Author's note: This story takes place way before the episode the day we died, IF you wish to place it, but I kinda envisioned them as they look in the 4th season. This has been re-edited and a few new things have been added.

I really, really loved/love writing this fic. It was one of the rare times in my life when I was really happy. I had so much fun doing the research, too.

Disclaimer: I don't own any rights to fringe. Don't sue me. Give me Walter :D

Pairing: Walternate/Brandonate. Bralternate!

Rating: (This chapter) T to be safe, really. A little naughtiness and tomfoolery.

Far a bissel libeh batsolt men miten gantsen leben.

04.07.2011

"Today really sucked but at least we made some progress. The downside is that we lost the subject. Tried to salvage some of the organs, but they had already been polluted. See, I thought that would happen but I had to take a chance. It's my ass on the line.

Ate a full lunch that consisted of a turkey sandwich, potato salad, juice and some caramel chews. Man, I can really slap together a mean sandwich. I mean, for something so simple, it tasted awesome. Could have used more mayonnaise. Too dry.

It was around the time when I was punching out that things started to go downhill. I never thought that I would have to consider filing a sexual harassment complaint."

"Brandon! That was some impressive work today. If this keeps up, I may have to give you a raise." The Secretary's smile was huge. Brandon's eyes lit up when he heard the word 'raise'.

"Oh, I almost forgot. To celebrate, I rented a table at my favorite French restaurant. I've already invited your co-workers. Do you have time?"

"Uh-YEAH, I DO!" Brandon couldn't believe his luck. He didn't know what brought on this change of heart in Secretary Bishop, but he wasn't about to pass up a free dinner.

The young scientist sprinted down the sidewalk from the garage where he parked his car. When he ducked into the fancy restaurant (called l'ange bleu, which was part of a hotel) he was immediately set upon by the maitre'd, who looked suspiciously like the actor Dominique Pinon. "Good evening, Sir. How may I help you?"

"Uhhm... Yeah. I'm part of the Secretary's party." It felt weird for Brandon to be saying that. The maitre'd held out his hand. "May I see your identification?" Brandon gave him his show-me and watched as the man scanned it. "Ah. Please, come this way. The Secretary has been expecting you."

Brandon followed him through the dining room, passing all of the people as they made their way down a short flight of stairs to a door that was partially hidden behind a curtain. The maitre'd slid a key card through a reader next to the lock and gestured for Brandon to walk in. When he did, there was no other soul in the room but for Secretary Bishop. Fayette looked back over his shoulder just in time to see the Maitre'd shutting the door behind him.

"Um... Where is everybody?"

"We are Everybody," answered the Secretary, sweeping his hands outward. "No one else showed up." Looking around the room, Brandon noted the... intimate atmosphere. Bishop said, "I hope you don't mind that I ordered for you."

"Oh, no. Of course not. I'm sorry I'm late."

"Never mind, Brandon. Come on. Sit," The Secretary commanded softly. Fayette looked around the room and at the table, but there were no other chairs. "Uhm... where?" The Secretary's teeth gleamed, his eyes narrowed -and to Brandon's horror- he stiffly patted his thigh. "Come sit on papa lap."

"...W-what? " Brandon asked, not sure that he'd heard correctly- hoping he hadn't. Bishop chuckled. "It would be a shame if you were to lose your job. You DO you like your job, don't you?"

"Y-yeah. I love my job."

"THEN SIT YOUR ASS ON MY LAP!" Walter snapped. Brandon came to him like a shot. Fumbling, he sharply planted his bottom upon the Secretary's thigh. Walter stifled the desire to yell, turning his face red. "There. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"N-no, sir," Fayette lied. With one hand around Brandon's waist, he lifted a wineglass to his dinner guest. "Try the syrah. It's very good." Brandon sipped it and coughed. "Whoa!"

Brandon's head swam. What the hell was going on?

"Hah hah! Great stuff, huh? I hope you like guinea hen," The Secretary referred to the $49.95 Main course. "Um. I've never had it."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," Bishop said darkly. He skewered a fork full of the juicy bird with moral mushrooms and held it to Brandon's mouth. "Have a bite."

"Oh, I-"

"DO IT."

"Yes, sir." Brandon took it in his mouth, dribbling liquid down his chin and blissfully closed his eyes. "Oh, That-That is-WOW!"

"I'm glad you like it." Walter did look genuinely pleased. Brandon reached for a napkin to wipe the mess off his chin but Bishop intervened. "Here, let me get that."

"Ookaayy..." Fayette thought that he was at least capable of wiping his own mouth but before he could react, the Secretary had extended his long tongue and licked the juice off. Brandon automatically removed himself from the Secretary's person, saying. "HOLY CRAP! O-okay. um, I gotta go to the bathroom. um-"

"Let me accompany you."

"NO-no! I was wrong. I've gotta go home and go to bed. I'm out way late. I've gotta work tomorrow."

"You forget who I am. You don't even have to work, tomorrow. You can stay up all. Night. Long."

"OH, MY GOD! I Want outta here!" Fayette ran to the door but it wouldn't open. The Secretary's voice was irresistibly low as he told him: "It's locked, Brandon." The younger man glared at Secretary Bishop, who walked casually out from behind the table. "There's no way out but up. Upstairs, on the 47th floor is the Presidential Suite. All the free champagne and caviar you could ever want."

"No way."

"You love your job, right? And you'll do anything to keep it?" Secretary Bishop asked him, face to face. Brandon was sweating as he thought long and hard about what he was going to say next. "The room service is on you, right?"