"I can't stay here."
His mother is silent for a long while. She sits again, hand rubbing her jaw while she stares away from Peter.
He knows it's coming. The invisible breakdown. Peter knows that every version of Elizabeth Bishop is strong, but the fact that this woman sits before him, alive and well, proves she may just be stronger than the rest. While her eyes water slightly, no tear ever falls. When she looks back at him, she need not even speak.
Why not?
Peter takes a deep breath, glancing at his hands. "He brought me back to do something I'll never be capable of doing."
She doesn't move. She's a marble statue, elegant and solid save for her almost nonexistent breathing.
He tries again. "This may be where I was born, but this is not my home."
Her eyes pierce him a moment, searching his own. Then they fall closed, and she takes a labored breath. "You're in love," she says simply, her voice warm and velvet, and the corner of her mouth tugs up for a fraction of a second.
Peter exhales and something sounding suspiciously of laughter tumbles out. "Yeah," he admits.
"What is her name?"
Peter leans forward, elbows against his knees. "Olivia," he whispers. "Her name is Olivia."
"Does she make you happy?"
She's looking at him now, her hand moves toward him slowly, as if she's afraid he'll pull away.
He lets her take his hand, and she holds it firmly between both of hers.
Something pulls at the back of his mind, a buried memory, and it breaks him a little. She was the only Elizabeth Bishop who ever did this with him, the other seemed to shy away from too much contact. Maybe she had done it before, with her son, the one to which she gave life.
He doesn't dare dwell on it much longer, reminding himself that he had been asked a question.
"She does," he replies, trying to convey just how she makes him feels in only two words. He doesn't think it enough, two measly words, but it'll have to do. For now.
Elizabeth smiles. It's a sad smile, but behind the pain is love, love and understanding.
"Okay," she says.
"Look, do you even know where you're going?"
Olivia doesn't answer Henry. They had been driving in circles for about an hourwhile she sat silent in the back seat, strategizing.
"Hello? Olivia?" he pushes on.
"Shh!" she snaps at him.
He gets quiet.
"Do you know how to get to Liberty Island?"
"Uh, yeah. A boat," he says, voice dripping with annoyance and sarcasm.
"Not what I meant," she hisses through her teeth.
"I can get you to outside the port, but that's it. Only government hotshots past the gate," he sighs.
"Take me there."
"Your father will be at work all day. He told me to call when you woke, but I hadn't gotten around to it yet," she told him, folding clothes and handing them to him.
"Where will I go?" Peter asks her, taking the folded clothes and packing them into a duffel bag.
"I don't know. But until you find a way home, you'd better get away from here." She folds, he packs.
Henry pulls the cab over, just down the street from the large gates blocking access to the waterfront.
"Here we are," he announces, turning off the engine.
Olivia sighs, eyes scanning over the various guards. "Got a phone?" she asks, unsettled.
"A what?" he asks, confused.
She seems to digest this. "Oh," she adds. "Um, something to call someone with?" she asks, gesturing to her ear.
"You mean a cuff?" he responds, and unhooks a small plastic thing from his ear.
"Uh, yeah. Sure," she says hastily, taking it from him. She studies it a moment, unsure of what to do.
He sighs, and takes it back from her. "Here," and he clips it to her ear. "What rock have you been livin' under?" he whispers under his breath.
"Not a rock," she teases.
"Okay, now just push the button and say who you wanna call."
She does so and says, "Call Fringe Division."
He looks at her a moment, but says nothing.
A voice responds. "Fringe Division," it says.
Olivia clears her throat. "Olivia Dunham, please," she says, trying to make her voice lower.
"One moment." The device beeps twice.
"Dunham," a woman answers.
"Uh, hi. It's me," she says nervously, her voice back to normal.
"Where are you?"
"Just outside the port to Liberty Island."
"What the hell are you doing? I helped you get out to get your boyfriend and go home, not get captured all over again!" she whispers, angry.
"I didn't know where else to go. The Secretary has Peter hidden somewhere and this seemed like the best place to look!"
Liv was silent a while. "Did you think to try his house? Peter's his son, not a prisoner."
"He's more like both right now. Where does he live?"
"I don't know! He's the Secretary of Defense, not a regular citizen! I can't just look up his address," she hisses over the cuff.
Olivia closes her eyes and puts a hand to her forehead.
And then it hits her.
"Tell Broyles that you think the Secretary's in danger. I'm on the loose with a gun, and I openly expressed the desire to find him. Go to his house and see if Peter's there. If he is, I'll come and get him after you clear out."
"But the Secretary's on Liberty Island."
"Yes, but I might not know that. And I couldn't get past all the security, anyway."
"And Broyles'll want a detail on the house after we leave."
"Then send Peter out. Get him the message."
Liv pauses. "Okay, we'll try it. Wait for my call about the address." And then she hangs up.
"Sir, I believe the Secretary's in danger. I think we should check his home."
"But he's not there, he's on the island."
"But she doesn't know that. And if she did, she wouldn't get past security, let alone across the water. She'd go to his home, wait for him to return."
"Then we'll tell him to stay until she's apprehended."
"He has a wife. What if she's already there with her?"
"Okay, Dunham. Take your team. And be careful."
"Yes, sir. The address?"
"Peter, there's one more thing." His mother disappears from the room in which he awoke, the one with the wardrobe.
The bed is fairly normal, not an actual hospital bed but still adorned with all the machines and IVs. Peter lets himself sit down on it and finds it quite comfortable.
When his mother returns, she grasps something tightly in her hand. She holds it out to him, and he reaches before realizing just what his mother has offered to him.
It's a coin. A large silver dollar. His lucky dollar, the one he tried so hard to flip over his fingers as a boy.
"You gave that to me, the night he—the night you left. You told me you wanted me to have it if you didn't get better."
All he can do is nod, his words lodged in his throat. The tears well up, threatening to fall.
Her tears fall now, unlike before on the balcony. "But you did get better. And now I'm giving it back."
He holds it flat over his palm. Shaking his head, he offers it back to her. "I gave it to you for a reason."
She reaches out and folds his hand closed around it. "Take it. To remember a time when we were together."
He nods again, and pulls her into an embrace. The coin digs inside his fist, but he doesn't care. They hug for a long time, and both of them cry.
When they eventually pull apart, he takes the coin from where it's indented in his palm and flips it over his fingers with an ease that he never had as a boy.
Elizabeth watches and smiles.
And then the doorbell rings.
Lincoln stands at the front, as usual. Charlie and Liv stand behind, arms behind their backs.
The door opens to reveal a woman, aged but still radiantly beautiful.
"Mrs. Bishop? I'm Captain Lincoln Lee with Fringe Division. We believe someone who may be dangerous might try to come into your home. May we come in and secure the premises?"
She opens the door wider and allows the team inside. A man walks in the room, young, with brilliantly blue eyes. His hand tucks something into his pocket.
"Is my husband alright?" she asks worriedly.
"Your husband is fine, ma'am. He's on the island. But we believe that the suspect may come here," Liv says, and the man's gaze falls upon her.
He stares, and a look of recognition soaks into his features. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but thinks better of it. Liv tosses him a smirk before turning back to his mother.
"Has a woman come to your door at all today, blonde?" Charlie asks.
"No," Elizabeth answers. "No one at the door today." She turns back, seeing Peter. "This is my…nephew, Colin. He's visiting me from Detroit."
Lincoln nods. "These are agents Olivia Dunham and Charlie Francis. May we have a look around the house?" he asks.
"Of course," she agrees hesitantly.
Liv clears her throat. "May I use your restroom?" she asks.
Elizabeth nods. "Third door on the left," she says, pointing down a hallway.
Liv nods and walks in the direction of the bathroom. Peter smiles at her as she passes, but follows the others in the opposite direction.
In the bathroom, she presses a button on her cuff.
"He's here," she says in a hushed voice.
"Are you sure?"
"Blue eyes, brown hair, great smile?" she teases.
Liv can hear the smile in Olivia's voice, "That's him."
"Okay, what's the plan?"
"We're parked around the corner. Send him out once you're gone."
"And if he won't go?"
"He will."
She presses the button again, ending the call, and turns to flush the toilet. She flips on the sink and lets it run a moment before turning it off.
She opens the door to find Peter waiting in the hallway, arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning against the adjacent wall. He looks up as she exits, and takes a step towards her.
"Olivia?"
Liv smirks again. "Yes and no," she says quietly.
From where they're parked, Olivia can just make out the end of the driveway.
Two SUVs pull out, and turn towards them. Olivia ducks down in the backseat until they pass, just making out Liv's fiery hair in the driver's seat of the second vehicle, alone.
When they're gone, out of sight, the cuff beeps.
"Your message has been delivered."
Olivia breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you. But can I ask one thing?"
"Shoot."
"Why did you help me?"
There's a pause. "I don't know. Maybe because I could tell you weren't lying. Maybe because you're, well, me. Maybe no reason at all."
"Well, whatever the reason, thanks."
"No offense, but I hope to never see you again."
Olivia smiles. "Yeah, you too." And then the call's over.
Olivia slides off the cuff and hands it to Henry, who looks like he's just seen a ghost. Or, possibly, someone's alternate as they drive by.
"Who are you?" he asks, eyes wide as he studies Olivia's face.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she says with a laugh, and relaxes back into the seat.
He stares a moment longer, then turns away, shaking his head.
They sit in the cab for several minutes more in silence, waiting.
Olivia hears a noise from behind her, and turns back to catch a black town car with tinted windows pulling out of the drive.
"That's him," she tells Henry. "Go."
He starts the cab and pulls out, about twenty feet behind the black car. They follow it all the way back into the city before it finally pulls into an alley.
"Stop," Olivia orders, just outside the alley. "Stay here."
She climbs out of the yellow cab and walks towards the black car. She looks back from between the two, and the taxi's still there.
She pulls her hood up and approaches the car.
An older woman climbs out. She looks familiar, but Olivia knows they've never met.
"Olivia?" she asks.
"Yes," Olivia answers timidly.
She turns back to the car and nods. Peter steps out, and his eyes meet hers.
He moves toward her, and she meets him in the middle, hands at his cheeks. "Hi," she whispers, and the smile is involuntary.
"Oh, Olivia," he breathes, and pulls her into his arms, hood falling from her blonde hair. He closes his eyes and focuses only on her, how she feels back in his arms and how her warm breath hits his neck and it's all real, she's real, and he's got her.
He pulls back just slightly, still holding tight to her. "Olivia Dunham," he says, and turns back to the older woman, "meet Elizabeth Bishop. My mother," he announces, and he sounds proud.
Olivia steps forward and offers her hand, and remembers seeing a photo of her—or, the other version of her—and she's aged but she's still lovely, and she can just make out some features that are reflected in her son. "Mrs. Bishop, it's great to meet you."
Elizabeth takes the hand cautiously, "Dunham? As in Agent Dunham, the woman who was just in my house?" she asks slowly.
The corner of Olivia's mouth tugs up in a wry smile. "Somewhat," she says, and Peter chuckles softly from behind her.
Elizabeth releases her hand and nods, turning to her son. "I love you, Peter. Never forget that."
He shakes his head and smiles sadly. "Thank you."
She turns back to the open door of the car. "Have a good life, you two. Be happy," and then she's in the town car and the door closes behind her. The car rolls forward and out of the alley.
Olivia turns back to Peter and takes his hand, pulling him in the direction of the cab.
He opens the door for her. She slides in first and he follows, sitting close.
"You must be Peter," Henry says, looking back at him in the rearview mirror.
"The one and only," he jokes, with a hint of irony that makes Olivia's heart ache.
"Peter," she warns, and he gives her an apologetic smile.
Henry just shakes his head and drives.
"Where to?" Henry asks, back on the road.
Olivia looks up from her and Peter's hands, held tight together atop her lap. "An opera house on the opposite side of town. Do you know it?"
"You mean the one with the glass ceiling?"
"Uh, yeah."
He nods and takes a right.
Olivia glances at Peter, who stares out the window, taking his last glance at the alternate universe. She squeezes his hand, and the corner of his mouth turns up, still facing out the window. She lifts and places a feather-light kiss against the back of his hand.
He turns to look at her, and she knows he's sad. She understands; even though his home isn't here, he can't ignore the fact that this is where he was born, where he originated. It's written in him, indelible ink on his heart. And while she sympathizes, she can't help but wonder if he considered staying.
And, as he always has, he reads the doubt right off her face and lifts his free hand to stroke her cheek, tuck a few stray pieces of hair behind her ear. He shakes his head, as if answering her unspoken question. He mouths the words, "Never an option," drops his hand from her face and turns his gaze back out the window.
Henry looks back in the mirror, and Olivia catches his eyes. "I think we have a tail," he says suddenly, cutting right through the moment of calm.
"What?" she snaps at him, more angry with herself for not paying attention.
"Two black SUVs, two cars behind and a row over."
And, sure enough, there they are. "How long have they been behind us?" Peter asks, looking out the back window.
"Maybe six, seven blocks. I didn't notice 'em before that."
"Figures, Walternate's got you followed," Olivia hisses.
"Who?" Henry asks, confused.
"Could they be Fringe Division? Maybe she couldn't cover for you," Peter suggests.
"No, there were government decals in the corner of every windshield. And the plates were different," Olivia recites, eidetic memory merely a convenience at this point. "These are definitely his. Henry, you can drop us at the next corner. We'll go the rest of the way on foot."
"You sure? They'll catch us easier on foot," Peter cuts in.
She turns to him, eyes full of something. Something serious. "I'm sure."
"Okay," Henry says from the driver's seat, and pulls to the curb.
Peter's out first, on the sidewalk holding the door. Olivia turns back to Henry, "If it helps, you'll probably never see me again," a smirk taunting her lips.
"Just glad you didn't shoot me," he teases back. "You better run."
Olivia slides out and throws him a rushed "Thank you!" before she pushes the door shut and joins Peter on the sidewalk.
"This way," she says, pointing.
They takes the first corner to get out of sight, and then, entwining fingers, they speed-walk and weave for several blocks.
Once they reach the street of their destination, Olivia glances around and the SUVs aren't anywhere to be seen.
"I think we're good," she says, and they walk on.
Suddenly, a screech echoes from behind them and one, two of the black vehicles turns onto the mostly empty street.
"Let's go," Olivia calls, pulling on Peter's hand. They sprint, less than a block from the opera house.
When they reach the doors, they're locked. "Dammit!" Peter yells, and Olivia pulls the gun from the pocket of her jacket. She aims and shoots out the lock, Peter kicking down the door.
The first SUV pulls up and two men climb out.
Olivia and Peter run into the opera house, the Secretary's men right behind them. Luckily, the large theater is empty.
Olivia sprints ahead of a sore, slower-than-usual Peter and stops center-stage.
Focus, she tells herself. The fear. If this doesn't work, they take Peter.
Peter catches up to her, grabbing her arm, and asks why she's stopping. He's glimmering, but that's a good sign. The whole room is glimmering, but this time Olivia's in control. The door in the back bursts open.
Olivia takes Peter's hand. "Let's go home," she whispers.
She closes her eyes. Home, she thinks. Let's go home.
She feels the fabric of the universe passing through her, slipping away. The men grow closer, but they're so blurry she doesn't even worry anymore.
And then Peter's lips are on hers. Caught somewhere between two worlds, Olivia's hand releases Peter's so she can reach up and wrap her arms around his neck.
Finally, Olivia feels solid, feels the solid ground beneath her feet. She pulls out of the kiss slowly, resting her forehead against his.
She's acutely aware of the other people suddenly in the room, but she just doesn't care. "Home," she whispers to him.
He laughs lightly, and her heart swells. "Home," he agrees, and she believes him.
Olivia turns her head slightly, and surveys the theater. Walter, looking teary-eyed but with a huge smile, has an arm around Astrid's shoulders; she looks about the same. Nick and Sally are holding hands, and James stands off to the side, looking a little awkward. Broyles stands at the back of the room, stoic but looking slightly relieved.
Peter lifts his head from Olivia's and also looks to the rest of their company.
"Well," Olivia starts, unwrapping herself from Peter but joining their hands once again. "It worked."
"Fantastic!" Walter murmurs, his voice breaking slightly.
And Olivia's not entirely sure if it's coincidental, Nick's doing, or a mixture of the two, but the entire room erupts into happy laughter.
(A/N: Okay! Whoa, long chapter. Typing this was a bitch. But yay, Peter's home! Okay, the next chapter is the penultimate—or the second to last—chapter of this story. Kind of a summing up before the big finale. SPOILER ALERT: The final chapter is entitled "The Machine: Part Two". Sixteen chapters is a pretty good run, if I do say so myself. But don't fret! I am planning a sequel, unnamed as of present, which may or may not be season four-esque. See you soon…)