I'm starting another fanfiction, I know, but let's just say that this weekend was very inspirational :P This one is just an idea and I'm going to see where it takes me...Reviews appreaciated and WARNING spoilers for the season finale ahead...Alas, I own not Fringe...the title means "mirror" in middle english....
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Mirour
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That which gives a true representation, or in which a true image may be seen; hence, a pattern; an exemplar.
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"Stop!"
"Dunham!"
The Bishop boy appeared at the edge of the dark forest as the convicted felon, whom, as Olivia Dunham had just learned, bullets couldn't kill, stumbled towards the rainy tableau of the other side. The rotting man quickened his pace as Olivia begun to run towards him.
As Peter fumbled with the remote, time seemed to slow. He had to get it closed before Jones and, most importantly, before Olivia. He pointed it towards the gaping hole in the space-time continuum the instant Jones reached it.
On his first try, Peter's sweaty hand slid off the button. That was all the man needed. David Robert Jones smoothly, as smoothly as a decaying man could, slid through the portal.
Peter went to press it again, determined to not fail. Fortunately, he looked up just moments before and immediately halted from following through. Olivia was still running after Jones. And, right when Peter had intended to press the button, she went streaming into the gap after him.
The peculiar invention meant to save the world had just shattered Peter's. He dropped it to the ground and it rolled down the slight incline in front of him. Olivia…
Oddly, his disbelief didn't blind him. For once he wished it would. Did he have the guts to follow her? The stormy night on the other side wasn't exactly a welcoming image, but the opportunity was right before him.
"Peter!"
And then there was his father.
"Hurry son, close it! What are you waiting for?"
Walter Bishop came to the edge of the clearing, his voice distant to Peter but biting nonetheless. He didn't know about Agent Dunham yet...
"Close it!"
His voice was frantic now and he had begun his descent into the small little valley. The disbelief Peter had just desired hit him, freezing up his insides and rooting him to the ground. He watched his father out of the corner of his eye, feeling effortless to do anything.
But Walter wasn't coming towards his comatose son or the soft spot. Walter was heading to the remote now lying on the ground. Fear washed over Peter, melting the ice cold grip incredulity held him with.
"Walter, no!"
Dr. Bishop held the device level, the same way his brethren had and, approximately, from the same spot. He hesitated.
"God," he whispered with sad awe, "It's magnificent, isn't it?"
And then with a decisive but minute action of his hand, Walter pressed the button, finally mending the gap.
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The first thing Olivia noticed was that she was soaking wet.
Entering the alternate universe, she had promptly tripped over a fallen branch and gone sprawling into the mud.
If it weren't for her little accident, her trajectory and acceleration would have surely caused her to overcome Jones; the man was instead several paces in front of her. She lifted her head and, much to her relief, the criminal had yet to realize he had company in this rainy reality.
Olivia stayed low, watching him trip his way forward. Jones didn't so much as glance back to the portal from which he'd come. He continued at a steady pace towards the edge of the lake where some faint lights shimmered, distorted from the disrupted surface of the water. Olivia could make out the sound of men's voices over the disagreeable weather.
"I'm here!"
Jones' raspy voice caught her off guard. She jumped, frightened that he was addressing her, but shouts and footsteps squishing the wet ground as they neared told her otherwise.
Clever, she thought, of course Jones had contacted the other side and prearranged his minions.
Inching forward on her elbows, Olivia tried to inconspicuously make it to the edge of the clearing and the safety of the trees. She dared not stand up. Thanking those early morning workouts, she reached the forest in record time, gracefully and quietly getting to her feet. The woman ducked behind a fat, moss-covered tree and wiped mud from her brow. Rainwater poured down her face as she tried to locate Jones. Peering into the night, she found him surrounded by his cohorts. The darkness gave no help as to identifying who they were.
Her heart pounding in her chest, Olivia gulped. She tried to catch her breath as silently as possible, but her situation didn't lend itself easily to being calm. She hadn't given much thought as to what she had just done; she hadn't had time to. But she was, quite literally, in a whole other world now. The present, wherever it was, needed her attention.
The group of three or so men began to help Jones back to the lights and Olivia covertly followed.
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"—but there has to be another access point—"
"I'm sorry, son. There's not."
Peter paced franticly across the dirt of the forest, his hands trembling and his brain going a hundred miles an hour. Walter sat on the edge of the antagonists' van; he tried to distract himself from his son by playing with the various technologies inside. Suddenly, Peter caved.
"You moron! I told you to stop!"
"If you were so eager to join her, why didn't you go through yourself?"
"Because—"
Walter looked at him expectantly, but Peter only leveled with him, his voice low and serious.
"Why didn't you stop? Your beleaguered associate is trapped in that reality too. And now, with an apparent madman. Why, I ask, why did you close it!?"
"Now, come, Peter, we don't even know for sure he is. He could be taking a nice holiday in Glasgow for all we care—"
"Then what about Olivia? Are you saying she doesn't matter?"
Walter didn't respond, only studied his hands with feigned interest. He inhaled desolately and gazed back up at Peter, his words getting caught in his throat.
"I—You know I—I care very much about Agent Dunham and that you even dare to suggest that I—I simply don't know, my son—"
"No," Peter declared, shaking his head, "No, you don't. This is all just a game to you."
The words stung.
"Excuse me?"
Charlie's scratchy voice cut awkwardly into the battle. Peter turned to look at the bewildered man, noting his anxious eyes. The Agent's extended hand contained a cell-phone.
"Broyles would like to speak to you, sir."
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A/N: Do we like? Yea? Nay?