A/N: Hey all! So, I baked cookies over the weekend and they were awesome and if I could, I would send you all an awesome!cookie in return for all your awesome reviews. Sadly, you'll have to settle for what has been my favourite chapter to write so far. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it XD

"When one has not had a good father, one must create one."

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Chapter 8 – A Good Father

Olivia sits straight up immediately clutching the phone so tight that her knuckles are white.

"Elizabeth, slow down. Where are you? What's happened?" She hears the older woman take a breath. And feels her body go numb as she listens to what Elizabeth says.

"I'll be right there," she responds automatically before putting down the phone.

"What's wrong?" Peter asks, taking in her ashen face and troubled eyes.

"That was Elizabeth Bishop," she says evenly, barely registering the awe on Peter's face. "Walter's had a stroke."

...

Olivia's already halfway to the door, her coat in one hand, when she feels Peter's fingers curl around her wrist. It's the first time he's touched her since he's been back and the contact rattles her.

"I'm going with you," he says, causing her gaze to flare upwards.

"What?" She doesn't understand. All she hears is Elizabeth's panicked voice in her head. She calmly goes through the motions of gathering her keys and coat, but inside, she's a mess. All she can think about is getting to that hospital.

Peter's eyes bore into hers and he looks almost as shaken as she feels. "I'm going with you," he repeats, his voice slightly hoarse. "Look, Walter means something to me too. I want to come."

"Will he-" she shakes her head in confusion, "I mean, will anyone but me be able to see you?"

"I don't think so," he answers. "I just," Peter exhales shakily and runs a hand over his face. "Look, I need to see them. Please."

He sounds so broken, so desperate, that she only nods before fumbling with her keys and unlocking the door.

"Did my-did Elizabeth say anything else?" he asks as they walk down the hallway.

Olivia shakes her head. "Just that they're at Boston County General."

"Is he still living in Cambridge?"

She gives him a sidelong glance as they walk towards the outside doors. "They do, yeah. How exactly do you know the Bishops?"

When Peter doesn't reply, Olivia turns around to find that she's alone in the hallway. Completely and utterly alone. For a moment she considers running back up to her apartment to see if he managed to find his way back there, but her desperation to get to Walter overrides the sinking feeling born from Peter's absence. Only just.

It's dark by the time she pulls up in the hospital parking lot. Her thoughts zig-zag between Peter and Walter and she finds herself incredibly anxious to know if Peter's still on this plane of reality or whether he disappeared again. And if so for long this time? Her thoughts begin to idle back to the moment before the phone call, but then Elizabeth Bishop's weathered face comes into view and Olivia's only focus is on the weary woman in front of her.

"Oh Olivia," Elizabeth takes the younger woman in her arms and holds her tightly. Olivia's not sure who she's comforting, but she hugs back. "How is he?" she asks, once Elizabeth pulls away.

"He's in surgery. The doctors say it was a blood clot which interrupted his blood supply to the brain." She waves her hand breezily, "Walter could probably explain it better. I'm just…" the older woman looks at her with a vulnerable gaze, "I'm scared, Olivia. His brain is already so…fragile. I'm scared about what this might do to him."

Olivia gently squeezes Elizabeth's shoulder. "Let's wait to hear from the doctors. Walter's strong." But even as she says it, her heart is pounding, her body is filled with dread. It's funny and a little ironic how much she's come to think of the couple as family. Four years ago, when she had first stepped into St. Claire's, dragging a hesitant Elizabeth along with her, all she had wanted was a solution to her problem and Walter Bishop was that solution, easy as that. Somewhere along the way, he became more. He and Elizabeth and even Astrid became her sort of surrogate family, which was something she'd never really had before. It was always her and Rachel, sort of trekking through the wilderness of life after their mother's death and even then, she'd always felt like the responsible one, like it was her job to protect her younger sister. There was never anyone to protect her, to look after her. Until the day Elizabeth Bishop showed up at her apartment six months after they had officially begun investigating the Fringe cases. They were worried about her, Elizabeth said. Astrid mentioned that she was even more distant than usual, Elizabeth said. Walter complained that she had snapped at him, Elizabeth said. And Olivia, looking into the eyes of the other woman, couldn't lie. So she told her what day it was, and she told her about her step-father and she told her about her guilt and the shame and the anger and the fear and she cried and cried while Elizabeth held her. And afterwards, Elizabeth made them tea, because she was English and she insisted that she made tea better than the 'yanks'. After the first sip, Olivia declared she was right.

They're sitting in the waiting room as Olivia tries desperately not to look up at the clock for the hundredth time. She's never been good at waiting. Her fingers drum the armrest of the chair impatiently until she does eventually look at the bright red clock on the wall. 10:15.

"Did you drive here?" Olivia murmurs, turning to Elizabeth. "I thought I saw Walter's station wagon in the parking lot."

Elizabeth nods and rubs her eyes in tiredness. "Y-yes. We were here for…something else. I needed a check-up. We were on our way to the car when it happened." She swallows at the memory, "I thought he was having a heart attack at first," she says quietly. "But then-"

"Mrs Bishop?" A tall man in dark blue scrubs rounds the corner and both women stand.

"Yes?" Elizabeth's voice is strong, but she reaches out for Olivia's hand. The doctor stops in front of them and offers a small, reassuring smile.

"The surgery went well. Your husband's condition is stable. We can't know the full extent of his neurological damage until he wakes."

Elizabeth is nodding frantically as she takes in what the doctor says. "So he'll be able to speak and walk?"

"Well, the full extent of his functions will only be evident after he wakes up, so I can't honestly say how well he'll be able to do either, but we do have an excellent rehabilitation programme for stroke victims. Perhaps I'll give the paperwork to your daughter while the nurse takes you to see your husband?"

Both women nod, neither of them bothering to correct the doctor.

Olivia surveys the necessary paperwork with a hasty glance, eager to get back to Elizabeth, but also knowing that she should give the woman time with her husband.

As she makes her way back down her hall, she catches a glimpse of a man she's seen at least twice in the last three weeks. A man in a suit and a fedora. A man who makes her feel decidedly uneasy. As they make eye contact, Olivia walks towards him and he turns around, picking up his pace as she nears.

"Stop," she calls out, as he turns into a door leading to the stairwell. "FBI, stop!"

She's running now, trying to keep up. She crashes through the door and looks down the spiral staircase. But everything is silent and empty. There's not trace of the man. There's no trace of anything.

"Is everything okay?"

She turns to find a nurse. Appraising her with a worried expression. Olivia nods and walks past the woman. She's got too much on her mind to worry about strangely dressed stalkers. She makes a note to search the FBI database for his face when she gets back to work.

After about ten minutes, she knocks gently on the door-frame of the ICU room, alerting Elizabeth of her presence.

The older woman sits beside the bed where Walter lays, unconscious, but stable. The steady beep of the monitors is strangely comforting. She approaches gingerly, and is surprised at how affected she is by the sight of Walter Bishop lying there - so helpless, so vulnerable. They've had their fair share of scares in the years they've worked together. She absently recalls one time Walter got lost in China Town and she and Astrid scoured the streets until they found him sitting in a noodle bar, speaking broken Cantonese to a teenage boy. But she can't remember him ever being this…fragile. And it scares her. It scares her because whether she wants to admit it or not, Walter Bishop is the closest thing she's ever had to a father.

She feels a gentle tug on her hand, and Elizabeth looks up at her from her chair. Her eyes weary, but less anxious. Seeing her husband must have eased her somewhat. "Olivia, I just wanted to thank you for coming here. For being here for us," her gaze shifts to the bed, "for Walter."

Olivia's fingers tighten around the older woman's. "Of course." She wants to say more, she wants to tell Elizabeth how much they mean to her, how much she's come to care for them, but the words ball up in her throat and she swallows them down. "I'm here whenever you need me," she says instead.

"You don't have to stay," Elizabeth says. "I'll be with him and I'll update you, but you've done so much already by just being here."

"Do you need anything? Anything I can get you from home? Anything of Walter's?"

Elizabeth shakes her head and offers up a rueful smile. "We still have a bag packed in the trunk. One Astrid packed almost a year ago in case of emergencies. After the grocery store incident."

Olivia chuckles lightly. "I remember."

Elizabeth pats her hand. "Go home, get some rest."

She's about to protest until she realises that Elizabeth might actually want to be alone with Walter, so she nods and says, "Okay. I'll call you in the morning." She's almost at the door when Elizabeth speaks.

"He's always thought of you as a daughter you know."

Olivia turns slightly, Elizabeth's face is covered by shadow, but her voice is clear. "We couldn't, I mean we tried to have children but…I suppose it wasn't in the cards for us. If anything happens to Walter," her voice is softer now, "he-he'd want you to know. He couldn't have been prouder if you'd been his own."

Olivia's heart pounds heavily in her chest as she takes this in and she nods once, not trusting her own voice before walking into the brightly lit corridor and away from the Bishops.

The drive home is quiet. The roads are empty, the night is silent and the only thing buzzing is the noise in Olivia's head. She needs Walter to be alright. The admission, even to herself is scary. Olivia rarely needs anything. But this, this she needs. If she was religious in any sense, she'd pray and she's beginning to understand the appeal, but after the last three years, after a childhood of abuse, she has no place for religious dogma in between everything else and so all she does is hope. She hopes Walter will survive this. She hopes she won't have to bury another parent. And somewhere, in the back of her mind, as she walks towards her front door, she hopes Peter will be on the other side of it.

...

It's strange to see someone in her apartment before she enters it. It's been so long since anyone else has shared this space with her. But her heart rate increases, her mouth goes dry and she can barely contain the sigh of relief that escapes her lips when her eyes fall on his form, sitting on her couch, his elbows on his knees, his head buried in his hands. The initial relief is soon replaced with concern as she reads his body language. His posture screams distress and she closes the door softly behind her before hanging her coat up on the rack. He doesn't lift his head, not even when she approaches.

"Peter?" She's apprehensive and stops just short of the couch. The sound of her voice finally has him moving, as he lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers with such raw intensity that she fights to not step back. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that she constantly finds herself drowning in are red-rimmed as if he'd been crying, yet that's something she can hardly conceive of. Everything about him is so…solid and strong. The thought of him in tears shakes her. So, she fights her instincts, or perhaps she finally listens to them, and she takes a step forward. "What's the matter?"

He doesn't take his eyes off hers, but his face changes, his jaw clenches as he visibly tries to keep control and for a millisecond she scared. The intensity on his face, the force is almost overwhelming. He releases a measured breath and says, "I can't do this." He gets up as if he's about to go somewhere, but just stops and looks at her.

"Do what?" she asks slowly.

"This," Peter motions around the room. "Whatever this is. This coming and going, I can't…" he digs the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. "It's not supposed to be like this," he mumbles.

"Peter?" she tries again, taking another step towards him, closing the gap between them. "Why was it so important for you to come with me to the hospital?"

"I haven't seen him for over a year, Olivia," he says, his voice lost now, like that of a boy, and Olivia finds herself resisting the urge to reach up and push his hair off his forehead. A gesture of comfort that she wouldn't ordinarily initiate, but for some reason seems so right. But she holds back, and watches him fall apart in front of her. "I haven't seen my father since the Bridge."

"Walter," she breathes.

And his eyes mist over in confirmation. He looks away, past her shoulder, unable to meet her gaze, unable to show her everything he's been holding back. And she sees him struggle, she sees his body tremble as he grieves for everything he's lost and suddenly she feels it, as if she had lost it too, except she didn't. Hesitantly, she lays a hand on his chest, above his rapidly beating hard. The pounding against her palm has her breath quickening and his eyes drag back to hers, questioning, but also hopeful, for the first time, hopeful. She wants to say something, to comfort, to console, but words have never been her strength and so she acts.

Her lips touch his in a tentative kiss, barely brushing, barely tasting. But it's enough and his breath is warm against her mouth. And it's as if something inside of her breaks, as if she's been held up by a thin rod which he snaps as he jerks her forward. And their mouths fuse hungrily now, without preamble, without hesitation. There's no gentle introduction, but desperate exploration. She barely hears herself moan into his mouth as his tongue meets hers and she tastes him fully. And there's something so familiar, so comforting, so intimate about the way he's touching her, his one hand gripping her upper arm, pulling her impossibly closer, the other snaking down her back and she melts into him and they fit. She absently thinks they fit, before he groans and then she's not thinking much at all. And this feels so right, this feels so perfect that suddenly, she's terrified. Terrified because kissing him feels like home and she has no idea how to even begin to understand what that means. His mouth moves to nip at her jaw and her eyes shoot open at the sensation before she realises the world is impossibly bright. Except…it's not the world, but him. It's almost as if he's…

Olivia pulls back, and he stares at her with confusion, but it's not his expression she's concerned with, so much as the bright glow that surrounds him.

"What?" he asks, his voice laced in concern as her eyes dart over his face and the shimmery glow that bounces off it.

"Y-you're glowing," she breathes, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

Self-consciously, he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. "You're scared."

"I-I'm…yes, but how?" And then it hits her as if someone had just punched her in the stomach and she takes a step back. "The glimmer," she murmurs through her fingers. "You're from the other side?" It's a question, but she knows the answer.

He nods.

"Then how are you-" Olivia puts her hands in her pockets and looks down before meeting his gaze again. She feels strangely vulnerable and the glow around him is distracting. "I thought you were Walter's son."

"I am." He says this firmly, with conviction. "I was born…over there. Walterna-um, The Secretary is my biological father. When I was eight, Walter crossed over and brought me here."

"Why?"

"It's-" he takes a step towards her and she holds her hand up in a defensive gesture and he makes a show of backing off. "It's kind of a long story" he says. She brings her hands up to her face in frustrated huff and he sighs. "Look, Olivia, I want to be honest with you. I want to tell you everything. I just-"

"You don't think I can handle it?" she asks, her tone clipped.

"No," he takes that step forward now, until he's almost closed the gap between them again. "No, I just don't want it to be a case of too much too soon. I don't want to scare you away."

"I'm not scared," she says softly and he smirks.

"Am I still glowing?"

She nods then looks away. "I still don't understand."

"What do you mean?"

"We tried…before. It didn't work. I couldn't identify anything from the other side. I was supposed to see…" she looks back to him, "Well I guess I was supposed to see this, but I never did."

He frowns. "But…Jacksonville? I remember, I was there. You came back and spotted the hotel -"

"No." Her cuts him off sharply and he looks at her in surprise. "No, that's not how it happened." Olivia walks away from him and sits down on the edge of the couch. She puts her hands together, as if she's praying and rests her chin on her fingertips. Her eyes are unfocused, looking past him, so she won't have to see the glimmer, the reminder of her failure.

But then he's next to her, not close enough to touch, but his presence is magnetic. They don't have to be touching for her to feel him. "What happened?" he asked softly.

"Nothing." Her voice is flat, devoid of the emotion she really feels. "Nothing happened. Walter gave me the Cortexiphan. I hallucinated. We realised that fear was the trigger, but… I couldn't make it work. I didn't see anything." She wipes her nose absently, "I failed."

"'Livia-"

"No." She doesn't want his comfort or support. She doesn't want him to make her feel better. And it scares her, because she knows that he could. With just a touch, with just a kiss, he could. So she shuts her eyes. "No. Those people died because there's something wrong with me. Because I can't feel anything."

She feels his fingers under her chin and opens her eyes. Those swirling blue irises are staring back at her. "What are you feeling right now?" he asks, his voice a bare whisper.

"I-I'm scared," she breathes. Her heart is beating so hard, she's surprised he can't hear it.

"What else?" he murmurs, leaning in closer.

"Something," she swallows. "Something I can't explain."

"There's nothing wrong with you, Olivia," he says. He says because he was never there for her to hear it. "You're the most extraordinary person I've ever met."

"You don't know me," she counters. "And I don't know you."

"You know you feel something you can't explain."

She exhales a trembling breath and sweeps her eyes across his face. "Peter?"

"What?" He pulls back slightly and inspects his hand. "Am I still glowing?"

She leans in slightly and shakes her head. "No."

...