SCP-1428 – "Cortexichildren"

Chapter 15: It Takes a Moment

Disclaimers: During the writing process, all of the SCP number selections I have used were / are vacant. I don't intend to publish this on the wiki, so if the series number is now taken… it probably went to a better idea than mine anyway. This is mainly a crossover fic, not a SCP event log that will go on the site.

Forever reminder that I do not own anything. Fringe belongs to J.J. & co. Each SCP belongs to their respective individual author. The SCP universe belongs to that collective on that site. I do not own anything. I am a fan.

Forever reminder of how I handle alt!characters: Over There: Bob. Over Somewhere Else: Bob.

Author's Notes: If you squint your eyes, you can see ships galore. & it's pretty refreshing to type some less stressful less brutal human interactions for a change. Gah what a wonderful breather. I can't imagine what you guyz are going through, but sometimes this shit gets really dark.

Again in the first drafts of this story… I had Astrid stay behind. NOPE. NOT TODAY. DISREGARD CANON TREATMENT OF ASTRID, INCORPORATE MORE ASTRID INTO THIS FUCKING STORY.

HELLO DOLLY ANYTHING DOES NOT BELONG TO ME OKAY. ALSO DON'T GET USED TO THE RELATIVE HAPPINESS OF THIS CHAPTER. IT'S GOING TO BE A RARE THING.

"This… this all might actually work, Peter." Walter had a lot more perk to his step now, compared to a week ago – even a day ago. "Even with that man…"

"Walter…" Peter warned. But surprisingly, Walter had been very civil to his counterpart as of late, refraining from making any sneering comments or glares for the duration of their brainstorming-planning-replanning-rereplanning-rer ereplanning session. Peter was actually proud of his father's newfound maturity. Maybe this would do both men some good.

A shame it had to come at the expense of Olivia, though. A shame it had to come at the expense of anyone. But perhaps it had been necessary, as reluctant and disturbed as he was to admit it. Maybe they all needed this rude awakening and wrenching loss to finally focus collectively with the Other Side.

Or at least he kept telling himself that. To numb the gnawing pain of it all away. Walter could easily dive into projects when he wanted to. He could completely lose himself in the immersion – and he had and he was, even with a man he usually despised. But Peter… Peter… all he could think about was Olivia. Unlike the two Walters, he couldn't shift focus to the task at hand. He stayed there, drowning in his troubles, drowning in his losses, drowning in his guilt that kept him awake at night, boring holes into the ceiling and sweating into his sheets night after night.

He could have gone with her. Or he could have insisted that they go together. He could have steered her away from that Nick Lane. Steered her to the bakery and then to Walter's. He could have prevented this all from happening. He could have kept her safe. He could have done something.

Instead of sitting in the bathroom cutting himself with his razor as he shaved. Like a failure.

"Peter?"

Usually he was the one to rouse Walter from the depths of his mind. It was rather uncharacteristic for it to be the other way around. And it only made him feel all the more guilty and inadequate.

"When we get back to the lab, I'll be sure to make you a special…" But Peter didn't quite catch that last remark. He was already gone.

"Yeah," Peter murmured, looking across at the bridge between the two worlds. And then back down to his feet, kicking the metal flooring with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders shrugged. "Sounds great, Walter." His voice was flat. Everything about him was flat.

The two stepped through the bridge.

Peter's fists were shaking.

Peter was parked in one of the offices further away from the lab. He wasn't huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth like a baby, but he was still in the corner. And he was just standing there. Waiting for direction – guidance – anything at all to come from somewhere at all. But there was nothing to receive.

Unless he counted the Oreo milkshake Walter came bouncing in with.

"I outdid myself this time, Peter." Walter was giddy, almost to the point of spilling the contents of the glass beakers all over his brown shoes. "I-"

But something snapped in Peter. The last time had been during the incident with Walter ranting and raging on the countertop, throwing various glass vessels onto the floor and growling. And if there had been any excrement made readily available, Walter most certainly would have thrown that, too. Probably at Peter's face.

But something snapped. After weeks of his poker face, it finally broke. "How can you be so calm?!" He sounded just like Walter that day, exasperated and irrational and loud. He was all the qualities he had hated when Walter embodied them. But he didn't care. He had been holding in all the anger and torment and guilt and loss inside him, in a futile effort to stay strong for Walter. But it had backfired horrendously. And instead of the normal course of events [Peter comforting Walter], Walter would have to console him.

"How can you be so calm, Walter?!" He repeated; he yelled and beat his thighs with his fists. "How can you be making milkshakes, like nothing's changed? How? I'm falling apart, but you… you're acting like Olivia never left.It's disgusting."

Walter forced the milkshake into Peter's hand, but he didn't have to force a concerned look on his face. And he didn't take any of Peter's words to heart. He KNEW how much Olivia was to him and this was completely acceptable. "Breathe, Peter. And drink. I know this has been hard on you."

"I…" Now Peter found it hard to even form words. To even find words. His vocabulary and his vocal cords shriveled up into nothing. And he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

Walter recognized this. And he gave him a gentle smile. "You're too hard on yourself, Peter."

"But I could-"

"You need to accept it – accept that what happened happened."

"But-"

"You can't change it, Peter. You can't go back in time and correct what has transpired. And even if you could, I would advise against it. You don't know what kind of unforeseen consequences that might have on the fabric of – oh that's not the point." Walter wet his lips and pried himself away from one of his tangents. "But what you CAN do, Peter, is focus on getting her back. You CAN focus on staying strong for her." Walter cupped Peter's face with his right hand. "And don't you for an instant blame yourself, Peter. If there's anyone to blame for all of this, it's me."

Peter looked down at the milkshake. It certainly did look delicious, and a bit absurd in that 3000ml beaker. There was whipped cream piled high, looking perfect enough to be in a commercial – except this whipped cream was real and wasn't artificial, to the best of his knowledge. And all the cookie bits throughout made his mouth water and his stomach sing. And it looked oh so creamy. And a little bit of it was melting and streaming down the beaker, beckoning for him to indulge.

But did he deserve it? After all that happened, did he deserve such indulgence? And did he even deserve such kindness from Walter? Even a gift as small as a milkshake, had he done enough to deserve it?

"Please, Peter," Walter gently insisted. "Please."

Peter reluctantly sipped. But what followed was a rushing wave of euphoria and relief.

"Take your time. We can't leave until I locate the old blueprints anyway. And Walternate won't miss us too much." Walter began to walk out of the office. But he turned his head to peek at Peter. And he couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah," Peter murmured, taking another generous sip from the turquoise blue crazy straw with three loops shoved rather aggressively into the beaker. "Alright. Sounds great, Walter."

Peter's fists weren't shaking anymore.

"Just Leave Everything to Me" blasted throughout the lab. Peter was confused to say the least at Walter's sudden [and violent] Hello Dolly! Interest, but he let the matter go. If it would help them find whatever they needed to find, he would put up with it; for the good of the cause.

But while "If you want your ego bolstered, muscles toned, or chair upholstered: just leave everything to me" and other various lyrics buzzed in their ears, the two were picking apart the lab. It would've been a quicker ordeal, but Walter kept reminiscing on the random items they kept finding. And spazzing quite strongly on seemingly each and every one.

"What a STEAL this was!" Walter pulled a purple bowtie out of a cardboard box, a box that looked like all the rest scattered about the floor. "I went to Geneva's Bio-Edge convention with William in this. And we met two very lovely women. Great teeth, greater posteriors. And their breasts…"

"I'll discretely use my own discretion / I'll arrange for making all arrangements / I'll proceed to plan the whole procedure / I'll proceed to plan the whole procedure / Just leave everything to m-"

"Walter?!"

"Aphid is that you?" Walter dropped the bowtie and twirled to face her. "It's so good to see you, my dear."

Astrid wasn't sure she made the best decision, between being called "aphid" and discovering the mess she would most likely have to clean littered about. She pouted at Walter, but she was still happy to see them. Especially after so long. So she was able to let the matter go and forgive him. Again. Sometimes she wondered if he really knew her name at all. She had her suspicions, but she still loved the man.

"I got back late last afternoon, but you weren't here. And Broyles was away at a meeting and wasn't available. The only person who could've known where you were was Lincoln… but he was with me the entire time. So that left no one with high enough clearance. And I got really worried because no one knew where you were – only Broyles. And no one had left a note and no one had called and I had no one to turn to… and… I'm so happy to see you all again." Astrid's anxious energy came back. "Where were you guys?"

Walter gave Peter an apprehensive look. He didn't want to tell her. He wanted as little people as possible to know, in case it all didn't turn out. In case it all went catastrophically wrong.

"Nowhere, m'dear. We just went out for a long stroll. I needed to clear my head, you see." Walter blinked rapidly and fiddled his cold belt buckle with shuddering fingers. He swallowed. He diverted his eyes. He hoped that Astrid wouldn't see his various tells. He hoped that she would let matters go. Maybe she'd go home for the evening and make it easier for them to find the plans and leave. And maybe Peter could just leave a note. Say that they were going to their old house to get away from things. Because Walter was having a nervous break. Astrid could buy that, right? They wouldn't have to explain the mess they were in to her, right? She would be able to stay out of it, right? Stay safe? Stay away from things, just in case they all came crashing down? He couldn't lose someone else. He'd lost too many people in his life.

But she knew him all too well. And she could see Peter's face bunching up in protest. And she could hear Peter yell, in great disbelief and frustration, "Walter?! What are you doing?!"

"I'm telling her what happened, Peter; what are YOU doing?" Walter countered while striking the papered floor with the bottom of his foot.

"I was hoping that you would tell her what really happened; I don't know where this strolling-to-clear-my-head nonsense is coming from." Peter threw the useless scraps of paper in his hands up into the air for them to come dramatically cascading down, although a bit closer to his face than he had planned. "What the hell is this?! What the hell are you acting like this for?! She deserves to know, Walter. If we could tell Broyles, we can definitely tell her."

"Tell me what?" Astrid folded her arms and stepped closer to them, making sure not to slip on all the papers and random items cast about. "What do I deserve to hear, Walter?"

He couldn't refuse to tell her. Not with that face. That face was final. With one of her eyebrows arched and her foot impatiently tapping. Suddenly he felt waves of guilt and shame. Suddenly he felt like a child, like he had just ruined his mother's favorite dress.

But if he told her, he couldn't look up. He would settle on looking at his brown and dirty shoes, making the papers under his feet as brown as they were. If he told her, he didn't want to see her face. And if he told her, he would have to give her the short version. Just the essential minimum, nothing else. The less she knew, the better it would be.

"You were still searching for Olivia, at the time, with the search teams. But… we received a visit from an Observer – September."

Astrid pushed her hands to her mouth, "What did he say?! What happened? Tell me!"

"He told us where Olivia was. And he told us how to get her." Peter smiled at the giddy Astrid, finally releasing all of the bottled up energy since this mess had started. He knew that she cared about Olivia. Not the same level as him, but it was still a level. And she had suffered just as they had suffered. And she deserved this news, not just them. She was important in Olivia's life and Olivia was important in hers. That's why he couldn't understand why Walter had been so reluctant to share the news in the first place. But the man had his reasons. He always had reasons… but Peter didn't always understand them. Or agree with them, usually. "He didn't tell us much after that. We're doing the best we can on the Other Side, trying to construct a device."

"That's plenty, given how little our teams have been able to come up with." Astrid jumped in the air and clapped her hands together, squealing. All of that energy was releasing at the same time. And she had been waiting for a long time. "So when do we get to see Olivia again?" This was the happiest she had ever felt in a while. She felt as if she had been living in darkness and the sun had finally appeared in the sky again. She felt hope and purpose soaring back into her life after so long.

"Constructing the machine will be… difficult." Walter had to look up at her. He had to see her face. And her face looked certainly relieved; she finally happy after weeks at a time of frowns and furrowed brows and dark circles. Astrid had come alive again. She was in full bloom after a prolonged, harsh winter. And it was beautiful. "I don't have a time-table yet, Orchid."

Orchid was a hell of a lot better than Aphid. And after the news she had just received, Astrid would have accepted any name Walter had in store for her. Or accepted most names.

"But it can't be too difficult, can it? You have the Other Side at your disposal – all of their advanced resources. And you'll have the other version of me. And you'll have ME." If the entire team was going to the Other Side, there would be nothing left for her to do here. She would have nothing. Unless she wanted to take a job probably below her skillset… or a job that would be numbingly mindless… but that was completely out of the question. She had stayed with Bishop's Shop of Horrors this far; it was too late to turn back now. Especially after the absence of Olivia. She was too important. She OWED a lot to Olivia. And she wanted to see them all happy again.

"But you-" Walter hesitated. He had been looking up at her for a while, but he still couldn't make eye-contact. And it wasn't that his body was physically unable; he just refused to do so. And he refused to even open his eyes when he told her, "I don't want you to follow us."

"WHAT?!" She sounded outraged. She had every right to be.

"You must stay here, my dear." He hastily whispered, "I don't want anything to happen to you." Walter looked over to Peter, who had gone suspiciously silent. This was Walter's battle to fight. Peter wasn't coming to Walter's rescue. And Astrid certainly did not need anyone else to win her cause. Perhaps he wasn't making the battle fair. That was Walter's loss.

Astrid stomped her foot. She didn't care if she looked immature in front of them. The man in front of her was immature on a regular basis. It was time for her to put her foot down – again, literally. She would not be babied. She would not be coddled. She was an agent of her own right, not just Walter's babysitter or lab assistant or sous chef or housemaid. She was Agent Farnsworth. And Agent Farnsworth cared about Olivia, too.

"You're not the only one who cares, Walter. I know I'm not the mad scientist that you are, but I can help. Anything that they need me to do, I will do it – for Olivia. I want to get her back, too. I want to see her again. I want our family unit to be whole again." Tears were welling in Astrid's eyes. Her voice was about to falter, but she stubbornly refused. "I'm not going to stay back and do nothing, especially if I can be of help."

Walter was touched, touched at how strongly Astrid felt. She didn't always share her feelings with them… but then again, she wasn't always given the opportunity to. Walter felt a bit guilty. Astrid was always catering to his needs, not the other way around. Maybe this was time for him to break even with her. He put his hands on her shoulders and finally looked her in the eye. "My dear, please; I don't want you getting hurt. You always go out of your way for me. You don't have to do this, Astrid."

Astrid's tears fell more freely. She didn't want to stay behind. She didn't but… Walter sounded so sincere. Walter felt so strongly about her… so much that he remembered her name. At this very moment he DID know. He DID care. He DID view her as more than a housecleaner, an assistant, a babysitter, a sous chef. And yet… "I can't, Walter. It's Olivia. She'd do anything if something were to happen to me and I'm going to do the same for her. It's the right thing."

Walter sighed. When he removed his hands from her shoulders they fell limply at his sides. He conceded. "Fine, dear. But if anything happens to you… I'll never be able to forgive myself."

Why had everything happened while he had been away? Every single important thing that could ever happen… happened. The news from September. The meeting with the Walter from the Other Side. The supposed truce they had to construct the device. And now… the invitation to go to that side to work with them – all of them. Was this all a dream? Was this really happening?

It was. After a world without hope, there was hope. After a world without golden light, there was light. He had gone for weeks with dwindling hope, coming up empty from site after site after site. And Astrid had taken it even harder than him. She had gotten paler and frailer every day. And they had both lost sleep, lost their appetite, lost all motivation almost entirely.

But now an electric shock had jolted him back to life. He had purpose. He had hopes of seeing Olivia again. Their team would be complete. Everything would go back to whatever the Fringe sense of normal was. They wouldn't have to worry about her disappearance. She would be back home where it was relatively safer. She would be back home where she belonged.

And now he was on the opposite side of the bridge, awaiting the rest of the team. Eagerly. Tapping his heels together, fiddling with his bow-tie, even whistling a tune – off-key still, but he hadn't whistled in a while. He would allow himself this embarrassing pleasure. It was a piss-poor rendition of "Put on Your Sunday Clothes," but no one was around to critique him. And he wouldn't have listened to their critiques anyway. Yes his blowing sounded quite strained at parts, but he was much too happy to care about proper pitch and technique. "For there's no blue Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday... No Monday in your Sunday clothes!"

And after a few more minutes of this awkward nervous excitement, he saw them. And he saw Astrid first, who sprinted from the doorway to him, hugging him furiously and exclaiming, "What are you doing here, Lincoln?! Did Broyles tell you?"

He embraced her, too, picking her off the ground and laughing, "You guys can't have all the fun yourselves, can you?" He peeked around Astrid's fluffy coiled hair and grinned at the two Bishops now emerging from the bridge. "And Broyles told me everything."

"We're going to get her back, Lincoln!" Astrid's eyes shone as she let go of him. "After so long."

"Yeah." Lincoln smiled. Probably larger than he should have, but he didn't care. He should have known better, smiling so mysteriously in front of Peter, but he didn't care. "Yeah, we are." If he turned around fast enough, maybe Peter wouldn't even notice.

Maybe he wouldn't notice at all.

When Walter had arrived with the plans, the pace had increased one hundred fold. Astrid's counterpart was not there to aid the Walters, but a few handpicked assistants [including Brandon Fayette] were.

In less than an hour, raw materials were gathered from the corners of the globe to construct such a device. And they were handled with the utmost care and precision. Peter would be lying if he didn't say he was impressed. Secretary Bishop held such power in society Over There – Over Here. Science held so much more power Over Here. Sometimes Peter wondered what his life would have been like if he had stayed. There were certain things about this world that were better… but he didn't have time to daydream. He only had time to work.

And they worked at a blistering pace. Peter could scarcely see where his fingers ended and the tools in his hands began. Or where they even were sometimes. And he didn't even know what he was doing half the time. There was no ideal endgame device truly set in store, since they were modifying as they went, hoping to reach a projected scenario. Walter trusted what Peter could do with his hands. They all trusted each other to reach the end result.

Peter didn't know what Lincoln was doing, but he had to have been doing something. Sure the man wasn't anywhere near close to a mechanic, but there was probably a use for him in this mess of science and engineering and planning and allocating. Even Astrid was bickering away with one of the assistants. The two of them were concerned over something that he couldn't bother to concern himself with now. He was given a task and he needed to stick to it, or they wouldn't get anything done. Specialization would be the key to completion.

They didn't have a timetable, but it needed to be completed as fast as possible. Walter had suggested a week. Walter had challenged such a proposal, worried that it was too long a time period. He countered with four days. But four days was insane. Four days was ludicrous. FOUR days to make these materials into useable parts and then using those parts to make the components of a device still being debated about behind Peter and then using those components to make a device that still needed information from September, who hadn't shown his face anytime soon, and then hoping for the best? But his father accepted the challenge. If his counterpart was confident and determined that they could do more in less, why not?

But as a result, Peter had been working for hours without as much as a break. No food, no water. The only solace he had was stopping a bit to blink. And the only fluids related to Peter were expelled. He was getting dizzy. But he needed to push on. Everything he was doing, he was doing for Olivia.

He took a peek behind him. Still arguing. Still messing with the plans on the touchscreen table Walter had shipped in from his department. Walter would expand and theorize on an aspect, but then Walter would completely deconstruct it. Or the opposite. Or an assistant would chime in and give his tentative opinion and BOTH Walters would tear him to bits, calling him nothing less than a primitive being. The tensions were high. The risks were high. The needs were high. Everything seemed like it was going to collapse. It was stifling.

And with that Peter just needed a break. He pushed himself away from his stool and waltzed out of the area. He needed to clear his head from all the warm buzzing or he would lose it.

And when he opened the door to the relative outside world, the cool freshness of lighter air hit him and coated him with relaxation. Much better. When he opened his eyes and actually focused on the room before him, he was surprised. This was supposed to function as a break room. But it hadn't been used in seven hours. The couches were blue and the appliances were sleek and state of the art.

He heaved a sigh of relief. There was a coffee machine. He would survive through this ordeal after all.

The door opened behind him while he was in the middle of pouring a cup. "I'll be right back, Walter; I swear. If I don't drink something, I'll keel over and I'm not much use if I'm incapacitated."

"It's alright. I won't tell."

He whipped around, almost splashing the beverage on himself. "Oh. I didn't know you would be here."

"I didn't know I would be here, either." Olivia entertained him with a smile. "But I am. Probably to babysit all of you so you don't turn your weapons of mass destruction against each other." She smirked, fumbling with a pink box in her hands. "I also brought doughnuts. I was going to tackle the mess outside…"

Peter shook his head, "Once they're in the zone… it's best to leave them be. They'll come in soon enough." He heaved his aching body on one of the couches and groaned, "Oh god, that feels good." He tipped his head up to her and grinned, "And if you wouldn't mind, I'd like a doughnut."

"Help yourself." She walked over and opened the box. "Take your pick."

"Those custard-filled ones will surely excite Walter – but I bet you already knew that." Peter reached for one glazed in chocolate. "He might be suspicious and think you're trying to tempt him with sweets again."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "He can think whatever he wants."

Awkward sustained silence. Olivia sat on the couch opposite to him and stared at nothing in particular. Peter chewed his doughnut profoundly. After a few minutes of that painful silence, "Thanks for the… yeah." Peter held up the doughnut to describe the "yeah" and then brought it back to his mouth.

"Yeah, no problem." She shifted her legs so that one rested over the other, right over left. The box was on the table between them. She had a faint smile on her face. Peter couldn't read it. Was she just being polite or did she still hold something for him? He wasn't sure if he even wanted to know.

More of that sustained silence. More chewing and leg moving and staring at the grey walls behind each other.

"I…" Olivia hesitated, cleared her throat, and then hesitated again. "I… I hope your girl's worth it." She reached back to scratch something behind her head to make it seem a bit more casual. "For all this."

Peter waited to finish chewing. He initially planned on saying a lot. He wanted to assure this woman how much Olivia truly meant to him. Because it sounded like his love was being tested. And it sounded like she was still interested. But by the time he finished chewing… he wasn't so sure about that. And he settled with a simple "She is. Trust me."

Her smile only got wider. "It's almost incredibly romantic – going across universes for someone." She sighed and looked down at the pink box of doughnuts, "I wish the people I've liked could have had that commitment."

"I've done it countless times so believe me, it's not really as romantic as it sounds." Peter took a deep sip of the strong coffee, a rarity in this universe that he was grateful to accept. 'There's a lot of effort and a lot on the line. But…' But he could see where she was coming from. It IS a bit romantic, transcending across space and time for someone. And yet… it was so painfully obvious for him. He would do ANYTHING to get Olivia back. ANYTHING.

"Well I applaud your efforts, valiant sir," she bowed her head in mock respect – or was it really as mocking as it looked?

"Now I wouldn't go to such extremes," Peter chuckled. "It's what any decent person would do."

"Decent, huh?" She looked down to the floor now. Peter noticed that. What was the matter? In that moment, he looked a lot more like his Olivia. Her eyes were darker, her face was darker, everything about her was darker. Instead of being cheerful and confident she was… uncharacteristically down. He wasn't making the mistake of confusing the two, but he was actually worried. Why was she acting like this? She was confident and driven and motivated – probably so much that she scared away potential suitors, but her time would come. What was the rush?

"I'm certain someone feels – or will feel – the same way about you, too." Peter ended the bit of "advice" with a small chuckle, hoping to dispel the seriousness of it – like she had only a few minutes ago.

She faked a smile. "Yeah. I suppose you're right."

There was a window glancing into the working area right across from her, behind Peter. Someone with short dirty blond hair was walking behind the mass of people in white coats. She couldn't tell if he was from her universe or the other. But soon she saw that little piece of tech settled on his ear. And the hair was a bit more ruffled and unkempt. And he had a bit of a 5:00 shadow.

Her smile turned into a real smile. And it only got bigger. "Yeah. You're right." There was.