I was talking to Louise a few days ago about TV moms to include in a Mother’s Day post and jokingly said Olivia Dunham would receive macaroni art from Etta and a bottle of whiskey from Peter on Mother’s Day. Louise then said I should incorporate that into a story. I thought it was a good idea. I have read fanfiction before never actually tried writing one myself. So, if you like it, thank Louise. If you hate it, then blame me.
Okay, enough rambling, check out my Mother’s Day fanfic after the jump.
Setting: The story is set in 2013, a few months after the last scene in “An Enemy of Fate” (5×13).
A Few More Seconds
The alarm did not go off. It was Sunday and the Bishops liked to sleep in on the weekends, however, that rarely happened since Peter and Olivia’s job was not the typical Monday through Friday profession. Today, though, was special. It was Mother’s Day and Phillip Broyles promised the Bishops the day off.
The morning light entered the room and landed gracefully on Olivia Dunham’s face. Her nose wrinkled as she felt the warmth. She turned over to cuddle with her husband but found his side of the bed empty. Although disappointed she was robbed of her morning Eskimo kiss, she knew Peter was preparing a surprise for her with their only child, Etta. He would be forgiven for breaking their morning ritual.
Peter was in the kitchen cooking the last batch of pancakes as Etta stood on a stool to the side with a spatula. “Now, daddy?” she asked. “Just a few more seconds.” The littlest Bishop loved being in the kitchen, a trait she inherited from her grandfather. They use to prepare everything together but since Walter’s disappearance, Etta had clocked in less cooking time.
The pancakes were finally ready and as Peter helped Etta control the spatula, he heard Olivia’s voice coming from the stairwell, “Peter?” “We’re in the kitchen,” he said. Olivia walked in and was greeted by her three year old yelling, “Happy Mother’s Day, mommy!” Etta ran into her mother’s arms and Peter followed, giving his wife a kiss before wishing her a Happy Mother’s Day. Olivia was beaming. This joyful moment was not lost on her. Her daughter’s “Grandpa’s Little Helper” apron reminded her to pause and appreciate this moment with her family, a practice she was not accustomed to doing.
Ever since Walter’s disappearance, she had been taking the time to pause and appreciate the moments with those she cares about, especially her daughter. Olivia loved Etta. She loved the idea of her before she even came into this world but Olivia felt conflicted. She questioned whether she could be a mother. Was she robbing Etta the opportunity to have a mother that could be hers and only hers, rather than a mother she had to share with the world? This was Olivia’s secret struggle. She believed her purpose in this world was to protect it even if that meant sacrificing herself and leaving her daughter without a parent. She would choose the world’s protection before her daughter’s, and for that, she felt guilty. She knew Peter would never do that therefore she believed she didn’t deserve the amazing child she had. But things were a bit different now. Walter’s disappearance took a toll on the family as they searched for answers, but an unexpected sense of calm occurred as well. There were less fringe events, less dangers. Olivia felt her burden as protector lessen. Moreover, she experienced the urgency to appreciate her husband and child more. It was as if she had lived a life in which she didn’t and lost them both. She did not want to make that mistake so she held onto her baby a little tighter and let her kiss with Peter last a little longer that morning.
The trio sat together at the breakfast table munching on blueberry pancakes and bacon, Etta’s favorite. The door bell rang. Olivia looked at Peter thinking he may have conjured up another surprise, but Peter was clueless to who it could be. He left the dining room to answer the door and when he returned, he had a bouquet of flowers in his hands. “Who’s it from?” Olivia asked. He looked at the card and replied, “Astrid.” “Mommy, why did Auntie Astrid send you flowers?” “Because I am a mommy.” “You’re my mommy,” Etta said sternly. “That’s right. I am your mommy,” she said with immense weight. “Okay, finish your plate, peanut. We are going to the park and we’re going to have a picnic there,” Peter told his daughter. “Done, daddy.”
It was mid-day and the Bishops just finished walking their favorite trail which ended in an open field near the river. There was a small carousel with twenty hand carved farm animals nearby that Etta always rode, however, today, the anxious little girl had to wait through lunch before she could ride. Patience wasn’t exactly a talent three year olds possessed so the picnic was short lived.
Olivia asked her which animal she wanted to ride and Etta excitedly blurted out, “The cow.” Olivia should’ve known. She feared that Etta, being only three, would not retain the memories of her grandfather, but moments such as this demonstrated that pieces of Walter were a part of Etta. As she grows older, she may not know why rhubarb is her favorite pie or why she always prefers strawberry milkshakes, but Peter, Olivia and Astrid will be there to explain.
Etta had picked a handful of dandelions and brought them to her mother sitting on a park bench. “Wow, look at you. What are you going to do with so many, baby?” Olivia asked. “Make them fly. You too,” Etta said as she gave her mom a few dandelions and together, they blew the tops and watched the seeds float in the air. “Mommy, I’m tired,” the little girl said. “You are? Well, come here.” Olivia scooped Etta up into her arms and let her rest on her chest. She slowly rocked side to side, caressing her child’s blonde hair. It did not take long for the little one to fall asleep. Peter returned from packing the picnic items in the car and found his wife cradling their baby. He chuckled. “She’s out like light. I can carry her back to the car,” he said extending his arms to pick her up but Olivia declined. “Just a few more seconds.” Peter smiled and conceded. He adoringly looked down at his sleeping angel. Since meeting Olivia, he had seen many astonishing events but what astonished him the most was his daughter. He created her. She saw so much of himself and Olivia in Etta, yet she was growing into her own person too.
It was evening. Olivia entered the kitchen just as Peter was finishing washing the dishes. He dried his hands and then took her hand into his. “Mrs. Bishop, please take this seat right here.” He lead her to a bar stool and placed two old fashioned tumblers on the kitchen island then revealed a bottle of whiskey with a red bow on it. Olivia laughed. “Happy Mother’s Day,” Peter lovingly told his wife. She gently placed her hand on his face, whispered “Thank you,” and leaned in for a kiss. Their lips locked then the two broke away but remained close enough for their foreheads to touch. Quiet moments were few and far between and though they were still grieving Walter’s death, the day provided some respite. They did not know where Walter went but they knew whatever he did was done for them. They loved their day and they appreciated it to the fullest, because they knew if they didn’t, Walter’s sacrifice would have been in vain. So, they let their foreheads linger a little while longer and each quietly thanked Walter for those precious seconds.