Chapter 11

Peter stood in the middle of the living room of the Bishop house on Yukon Street, surveying the chaos. On one side of the room, there were stacks of boxes filled with books, files, and rolled tubes of schematics. On the other side of the room sat box after box of records, the remainder of Walter's record collection, his turntable and speakers, and easily a dozen boxes of framed photographs, diplomas, and awards that Walter had amassed over the years before he entered St. Claire's.

It had been three weeks since he'd received Walter's letter. Two weeks since they'd announced that Walter was on an 'extended sabbatical' and he'd officially taken over his role with the Fringe Division. Four days since his first breakthrough on his first case as Walter's successor; it was up to Massive Dynamic to locate the labs now.

In the meantime, he needed to make sense of Walter's absence. Olivia was managing the bureaucracy, and Astrid had the lab and all its complexities well in hand. It fell to him to go through the house on Yukon Street. In one timeline, Walter and Elizabeth had lived there until his incarceration in St. Claire's; in another, he and Walter lived there after Olivia dragged him back from Iraq and sprung Walter after John Scott's accident. He'd lived there both with and without Walter, but it would forever be associated with Walter in his mind, along with the lake house and their first house in Cambridge where they lived as a family until Walter went to St. Claire's.

As he walked through the house, gathering odds and ends, every room reminded him of Walter. The kitchen had always been Walter's domain, his lab away from the lab. The family room, where Walter slept, "only thirteen steps away" from the kitchen. The dining room, where Walter had presented a candlelight breakfast in his attempts to force Peter and Olivia to reconcile. Walter's voice echoed in his ears as he walked through the dusty rooms.

You've were abducted! Of course, you need crepes!

Don't worry, son. I promise to wear my shorts to bed so that if you bring any young ladies home there won't be any embarrassing moments.

The right tool for this job…. Is Tinkertoys!

Peter... every living thing dies. As a scientist, that's one of the hardest things to accept, that - that we try to understand the mechanisms of life, but inevitably, we can't defeat death, no matter how much we - we may want to.

You're a good man, Peter. She knows that.

Every relationship is reciprocal, Peter. When you touch something, it touches you

Breakfast. The most important meal of the day, and I proved it in 1973. Blueberry pancakes. This is a Bishop family specialty, best eaten while still warm.

You called me Dad…

A knock on the door brought his thoughts back to the present. As he neared the door, he could hear Etta's excited voice.

"Dadddddddyyyyy, We know you're in there!"

He flung open the door and swept her up into his arms. "And to what do I owe this pleasure, Princess?"

Olivia stepped through the doorway with bags of Indian take-out. "We thought you might want some lunch…" she said, kissing Peter on the cheek, "and some company." She headed towards the kitchen.

"How's it coming?" Olivia asked as she spread out containers on the island.

Peter nudged one of the boxes with a toe and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hard to believe... All that's left of Walter is a few boxes of paper and a bunch of old records."

She came out of the kitchen and embraced him from behind, resting her head against his shoulder blades. "Oh, that hardly seems accurate…"

Peter shrugged. "Look around. Most of what he accomplished can't be talked about. Nobody would believe us if we COULD talk about it."

He kicked a corner of the box nearest him in frustration. "The whole world should be thanking him, Olivia, and nobody even knows his name."

Etta tugged on his hand and Peter knelt to examine what she was holding. "Look, Daddy, it's you and Grandpa!" She handed him the framed photo; Walter was smiling broadly, and Peter had his arm slung around his father's shoulder.

Olivia laid her hand on Peter's shoulder and leaned over to examine the photo. "When was that taken, Peter?"

"I thought it was about a year after you got Walter out…" He looked over at Etta. "About the time we moved in here." Peter shook his head. "That's not possible, is it? How would the photo end up... here?"

Olivia smoothed his curls. "I remember that it was one of his favorite photos. Where Walter's concerned…. I don't doubt that anything is possible anymore." She straightened and held out her hand to Etta. "C'mon, let's eat before everything gets cold."

ooo

Peter groaned and stretched. The kitchen island was littered with now-empty take-out containers. Having cleaned her plate, Etta was swinging her legs restlessly, ready to find other treasures in "Grandpa's boxes". The photo she'd dug out earlier sat before them on the island.

"Sure, sweetheart, go ahead," Peter said absent-mindedly. He rubbed his thumb over Walter's image, then looked up at Olivia with shining eyes. "Did I tell you I found the tape he left me… in 2036, the day before everything happened… before Walter left?"

Olivia shook her head, and slipped her hand over Peter's.

"I took it out of the amber. We watched it together, Walter and I." Peter paused, and swallowed, then looked at the photo in his hand. "He told me he knew it was what he had to do." He brushed the back of his free hand across his eyes. "He said I was his fav…"

Peter was interrupted by Etta clambering into his lap with another picture. "Look, Daddy! Look! It's me and Grandpa!"

Olivia squeezed his hand, then leaned over to see the photo that Etta held. Walter and Etta were in the lab, blowing bubbles. They were laughing as if they were having the time of their lives. Peter stood in the background, regarding them both with obvious fondness.

Peter laid his head against Etta's and closed his eyes. He pressed his lips against the blond curls that always escaped her pigtails and thought about Walter's last embrace, about his words after they'd watched the tape together.

I know in my soul this is what I am supposed to do. I want you to give Olivia your daughter back. I want to give you your life back. As a father, how could I not do that for you? What I said on the tape about stealing time with you, I meant it. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You are my favorite thing, Peter. My very favorite thing.

"What did Grandpa say to you, Daddy?" Etta wiggled in his lap to face him.

"He said…" Peter's voice cracked. "He said I was his favorite thing, but I think he meant you." He wrapped his arms around his daughter and squeezed her til she giggled. "Because you are my favorite thing, Henrietta Dunham Bishop. My very favorite thing."