fandomtownies | The Park, Saturday Afternoon

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peter bishop

The Park, Saturday Afternoon

Fed up with sharing a hotel room with his father (and his habits such as walking around without pants and reciting the chemical formula for root beer at godawful hours), Peter had gone on the internet to try and get distraction. To his surprise, he found that he could access the Portalocity site for the first time in years. Fringe division be damned, he quickly booked a one-day round trip visit back to his old high school, just to see how it would look so many years later.

Boy, was he in for a surprise.

He didn't go straight up to the school campus, no. First he stopped in the park, to feed the ducks. He crouched at the edge of the water, throwing little bits of bread.

"Well, at least this place is the same," he said, mostly to himself.

[ooc: Open! He hasn't contacted a soul, given he doesn't expect anyone to still be around that he knew. Also note: He looks visibly older, as he is now 29]

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It was Saturday, therefore yay wandering around in town! Which of course led her through the park at some point, which in turn led her to down by the pond.

There was someone else there, a guy who looked familiar in that "looks kinda like he could be someone I had a class with once but could just as easily be not someone I know" kind of way. She looked at him for a moment before shaking her head and turning away, not wanting the guy to think she was being a creeper.

Given recent events, not to mention years of honing his instincts, Peter had noticed her. But given it'd been almost twelve years since he'd seen her, he had no recollection of her face.

"You have something you want to say?" Peter asked, casually. Not the most friendly greeting, but he was always a little stand-offish.

"Sorry," she called. "You just remind me of someone, guy I had a class with not long ago."

Friendly greetings were overrated, anyway.

"Well given I went to school... well, sort of twelve years ago, I doubt we did," Peter said. "Not unless you experience time in some sort of non-linear way."

"Dude, it's Fandom, would that really be that weird?"

"You're right, it wouldn't be," Peter said. "Though I've spent most of the last dozen years trying not to think about Fandom."

And recent beyond normal events had got him thinking about it, admittedly.

"Fandom was that bad to you, huh?" She supposed not everyone enjoyed their time there.

"That's an oddly personal question for a possible former classmate whom you haven't even asked their name," Peter said, amused. "Just jump right into the meat of the issue, huh?"

"Yeah, I kinda grew up not having time to beat around the bush on stuff," K-Mart said with an apologetic shrug. "It kinda stuck with me."

Peter nodded, accepting that. "Raised by wolves?" he joked.

"Worse. Running from zombies." She quirked a smile. "Think I'd have preferred wolves."

"Well, running is better than the alternative," Peter said. "So you have that going for you. This place must be a vacation resort, if that's what you're normally used to."

"Let's put it this way," K-Mart said. "I haven't been home since I got here."

"So a permanent vacation," Peter said. "Good for you. Though you do have to deal with occasionally not being yourself and other shenanigans, its probably a good trade off."

"It is," K-Mart agreed. "And hey, reached senior year with only one gremlin bite. Some people really rack those up."

"Depending on how many years you went here, yeah," Peter said. "How much of a veteran of this place are you, any way?"

"Half my freshman year, all of sophomore and junior, going into my senior now."

Sometimes it really didn't seem that long, though.

"Well, here's hoping you keep your streak," Peter said, tossing his last bit of bread to the waterfowl. "Would hate for all that long work of not getting bitten to just go to waste during the end stretch."

"Or at least that it's nothing worse than thinking I was a hippie and trying to pay some guy with the dryer lint out of my pocket."

"...right," Peter said. "Well, here's to that. Good luck with it and all."

Scully was getting some shopping done, supplies for next term, and cutting through the park. She noticed the guy feeding the ducks, then slowed down, frowning.

Waitaminute.

Now Scully on the other hand, he recognized. He wasn't liable to forget her, but to see her like not a day had past was more than a little shocking.

"...Well this is unexpected," he said, ready to accept this at face value, at least for the moment.

More facial hair, a little taller, a bit more filled out, ten years older at least-- "Are you kidding me?" Scully demanded. Of the universe, as much as Peter.

"You think I'm responsible for this?" Peter said, a little incredulous, a little amused. "Though this does sort of explain why no one ever tried to write me a postcard."

"You hadn't sent me one yet," Scully said, half-accusing, half-preoccupied and disbelieving. "I didn't know where to send it. I don't-- how the hell is this possible?!"

"Well, I was from the past," Peter said. "And, still am, I think." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And I did, actually. I sent a few, but I stopped after I got one back address undeliverable. And then about a decade happened, so I stopped trying somewhere in there. So... sorry about that, I guess."

Scully shrugged her arms out helplessly, completely unsure of the protocol here. "Thanks? And I'm sorry. And.... welcome back?" And no fair! He was the right age now! Where was the justice in the world?

Peter had no idea himself. There really wasn't anything that could prepare you for this sort of incident. "Thanks, I guess," Peter said. "I'm only here for the day. I kind of have to be back in Boston by tomorrow, or else my father will probably... I don't even know what."

Scully took a few steps closer and punched him in the arm, lightly. In lieu of weird hugging moments. "You're back and now you're bailing? You're going to be forty the next time you get back here!"

"There's some things I need to learn more about," he said. "Long story, working for the FBI sort of indirectly, it's all very complicated. I'm almost afraid to ask... how long has it been since I left?"

"Almost two months," Scully said, her voice very dry. "So. Claudia and I will probably be happy to take you out for a drink. And Emma...."

Ha. Yes. That would be interesting, if he ran into her. "Indirectly? Doing what?"

"Fringe division," Peter said. "I'm a consultant on cases that fall outside normal bounds. Or at least, I babysit my father while he acts as a consultant, and do my best to actually do something useful other than making sure he's not doing too crazy, which is an amazingly relative term, I've discovered."

He paused for a moment. "You know, I haven't even thought of Emma in years."

And boy, that was a meeting that he'd be perfectly happy avoiding, when he thought about it.

"Word of advice? Don't open with that, if you do see her." Scully shook her head. "And it sounds like you're working for the X-Files, almost. Your father still isn't any better?" Still wanting to do weird experiments on hamsters?

Peter snorted a laugh. "I'm not entirely certain the man who was here was my father, if that makes sense. The only reason I even came back to the states was the FBI needed a family member to check Walter out of the mental institution." He shrugged.

"As for X-Files, well... very possibly. Unfortunately there aren't any fabulous redheads that I've met at the agency, not yet at least."

Scully smirked at him. "Which is a shame. I'd have something more to look forward to about going back, eventually. And... sort of. On the sense. A different version?" Her head hut. "How do I even know you're the Peter I know... oh, forget it. I can't question that every time someone goes away and comes back."

"This place gives enough headaches as it is," Peter said. "Best to avoid any ones that you can. But you mentioned buying me a drink. Good idea. Because if it's the other way around, I hear buying alcohol for minors is a criminal offense."

"Meet you at Caritas in an hour or two?" Scully offered, grinning a little. "You can tell me how you got roped into being your father's 'handler'."

"Deal," Peter said. "Because that's a story that needs a drink or two. And I promise not to disappear before then."

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The Park, Saturday Afternoon

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