Chapter Nine.

"Pancakes?"

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

The woman chuckled as Peter looked around the small, bright kitchen, his hat in his hands politely as he fought back his nervousness, "What is it?" he questioned.

"Nothing. Walter… he said almost the same thing, this morning. Come on in to the sitting room, I'll make us some coffee."

"You're the singer at the club. Astrid Farnsworth," Peter said, following her, "I saw your picture in the paper."

She laughed slightly, "Yeah. 'Been to the show?"

"No, sorry," Peter replied, taking the seat on the couch that she had offered, "but… I read the review. It sounds nice." Astrid only nodded, returning to the kitchen to put on some water to heat. Peter took the opportunity to survey his surroundings- first, the slightly scattered deck of playing cards on the coffee table, then the dog-eared fashion magazines and old newspapers stacked in the paper tray, and at last the pictures on the mantle over the empty fireplace, depicting black-and-white photographs of people he had never met.

"I don't have any pictures of him," Astrid said, disrupting his thoughts. She took a seat in the armchair, "he doesn't like pictures. He says that if 'they' find pictures of him here, I could get into trouble…" she sighed, "I used to think he was just crazy, but…"

"He was always crazy," Peter said quietly. He scratched his ear, grumbling to himself, "What am I even doing here…?"

"I don't know," Astrid replied for him, "all I do know is that some crazy things have been going on, and nothing fits together. I don't know who Walter is, anymore-"

"And what? You think that I do? Sorry, sweetheart- he's a bastard all around," Peter replied, "You're not the first person to discover his other side, you know."

"Then why are you here?" Astrid snapped, "If you didn't think he was different, why did you come looking for him?""

"I didn't," Peter replied sharply, "I don't care if I ever see him again. All I know is that someone got hurt, and he might be to blame. I'm doing it for a friend, so don't think that this is some attempt at bridging my estrangement."

"Someone got hurt? How?" Astrid questioned.

"I don't know. There was a shooting at a bar early this morning-"

"A woman came over this morning to talk to Walter," Astrid said, "she said she was a private investigator, that her name was Olivia Dunham."

Peter nodded, "Yes. I heard, from her, actually. It was her source man that got shot, when he was posing as her driver."

"So you think that someone was after her?" Astrid questioned, raising a brow, "No- she said she would leave Walter alone, and he's not the type of person… he wouldn't do something like that…"

"Do you know where he was, after Dunham left?" Peter questioned.

"Yes, he was…" Astrid paused, and Peter leaned forward, "I mean, no… I was really angry at him, and I went back to bed. But I'm sure he wouldn't… I might not know all that there is to know about Walter, but he wouldn't do it."

Peter nodded. Perfect. Another innocent that had fallen to the folly of thinking she could trust his father. Apparently history was very apt to repeating itself, "Thank you, Miss Farnsworth. I think that I should be going-"

"What if someone is after Walter, then?" Astrid questioned, "That Dunham woman was the first to come looking for him, but what if she isn't the last?"

"Then we have a serious problem," Peter answered, "because if it was this easy for me to find you while searching for him, it'll be just as easy for someone else. Where did Walter say he was going?"

Astrid shook her head, "I don't know. He just said that he was out running some errands, he never tells me exactly-"

"He's playing poker," Peter said immediately. He added, at Astrid's confused stare, "It's a code he used to use. Errands are for poker, a flat tire is the track, things like that. He taught me, so my mother wouldn't know." Peter was pulling his jacket back onto his shoulders when Astrid stopped him.

"Take me with you."

Peter snorted, "Listen, doll face, I know you're scared, but-"

"I'm not scared. I grew up in Atlantic- no one knows this town better than I do. If you're looking for Walter, you're going to need me, to find him," Astrid replied flatly, "So am I going with you, or going by myself?"

Peter blinked in shock as she pushed past him on her way to the coat rack, "Okay."

xXx

It was a damn shame, wasting her good pancakes. But what could she do? It appeared that neither of the Bishop men felt that breakfast was a necessary meal.

The resemblances between the two of them seemed non-existent, at first- it was only after a while of watching Peter that Astrid would spot a familiar… something… that she knew belonged to Walter. A feeling, something she couldn't quite place.

"So, what happened to you?" Astrid questioned, as she frowned at the dust getting on her hose, "Walter has a baseball card of you. Do you still play?"

Peter glanced away from the road at her, "You don't know baseball?" he questioned.

"It was never really my thing," Astrid admitted.

Peter chuckled, shaking his head, "I like you better already. No, I don't play anymore. Sort of… fell out of it, I guess."

"How can you fall out of something like that? I thought it was, like… being famous, or something."

"Or something," Peter agreed. He slowed to a stop at an intersection, "let's just say… that card Walter's got is worth a bit. But it's not what everyone thinks it is. I think that if you do something you're good at… you should do it because you enjoy it. When you stop appreciating your life for what you're good at…" he shook his head.

"So what do you do, now?"

"I'm a busboy. And not a bad mechanic, either." He seemed proud of his profession. This small amusement at the unusual whispered to her about Walter.

Astrid chuckled, "Doesn't sound like the best trade, to me."

"What about you? You said you've lived here your entire life. Isn't it a little flashy, a little too loud? Don't you want to get out of here?"

Astrid paused, considering, "Well… I guess I've never seen the side of Atlantic that everyone else has. Everyone else comes here, and they see what you said- a big, flashy city filled with lights and winners. But I've always seen what's behind the backdrop, seen how everything gets old and tired, after too long. That the winners might leave, but the losers settle to the bottom, and have to make due with nothing."

"What keeps you here?" Peter questioned.

Astrid only remembered the words her father had told her, as early as she could remember, "This place is magic."

Peter raised his brow in question.

"It transforms people. When the lights are down, things can seem so shabby, but when they come on… everything is covered with sequins, to cover the tatters. It's the best kind of illusion you can imagine, and it never ceases to amaze me."

"What about Walter?" Peter questioned.

"I used to think that the lights showed me who he really was. I didn't know that he was the best illusion of all." She sighed, looking out at the passing shop fronts, "But I'll shake the cards from his sleeves."

xXx