Title: The Midnight Train (Going Anywhere)
Rating: G
Characters: Peter, Walter, Mrs. Bishop
Spoilers: Vague ones for all of Season One
Timeframe: Pre-Series
Wordcount: ~1,600
Disclaimer: My name is not Jeffrey Jacob Abrams, so I do not claim to own his characters, seeing as I'd rather not get sued.
Author's Note: I wrote this after the finale as a way to organize my thoughts in a linear fashion about what may have happened in 1985. Given the subject matter, this has probably been done before, but I haven't really delved into Fringe fanfic yet, so if it's similar to something you may have read or wrote, it's an accident and I apologise. This is basically the written equivalent of a doodle, but I figured I'd share because I kind of like how it turned out. I didn't really include any speculation about Reiden Lake and the car crash because, well, I'm not very good at speculation, but more importantly, I was focusing more on the character story. It's from the POV of Young Peter and I stole the title from Journey's Don't Stop Believing (but you already knew that!)
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, It's my first attempt at Fringe fanfic, so be nice :)
"Mommy, where's Daddy?" Peter Bishop asked for the umpteenth time after a long day at the beach.
"He's still working," she replied, why didn't the answer ever change?
"When's he gonna be here?"
"Soon, Honey," she always said that too, Peter missed his dad, he and his mom had been at the new beach house for almost a week, and his dad was still nowhere to be found. Why couldn't he work less? His mom wasn't as fun to go swimming with, Dad would always throw him over his shoulder, Mom tried, but she couldn't really do it right.
"What's he doing?"
"You know what he does, Peter."
"Lab stuff, with Belly," replied Peter, "I know, but what is he doing"
"What exactly?" asked his mom.
"Yeah"
"Well, I don't know for sure."
"Can we have pancakes tomorrow?" asked Peter, suddenly changing the subject, it was almost his bedtime after all, and it was a very important question.
"You just worry about going to bed first. Okay Peter?"
"I didn't practice yet!" protested Peter.
"As long as you brushed your teeth, I'll let you off the hook for tonight," offered his mother kindly.
"Dad doesn't like it when I don't practice."
"I won't tell him," said his mother, Peter thought she sounded like she was more ready for bed than he was.
"I still should," said Peter earnestly.
"Alright sweetie, play me a bedtime song then," relented his mother. Peter eagerly made his way over to the piano, he'd heard a song on the radio today that had an easy-sounding piano part, and he wanted to try it; it was slow-ish, started on E, maybe? He made an attempt and, to his delight, got it first try. Proud of himself, he then moved on to Brahms' Lullaby, it was the only thing that came immediately to mind that met his mom's criteria of a "bedtime song."
"That was great, Peter," said his mom with a smile as she picked him up from the piano and carried him up the stairs toward his room, "although I didn't know you were a Journey fan."
"Wha?" asked Peter, yawning, he was a big kid now, but if his mom wanted to carry him upstairs, he wasn't about to complain, especially after such a long day.
"Nevermind," replied his mom, putting him down as they reached the door to his room.
"Will Dad be here tomorrow?" asked Peter, once again, pulling on his pajamas before he climbed into bed. His mom paused for a second before replying.
"I think so," she answered while tucking him in; Peter got the impression she didn't really think so. She kissed him on the forehead "Goodnight Peter," she said as she exited the room, clicking off the light switch as she passed.
"Night Mommy," replied Peter as he drifted off.
xXxXx
There's no way it's morning yet thought Peter when he was waken up, it must have been several hours later. He didn't really mind being woke up though, he was pretty sure he was having a bad dream anyway. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw a familiar form leaning over him.
"Daddy?" he asked groggily. His face lit up as he registered the presence of his father. As he realized what was going on, he decided to attempt the slightly more manly greeting of, 'Hey Dad!"
"Hey Peter," replied Walter Bishop in an odd voice, his dad was giving him a look he had never seen before, it was a smile, but there was something else he couldn't place, was he sad? "I missed you, son." There was a barely perceptible pause before the last word.
"Me too" said Peter, sitting up to give his father a hug, Walter seemed to hesitate for a second before returning what turned out to be very tight hug. Peter sensed something was weird, "what's wrong, Dad?" His father was silent for a long beat before releasing him from the embrace and replying, after a moment, with what seemed like some difficulty.
"I'm just very happy to see you, Peter."
"Me too," repeated Peter, "but you were only away for a week."
"Was I?" said Walter more to himself than anything.
"Yeah," replied Peter nonetheless, "what took you so long? Mom's not as fun to go swimming with."
"I'm very sorry, son" said Walter seriously. Peter was taken aback by how much his dad seemed to mean that, when he knew he was just being a baby about the whole thing.
"It's okay, Dad" said Peter, "you can just make pancakes tomorrow." His dad smiled, but he still seemed conflicted about something. "Dad?" Walter seemed to have a subtle reaction every time he said that word.
"Would you…" there was a long, long pause, to the point that Peter wondered if his dad had lost his train of thought, as he did sometimes, but Walter did eventually add, "…like to go for a drive, son?"
Huh? That was an odd thing for him to ask the night before.
"Sure," replied Peter slightly confused.
"Right… get your coat, then," he said quickly.
"You mean now!?" realized Peter, he felt a rush of excitement, he'd never been out of the house at- he looked at the bedside clock- 3:30 at night. (He didn't even know they made a 3:30 at night!)
"Can I wear my pajamas?" asked Peter, yawning, even if the question made him feel like less of a great adventurer.
"Anything you want son," said his dad. Peter also grabbed his favorite teddy bear before he was ushered out his door and down the stairs, he couldn't say why he felt like he had to do it.
When they got outside, they were greeted by more stars than Peter had ever seen in his life. There was something exciting about the warm summer air in the dead of night, a feeling he couldn't explain, it even smelled different.
"So, where are we going?" asked Peter as he climbed into the front seat of the station wagon.
"One can only know when one gets there" replied Walter, again mostly to himself, Peter was okay with this idea. Walter climbed into the driver's side, turned on the ignition and pulled out onto the starlit road.
At first, Peter was very excited, he looked out the window at the crescent moon and the stars and the airplanes and the satellites, and occasionally at his dad, who still had that strange expression and seemed to be watching Peter more than he was the dim road. They drove for a long time, and the farther they went, the more Peter's excitement was replaced by drowsiness. Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, the boy was asleep before anything interesting had happened.
xXxXx
The early morning sun was bright when Peter woke up again (by himself this time) in his own bed. To his disappointment, he didn't remember anything exciting coming of the previous night's field trip. Did he dream it? Had his father come home at all? The smell of pancakes wafting up the stairs answered the second question, but what was the point of the drive? He got dressed and made his way downstairs to find the scene he was expecting; his dad at the stove and his mom reading the newspaper.
"'Morning," said Peter casually announcing his presence. Walter didn't look up, his father must not have heard him, he looked like he was really concentrating on the pancakes. His mother, on the other hand, immediately met Peter with an unfamiliar expression, a lot like the one his father had given him much earlier that same morning, by the looks he was getting lately, you'd think it had been longer than a few hours since his parents had seen him last. She quickly strode across the room and gave him a hug. It was a little odd, as the Bishops were not usually an especially hug-y family.
"Hey Peter" she said, was she crying? Was it that PMS thing that Peter had once heard his dad complaining about to Belly? Apparently it made moms act crazy.
"Hi Mom," said Peter returning the hug, his mom let go after a few long seconds, Peter tried to make normal conversation, "how's the word search coming?"
"You mean the crossword?" she asked. Peter had always thought she did the word search; maybe he had the two confused?
"I guess," he conceded, shrugging it off.
"I barely touched it," she said with a huge smile. Her gaze lingered on him for a few more seconds before she returned to the table, presumably to finish her puzzle. He walked over to his father and stood there for a moment waiting for acknowledgment, it didn't come. Was he angry?
"I'm sorry I fell asleep last night, Dad," he said tentatively, looking at the floor "where did we go?"
The pause was so long that Peter wondered if his dad was ignoring him.
"I uh… turned around when I realized you'd fallen asleep," he said finally, his tone was affectionate.
"I'm sorry I was a baby, and couldn't stay awake…" continued Peter, he was happy his father didn't seem mad.
"You have no need to apologise, Son," said Walter, flipping a pancake before briefly making reassuring eye-contact with the boy, and adding as an afterthought, "perhaps we'll make another attempt some day."
Peter smiled at his dad, he looked forward to it.
Thanks for reading my story! I hope you liked it, if you have a second, a review would be awesome, but thanks for reading nonetheless!