Fringeverse: Pattern Event II: Blue
Fandom: Fringe
Character: Peter Bishop
Setting: Between S1 and S2
Word Count: 258
Rating: PG13
He wanders the restless midnight streets angry, alone and almost too drunk to function. He’s cold, or at least he might be, if he would just let himself feel something again; the whisky takes care of that problem nicely. His feet carry him with little direction and even though he doesn't know where he wants to go, he has a good idea of where he’ll end up in the end. He passes another frozen body that lays in the street, curling around the hot air pumping up from down below, hands gripping a liquor bottle sheathed in brown paper tightly, despite the intense cold and wonders how he hasn’t become one of them.
He finds himself beneath her apartment window: it’s dark, except for the two shadows that play together in the low lamp light, their shadows bouncing off of the burnt-orange walls. He watches them for a moment - he thinks he hears her laughing... but it might just be the screech of a vehicle as it makes its getaway. The lamp goes out suddenly and it’s darker suddenly, as if the moon’s gone out and the stars refuse to shine for one so lost, so lost in blue.
He turns, following a trail of broken bottles and garbage and rodents that scurry away from approaching feet, and walks away from her, to no where in particular but looking for the next place to get his fix, to down his sorrows and forget about all the decisions that brought him here - the ones that pushed her there.
Character: Peter Bishop
Setting: Between S1 and S2
Word Count: 258
Rating: PG13
He wanders the restless midnight streets angry, alone and almost too drunk to function. He’s cold, or at least he might be, if he would just let himself feel something again; the whisky takes care of that problem nicely. His feet carry him with little direction and even though he doesn't know where he wants to go, he has a good idea of where he’ll end up in the end. He passes another frozen body that lays in the street, curling around the hot air pumping up from down below, hands gripping a liquor bottle sheathed in brown paper tightly, despite the intense cold and wonders how he hasn’t become one of them.
He finds himself beneath her apartment window: it’s dark, except for the two shadows that play together in the low lamp light, their shadows bouncing off of the burnt-orange walls. He watches them for a moment - he thinks he hears her laughing... but it might just be the screech of a vehicle as it makes its getaway. The lamp goes out suddenly and it’s darker suddenly, as if the moon’s gone out and the stars refuse to shine for one so lost, so lost in blue.
He turns, following a trail of broken bottles and garbage and rodents that scurry away from approaching feet, and walks away from her, to no where in particular but looking for the next place to get his fix, to down his sorrows and forget about all the decisions that brought him here - the ones that pushed her there.