Deals We Make

Olivia crossed the expansive lobby of the FBI building. She flashed her badge to the security guards, put her gun and her phone in a tray and stepped through the metal detector.

Charlie put a cup of coffee in her hands as soon as she buzzed herself inside the division's floor.

"You look... rested," he remarked as they walked to their offices. "Finally rid of those nightmares?"

She sat down, turned on her computer, waited for the login screen. Ctrl - Alt - Del. "What nightmares?"

"You know... John - "

"Yes, they're gone."

He brightened. "That's good to hear." He took a sip of his coffee. "What changed?"

She shrugged. "Don't know." She could do this all day.

"Liv..." Something caught his attention, distracted his chain of thought. "Oh look, the nerds are here."

Her computer buzzed happily as she checked her inbox. Junk, junk, new coffee filter regulations from Broyles, more junk. You'd think the FBI could give its employees some decent spam filtering software.

Somewhere in the background, she heard Walter saying something about protein denaturing, along with the name Agent Fudge - she assumed he was talking to Agent Flannigan.

She looked up. Walter waved at her like they hadn't seen each other in ages. She smiled broadly. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

"Forgot to tell you - you have a meeting with Broyles and Bishop in the conference room." He took a sip of his coffee. "Now."

Charlie winked as Olivia shot him a look while she sped past him.

"Agent Dunham, glad you could join us."

"Sorry sir. Hello, Peter."

"Olivia." Baby-blue eyes met hers briefly. He looked away before she could see anything in them.

The Russian, it turned out, had fled from the country. They knew he was headed for the Middle-East, but there was no way too tell why he was there and whom he was meeting.

Peter looked nonplussed as he listened to Olivia talk strategy with her boss. If the man came back to the States, they established Peter would make contact, insist on more concrete terms for their deal. He would need to see the merchandise before wiring him the money, etc, etc.

"Mr Bishop, do you think you can handle yourself around this man?" Broyles fixed Peter with a meaningful glare.

"Like I told you in the report, he's not a particularly hard nut to crack. He's not stupid, or naive, but he's desperate and he trusts me." Still, he did not look at Olivia. "I don't think I'll have any problems."

The thousand a minute snapshots of how wrong things could go in a mission like this nearly blinded her. That feeling of panic returned - she tried to keep her breathing steady, but she could feel her cheeks flushing.

Broyles looked through some papers. Blue eyes were on her and he saw it all.

She couldn't place his expression. Broyles looked up. He handed them each a paper. "These are our man's last known affiliates. I want you to find them, contact them. Mr Bishop, you need to leave a trail of your fake self around this man's entourage. He needs to know you've been checking on him. Adds to your credibility. Agent Dunham, just be there in case things get ugly."

"Sir, wouldn't it be safer if I went undercover too? As Peter's associate? That way I can be closer, in case the situation spirals out of control."

Broyles seemed to give this some thought. "Mr Bishop?"

Peter shook his head. "Too suspicious. It's not good practice to involve women in this kind of business. Our Russian will pick up on it right away."

"Okay then, it's settled. Dunham, you must stay close, but never seen. Good day to both of you."

Olivia pressed her lips together to keep from commenting. Broyles stepped out and she followed suit.

Peter walked behind her, down the corridor that separated the conference room from the rest of the offices. He was so close she could smell his cologne.

She liked to think of her instincts as quick and responsive. They had not let her down too many times. Today, though, they seemed to be stunted. A pair of arms pulled her into the janitor's closet.

"For a place that's supposed to specialize in security, leaving the janitor's door un-monitored seems like a pretty big loop-hole." He took a breath, then continued. "So tell me, Olivia, what the hell was that back there?"

"I was just..."

"You know better than that. You know undercover for you is not an option. Why would you want to sabotage this case like that? What's the worst that can happen to me? They'll kill me? Like I said, I can take care of myself."

"Well, if you can dodge bullets, more power to you." The room was poorly lit, but she could see well enough to make out the angry expression on his face.

He was pinning her down with his hands on her forearms. Her fight training skills told her to kick him where it hurt then walk away. Resume the day. However, she knew from his squared shoulders that a fight would not resolve this discussion.

Suddenly, he let her go. The anger was gone. He took a step backwards. A hand went over to his face, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, so quietly she barely heard him. "I'm not handling this well."

"No, no you're not." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Shit, OK. Can we talk over lunch? This really doesn't feel like the sort of place for adult conversations."

She took her time answering. It was hard to concentrate, with him so close. "Fitzgerald's. In half an hour."

He nodded and she went out first.

Charlie had slapped a post-it note in the middle of her monitor. "Astrid called re bio chem results. Took Walter back."

She could always count on Charlie to do the right thing. She wondered if she was capable of that. When it came to Peter, she didn't know how to distinguish right from wrong anymore.

Fitzgerald's was a quiet, dim pub near the FBI building. A slow tune played on the speakers. She liked it because it invited, or rather demanded a calm and quiet state of mind. Its dark corners held your worries, at least while you were there.

She found Peter in a corner booth, nursing a beer. He lifted the glass to his lips, took a decent sip, then set it back down. He wiped away the moisture from his upper lip with his thumb.

Olivia swallowed, then sat down.

"I don't like you working undercover, alone. There's no other way to say this, so here it goes. If something goes wrong and he finds out your real identity, you and Walter are as good as dead."

There was a smirk on his face, but she did not let it distract her.

"You're also extremely unqualified, from an objective point of view. You have no training, no access to a gun... There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea."

He shifted in his side of the booth. "This newfound extreme concern of yours for my well being has seriously shitty timing. While I can't fully explain to you how or why I'm more than qualified for this assignment, just know that if this Russian ever finds the real me, well... He should give me a call."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look - I know some pretty skilled people, who can built layers upon layers of fabricated identities. I can keep detectives busy for years."

She nodded, not comforted. "What if you get killed? What's going to happen to Walter? Who's going to take care of him? Have you given any thought to that at all?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't one hundred percent sure I'll make it out in one piece."

She shook her head, knowing this was one argument she couldn't win with him. After all, she had very little material with which to convince him not to go through with this. 'But I can't lose you' wasn't really going to cut it.

"I'll make you a deal," she began to say, almost deterred by the smile on his face. "If you want me as your backup during this mission - "

And there it was. The tell. Exactly what she had been looking for. The stare. So he really was staking his life and the mission on her ability to keep him alive.

" - Which I'm assuming is the only reason why you're taking this risk, then you must promise me that at the first sign of imminent danger, you will let me pull you of this case without a fuss."

For a moment, he seemed to consider what she'd said. "And if I don't agree?"

She sat back, keeping her eyes on him. "I won't be there to save your sorry ass. Or Charlie, since he's part of the package."

"Does Broyles know about this? Are you sure you should be making these kinds of promises without his permission?"

"He'll understand. Trust me."

It took him some time, but eventually he nodded his assent, then dropped his eyes down to his hands. His eyebrows came together. She could tell the subject had changed. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened in the car?"

"Why?" she demanded, aware that he was the one seeking answers.

"Well, I know you're not the kind of woman who accepts unasked for... advances, yet there was no fight in you the other day. I'd like to know why."

She shrugged, not needing to look at him to know how unsatisfactory her non-answer was. "If I remember correctly, I kissed you back." She resisted the urge to look at her hands like a schoolgirl. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the bar, wondering where the waiter was.

She did not want to read too much into his questions. She did not need a military mind to know that he already knew the answers to his own queries. He was driving home the point that it had been a one time phenomenon. It had to be. Sure, it was good, but it couldn't go anywhere beyond that. He had thought about it, considered the alternatives and decided to stick to the only possibility that made sense. She could always trust Peter to make the right choice. His ideas about right and wrong weren't always so black and white, but when it came to his personal life, he had no problem choosing.

Olivia tried to convince herself that this wasn't rejection. But the unmistakable taste of it was on her tongue. She tried to wash it down with the coke and vodka that had appeared in front of her at some point, but the sensation lingered.

"Olivia... Look, I know I shouldn't have but I figured if you didn't want it, you would've put up a fight that I could not win. So I took my chances."

"I guess the odd were in your favor that day."

"Yet I feel like you're punishing me for it."

"Punishing you?"

"I'm just trying to understand if I should be drawing any conclusions. About, well, us." He waved a hand at the space in between the two of them.

She looked at him, surprised. He did not look distant and detached like she had imagined him to be. He seemed hopeful. "Nothing is written in stone."

Peter rewarded her with a smile. It reached his eyes, making them brighter, somehow. "So, Agent Dunham, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

It was hard for Olivia to imagine that this man sitting across from her was the same one she had kissed in the car. That one had been dark, hidden in shadows, alert and watchful. This one was carefree, with his heart on his sleeve and a smile on his face. He looked young. Much younger than the man in the car.

"Well, Mr Bishop, we'll see."