Story Title: "Tioga Sunrise"
Story Genre: AU, Mystery, Humour
Story Rating: PG-13 (for language) and a body part
Story Description: A heavily AU Fringe story. Four people on the run meet by chance in the Nevada desert. soldier!Peter, secretary!Astrid, cop!Olivia, and more-or-less-crazy!Walter. An AU in league with "Snape: The Home Fries Nazi" by pir8fancier and "Feathers, Liquor, and Burnt Cigars" by crzysheelf.
Disclaimer: I totally own nothing from Fringe. Plus, did I mention it's AU?
A rusty Vista Cruiser roared down the mostly barren road. Windows down, the two men inside hadn't spoken to one another in a couple of hours—relief for the son, torture for the father. The outside air was a dry 102 degrees, though rushing past it definitely helped. Sheepgrass and rabbit brush created a vast, unchanging landscape. There was a reason that a 1968 Life magazine had deemed Route 50 the "Loneliest Road in America"—they had been on it since eight this morning and had only passed two other vehicles. The older man glanced towards his son, who was driving, and decided the loneliest wasn't just a reference to the asphalt. Who would have guessed that one day he would come from the gloom of rolling green England to the arid heat of the Nevadan desert.
A jar containing a severed and preserved hand rattled under his seat and while it was keeping him decent company, he still wished the younger man driving would at least say something. He hated silence and there was nothing he could do about it; if he talked, his son would most likely fly into a rage and to be honest, the boy hated him enough as it was.
The older man sighed and returned his attention to the passing landscape.
The Vista Cruiser, having being called into service for the first time in 17 years, did not have working air conditioning nor working radio. Any movement caused the seats to expel little puffs of dust and foreign maps filled the glove compartment to nearly bursting. The backseat and boot were filled with odds and ends that he had stored away in this vehicle seventeen years ago. The majority of the things were books he had collected through his time as a university student and as a physician, their nature all scientific. Of course there were a few other tomes of a more personal nature: a hardback and well-worn version of his poetic namesake's "Leaves of Grass", and a set of dog eared soft covers of all the Jules Verne titles. There was also an old guitar with a slight dent that sat on top of the junk and the swift air coming through the windows strummed the out a tune on the strings slightly; he was brought back to many happy-though-faint memories of playing the instrument to his son when he was child. He smiled as he thought of the Bob Dylan songs they would sing, changing the lyrics to more scientific verses. He was sure that if he tried very hard he could remember the words to "Brighten Up with Chemiluminescence", their take on "Tangled Up in Blue". He seriously doubted that he could convince his son to sing with him now and it made him give a forlorn sigh.
On the other hand, the son whom was acting as the driver, was enjoying the silence and the heat; he had only been back in the United States for less than 48 hours and here he was, on the run. Again.
He estimated that he had two, maybe three more days before the army realised he was AWOL, and hopefully by then he and his father would have melted into the wood work of the west coast, as far as he could move them without risking people noticing that they were lying low.
His whole life seemed to be made up of time running away from others and from his own problems. As a child his woes had been different though just as painful: being the fat kid, being teased for having the crazy father, being humiliated by girls uninterested, never being picked for the team in PE. Now an adult he dealt with the memories of dropping out of college, falsifying documents from MIT so that he could teach chemistry, messing up a wild lands firefighter, being a crappy cargo pilot…well, the list went on. And he had learned that running was the easiest way to save himself.
His olive drab fatigues were comfortable for this weather and as much as he hated being with his father, it beat cruising around in a Hummer looking for insurgents. A habit he had developed from nervousness was toying with the dog tags hanging around his neck. The army had been a last resort—Iraq was a far as one could flee to escape problems and amid the dust and desert he had found his place. The other soldiers had accepted him at face value and he had felt useful serving his country. No, he didn't like waking up and going to bed with the thought that he might not live to see the next day, but he enjoyed being known for something other that what he was back home. He gave a sidelong glance to his father—who was dabbing at a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face—and he was thankful for the fact that he had the military issued buzz-cut.
There was a dusty blue hatchback broken down on the side of the road, bonnet up with smoke rolling out.
"Stop for them," the older man instructed, leaning out the window slightly as he watched them go by.
"Walter," the younger man protested tiredly.
"Damnit, Peter! They need our help!" Walter shouted, his face twisting up angrily.
"Oh yeah, because you've always loved helping people," Peter said snidely, but he had let off the gas to turn back around.
There were two women standing by the light blue hatchback: a brunette who was sunburning quickly under the late morning sun and a café au lait girl who was nervously looking their way. Both looked extraordinarily out of place in their pant and skirt suits and Peter hoped that they wouldn't think he was trying to cause trouble. Peter pulled up slowly alongside them, leaning slightly out his window.
"Can we help you?" he asked.
The brunette looked startled and the curly haired girl looked relieved.
"The car over heated," Curly Hair explained and Peter sighed, completely turning the station wagon off.
Walter was happy to get out—he had been wanting to stretch his legs for a while now and now he was also going to get the chance to talk to two new people.
"We can take a look if you want," Peter offered and the brunette gave a very wary nod.
Both men moved over to the car while the two women kept their distance. Peter and Walter investigated the engine and other contents of the car's inner workings, exchanging glances and worried mutterings. Finally, after much consideration under the ever-ascending sun, they gave the verdict of:
"It's junk."
"Shit!" the brunette said, forgetting her manners.
"What are we going to do?" the other woman asked,
"We'll give you a lift!" Walter said enthusiastically, hoping for people to talk to.
The two women exchanged nervous glances and they huddled their heads together; though they spoke in hushed tones, their words still managed to reach Peter. "We don't have a choice!", "But we don't know them!" He had no idea how to ease their worries without sounding suspicious, so he decided to keep his mouth close.
Walter, on the other hand, wasn't so worried about keeping a low profile and decided it was time to introduce himself. "I'm Dr.—I mean, Mr. Walter Bishop and this is my son Lieutenant—I mean Mr. Peter Bishop."
The women looked up at them again, just as startled.
"I'm Astrid," the one with the curly hair said, shifting her hand up to shield her eyes from the brightness of the midday.
The brunette looked at them suspiciously. "I'm Olivia."
"What, neither of you have last names?" Peter said snidely.
"Oh, Peter. Don't be silly. They're obviously on the run." The older man turned around to face them, a conspiratorial grin on his face. "It's okay girls—we are, too!"
"Damnit, Walter! That one's a cop!" Peter shouted, pointing his finger at the brunette.
"How did you know that?" she asked nervously, her hand sliding down to the place where her gun was hidden under her blazer.
The younger man's eyes followed her movement before returning to hers. "I can tell a cop when I see one."
This wasn't something that Olivia wanted to hear. The brunette, who was a blonde in guise, certainly didn't need someone to make threatening remarks towards her, especially now. She tensed, wondering if she and Astrid ought to steal their station wagon, but she knew she'd feel bad leaving them out here in the heat without water or any real shade. A warm breeze blew across her face, letting a few stray tendrils of hair rise and fall; 'no,' she decided, 'no, we'll just play it safe and see how it goes. No point in drawing extra attention to ourselves.'
Astrid watched the stare down between Olivia and the young man with a feeling of utmost dread. If either of them did anything stupid, she would be in serious trouble, which was something she knew she couldn't take anymore of.
The tension was broken with the female cop looked back to the still smoking vehicle.
Pyromaniac tendencies took hold of Walter once he realised he could talk without being interrupted. "Let's burn it!"
"What?" Peter cried, looking at his father in disgust.
Walter started speaking quickly, quite happy to have everyone's attention. "You need to keep this car away from the law's prying eyes. Fingerprints, DNA, something accidentally left behind…there are many things that can be used to track a person."
"He's got a point," Astrid admitted.
Olivia looked somewhat horrified. "You're saying we should burn the car?"
The girl with a halo of mocha curls looked solemnly at the other woman. "Liv, I don't think we have a choice. If we push it off down into that gully and burn it, maybe no one will find it. Maybe the highway patrol will think that someone was just getting rid of an old junker or some dumb kids. At any rate, it's going to buy us time, which is something we need."
"She's not as précieux as I thought," Walter said, looking down right giddy towards Astrid.
She blushed and Peter nodded. "I'm with her on this. I mean the car was stolen anyway."
"A cop committing grand theft auto? Sounds interesting," Peter said sardonically.
"There's nothing grand about a hatchback, Peter," Walter said dryly.
"We didn't steal it. We took it from a junkyard," Olivia clarified.
"It's a miracle it got you this far," Peter snorted.
"That's all we're looking for right now. Miracles," Astrid said softly, suddenly wishing for her rosary.
"I've got something in the car we can use!" Walter declared, leaving the group for the Vista Cruiser.
"So I guess we're pushing this in the gully," Olivia said finally, sounding none to happy with the decision.
"I'll steer," Astrid said, climbing into the driver's seat and tossing a duffle bag out onto the road's shoulder.
Peter motioned for the brunette to join him at the back of the hatchback. He positioned his hands on the back and she did the same. "All right, officer. Push!"
Olivia was irritated at all the sand getting into her kitten heeled pumps, while Peter was feeling a surge of adrenaline to be doing something. As they reached the edge of the gully, she shouted,
"Astrid, get out!"
The curly haired girl left the driver's seat, two purses strapped over her shoulders and she ran around the back to help them push the vehicle down. It rolled gently down the gradual slope, finally hitting a rock at the bottom that brought it to a stop. Without speaking the three followed the path down through the thickly knit rabbit brush and sheepgrass the gentle slope, getting dusty in the process.
Peter pulled a Leatherman out of his back pocket and knelt down at the back of the hatchback. Olivia watched in curiosity as the man selected the screwdriver tool.
"What are you doing?" she asked suspicious.
"Removing the license plates."
Her eyes narrowed. "You sure know a lot about this—"
"What are you gonna do about it, officer?" he snarled angrily, suddenly wanting a challenge.
"Astrid and I aren't looking for trouble and I have nothing to loose at this point," Olivia growled, her hand returning to her holster; she was bluffing but he didn't know that.
Peter drew back slightly and gave an aggravated sigh. "Look, I'm not looking for trouble either. Walter and I can see that you two need help. And so do we."
"Astrid and I are innocent!" Olivia emphasised.
He nodded and said earnestly, "I believe it. Now hold this while I get the one in the front."
Walter returned carrying two metal cans that looked slightly rusted. "Look what I found! Kerosene!"
Peter seemed utterly baffled at his father's logic. "Okay, so you thought it was wise to keep accelerant among stacks of books?"
But the older man ignored him, turning to Astrid instead. "My dear, you'll help me douse the seats, won't you?"
"Yes, but let's hurry—it's getting hot out here," she said fanning herself.
"It was already hot," Peter announced from the front of the car.
"I meant more hotter than it already is," the girl with mocha curls corrected.
"Peter, your lighter!" Walter shouted dramatically, holding his hand out.
"Hold on, Walter. I've still got to get this—got it!" Peter triumphantly held up the second license plate.
"The lighter, son! The lighter!" the older man begged, not wanting to wait any longer.
"Hold on, Walter—I'm going to cut the gas line," Peter said, ignoring him.
"Did you get everything out?" Olivia asked Astrid.
"Yeah. Here's your purse," she said, passing over the other woman's sable leather handbag.
Walter was becoming impatient and finally his son handed over a cheap red bic lighter; setting fire to a MacDonald's take out bag, he tossed it in the vehicle's open window where the driver's seat went up in flames. Everyone took this as a sign to leave the area, scaling the sandy walls of the gully. The four were sweating and exhausted by the time they reached the top, but running on adrenaline definitely helped the matter. They dusted themselves off and Olivia found the duffle bag Astrid had tossed out of the hatchback.
"We need to get clear of here," Olivia declared as the first of the smoke began to rise out of the trench.
They hurried over to the Vista Cruiser, nervously looking over their shoulders; Peter began to quickly clear off the back seat.
"Sorry about the mess," he apologised, tossing the license plates into the back of the boot. "We didn't exactly get time to clean it out and I could never throw a book out, no matter how useless it seems at the moment."
"More room than the hatchback," Olivia joked as she moved behind the driver's seat and everyone formed a quick smile.
Astrid, who had picked the seat behind the passenger's, lifted a book off the floorboard.
"Walt Whitman. I love his poems," she said, sitting down, purse in lap.
"I have that whole book memorised. I could recite it to you if you'd like," he said the most charming manner he could manage.
"Walter, stop flirting with her," Peter snapped.
Astrid blushed and snuck Walter a smile, while he smiled and snuck her a wink.
Doors shut and Peter started the Vista Cruiser once more, the Harvard campus keychain jangling against a spare key to God-knew-What.
"No air conditioning," the ex-soldier warned and both women were quick to roll down their windows.
The Vista Cruiser pulled a surprisingly tight u-turn and the four continued their journeys westward as a large plume of black smoke continued rolling into the sky.
"Just a matter of minutes and—"
There was a loud noise in the background and both Olivia and Astrid turned around to see that yes indeed, the fire had finally reached the car's gas tank.
"Boom!" both men declared, though Walter was undoubtedly the more enthusiastic one.
The complete destruction of the car seemed almost cathartic and Astrid almost believed that a pressure had been taken off her chest. Now she felt like it was time to ask questions.
"So what are you hiding from Misters Bishop?"
Walter got up in his seat and turned around to face the women, leaning over the back. "I was locked up in an institution for the past 17 years. Then Peter came along and broke me out. We're fugitives!" he said excitedly. "Et tu, Asterisk?"
"Astrid," she corrected, "and Livvy can explain it better than I can."
The vehicle fell into silence as everyone waited for the Brunette nee Blonde to start talking. She shifted in her seat and took a deep breath; this was a painful subject.
"I was a cop in Boston," she started as though to encourage her, everyone nodded in unison. This was enough to give Olivia courage to continue, her voice a little stronger. "I was investigating a medical company. They had my partner killed and I found out he was working for them as a mole. They framed me as his murderer and Astrid was the only person with evidence on them."
This was the point where the story shifted back over to Astrid and the eyes returned to her. "I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or the right place at the right time, depending on how you want to look at it," she said, giving an unhappy smile. "What were you institutionalized for?"
Walter shifted uncomfortably in his seat from one knee to the other. "I'm not crazy, if that's what you're asking."
Peter snorted. "That's a matter of opinion, Walter."
As much as Olivia wanted to know about the man's insanity, she had more pressing interests. "So where are you two headed?"
"California. As far west as we can get," Peter answered. "And you?"
"We were hoping to get to Yosemite," Olivia said nervously.
"Family there?" Peter asked curiously.
"No." She paused, unsure what she wanted to reveal, what she wanted hidden. "John and I had planned for years to go on vacation there, but we never did."
Mercifully Astrid spoke. "Will you take us that way?"
"Of course," Walter replied, nodding enthusiastically.
"We can pay you," Astrid said slowly.
"No," Peter said firmly, which startled everyone. "No, we're doing this to help you."
Astrid almost cried in relief at those words. For the first time since this mess had started, she felt like she wasn't alone. She relaxed her whole self and leaned her head against the door, allowing the rushing hot air blow across her face like the breath of God. She thought of Boston where she had left everything…nothing. Her apartment building had been burned down to the ground by the time she and Olivia had tried to get to it. Books, photos, clothes, her cat…all little bits of ash and dust that were probably being sorted through by arson experts, if they hadn't been paid off already. She was still in the same clothes she had been in since Liv told her they needed to run, which was two days ago. Her black leather purse, the one Grandma Thelma had bought for her high school graduation, was resting safely in her lap completely filled with almost twelve-thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills, her hard earned life savings. The single withdraw and closing of her bank account was definitely news to the people looking for her by now, but she had already changed the bills to fifties and then back to hundreds at the casinos on the border of Utah and Nevada.
There was a morbid romance to the thought she'd be recreating her life after spending the time since she left high school wishing she could become a different person. Now she was no longer the youth choir director for Our Lady of Sweet Charity Church. Now she was no longer the third floor "employee of the month" at her and Liv's precinct. Now she was no longer Astrid Farnsworth…
A tear escaped the corner of her eye and suddenly she found a slightly crumpled tissue being held out to her by the older man, who apparently had been watching her the whole time.
"Chin up," he said softly, leaning over the back of the seat.
She gave him a thankful smile and dabbed at the wet rivet down the side of her cheek.
From the driver's seat Peter produced a water bottle, which he held up for the two women to see. "We got a water bottle up here that hasn't been opened yet. I know it's not a lot, but at least it's something."
"Thanks," Olivia said taking it from the ex-soldier and passed it over the girl sitting next to her. "Astrid, go ahead."
Astrid drank a third of the water bottle and passed it back to Liv, who didn't bother wiping the lip before she drank from it as well.
"So you were in Iraq?" she asked as she recapped the beverage.
"Yeah, what was your first clue, Sherlock?" he sneered.
Walter gave a critical look to his son. "Peter, must you always be a smart ass? Do not talk to a lady like that—"
"You know what, Walter? You're not really the first person I'd turn to for advice regarding people skills!" the ex-soldier snapped.
"Well, we're glad to have you home," Astrid interrupted, giving the younger man's shoulder a squeeze.
This seemed to calm him slightly and he nodded.
"You're the first person to say that—"
Walter swatted Astrid's hand away as he protested. "I would have told you that, but I didn't know you were gone!"
Peter went on the defense again, moving away from his father's touch. "Yeah, well, why would you? It's not like you've ever been interested in my life—"
"That's not true—"
"Walter, sit in your damn seat!" Peter snapped.
Walter returned to a sitting position in the front seat as Astrid and Olivia exchanged uncomfortable glances, and the car fell silent.
It was nearly dark when they arrived outside a small diner on the California side of Lake Tahoe. The Vista Cruiser rattled and sputtered into the parking lot, the exhaust pipe sounding like a shot gun blast. The four unloaded out of the station wagon, stretching their legs and popping their backs.
"I'm so hungry," Walter complained and Peter checked for his thin wallet tucked safely in his back pocket. Yes, he probably had enough money to cover dinner and get petrol to fill the Vista Cruiser's tank.
They entered the establishment where they were quickly placed at a booth under bright florescent lights. Walter had obviously decided it was his duty to pick what everyone would be eating, pushing away the menus the waitress was trying to hand them. "Four cheeseburgers and four root beer floats."
Astrid was quick to change her beverage. "Make mine a cherry soda."
"I want an iced tea," Olivia added.
"Coffee. Black," Peter said bluntly.
Walter glared openly at all of them, taking their lack of interest in root beer floats as a personal attack. The waitress wrote quickly on her yellow pad and said,
"Comin' right up."
She turned to leave and Walter shouted after her, "And pie!"
"There's a motel six up the road a bit. I could see the sign," Astrid said as the four became accustomed to seeing on another face to face. "I withdrew all my money before I left Boston, so I could buy us a night there."
"I like the little bottles of shampoo," Walter said brightly.
"Good, because another night in the Vista Cruiser with him would have been torture," Peter grumbled, fingering the dog tags hidden under his shirt.
"I pulled all my money out too, so I can help us get by," the brunette added, running her fingers through her long hair; she missed it when it was blonde.
Walter wore a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "You know, you are very trusting of us."
"I can hold my own and Astrid certainly can as well," Olivia said and no one there missed the threat.
The four pairs of eyes turned to look out the window at the worn gold station wagon they had arrived in and not long after the waitress returned with their drinks and the cheeseburgers. It appeared she had forgotten the request of pie and Walter seemed to have forgotten as well, taking large bites of the burger.
"My compliments to the chef. They didn't cook like this at St. Claire's," he declared loudly and the waitress, now wiping down the countertop, smiled.
"Walter…" Peter warned, obviously wanting to keep communication with others to a minimum.
The older man quieted, enjoying his food. The two women weren't holding back either: Olivia's elbows were planted firmly on the table as she held her dinner to her mouth and Astrid was shoveling fries in between bites of the greasy cheeseburger.
Walter was first to finish the meal and first to come up with a plan of action. "We'll leave early tomorrow. Around four. That way as we go up Tioga Pass, we'll be there by sunrise. Thus, when we pass through the park entrance, we'll be hard to see on the security cameras."
"Okay," Olivia said with a mouthful of food.
Peter paused in his eating to speak. "We'll need to get disguises. At least some baseball caps to cover our faces."
"And sunglasses," Astrid offered, swirling her cherry soda with the red straw.
"And you're going to need to loose those clothes. Get jeans or something," Peter added, pointing his finger at her.
She frowned at him and aggressively bit into her burger.
Walter cleared his throat and looked at the companions on the other side of the table. "My dear ladies, I propose we form an alliance."
"Here we go," Peter grumbled, rolling his eyes and folding his arms across his chest, abandoning the cheeseburger all together.
"An alliance?" Olivia repeated, sounding confused.
The older man planted his hand firmly on the top of the table. "Yes. Four good citizens on the run, four fugitives on the Fringe."
Peter hardly looked impressed. "The Fringe, Walter?"
"The Fringe of Society, Peter."
Astrid startled everyone when she put her hand on Walter's. "I'm in."
"We stick together, we fight together," Olivia said, placing her hand on top of Astrid's.
All eyes turned to Peter, who sighed, eyes rolling once again. "We're not becoming Robin Hood and his band of Merry Men, right?"
"We're just doing what we need to survive, son," Walter assured.
"Yeah," Astrid agreed.
"All right," Peter said grudgingly, placing his hand on Olivia's.
"Good! A toast!" Walter raised his root beer.
Astrid followed suit, a cockeyed grin on her face and Olivia asked, "To what?"
"To us. To the Fringe."
A/N: "Tioga Sunrise" was born from being stuck on a public bus during a FIVE HOUR traffic halt Tuesday. I pulled out my notebook and a purple ink pen and began to write. Then I stopped at a nearby comic book store where I got the last copy of the first Fringe comic book! HELLZ YES.
And for those of you who don't know California geography, Tioga Pass is one of the ways to get into Yosemite Park. It's not far from Tahoe and Reno (where I'm going to school) and it's supposed to be a very beautiful drive. There is also a Lake Tioga, not far from the pass. So that's where the title came from.