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I don't own Fringe, nor its characters.
CHAPITRE II
"The heart has reasons that reason does not understand." Jacques Benigne Bossuel
Blue Universe. The Lab: Twenty four hours later.
Olivia hurled the lab door, and rushed inside, hastily. Astrid had called her, she'd told her that Walter was acting strange, stranger than the usual Walter, and that, she'd better come and see for herself. Astrid needed help handling Walter. That, for one, scared her more than anything else.
The last hours have been atypical, in a bad way. Ever since the last altercation on Liberty Island, things had started to sound confusing. She wouldn't blame Walter, because she, too, had felt a bit detached. Disorientated. Weird. Strangled, as if a fist was wrapping itself around her heart, squeezing, tighter and tighter. She knew she must be feeling awful. She'd failed her promises. 'Both Universes can survive, there must be another way, and I promise you I will find it'. I promise you…Both universes were now, breaking down. And, she was helpless in the matter. She could feel it. Which was why she could vaguely distinguish it from what else she'd been feeling, lately. That, was something she couldn't define yet. Something dominant, influential. Frustrating. She couldn't combat against it. Because it was strong, and, she hated feeling that vulnerable. She hated it, because, for the first time, since John's death, she was feeling… unaided.
Alone.
"Olivia," Astrid called, impeding her train of thoughts. "I'm so sorry I had to disturb you."
"No, it's fine. What happened?" Astrid didn't answer, she must have noticed something was wrong, because she gave Olivia a questioning glare before, finally, she broke the silence. "Are you ok?"
Startled, Olivia snapped "I'm good, how is Walter?"
"He's in the next office. He's looking for something. I have no idea, he's been angry the whole morning, enraged. He just throws things; he said he didn't want to see anybody. I've cleaned this place, just to distract myself. Olivia, I'm so worried about him." Astrid murmured. The young agent looked terrified, there was much to it then she was letting show along her tone. And, that didn't sound well.
"Alright, I'll try to talk to him. Maybe… Maybe he just needs some rest." Olivia assured her, with a faint smile. She didn't know who she was trying to convince, Astrid or herself. Because, she was sure that Walternate's accusation had taken something away from Walter. Something that would need time to recover.
Realizing how uncertain she seemed, Olivia swiftly tuned, and headed to the office.
Walter was sitting on the floor, the chair laid beside him, along with dozens of shattered, malformed or shrunk papers. Old books lay there in a fully unorganized pattern. A mess that surrounded an oblivious scientist who sat there, in the middle of the chaos, immobile, reading something. A red vine was quivering on his right hand. Wildly griped papers on his left hand. He was dejectedly focused, reading something.
Olivia took a step forward, unsure. "Walter?" she said, her voice betraying her absolute concern.
The scientist didn't flinch. "Walter?" she tried again, louder this time. She stepped closer, because she heard him muttering muffled words.
"Is everything ok?" She reached her hand, gently touching his shoulder. "Walter. Listen, wha—"
"SOMETHING is not right! No. I NEED to remember!" Walter cut her short, suddenly. He lifted his head, his face contorted in utter wretchedness.
"Walter, we all know you wouldn't do such thing."
"No.. No… " He resumed shaking his head.
"I know you'd crossed universes for a good reason."
"Nonono…"
Please focus, Walter.
"Walter, Listen to me—"
"NO!" he yelled, she froze. "CAN'T YOU FEEL IT?" He threw the papers he'd been holding, and grabbed others. "Something is wrong!"
And, God, she felt it. Something was definitely off beam.
"Walter," She couldn't finish the sentence, because her voice was sounding more helpless then she could tolerate, whilst, she needed to comfort Walter, but, how? She figured that, all of a sudden, it seemed to be a difficult task. A very, very difficult task. Thankfully, Walter was planning to interrupt her anyway, "I asked Belly to remove my brain parts, you see? Fauxlivia knows that, because… Because… That woman came back with me. And Belly told me…" he stopped abruptly, before he growled, "I need to remember. I need to remember … " He repeated it over and over. His eyes began watering.
"Walter, I know. " Yes, she knew. Walter had asked William Bell to remove his brain parts, because somebody had told her, somebody…
Walter was afraid of what he was becoming. And, Damn, it was that odd feeling again, the one she couldn't define. "You were afraid of what you were becoming. You don't have to prove anything. I know you agreed on removing the brain parts AFTER you came back from the other side the first time." She hopped he wouldn't ask how she knew that, because, she couldn't explain it. She just knew. Intuition.
Walter stilled. He cocked his head doubtfully. Knocking his eyebrows, and narrowing his eyes, he asked. "You can feel it too, Agent Dunham? Isn't that right?"
"Feel what, Walter?" He just read her like a book. And, he was now studying her. He knows the answer. He was right; she could feel something was wrong, yes.
"Yes, YES!" He rasped out, "I knew, something happened. Things are not right. I'm missing something… I don't know! I need to remember… " He stopped, looking away, his face confused, just for a moment, before his expression seemed determined again. Alert to something.
"No, I won't remember anyway. What I feel doesn't matter; we need to work, to save two universes. It's my entire fault. And… " His voice broke when he added, "I MUST FIX IT." Emphasizing on each word, "YES!" He spluttered, gathering the papers, before he quickly stood up, and headed towards the door.
He stopped, abruptly. She could notice a tear trickling down his cheek as he glanced over his shoulder. She felt like crying too, but Walter doesn't need to know that. "Olivia," He croaked, there was a moment of silence, before he choked out, quietly. "He told me I'm small." Her pulse raced, she wasn't expecting that at all. Those words were harsh, callous. And, she knew Walter felt worse.
"Walter, you know that cannot be true. You—" But the scientist knows how to end conversations. "I should apologize to Astro." He whispered. Hurried, he took a big mouthful of the Red Vine then walked out.
Unknown Place. Two days later.
Shins felt sore. Bone chilling cold sunk tiny teeth into his bare feet. Peter's body felt worn out, but he wouldn't stop pacing. Rapid, enraged steps hit the hard floor reciprocating angry pain. His throat was raw, because he wouldn't stop yelling at the cruelly silent walls. Maybe, it would help him calm down.
They wouldn't tell him a thing, therefore, he would never give up.
It had been almost two days. He'd figured that much since they'd offered him food four times now. They deliver meals twice a day. Or at least it was what he'd assumed, judging by the long time separating each two visits. Because, yeah, it was the only thing Peter longs for the whole time. Waiting until he hears foreign steps. Until the little mid-circular spot in the bottom of one of the walls opens, disconnecting itself up from the floor. He Shouts, questions, asks till the small tray slides over before the automatic door closes down once more, sending him yelping like a pet left to die in the desert, alone.
Peter had heard much about certain methods of torture that consist on disconnecting the victim from people for a long time, to prevent human contact, thus, leave them wanting out of it, dying to give anything away just to prevent the mere torment of loneliness. He wouldn't fall for that. Never. He'd be out of here, soon. There is always hope. Olivia would show up, shouting 'FBI'. Olivia would be here, for him. Olivia.
He sat down, again, letting his mind enjoy the dreamy assumptions, if—when he would be back, he'd never, ever again, complain about Walter for making noise when he'd be trying to sleep. Hell, he would even chat, sing, recite the Fibonacci sequence with him until they'd both give up to tiresome and relaxed stupor. Walter would love that. Walter.
His ears sent instantaneous shivering through his pooped body as they detected the very sound of footfalls he'd been waiting for. Peter's eyes widened. He had a plan. He had a plan! A foolish one, actually. But he would try anything. For the sake of a change, he'd try anything. They wouldn't wait for him, so he had to move, now. Anxious, he launched himself forward. Quickly. Very quickly. Frog marched toward the familiar spot as it begun moving up. He unthinkingly shoved his hand through the small crack. He had sworn to never let go of the thing he'd grab at if he succeeded, not until they would tell him something, anything. So, when his palm made contact with smooth, tepid skin, he let his fingers squeeze around further, his nails furiously dug deep until he could feel warm liquid slightly flowing down. Blood. He could hear a restrained cry. The jerks were trained not to make sound.
"YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!" He heard himself choke out. "What the hell do you want from me?"
SILENCE.
"What about the others, Walter, Olivia?"
Okay, then, they wouldn't talk anyway. The plan was failing.
He could feel the wrist he was catching, twisting to free itself, and he knew it was just a matter of time before it succeeds. He also knew that he was screwed once the little door started shutting down on his aching, stretched arm. Way to go Peter! Before he could think, much less move back his hand, He found himself trapped down. His right wrist throbbing under the sharp edge of the little door they'd just mid-closed. And, no, they hadn't cut out his hand. Out of pity?
His heart pounded against his chest as he noticed them wrapping something circular around his wrist, locking it in place. Something stiff and huge, apparently to prevent him from pulling back his hand. What?
Seconds later, the footsteps started fading away. They were leaving him stuck down there?
This was not happening, no. "HEY!" He called, "WHAT THE HELL? What are you doing?"
They are leaving, they are leaving!
He yelled again, "Come back here, YOU BASTARDS!" Please, come back.
"DON'T LEAVE ME LIKE THIS!" No!
Well, yeah, they left him like that.
"COME BACK HERE!"
And they were gone. "Don't leave me like this." Peter just whispered, closing his eyes. Frustrated.
They didn't come back; they hadn't listened, as if they ever did, so he had to spend the next hours there, stuck, flat, face down on the gray flooring. Because, hey, they made sure his restrained hand wouldn't be able to rotate. A punishment, then. They hadn't mid-closed the door out of pity after all. Good to know.
Minutes swallowed seconds, hours swallowed minutes, Peter swallowed what little moisture he'd gathered from his dried out throat. Because yeah, 'stuck' meant no water, too. He had been cursing them for calling 'food' those things they regularly give him, as they were anything but. Right now that 'food' seemed heavenly tasty. However, he's still cursing them, for assuming he wouldn't starve without swallowing something. He then cursed himself for thinking they were kind enough to care about his state of hunger.
He prayed for blessing slumber, but it wouldn't come. So, he just laid there. Hours and hours,.
They came back with a meal, two days later, he assumed. He yelled some more, scrubbed his swollen wrist, silently groaned in pain, hurriedly consumed his food, and irritably resumed pacing the room. Peter wouldn't sleep, now that he could, ironically.
This was insane. Sheer boredom drove him infuriated. And because the last remains of patience had drifted away moments ago, he decided to bear the noisy quietness by creating distractions, resist his inability to resist by willpower alone. And, endure what he cannot understand, if that was even possible, by trying to understand it.
Peter would try, and keep trying. His mind told him never to succumb. His body wouldn't agree, hence, his legs betrayed him; buckled swiftly beneath him, and he dropped to the ground with a thud, panting. Screw them! Screw them! Screw them … Exhaustion, pain, and sleep deprivation had taken their toll, finally. His eyes slid shut by their own volition. And this time, he let them. Sleep would be the distraction he needed. Sleep would also prove he still had some of that control over his life he'd fought to keep sensing the second his freedom had been taken away.
Blue Universe. Outside of a Boston museum.
The bald man cocked his head, writing something on a small book as another man arrived, "I think she might remember."
"I think not. However, we must be aware." The arriving Observer remarked.
September started pressing buttons on his communicating device. "I will take care of that." He confirmed.
TBC...
It's still slowly developing. I hope you enjoyed it!
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