Chapter XI

"I've been thinking to myself that perhaps I should start asking for a salary, from you," Walter said as they strode down the quiet, empty sidewalk. Rain silently battered the umbrella he and Peter shared, "As I really can't say the last few months have been profitable, on my part."

Peter snorted, "How do you mean? What if I'm counting this as payback, for getting you out of St. Claire's?"

Walter frowned, "I thought scoring points with Olivia was payment enough."

Peter laughed, "True, true. Now that that's shot to hell. Fine, then. How much do you want, your wages? And…what exactly do I pay you for?"

"Traditional currency is useless, to me. From this point forward, you will pay me in candy. Lots, and lots of candy," he nodded in determination as Peter chuckled.

The pair stood, watching the tall, old building through the black iron fence. The rain made visibility poor, as they searched for light in one of the windows, knowing that deep within the dark, dozens of electronic eyes watched their every movement.

Walter's eyes widened as he gazed into the screen of the blackberry tucked in his coat against his belly, "Wow. Seventeen cameras on the front entrance alone. Paranoid bastards."

"Any way in?" Peter asked, his back turned to the fence.

"Hmmm. No, I don't think so. The entire place seems to be off line- not even a wireless connection in the vicinity," he folded his coat shut again, "We're in a pickle, my boy."

Peter shook his head, "So the cameras see us. It's our first time, here. They won't know something is amiss, until it's too late." Peter checked his watch, "Give me the backpack, Walter, and follow me in ten minutes. Keep your earpiece in, and try not to attract any attention." Peter slung the case over his shoulder and jumped to grab the bars, beginning to climb.

Walter looked down the dark, empty street, "Whose attention?" but Peter had disappeared in the rain. Walter sighed, "Be careful, son."

Time passed. Walter began to grow anxious. He suddenly realized he had to pee. He looked down at his watch. Only forty seconds had elapsed. Walter sighed with a frown, rocking back on his heels, then tipping forward and catching himself on his toes. He absently began to hum, to take his mind from his slight discomfort, and began to think about how some people whistled better than they hummed. He thought he hummed better than he whistled, but there was always the critic that may have disagreed with him, and he would have simply enjoyed the compliment about his whistling.

"Walter," Peter said in his earpiece.

"Yes, Peter?"

"Shut up."

Walter smiled awkwardly, "I have to pee, Peter."

His son did not answer him. Walter gently tapped the face of his watch, certain that the thing was on the fritz- surely it had been more than two minutes. He'd make sure to hit Peter up for a new one. Not one of those digital ones, he didn't like them. Perhaps an old, brass pocket watch, like his own father had had, when he was a boy… he'd always wanted one…

"Walter!" Peter snapped, "Shut up!"

Walter began to grow excited at the prospect of a pocket watch, after this job, and it only made time seem to slow even further, "Sorry," he replied, ceasing his humming, "Can I go in, Peter?"

"No. Ten minutes, remember?"

"But my watch is broken. It could have been a half an hour already. I'm starting to sprout roots, out here."

"Your watch is not broken, now shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

Ah. Verily, a flaw in his plot to obtain a pocket watch. There was no way Peter would get him one, if his wrist watch was functioning properly. Gently, Walter unstrapped the timepiece from his arm, tossing it onto the wet cement and crushing it under his heel, "It is to. It's busted all to pieces, the thing's a mess." Victory!

"Would you just quit it?!"

"Okay. But I may wait out here forever, and I wouldn't even know, because-" there were lights, down the avenue, and Walter paused. The lights shut off, as the car pulled to a halt, near the front gate. More cars pulled in slowly, lining the street. Federal cars, though unmarked.

Walter swallowed back panic, turning his back on them quickly to stride up the street and stand under the bus sign, "We have company, boy."

xXx

"What?!" Peter demanded in a whisper, flattening himself against the wall to avoid a security guard. As the man passed, Peter brought his black jack down at the base of his skull, rendering him unconscious.

"Feds. About nine squad cars, no doubt more around the back. I'm coming in."

"No, damn it, stay there! If something goes down, you get the hell out of here, understand?!"

"Bite me, Peter." and his earpiece was disconnected.

"Walter? Walter?! Son of a bitch!" Peter hissed, abandoning the body of the guard and continuing on. He had to get in there and plug in- he didn't know what else he would do, Walter did the extracting… glumly, he was grateful that the old man had ignored him.

The database, he had discovered from the old network, was hidden in an old manor in Linthicum Heights. There had been literally hundreds more, but only a very select, very expensive few had been able to pinpoint this one as the direct base for Massive Dynamic, and they had been able to pull up the floor plans from Raze's private archive in Baltimore. It seemed that the late crime lord had posessed connections to nearly every underground information system that there was. Peter was slightly relived that his empire had fallen.

Peter knew it would be different, this time, and while the job seemed easy enough, they couldn't risk anything…it was their last chance.

It was all or nothing.

Police were swarming the place, and he hadn't even made it inside. Peter slipped between the hedges, beginning to pull himself up the Virginia Creeper. The storage was in the basement, but he'd have to improvise by entering on the second story. He could re-route well enough, as he had the layout burned countless times into his mind. He'd have to clear a way for Walter; scaling stone walls like Robin Hood was probably beyond him…

Peter stripped off the old shutter fairly easily, as the rusty hinges crumbled under his pressure. He balanced it in his lap as gently slipped the latch, swinging the window open and slipping inside.

Peter landed on the ancient, yet spotless, hall rug silently, sliding the shutter behind the velvet curtains, out of sight. Hidden from the outside by the drawn windows, Peter scampered down the hall to the balcony before the staircase. Police were at the door, arguing with the local security-

His heart and breath seemed to seize in his chest.

Olivia did not take part in the territorial squabbling, and was calmly surveying her surroundings, memorizing every detail. Peter kept below the handrail, in the shadows, but watched, rapt. Only a few months earlier, he could have strode down the stairs to her, thrown his arms around her, kissed her… he silently and painfully wondered why he hadn't. His fears back then seemed so trivial, now, as a million guns stood between them. He didn't care about John, he could have made her forget about him… but, now, he could not make her forget her hate.

He hated himself, for hurting her again.

Peter absorbed the moment entirely, a moment of wishing, of longing… to touch her hair, to see her smile, how she tried to hide her irresistibly light freckles…

God, how could I have hurt her, again?

"Walter," Peter whispered lightly under his breath, "Come on, you bastard, I know you're there."

"I never left," Walter replied smugly, "and I'm already in."

Peter's eyes widened, "How…?"

"Your tracker says you're at the top of the stairs. Check the door."

Peter chanced a glance over the rail, and Walter, dressed in a full police riot uniform, smiled at him from behind a combat mask. "Hellooo, Peter," he chirruped happily, "now, who could that handsome policeman be?"

Peters' face split into a grin, "You're a genius."

"Oooh, say it again."

"Listen. I'm going to go deliver the gifts, you get down to the database and do your thing, okay? We'll meet at the extraction point, alright?"

"I still have to pee."

Peter had to refrain from laughing, "Magical."

xXx

Peter's shadowy form disappeared down the hall once more, and Walter vaguely wondered if the cargo pants he'd stolen from the deserted back of the SWAT van made his ass look fat. He was turning in circles, trying to see, when he grew dizzy and stumbled into someone, "Easy there," a familiar voice chuckled against his helmet, "I've heard of chasing tail, but come on."

Walter froze. It was her. He opened his mouth to speak, and stopped himself. "Yes, ma'am," he decided gruffly, his heart hammering and palms drenching themselves, under his gloves.

"Astrid," Olivia said, "You said the storage was down in the basement. I want you to take someone and get down there, and we'll set up in here."

Astrid. That was it. Astrid. He was too shy to say it, now that he remembered it.

Astrid patted his bullet proofed chest, "Come on, soldier," she smiled, and lead him off toward the kitchen.

"Yes, ma'am," he repeated tonelessly.

"Those pants don't make your ass look fat," she said as she swiped a security pass across the lock on the stainless steel door, dialing in the pass code, "In case you were wondering."

It was a joke. He had to laugh. But he merely stared thru his eye shield dumbly, his tongue sticking to the top of his mouth. I'm a real idiot.

Astrid turned to look at him, raising a brow, "Why are you so red? It was a compliment, soldier. You're to reply 'Yes, ma'am. You've got a nice ass, too'."

She did have a nice posterior. Jesus Christ, was she flirting with him?! Walter remained in a terrified, silent stupor.

Astrid only laughed, moving on down the stairs, "I like quiet guys. Most are so damn loud."

Walter assumed he was to follow her, and his knees felt weak as he descended the steps. No, he told himself, focus. You've got a job to do, Walter, and don't you dare forget, or things will never be the same. You won't even be able to tease her about it later- and what fun would that be?

Setting his jaw in determination, Walter proceeded into the basement, walking the isle between the huge supercomputers that held everything that would make it right again. Her name was quickly replaced as his mind was set into motion once more, and he watched her set up the laptop, jacking into the system, "Check the door, and don't let anyone in," she told him, her eyes intent on her attempts to break in.

Walter wished he could watch, to see if he was anywhere close to her level, but obligingly shuffled away, to the door, hauling the steel ingress shut with a deep clang. The damn thing had to be bulletproof, and he all but lost Peter's signal.

Dread gripped him. Peter. He was placing explosives in the house.

Walter glanced over his shoulder, to see if she watched. Her gaze did not stray from the screen, and he reached for his helmet strap.

"Hey, is there a plug, on that wall?" she asked, and he dropped his hand.

"No," he answered. This was nerve-racking.

She sighed, "Watch this for a second," and she headed toward the opposite wall.

Walter leapt on the opportunity, taking long strides to the terminal, his trembling fingers scrambling over the keys as he re-directed Massive Dynamics' system files into the hard drive. Downloading… the screen read. He stepped away as Astrid returned, plugging the power supply into the back of the laptop, "Okay," she said, "Just need to grab a chair, and we're all set to monitor." She smiled at him, "This could take a while."

He hadn't tweaked the capacity- it wouldn't hold it all. Problematic.

"Hey," Astrid said, her brows furrowing, "Are you alright…?" she followed his eyes to the screen, "What the hell…?" and she stooped to the keyboard.

Walter pulled the helmet and mask away, dropping them on the floor as his arms shot around her waist to seize her gun and radio, pulling them from her belt.

"Whoa-hey, buddy, I don't-" Astrid pushed away from him, turning. Walter stepped back, the gun barrel parallel with her forehead. She stared, transfixed, at his pained expression, "…Walter…"

Walter glanced down at the screen. Download complete. Perhaps she had tweaked the system herself. He returned his eyes to hers, "I'm so sorry," he whispered tearfully, and pulled the trigger.

xXx