Chapter Title: "I'm Mr. November"
Chapter Genre: Humour, body parts, political
Chapter Rating: PG-13 for gross (Plus today's lyrics have the f-bomb)
Chapter Notes: What does Walter get a craving for as he does an autopsy?
Takes Place: after 1.06 "The Cure" on the day after Election Day (Nov 2nd), Nov 3rd
Song: "Mr. November" by The National, in honour of Election Day
Disclaimer: No, I don't own Fringe. Surprised? ;)
"The English are waiting
And I don't know what to do
In my best clothes
This is when I need you
The English are waiting
And I don't know what to do
In my best clothes
I'm the new blue blood, I'm the great white hope
I'm the new blue blood
I won't fuck us over, I'm Mr. November
I'm Mr. November, I won't fuck us over"
Agent Broyles had had the body delivered down to the lab with the promise that while the death really had to do with the Pattern, experiments didn't need to be done. Pattern scientists were already well aware of the cause of the man's death, just that it would be interesting to look at nonetheless. Walter really didn't care; he enjoyed spending extra time doing autopsies with the curly haired girl. Peter and the blonde had run off to investigate the man's apartment, so that meant he got the lab alone with her.
"Spontaneous human combustion, Asterisk!" he announced loudly after they donned their lab coats and put on their protective full-face shields.
Dramatically he unzipped the body bag to reveal an upper torso and a pair of legs, no head
"Whoa. He was really baked, wasn't he?" the girl said, recoiling slightly.
"Indeed. And now I have an odd craving for fried chicken," he replied, breathing in deeply.
She made a face. "Eww."
"And mashed potatoes. Pop!" he declared as he cracked open the ribcage with a bone cutter.
The remaining liquid organs in the chest cavity burst at his rough handling, the thick, pinkish goo splattering across their face shields. Ever the prepared one, his curly haired companion wiped the mess off his shield with a paper towel. She was apparently trying to maintain control over her gag reflex and he sighed as she started cleaning off her own face shield.
"You're going to need to learn to keep an appetite at work, otherwise you'll never eat. I'm very serious."
She didn't look so convinced. "I just don't like associating KFC with him."
"Then don't. This man is dead, just a body. And he also happens to smell like something very delicious. Oh, I'm so hungry," he insisted as he quickly filleted samples of the man's charred skin and she took his hint.
"We can grab lunch after we finish the autopsy report," she said holding out collection beakers.
"The Colonel!" he said delightedly as he dropped the slices of skin into the beakers and she took them away.
As he watched her carefully set up the slender glass tubes in their medical-grade refrigerator he realised how much he enjoyed the time alone with her in the lab. She didn't yell at him like Peter or the blonde girl, and while she seemed very put off at the fact he couldn't seem recall her name, she wasn't rude about it. Plus she always seemed to have some form of treaties with her—foil wrapped chocolates, red and white striped peppermints, black licorice bites, strawberry hard candies, and sugared gummy worms. She always graciously shared and he wondered if she was doing it as a way to reform the friendship that had been developing before he, well, knocked her out. He wanted to tell her he could smell the saltwater taffy, but he didn't want to spoil the surprise.
They were sitting in the crowded fast food restaurant, their meals set on red trays and Walter hardly had the patience to use the black plastic utensils as he began to devour the steaming mashed potatoes and fried chicken. She looked a little appalled at his eating habits, but he was hungry and unapologetic.
Walter had babbled the entire time they stood in line, wringing his hands nervously as he sent out not-so-silent prayers of hope that there would be plenty of fried chicken for him to enjoy. The girl had been very patient with him as she paid the cashier and had even bought him a Dr. Pepper, which to be honest was a poor substitute to ginger ale, the day's current craving.
"Pass me a napkin, Obama," he said, his mouth full of steamed corn.
She frowned at him, looking incredibly displeased. "You remember the name of the new president, but you can't remember my name?"
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and began to mix the gravy into the mashed potatoes as he tried to think of the right thing to say. "It starts with an A. You can have my coleslaw if it'll make you feel better."
She sighed and offered over one of the thin paper napkins. "You can keep your coleslaw. My name's Astrid."
He kept his eyes lowered to his food. "Of course it is," he said softly.
He wiped at the corners of his mouth, loathing himself for already losing her name. It started with an A…
Walter spent the bus ride back to the university looking at his assistant, wondering if he was making things worse between them. If he could remember (and possibly borrow money from Peter), he would buy her a box full of chocolate covered expresso beans to make amends. He pondered this for a moment and decided he'd probably need a box himself.
"Can you take down a note for me, young lady?" he asked her kindly.
"Hold on," she said with a sigh and began to dig through the totebag she had in her lap. He watched with interest as she pulled out a notebook and a pen. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, looking at him.
He raised his eyebrows. "For what?"
"The note you wanted me to take down?" she said, her sentence rising at the end so it sounded more like a question than a statement.
"Oh! Did I ask for that? I seem to have already forgotten," Walter said happily.
The girl looked slightly disgruntled and a brilliant idea came to him. "When we get back to the lab I'll make you popcorn, my dear."
"Okay," she said with a nod and she put the notebook away.
Food was always a good bargaining tool and his offer seemed to have pleased her at least a little. This made him feel a bit better; if he had it his way, he wouldn't have forgotten whatever brilliant idea he had had, but such was life.
"I sing the body electric!" he abruptly declared in a loud manner, startling a few of the other passengers on the bus. "The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; they will not let me off till—"
"Till I go with them, respond to them, and discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul," the girl finished and he was astonished.
She smiled at him and Walter was smitten; the fact she could obvious read minds or anticipate what was to be said or—
"It's been committed to my memory. You've been repeating it sporadically for the part few days, Dr. Bishop.," she explained, kindly patting his hand.
"Have I?" he said breathlessly, wondering if by chance she knew other poems by the man of his poetic namesake.
"This is our stop," she replied and the moment was broken.
He followed her off the bus obediently and he couldn't wait until they were back in the laboratory, having had a sudden craving for popcorn.
She had perched herself on the stool, leaning over his desk to peer into the wok. Walter moved around by her side and placed the foil over top as he turned the Bunsen burner beneath on. He decided he ought to tell a story.
"I remember taking Peter to the fair once. I bought us a bag of the most delightful treat called kettle corn, which is salted and sugared popcorn."
The girl nodded. "Yeah, I've had it before. It's good."
As he shook the wok slightly to turn the kernels inside, he said quietly, "I wish I remembered more abut that day at the fair, but I had so many memories taken from me at St. Claire's."
"Maybe it's time for you to make new memories?" she suggested and he almost told her that he would like to have the feeling of her curly hair memorised.
"You're a good girl, Obama," he insisted as he offered up the first of the popcorn to her.
He watched her roll her eyes as she shook her head. "Let's start with you remembering my name."
A/N: I love kettle corn, but it gets stuck in between my teeth :(
I think "I won't fuck us over" ought to be the Bishops' mantra. Srsly.
Plus, congrats to Prez Obama!
Random Fringe Prediction: That psycho Nina Sharp will have someone raid Walter's lab, if she doesn't go there herself.
