Fringe drabbles!
Six gen short drabbles using this prompt list, followed by a slightly longer Peter-centric one, and then one with Peter and Lincoln that I wrote forever ago and never posted anywhere. Ooonwards...
001. Air
He remembers coming out of Raiden Lake, breaking the surface, breathing and feeling a sense of utter relief wash over him. It is exactly the same sensation that washes over him when Walternate, the man who could have been his father, promises he will help him.
002. Earth
He hits the ground face first, tasting a mouthful of wet dirt. Then he hears a crack behind him and the shapeshifter drops unconscious next to him. He rolls over, and once he manages to focus he can't help grinning up at Lincoln, who's still wielding a large tree branch like a baseball bat.
"You're late." He says.
Lincoln still has a wild look on his eyes, looking at the shapeshifter as if expecting it to get up again. When it groans, Lincoln hits him again, reflexively. Peter thinks it would be crass to chuckle, but the smile doesn't leave his face.
003. Fire
There's smoke coming from a classroom as Peter is heading down to Walter's lab. He's being escorted by Lincoln, which means they both run in that direction instead of the opposite one. They get half a dozen of kids out of the classroom including two who had fainted, and Peter controls the fire before it spreads. They both end up having to go to the hospital. Walter won't give Peter a check-up and Lincoln won't let Peter go by himself.
"How did you know what to do?" Lincoln asks. Peter looks at him, half surprised and half amused.
"I used to be a fireman." He says, a smile playing on his lips. Lincoln isn't sure if he's joking and Peter doesn't bother telling him that he isn't.
004. Water
Walter keeps a fishtank and somedays he can stare at it for hours, all of his fish have names and they're well taken care of-- sometimes, in his moments of clarity, he wonders who looks after them. Astrid, he assumes, and that agent that is there when everyone else is busy. Tom or Tim... or perhaps John. Walter is not very good at names.
005. Spirit
Olivia still dreams of him, even as she has him in front of him. She remembers too, being haunted by that energy, seeing his face, wanting to help him. And she wonders if he was right at first, back when he said he was erased. She wonders if the hole in her life is this man, or the lack of him.
006. Alone
The truth is, Peter misses him. He misses him more than he thought he'd ever miss anything-- the sound of the shower at four in the morning, singing off-key at five, quiet cursing at six after he'd inevitably burnt himself with something.
He can almost hear their conversations. "Walter, I got you an apron for that, remember?" Walter would call him son. Peter only called him dad twice. Once before he learned the truth, and once in the future, when the world was ending. He wishes he'd done it more often.
Peter hates himself sometimes. Not often- not in the past four years or so. But sometimes.
He hates that he loves this new Olivia and this new, more broken, Walter. He hates it because it means that if he's right -and he's pretty sure he is- it will hurt when he leaves.
He hates how Lincoln smiles at his quips and how he's growing used to shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. He hates how he has to keep telling himself that they are not his people and this is not his world.
He hates how he's willing to sacrifice himself for them. How he jumps to tackle Olivia when he realizes she hasn't seen the man with the gun. He hates that when he feels the bullet piercing him, he only has enough presence of mind to be glad it hit him and not her.
He wakes up in the hospital and for a second he's confused. The lack of people hovering over his bed reminds him, again, that this is not his world. That here he cares more about them than they do about him.
And yet, when Olivia drops by and thanks him, he still smiles at her, tells her it's okay and means it. And when he looks at her eyes, he sees his Olivia there, a hint of blue amidst the sea of green. And then, he has to admit that he doesn't hate it as much as he thinks he should.
That makes him hate himself a little more.
How Peter Got Himself A Roommate
"Time travel?"
Peter had been scribbling formulas on a board. He almost dropped the marker when he heard the question, he'd been so involved he'd completely forgotten Lincoln was there.
"Did I say that?" He had more of Walter than he liked to admit. Sometimes he thought out loud, and sometimes Agent Lee was there to overhear. It was very rude of him.
Lincoln gave him a look which meant he knew Peter was deflecting. Then he pointed at the board. Peter looked at it too, he had time relativity, parallel universe theory, light speed... nothing that would have made any sense to anyone without extensive Physics knowledge and had worked in Fringe division. Apparently Lincoln had both.
"Time travel." Peter agreed, feeling a little exasperated.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He didn't, not even a little. But Lincoln was preparing coffee before he could argue, and from then on it was just a matter of taking the path of least resistance.
The problem with growing up being smarter than almost everyone else was that you were also very lonely. You were always the odd one out, and even if no one else noticed, you knew.
But then, you don't really realize how lonely you aren't until you are deleted from your own timeline. And being a genius that shouldn't exist meant Peter understood very well what it all meant. Most Agents still treated him like a criminal, even after he'd saved people's lives. If anyone caught on to the fact that he'd rewritten not one, but two entire universes... they would probably ship him off to Massive Dynamic and never let him out again.
He told Lincoln anyway.
He really hadn't meant to, it wasn't smart or sensible. It was dangerous. But sometimes you just had to trust someone, and if he couldn't trust the only person in the universe who treated him like a human being then... well. He didn't want to think about it.
Peter explained he'd rewritten the universe and Lincoln didn't freak out. Peter loved him for that. He loved every part of him, from the confused frown to the way he removed his glasses and gestured before speaking. He could have kissed him right then. He almost did after he spoke next.
"Are you okay?"
And for a moment, Peter was.
"You're moving in." He told him. Lincoln didn't seem to understand but it didn't matter.
This entry was originally posted at DW with
comments.
001. Air
He remembers coming out of Raiden Lake, breaking the surface, breathing and feeling a sense of utter relief wash over him. It is exactly the same sensation that washes over him when Walternate, the man who could have been his father, promises he will help him.
002. Earth
He hits the ground face first, tasting a mouthful of wet dirt. Then he hears a crack behind him and the shapeshifter drops unconscious next to him. He rolls over, and once he manages to focus he can't help grinning up at Lincoln, who's still wielding a large tree branch like a baseball bat.
"You're late." He says.
Lincoln still has a wild look on his eyes, looking at the shapeshifter as if expecting it to get up again. When it groans, Lincoln hits him again, reflexively. Peter thinks it would be crass to chuckle, but the smile doesn't leave his face.
003. Fire
There's smoke coming from a classroom as Peter is heading down to Walter's lab. He's being escorted by Lincoln, which means they both run in that direction instead of the opposite one. They get half a dozen of kids out of the classroom including two who had fainted, and Peter controls the fire before it spreads. They both end up having to go to the hospital. Walter won't give Peter a check-up and Lincoln won't let Peter go by himself.
"How did you know what to do?" Lincoln asks. Peter looks at him, half surprised and half amused.
"I used to be a fireman." He says, a smile playing on his lips. Lincoln isn't sure if he's joking and Peter doesn't bother telling him that he isn't.
004. Water
Walter keeps a fishtank and somedays he can stare at it for hours, all of his fish have names and they're well taken care of-- sometimes, in his moments of clarity, he wonders who looks after them. Astrid, he assumes, and that agent that is there when everyone else is busy. Tom or Tim... or perhaps John. Walter is not very good at names.
005. Spirit
Olivia still dreams of him, even as she has him in front of him. She remembers too, being haunted by that energy, seeing his face, wanting to help him. And she wonders if he was right at first, back when he said he was erased. She wonders if the hole in her life is this man, or the lack of him.
006. Alone
The truth is, Peter misses him. He misses him more than he thought he'd ever miss anything-- the sound of the shower at four in the morning, singing off-key at five, quiet cursing at six after he'd inevitably burnt himself with something.
He can almost hear their conversations. "Walter, I got you an apron for that, remember?" Walter would call him son. Peter only called him dad twice. Once before he learned the truth, and once in the future, when the world was ending. He wishes he'd done it more often.
Peter hates himself sometimes. Not often- not in the past four years or so. But sometimes.
He hates that he loves this new Olivia and this new, more broken, Walter. He hates it because it means that if he's right -and he's pretty sure he is- it will hurt when he leaves.
He hates how Lincoln smiles at his quips and how he's growing used to shaking his hand and patting his shoulder. He hates how he has to keep telling himself that they are not his people and this is not his world.
He hates how he's willing to sacrifice himself for them. How he jumps to tackle Olivia when he realizes she hasn't seen the man with the gun. He hates that when he feels the bullet piercing him, he only has enough presence of mind to be glad it hit him and not her.
He wakes up in the hospital and for a second he's confused. The lack of people hovering over his bed reminds him, again, that this is not his world. That here he cares more about them than they do about him.
And yet, when Olivia drops by and thanks him, he still smiles at her, tells her it's okay and means it. And when he looks at her eyes, he sees his Olivia there, a hint of blue amidst the sea of green. And then, he has to admit that he doesn't hate it as much as he thinks he should.
That makes him hate himself a little more.
How Peter Got Himself A Roommate
"Time travel?"
Peter had been scribbling formulas on a board. He almost dropped the marker when he heard the question, he'd been so involved he'd completely forgotten Lincoln was there.
"Did I say that?" He had more of Walter than he liked to admit. Sometimes he thought out loud, and sometimes Agent Lee was there to overhear. It was very rude of him.
Lincoln gave him a look which meant he knew Peter was deflecting. Then he pointed at the board. Peter looked at it too, he had time relativity, parallel universe theory, light speed... nothing that would have made any sense to anyone without extensive Physics knowledge and had worked in Fringe division. Apparently Lincoln had both.
"Time travel." Peter agreed, feeling a little exasperated.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He didn't, not even a little. But Lincoln was preparing coffee before he could argue, and from then on it was just a matter of taking the path of least resistance.
The problem with growing up being smarter than almost everyone else was that you were also very lonely. You were always the odd one out, and even if no one else noticed, you knew.
But then, you don't really realize how lonely you aren't until you are deleted from your own timeline. And being a genius that shouldn't exist meant Peter understood very well what it all meant. Most Agents still treated him like a criminal, even after he'd saved people's lives. If anyone caught on to the fact that he'd rewritten not one, but two entire universes... they would probably ship him off to Massive Dynamic and never let him out again.
He told Lincoln anyway.
He really hadn't meant to, it wasn't smart or sensible. It was dangerous. But sometimes you just had to trust someone, and if he couldn't trust the only person in the universe who treated him like a human being then... well. He didn't want to think about it.
Peter explained he'd rewritten the universe and Lincoln didn't freak out. Peter loved him for that. He loved every part of him, from the confused frown to the way he removed his glasses and gestured before speaking. He could have kissed him right then. He almost did after he spoke next.
"Are you okay?"
And for a moment, Peter was.
"You're moving in." He told him. Lincoln didn't seem to understand but it didn't matter.
This entry was originally posted at DW with
comments.