Final installment folks! Thanks for reading along. I promise for more fics in the upcoming weeks. Pinky-swear!

"Hey," he reached out and cupped her cheek like he had in the past. Like always, it instantly soothed her. He watched as her eyes closed and tears fell. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispered.

After a few tries, she found her voice over the sobs, "I…"

"What?" he urged her on.

Just then there was a knock on the door from an unwanted guest. There stood Walter in the doorframe, musty maroon robe, wool socks and all, holding a glass of water and a small goody bag of drugs. A silent Uh-Oh crossed Walter's mind. He instantly felt guilty for intruding. He had a passing thought that this was becoming a habit.

"I'm sorry. I thought Agent Dunham—Olivia, could use a late night cocktail of NSAIDs and pain killers. I figured that the alcohol didn't work…" he trailed off, fidgeting with his feet.

That was it. That sent her over the edge. Peter closed his eyes when a loud sob escaped Olivia.

Ladies and gentlemen, my father…

Walter stood awkwardly—felt awkward. He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another and watched as Olivia began to sob. He should have started to apologize but realized that it was his failure to think before acting that kept getting him into these situations. So, he just stood and thought.

Was he that out of touch with humanity? He had only wanted to help the poor agent and yet, like most situations he's involved in, he ends up hurting someone in the process. This, of course, is never his intent.

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose and with an exhale looked up at his father; he was obviously vexed and tired.

"That'll be all Walter," Peter sarcastically smiled.

"Preposterous! Don't be ridiculous! I was comforting her long before you where you fool," he spat angrily. He walked over to the edge of the bed and sat on it, facing Olive—Olivia.

Peter wondered what the old man was talking about. But he did know that he had had enough; he stood and walked over to Walter but stopped in his tracks when daggers were thrown at him. Fine. Work your magic old man.

"Olivia, dear, listen to me. Look at me," he spoke softly but sternly.

Olivia peered up and met his gaze. Tears trickled down her cheeks and splashed unto the bedspread she had adored just an hour ago.

"Good. Now, we have all had bad days and sometimes those bad days turn into weeks and months, and then seventeen years before you know it. Trust me, I would know. I mean, have you ever been denied the right to use a knife to cut your meat for God's sake-- for fear of someone convinced you'd stab another person?" Walter paused to take a good look at her. Her eyes were a bit glazed over, her cheeks flushed, and her nose a slight pink at the tip.

"Well, did you?" He smiled when a small smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"No," she whispered hoarsely and smiled.

Peter watched the adorable scene unfold and all but rolled his eyes. Actually, he did. Maybe this has a better effect on women. But, he had to hand it Walter--her tears slowed and she was smiling.

Walter couldn't help but smile. He had a flashback of when she was just a mere girl, crying just like this. Back then either he or Belly would have just administered a powerful monoamine oxidase inhibitor, patted her on the head, and sent her off to take a nap.

"What?" Olivia whispered, having noticed a change in Walter's countenance.

He felt ashamed. How could he ever have done such things…and to children? My God! But…maybe this guilt—what he was feeling now, was a good thing. Maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought he was.

"Walter?" Olivia whispered softly again.

He was startled from his thoughts. He looked at her and then down at the bag of smashed drugs in his hand. He placed the bag into the pocket of his robe and patted Olivia's hand affectionately.

"You…don't need this Agent Dunham. You're a strong young woman. I know it. This…will pass." Olivia was mesmerized by his words.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?" Walter asked.

Olivia simply nodded her head, a small tear streaming down her right cheek. When the thought of never really having a father crossed her mind during Walter's speech, she tried her best to control her emotions. Unfortunately, the battle proved worthy and a single tear fell, against her best defenses.

"Good. Now, why don't you get some sleep? I make a ferocious breakfast," Walter turned to Peter, "right Peter?"

Peter nodded and watched as his father convinced the woman he cared strongly for get beneath the covers and lay her head on the pillow.

"There will be sausage, eggs, bacon, banana pancakes, milkshakes, hash browns—oh how I love a good, crispy hash brown…" Walter rambled on.

"Walter, I think she gets the idea," Peter smiled and stepped out of the way, cueing Walter to go back to bed himself.

Walter patted Olivia's leg, stood, and headed for the door. He stopped at the doorframe and whispered to his son, "We might need to take a trip to the grocery store," and then left.

Peter stayed in the doorframe, watching Olivia getting settled. He smiled at how adorable she is; puffy eyes, rosy cheeks, eyes that screamed tired. When she caught him staring at her he walked over to the bed and sat where his father just was.

"Can I ask you something?" she barely whispered. He smiled and nodded his head 'yes.'

"How did you find me?" she asked. She had been dying to ask him all night but was afraid of the answer.

"Well, your sister called me. It was late, she couldn't get a hold of you, and given what happened the last time she couldn't find you, she was worried…to say the least. I assured her that you were probably blowing off some steam and that I would find you. And I did, and at the right moment I suppose. That guy should have a permanent reminder to not prey on women at bars like that."

"I was foolish. I should have stopped at number four. But, I was just in so much pain…physical and emotional I suppose." She peeked up to see concern etched on his face.

She cleared her throat, "Did you call Rachel back?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I left a message. She must have fallen asleep."

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden," she spat out quickly, afraid if she didn't say it fast enough she might not ever say it.

Peter looked at her, a few seconds going by. "You, Olivia Dunham, will never be a burden to those who love you."

"What about you?" she asked, scared of what he'd say.

"I suppose you could stick me in that category—Walter as well," he smiled and then she smiled.

"Now, would you please go to sleep? I don't think I could stay up for very much longer," he laughed. He reached over her to the bedside lamp.

"Wait! What about you? Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"Have you forgotten how many times you came into the hotel to see me waking up from the couch? I've grown accustom to it—even learned to like it."

"You can stay here," she murmured meekly. He couldn't help but break out into a grin.

"That's sweet of you but," he bent down to drop a small, chastise kiss on her forehead, "I think it'd be better if I leave you to rest without any disturbances."

"But you wouldn't…you wouldn't disturb me at all…." she trailed off.

He thought for a second. "Do you promise to share the blankets? That you won't steal them in the middle of the morning?" She smiled and nodded. "Do you pink-swear?" She laughed and pulled her hand out from under the blanket.

"Pink-swear," she chuckled and linked pinky fingers with him.

"Okay, move over and make some room." And with that he jumped in bed next to her. He clicked the light off.

"Goodnight Peter," she mumbled from the other side of the bed. It was barely audible; a good indicator that she was seconds away from a restful slumber.

"Goodnight Livy," he retorted, grinning.