I don't think I could stand any more butterscotch pudding, really."

Peter gave a small laugh, "What color is the sky, in your world?"

"Reality is overrated," Walter replied smugly.

xXx

"When we get to New Jersey, I would like to watch He-Man and the Masters of the Universe."

"When we get to New Jersey, I want to watch the back of my eyelids. I don't give a crap what you do," Peter replied from across the table.

"Don't worry, Walter, you can come and watch it in mine and Olivia's room," Astrid assured him with a smile, patting his forearm.

Peter raised his eyebrows, "Well, maybe I will get in on this…"

Olivia laughed as Walter rattled the ice in his tea glass, seeming mildly concerned that it was empty, "As if, Peter," Olivia murmured, brandishing her fork, "You've got to know the password, and it's secret."

"Are you sure? Can't I charm it out of you with my devilishly good looks?" Peter grinned, crossing his fork with hers.

Olivia shook her head with a smile, "Not even. I'm trained to be immune."

"So you do admit my good looks?"

"Peter," Walter said, breaking him from his previous engagement, "may I be excused for just a moment?"

"Sure- wait, why?"

Walter smirked, pointing to his right with a wink. A lone, shapely brunette sat at the empty bar, unheeding of her surroundings. Peter snorted, "You're kidding me, right?"

Walter shook his head, stirring his ice one more time before rising. Olivia and Astrid looked curious and slightly alarmed, and Peter laughed quietly as his father sauntered away, mocking his son's overconfident stride.

Walter settled quietly at the bar, a seat away from the girl. Walter took a quick glance at her, before ordering another iced tea. His mind whirred with analysis; hair- loose. Probably colored, and straitened. She placed a great deal of thought into her appearance, even if her carelessly selected tank-top and jeans cried otherwise. The top indicated her willingness to sacrifice comfort for attention; she was single, and looking. Probably recently single- her eyeliner tipped up at the ends, giving her a seductress' gaze. Definitely looking, as if her last relationship had ended sourly. Perhaps he had mistreated her, run around...

Walter sighed. This may prove a challenge. But, unlike his son, he could spot a lost cause, and however remote; if he spun his yarn correctly, he just might have a chance. The trick was not to frighten her away- he was quite a bit older, and this would have been a synch, in his youth… had he not spent every waking moment in a basement.

But trivial matters, trivial matters.

Peter would do, for his in. He had to use something.

"May I have some sugar?" he asked the girl softly, and she looked up, her expression reminding him of a spooked deer.

A small, exasperated smile touched her face, "Excuse me?"

Offence, jumping to conclusions. She really thought quite a bit of herself, "The sugar," he repeated, indicating to the dispenser to her right, then to his tea, "There is none over here, I'm afraid."

"Oh," she said in realization, and slid the sugar to him, seeming awkward, "there you go."

"Thanks very much," Walter gave her what he hoped was a winning smile. It set her at ease, and she returned to her drink.

Strike up or bust. Walter continued to pour the sugar into his drink, until she watched him, bewildered, "What are you doing?" she asked, and he jumped, dropping the sugar to spill over the table and on the floor.

"Oh!" Walter exclaimed, "how clumsy of me! I'm terribly sorry!" he scrambled to clean up his mess, thusly spilling his tea. From the corner of his eye, he could see Peter dying with muffled laughter, "You fool," he murmured under his breath with a smile.

"Oh- here, let me help you with that," the girl moved to the seat beside him, aiding his attempt with her own napkin.

"That's very kind of you," Walter smiled at her wryly, "I'm such a klutz. It's just…well, anyways, thank you again." he frowned sadly at her dripping napkin, "I'm very sorry…"

She laughed, "No problem," she smiled. Walter looked grateful, then glanced over his shoulder at Peter, who continued to gasp with laughter. She looked concerned, "what is it?"

Walter shook his head, "It's nothing. You should return to your drink."

"No, what is it? Why aren't you with your friends?"

Bingo.

Walter sighed, "I…well…" he gazed glumly into his tea, "Do you see that woman, over there? The blonde?"

"Yeah."

Walter glanced up at the girl. One piercing in each ear; traditional, in some respects, "She's my daughter. And the man- the unshaven one? He's my son-in-law."

"Yeah?" she leaned closer, as his voice had dropped to a whisper.

Walter paused, then shook his head, "No. It's not your problem, not your fault…"

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

Walter poked at his remaining ice cubes, "It's just… I can't sit with them, when I know… but I don't want to hurt her…"

Her eyes widened, "You mean…?" she exclaimed.

Walter nodded quickly, "He brags, sometimes. Arrogant. I just can't take how blind she is, she loves him so much…" he set his face in his hands with a sigh, "But I would never hurt her, she looks just like her mother…"

The girl cast a glare in Peter's direction, "Yeah. I know. A while back, this guy… anyways, I'm sorry. But…maybe I can help."

Walter looked up hopefully, "How do you mean?"

"Listen, what if you didn't tell her, but she just sort of… found out?"

"Like…like leaving evidence for her to find?" Walter said brightly, then he frowned, "No, no, he's far too good for that…"

"It doesn't have to be real," she smirked darkly, "Listen, I've got a plan. What if you planted something for her to find?"

"No, no, I don't think I could…"

"Listen. That bastard is hurting your daughter. Look. I'll give you my number, and you leave it for her to find. And, if she calls, I'll act like I know him, okay?"

"That's perfect!" Walter exclaimed. More than perfect. This would play in his favor. She was writing.

"What's his name?" she asked, "so I know what to call him?"

"Walter," he answered, watching her write on the napkin, "Such a handsome name, for a rapscallion…"

"Okay," she said, slipping him the number slyly, "make sure she finds this. And don't worry, we'll take this jerk down together." she gathered her things, wished him luck, and departed.

Walter sat at the bar for a while, basking silently in his triumph as he spun the napkin on the glossy surface of the counter, "'Kate', huh? 'To Walter, ex-oh, ex-oh'. Sheer poetry."

xXx