Chapter Title: Well, Can I Ask You About Today?
Chapter Genre: Family/Friendship, lite!Romance, Humour, General, lite!Angst
Chapter Rating: PG
Chapter Notes: Walter seems a little distant the morning after Jones is taken to the hospital and the bomb is diffused. Guest starring Peter's POV.
Takes Place: morning after 1.14
Song: "About Today" by The National
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own this.
"Today you were far away
and I didn't ask you why
What could I say
I was far away
You just walked away
and I just watched you
What could I say
How close am I to losing you?"
Peter had noticed his father wasn't himself last night after Olivia had disarmed the bomb Jones had set up on Church Street. He seemed a little distant on the car ride home and had gone to bed with only a few words muttered. This morning Walter had managed to get himself ready before he woke up, sitting quietly in the dark, apparently watching him sleep the whole time.
Peter decided that his father needed a break from the crap being forced on them, so when they got into the Vista Cruiser, he decided to make the day about letting Walter relax. They started by having breakfast at IHOP where Peter ignored his constantly ringing cellphone and Walter pretended his syrup container was pouring blueberry napalm all over the barren landscapes of his pancakes. He even played along, spearing a piece of sausage with his fork and pretending it was a helicopter flying overhead, looking for survivors. Walter then pretended to be a kraken and chomped down on the sausage, ending the game.
Afterwards, they went cruising up and down the backstreets of Boston, playing Stravinsky's "The Rite of Spring" softly in the cd player he had installed for Walter's listening pleasure. Walter quietly stared out the window, somewhat somber looking and Peter decided it was time to pick up his game. He found a park and pulled into the parking lot, the Vista Cruiser sputtering and banging loudly as he found a place to park. The two Bishops left the vehicle.
"This is a nice park, isn't it, Walter?" Peter asked pleasantly.
Walter made a grunting noise and pulled his scarf up a little tighter around his neck.
"I'm glad we have fresh air to breath," Peter added, hoping to get a smile out of his father, but he received nothing more than a scowl.
They began to stroll on the cement walkway, winding around trees and over grassy knolls. The air was nippy, but still, and Peter wished there was something he could say that would get a straight answer out of his father. But instead he remained his usual silent self, unable to discuss feelings or problems.
"Look at that squirrel."
Walter craned his head around. "Where?"
"Right there."
"I hate squirrels," his father spat then miserably asked, "When are we going back to the lab?"
"I thought we could have the day off," Peter said hopefully.
At this, his father perked up. "A vacation?"
"Yeah, a vacation."
This seemed to make him angry again. "You should have told me. I would have put on my swimming trunks."
"You don't have swimming trunks, Walter," he said with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, that's right." The older man suddenly looked panicked. "My assistant! What will she do without me?"
Peter put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure Astrid is managing just fine."
"And Gene! What if she wants someone to take her for a walk?"
Peter tried not to roll his eyes. "We can do that tomorrow."
Peter sighed and then pointed to something his father might actually be interested in. "Hey, look. A hot dog vender."
Indeed, this did seem to interest the senior Bishop and they wandered over to a pushcart where a surly looking man said blandly,
"Hot dogs are two bucks, polish dogs are three-fifty, a drink is a dollar-fifty, chips are two bucks."
Walter hardly hesitated. "I want a polish dog with sauerkraut, mustard, relish, and onion, a bag of these orange nuggets, and that Pepsi."
The vendor pulled a warmed polish dog out of the roticery and placed it on a small bun, then handed it over to the eager scientist. "Toppings are over there."
Ketchup," Walter said fiercely as he piled ona heap of onions, "is what the commies want us to put on our hot dogs. Disgusting."
The vendor nodded. "A purist. I like that."
"Dirty Harry would have to agree." Peter wasn't really hungry. "I'll just have a regular hot dog and a water."
"Water is two bucks," the vendor said as he handed him his hotdog.
"Fine."
"Chee-tos," Walter sounded out as he looked at the bag.
"Eleven bucks," the vendor said.
Peter took out a ten and a five-dollar bill. "Keep the change."
"Thank you," the vendor said with a nod.
Walter snatched Peter's hot dog from him and proceeded to squirt ruby red ketchup on the top.
"What about the commies?" Peter asked with a slight smile.
Walter draped an arm over his shoulder and pulled him close. "You're still my son."
"Thank you, Walter. That's enough," Peter said, referencing both the ketchup and the physical contact.
A smoky voice behind him sounded out. "There you are!"
Peter turned around and couldn't help but smile when he saw Olivia and Astrid coming towards them. "You tracked us down. GPS?"
"Astrid put a BOLO on your car."
"Hey, Dr. Bishop," the junior agent said amicably.
Walter finally smiled. "Hello, my dear. Would you like a bite?"
She shook her head as she led him off a few yards away. "No, thank you."
Olivia looked smug. "Broyles is pissed."
"He's been quiet and I was getting worried." Peter felt uncomfortable for admitting such facts. "Last night really shook him up."
"It shook all of us up, Peter," she said softly, then her smile returned. "So are you going to buy me lunch?"
"You haven't had anything to eat?"
"We've been out looking for you. No time."
He suddenly felt guilty. "Oh, uh—"
Olivia grinned. "A hot dog with ketchup."
"Two bucks," the vendor demanded.
"I already gave you an extra four dollars." Peter turned back to Olivia. "Mi'lady, there is still enough for a drink."
"Just a bottle of water," she said, reaching out for the hot dog the vendor offered.
The vendor looked between them with a slight smile and Peter didn't miss it.
A/N: Chapter 39 through 49 are all going to be based on reader prompts so everyone can make a request of something they'd like to see.