This started as something funny... And ended up this. I'll post the funny one someday. It's Peter talking in his sleep. XD
"NO! THAT'S NOT HOW IT GOES, BITCH!" "O_o"
It's not sexual. XD
Anyway, I recently became obsessed with Fringe. With a capital O-B-S-E-S-S-E-D. I love it to pieces. I pray that I'll be able to actually see how it ends, without it pulling a Firefly and simply being axed. DON'T DO IT, FOX! DX
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It'll probaby be a two-shot.
Wind blew shrilly on a chilly December day in Boston Massachusetts. It was a couple of days before Christmas, and the holiday season was in full swing, with Christmas music blaring on nearly every station of the radio, Christmas lights festooned the street lights and smaller buildings, and people rushing around, trying to get last minute Christmas shopping done. Underneath Harvard, in a basement lab however, a trio of fringe scientists sat around, doing next to nothing about this excess of holiday cheer that went on past the door.
Walter Bishop worked on perfecting his laboratory root beer. He'd done a dozen different verities, but each time he'd throw them away, saying disgustedly, "Not quite right." Now he sat, tapping his fingers on the table, thinking, occasionally jotting something down, and humming Christmas carols.
Astrid Fornsworth rushed through last minute paperwork, biting her lip as she scribbled through mounds of paper. She'd never been this far behind, and vowed to go out of her way to make sure that a catastrophe of this magnitude never happened again.
Peter Bishop was on the floor, his legs propped against the wall so that his body formed a 90 degree angle. One arm was draped over his eyes, and his breathing was deep and rhythmic. Walter had been muttering about his root beer for nearly the whole night, and the man seemed to have some kind of internal energy source beyond that of mere mortals. While Peter almost fell asleep at the wheel driving to Harvard, Walter was wide awake, humming along to Jingle Bell Rock.
It was quiet in the lab. There hadn't been a case in nearly a month, and Walter soon ran out of actual experiments. Soon enough, all he did was work on his many variations of soda. Peter piddled around on the piano, but basically just sat around, reading a book or something, helping Astrid keep an eye on Walter and make sure he didn't blow anyone up or kill himself, intentionally or no.
Soon, both of the Bishops were bashing their heads against the walls of the lab in boredom. The days pushed on, until Christmas was upon them, and new pressures went on them that they largely chose to ignore.
Walter grew tired of thinking up ways to create Root Beer, however. This was a remarkable feat. He looked around for something else to do.
Peter was asleep, otherwise he'd just start up a conversation with him. Astrid was obviously too busy to be good company. What to do, what to do?
His eyes fell on a large pile of mail, mostly addressed to Peter. He picked it up, curious.
Peter Bishop, would you be interested in…?
Peter Bishop, you subscription will end in…
To Peter Bishop, 5th W. St, Apt 20, Boston Massachusetts.
The crispness of the letters; the way "Bishop" was written… Something was terribly familiar. He closed his eyes and bent all of his superior intellect into figuring out who's handwriting it was.
He gasped, memories rushing back to him. He ran over to his sleeping son and, without ceremony, kicked him in the ribs.
Peter yelped, then glared at his father. "What?" He snapped, really not in the mood for… Walter.
Walter coolly handed him the thick, off-white paper envelope. Peter snatched it away from him. "You know Walter, going though my mail is a federal offense," he snarled, opening the letter and skimming it.
Walter waited for whatever was on that piece of paper to sink in. It wouldn't be good.
It sunk in. Peter went white, his jaw dropped. He scrambled up, ran to Astrid and yelped, "What time is it?! Quick!"
Astrid looked at her watch. "Uh, 3:15, why?"
"Damn! Do you mind if I borrow your car, Astrid?" He asked, fidgeting like a five year old.
"No… What's going on?" She asked slowly, handing him her keys. He grabbed them and, rushed out of the door into the snow, throwing on his coat, yelled behind him, "My mom's coming to town!"
--
Peter pulled up outside of the airport, looking at the crowd, trying to pick out his tiny mother from the throng of people.
He didn't see her. He was starting to get worried when a soft tap came from the window.
His mother grinned at him, her bright blue eyes, the same as his, sparkled. Her long, thick blond-and-gray curls hung around her face. She was bundled up liberally in some of the weirdest things, all with colors that clashed magnificently. Peter couldn't help but grin.
His mother hopped into the passenger seat, holding a duffle bag.
"Hey, Goose," she said cheerfully. "How have you been?"
"Pretty good, Mom," he said. "I haven't seen you in awhile."
"No, you haven't. You didn't even come over for Thanksgiving." She pouted teasingly.
"Sorry. There was a case I had to work on." Peter said, then winced. Shit.
"Oh! A case? For what? Are you with the police?" She asked, her eyes shining.
"Yeah. Kind of. Homeland Security." He said slowly. I'm going to have to tell her eventually…
"Ohh! How interesting! What do you do in there?"
"… I'm a civilian consultant."
"Really? What kinds of things?"
"…"
--
Walter scowled, reading the letter for the hundredth time.
Dear Peter-
I hope you've been well, and that you're finding some peace in Boston. I must say, I didn't expect you to go back there! I know that you've been through some rough times, Honey, but it's good that you can face your fears.
I'm a bit disappointed that you couldn't come down for Thanksgiving, but I'm sure you have a good reason. But, since you couldn't come down here, I've decided to come to you! Isn't that interesting? I hope you don't mind too much.
I'll make deviled eggs. :)
I'll meet you at the airport at 3:30. I can't wait to see you, Goose!
Love-
Mom
He wanted very much to crumple it up, but he knew that Peter wouldn't like that.
In the last years of their crumbling marriage, Walter and his wife hadn't gotten along well. She'd called him everything from Crackpot to Killer. And his words had been just as bad, if not worse.
But he knew that Peter loved his mother. He always had and he always would. Mothers are very different from fathers in that respect.
And the early years had been wonderful. She had been interested, supportive. She was going to teach chemistry at MIT, and she wanted her children to go there too. So she could teach them. He told her what he knew about fringe science, which she found fascinating, and things built on top of that. She was pretty, kind, out-spoken. She wasn't afraid to speak out. Unfortunately, it was that trait, which he'd admired the most in her in the early years, that made the relationship crumble later.
And now she was coming here. This wouldn't be good. She knew precisely what buttons to push to make him angry. Just like Peter. Only now Peter did not actively try to push them, and God knows she would.
The sound of a car parking outside hit his and Astrid's ears. Astrid stood up, trying to make things a bit more clean. Walter got up… and bailed. He rushed into Gene's room and shut the door.
"Walter!" Astrid gasped.
"I really don't think seeing her would be good, Astor," he said. "We'd just fight."
Astrid was about to say something when the door burst open.
A small woman about Walter's age (perhaps a bit younger) stepped in, looking furious. Her anger was slightly marred by how kindly she looked. She was tiny, pixyish, with long, abundant curls that were blond tinged with gray. Her sharp, ice-blue eyes were the exact same as Peter's, but hers currently crackled with a rage that Astrid never saw in Peter. His rage was always cold and calculating. This rage was obviously a hurricane, a storm that was going to rip Walter apart.
"Um, hi," Astrid said hesitantly. "I'm Astrid Fornsworth." The woman shifted her sharp gaze towards Astrid, and the young woman winced.
Then the ice in the woman's eyes melted. She smiled and went over to Astrid, grasping her hands in hers.
"Hello, Dear! Are you… Astrid or Olivia?" She asked, looking at the younger woman warmly.
"A-Astrid." Astrid stammered. The change in this woman was confusing.
"Astrid," a small voice said from the door. Peter walked in, looking around the lab, his hands behind his back. "This is my mom. Uh… where's… Uh…"
"I'm right here, Peter." Walter said softly, walked out from Gene's room. The woman's eyes landed on Walter and froze again, becoming a storm that made both Bishops wince.
"Walter." She said coldly, turning to him and crossing her arms.
"Rosanna," Walter muttered.
I was listening to Rosanna by Toto when I was writing this. She was going to be either Rachel, Jessica, Alice or Moira.
Of course, Moira is someone completely different in my fanfic Fringe head. XD I almost actually named her Olivia, just for the hell of it. But I decided Rosanna was better.
If Peter acts OOC in this, I'll just say... he's nicer to his mother, and just KNOWS there's going to be a fight. Kids don't like it when they're parents fight. Even if one is slightly insane. Actually, scratch that. Especially if one is slightly insane.