-A/N:Hey fringies! Just a little oneshot I wrote to tide myself over for the hiatus. My version of the cruelest way Fringe could end... Please review!-
Walter Bishop's eyes flew open as a young, slender nurse plunged a syringe of ioxapine into his neck. Struggling to hold down the flailing patient under her light frame, she paged for assistance. It was the third time this week something like this had happened. She was beginning to question herself whether or not she was cut out for the work required in a psychiatric hospital.
Finally, Dr. Bishop's fit subsided and he gained a bit of lucidity amidst his drug-induced haze. "They were HERE!" The patient managed to sputter out before crumpling in her arms.
"Who was here, dear?" the young nurse asked in the most serene voice she could muster.
"The bald men…they were all over…" he answered meekly, squeezing her hand.
"Honey, that was just a night terror. Remember? Dr. Sharp told us that with your new medications you might experience some sleep problems in the next few-"
"NO!" Walter growled, "I must go to my lab!"
His eyes darted around the padded cell for a moment and then demanded "Where is my son? I need my son! And Olivia! I must leave with them this instant if we are ever to successfully complete the plan!"
The poor man. It broke her heart every time she had to break the news that his son had died almost thirty years ago. After Peter succumbed to the mysterious disease, Walter's life had been a downward spiral. Spree experimentation on children, drug overdoses, the list went on and on. Finally, after almost burning his lab assistant to death while screeching about parallel universes to his favorite hallucination, a mysterious, omniscient bald man, he was institutionalized at St. Claire's.
"Walter, Peter isn't with us anymore." She gently whispered.
"Ah…" Walter's eyes watered, reality falling back to him, "But…Olivia? I can see her, correct? She's just down the way I'm sure. I just saw her and that lovely boy the other day…I'm sure if you get permission from Dr. Sharp, of course… It's very important, you see."
The young nurse bit her lip and replied tenderly "Olivia Dunham and Nick Lane- remember the name exercises, sweetie-have been transferred to a separate facility. I'm sorry, Walter, I knew she meant a lot to you but her unique condition could not be properly handled here."
"Oh…I-I see…Nick Lane, Nick Lane, Nick Lane…but Olivia…she's not coming back?"
It puzzled the nurse why those two were put under St. Clare's care in the first place. Both were pumped with drugs as children by- oh what was his name? Walter idolized and admired him dearly. He was the inspiration for Walter's sudden turn to experimentation on children… William Bell, yes. Those two became drug induced savants when they were six or so, and their condition had augmented ever since. Brilliant, but completely incapable of caring for themselves.
Suddenly something darkened in Walter's tired complexion, and his grip on her palms tightened. "SHE MUST BE HERE! ARE YOU MAD?! WE MUST DEFEAT THEM OR-"
At last, help arrived. "Dr. Broyles!" The nurse exclaimed.
"Dr. Bishop," he ordered stoically "please let go. LET GO, Dr. Bishop."
Dr. Broyles pried relenting hands away from the inexperienced nurse. She had so much to learn. Reaching into his bag, he retrieved a vial of anesthetic and injected a small dose into Walter's system. He positioned five electrodes across Walter's scalp and connected first two to a monitor. The wires trailing off the remaining three were clamped to a small, three pronged device, which Broyles quickly activated. A few quick pulses of electricity, and Dr. Bishop was out cold, seizing.
"That should do it. Please report the incident to his psychiatrist. I'm sure Dr. Sharp would like to hear about this." Broyles finished addressing the nurse and turned to Walter. "He shouldn't remember this nightmare once he comes to in 3…2…1…"
Sure enough, Walter drifted out of a dreamy haze right on cue. A bit shaken, but still sedated, he mumbled something incoherently and gazed up at the nurse.
Dr. Broyles' pager beeped. "The patient appears to be stable," Dr. Broyles stated monotonously, "and I must tend to another patient. Page assistance if this happens again,"
Broyles packed his kit and left. The nurse turned to Walter and stroked his hand.
"How are you doing, dear?"
His sullen grey eyes softened and drifted up and down her figure, as if he was searching for something important.
"Em…Asteroid?...Aspirin?...Asterisk-" Walter struggled for a name.
He could never remember her name. "Name exercises? Remember? Like an ASTERoid, but ends with your playful subconscious?" He had such an odd way of remembering things.
"Asteroidid? Aster…. ASTRID!" Walter beamed, incredibly proud for remembering his favorite nurse's name.
"So what did you want to ask me, sweetie?"She asked as she repositioned herself in a more colloquial stance.
"Astrid… Why did Dr. Broyles come in? Did he have an assignment?"
Well, Walter hadn't completely forgotten his reoccurring "Fringe Team" dreams. But at least the most recent one was buried deep into that curious brain of his by a few electric shocks.
"No, sweetheart, you just had another bad dream. Would you like to draw me a picture showing me one of your good dreams?"
"I can't quite remember…" Walter yawned, "I'm a bit drowsy…can you sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat?"
Astrid melodiously sang Walter's favorite song and he gently drifted off to sleep. Although she knew how taxing his "Fringe" dreams were on his mental state, she secretly hoped for another. She knew it wasn't right, but she loved being whisked away to a world of adventure each time Walter woke up and recounted the Fringe Team's macabre adventures to her. Too bad that this alternate life was nothing but a dream.