La nuit, tous les chats sont gris [Fringe]
La nuit, tous les chats sont gris
Fringe//PG-13//Walternate, Walter Bishop, Alt!Broyles
A symmetrical exploration of the similarities, and the differences, between Walternate and Walter. More heavily Walternate, because we see much less of him as opposed to Walter.
Truth be told, Walter had never intended for all of this. These things happened in the line of their work, he knew, but he could not have predicted the manner of the death that would befall Colonel Broyles.
The search for his replacement was a bureaucratic nightmare. The most promising candidate at the moment was Agent Lincoln Lee and Agent Charlie Francis. The former had seniority on Agent Lee, but Walter recognizes Agent Francis as one of the causalities from the other side. He would not have a man who bore the same face as a man he had ordered to be executed leading Fringe Division.
The official story that had been released to the public was that Broyles had been killed while attempting to seal a breach in the amber. It may have been that he had betrayed his country, his universe in the end, but Walter will not risk the faith of the people in their government. Now, more than ever, they need to be stronger.
He wishes that he could tell them the truth, that he could show everyone the monsters that incited this war.
Walter remembers the funeral service that had been held for Colonel Broyles. There had been no body recovered. Broyles’ wife and son had been there- it is a shame that he had to leave behind a family. Though he had been stoic at the funeral, he had been in turmoil during the eulogy.
Walter slips his coat on and leaves his office. Brandon is outside his door, lab tests results in hand. Brandon begins to speak, but Walter raises his hand and says, “I will be out. There is business for me to attend to.”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary.”
It is a cold and windy day- the sun shines but provides little in warmth.
Walter does not find anyone else at the grave. The dirt is still freshly turned, covering an empty grave.
“Do you remember what I told you, Phillip?”
Walter stares at the amber colored solid. Amber 31422, he labeled it. Beginning as a gaseous form, it could solidify upon contact with the nitrogen in the atmosphere. It provided a solution to micro-black holes that had been destroying their world, piece by piece.
There is a price for using the substance, though. It must be applied quickly, moments before or after the convergence of the singularity- any later risked destroying the integrity of the amber.
There had been casualties. Civilian casualties. It is difficult to predict where these breaches will occur, and how quickly. Sometimes, it is too late to evacuate.
This is the price of saving their world. This is what the other side had pushed him to do.
The door opens behind him and Major Phillip Broyles steps into the conference room. He seems nervous and ill fitted in his suit, but Walter cannot blame him. “Major Broyles.”
“Mr. Secretary,” Phillip sits down at the other end of the table across from Walter. “I trust you have been debriefed on the situation?”
“Yes, Phillip, I have.” He stares out at the mass agents running about, answering phone calls and struggling to contain the situation. “Do we have a predicted estimate of casualties?”
“We do.” Phillip sighs. “Lookers have predicted that casualties, should we initiate a city wide protocol on Boston, will exceed five hundred thousand.”
Five hundred thousand. Walter sits down at the table, and suddenly the weight on his shoulders feels much heavier. Five hundred thousand lives to be snuffed out, trapped in a suspended form of awareness, left with those last fleeting thoughts of panic and fear. “Phillip, tell me something.”
“If we do not initiate the protocol, Mr. Secretary-”
“I am fully aware of the consequences should we not, Phillip.” Walter sighs. The abduction and the war had strained him over the years. “Are you prepared, Phillip?”
“Mr. Secretary?”
Walter looks at the man across the table- a military man, a solider. “Are you prepared to give the order to initiate quarantine protocol and to accept the responsibility of those who will die?”
Phillip folds his hands, and pauses. “When I put on my uniform, I was prepared for this. I put this uniform on to protect my family, my government and my country. But five hundred thousand lives…”
The amber is strange in how it catches and twists the light in its contours. Five hundred thousand people condemned to be trapped like mosquitos in amber. “But are you resolved to look at the families of those trapped in the amber?”
“I am a solider, Mr. Secretary.”
“Yes,” A solider has luxuries that he does not. A solider is taught to follow orders, to carry out those orders and to kill. But it is Walter who gives the order, who will set the precedent. Walter is the one who carries the weight of those lives. “Do not avert your eyes from death, Phillip. Remember the people you are killing, and do not ever forget them. Because they will not forget us, just as we have not forgotten them.”
A heavy sigh. “I have seen death before.”
“Yes. But we will fight for our world, for our future and cross a river of blood and corpses and the ashes of a universe to do so. It was they, those monsters, who started this, and they will not stop. But do not forget those who die, Phillip.”
“You told me once that you pitied me, Phillip, for shouldering the burden of all those decisions. I don’t deserve pity, Phillip. Not anymore. But these are the monsters that we are fighting against.”
“Goodbye, old friend.” Walter lays down a single, white tulip on the grave.
Walter remembers things, despite what Peter would think. Peter is always thinking that he cannot remember anything, but it is that Walter remembers too much and is constantly attempting to balance which of the things that he needs to do. It is just that there are so many reminders around him, that he is always distracted by a new thought.
Asterisk delivers Walter his mail. She seems long suffering when he calls her that, but that is how he keeps track of the days of the week. It simply would not make sense to call his assistant the same thing every day of the week. How else would he know what day it is?
Peter walks in with a box of cookies. It reminds him of that vile, horrible woman who had replaced Olivia and that he must be more alert in the future, for there is no telling how devious his counterpart is.
The phone rings, and he remembers that today is something important. Asterisk answers, and tells him that it is Nina on the phone.
And then Walter remembers what day it is, and he nods and sets down the bowl of cookie dough.
Today is William Bell’s funeral.
Nina is the only other who shows to the funeral. Walter is a little surprised, but he supposes that he should not be. Belly had been away from this universe for a long time.
She does not offer any platitudes or tokens of grief, but he can tell behind her iron exterior and robotic arm she is weeping. The arm reminds him of the night on Reiden Lake, when he had broken the universe apart to save a boy.
The night that he had stolen another man’s son and ignited a war.
Walter has never told Nina this, but that is why he can rarely stand her company. She reminds him too much of whom he had been, of what he had done.
Nina leaves him at the grave, sensing that he wants privacy. There is no body to bury- Belly had been converted to energy. A natural process, but accelerated far beyond its natural course.
“You were right, Belly. I was ignorant. Arrogant, even, to think that I knew best. But you were always telling me how we must finish the things that we start.” Walter wipes away a tear from his face. “And I have started this war, no matter how well intentioned I was in saving my son. What I had done then was an act against God and- and. And I must not forget that I must finish it.”
He lays down a single, white tulip on the grave. “Goodbye, Belly.”
Fringe//PG-13//Walternate, Walter Bishop, Alt!Broyles
A symmetrical exploration of the similarities, and the differences, between Walternate and Walter. More heavily Walternate, because we see much less of him as opposed to Walter.
Truth be told, Walter had never intended for all of this. These things happened in the line of their work, he knew, but he could not have predicted the manner of the death that would befall Colonel Broyles.
The search for his replacement was a bureaucratic nightmare. The most promising candidate at the moment was Agent Lincoln Lee and Agent Charlie Francis. The former had seniority on Agent Lee, but Walter recognizes Agent Francis as one of the causalities from the other side. He would not have a man who bore the same face as a man he had ordered to be executed leading Fringe Division.
The official story that had been released to the public was that Broyles had been killed while attempting to seal a breach in the amber. It may have been that he had betrayed his country, his universe in the end, but Walter will not risk the faith of the people in their government. Now, more than ever, they need to be stronger.
He wishes that he could tell them the truth, that he could show everyone the monsters that incited this war.
Walter remembers the funeral service that had been held for Colonel Broyles. There had been no body recovered. Broyles’ wife and son had been there- it is a shame that he had to leave behind a family. Though he had been stoic at the funeral, he had been in turmoil during the eulogy.
Walter slips his coat on and leaves his office. Brandon is outside his door, lab tests results in hand. Brandon begins to speak, but Walter raises his hand and says, “I will be out. There is business for me to attend to.”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary.”
It is a cold and windy day- the sun shines but provides little in warmth.
Walter does not find anyone else at the grave. The dirt is still freshly turned, covering an empty grave.
“Do you remember what I told you, Phillip?”
Walter stares at the amber colored solid. Amber 31422, he labeled it. Beginning as a gaseous form, it could solidify upon contact with the nitrogen in the atmosphere. It provided a solution to micro-black holes that had been destroying their world, piece by piece.
There is a price for using the substance, though. It must be applied quickly, moments before or after the convergence of the singularity- any later risked destroying the integrity of the amber.
There had been casualties. Civilian casualties. It is difficult to predict where these breaches will occur, and how quickly. Sometimes, it is too late to evacuate.
This is the price of saving their world. This is what the other side had pushed him to do.
The door opens behind him and Major Phillip Broyles steps into the conference room. He seems nervous and ill fitted in his suit, but Walter cannot blame him. “Major Broyles.”
“Mr. Secretary,” Phillip sits down at the other end of the table across from Walter. “I trust you have been debriefed on the situation?”
“Yes, Phillip, I have.” He stares out at the mass agents running about, answering phone calls and struggling to contain the situation. “Do we have a predicted estimate of casualties?”
“We do.” Phillip sighs. “Lookers have predicted that casualties, should we initiate a city wide protocol on Boston, will exceed five hundred thousand.”
Five hundred thousand. Walter sits down at the table, and suddenly the weight on his shoulders feels much heavier. Five hundred thousand lives to be snuffed out, trapped in a suspended form of awareness, left with those last fleeting thoughts of panic and fear. “Phillip, tell me something.”
“If we do not initiate the protocol, Mr. Secretary-”
“I am fully aware of the consequences should we not, Phillip.” Walter sighs. The abduction and the war had strained him over the years. “Are you prepared, Phillip?”
“Mr. Secretary?”
Walter looks at the man across the table- a military man, a solider. “Are you prepared to give the order to initiate quarantine protocol and to accept the responsibility of those who will die?”
Phillip folds his hands, and pauses. “When I put on my uniform, I was prepared for this. I put this uniform on to protect my family, my government and my country. But five hundred thousand lives…”
The amber is strange in how it catches and twists the light in its contours. Five hundred thousand people condemned to be trapped like mosquitos in amber. “But are you resolved to look at the families of those trapped in the amber?”
“I am a solider, Mr. Secretary.”
“Yes,” A solider has luxuries that he does not. A solider is taught to follow orders, to carry out those orders and to kill. But it is Walter who gives the order, who will set the precedent. Walter is the one who carries the weight of those lives. “Do not avert your eyes from death, Phillip. Remember the people you are killing, and do not ever forget them. Because they will not forget us, just as we have not forgotten them.”
A heavy sigh. “I have seen death before.”
“Yes. But we will fight for our world, for our future and cross a river of blood and corpses and the ashes of a universe to do so. It was they, those monsters, who started this, and they will not stop. But do not forget those who die, Phillip.”
“You told me once that you pitied me, Phillip, for shouldering the burden of all those decisions. I don’t deserve pity, Phillip. Not anymore. But these are the monsters that we are fighting against.”
“Goodbye, old friend.” Walter lays down a single, white tulip on the grave.
Walter remembers things, despite what Peter would think. Peter is always thinking that he cannot remember anything, but it is that Walter remembers too much and is constantly attempting to balance which of the things that he needs to do. It is just that there are so many reminders around him, that he is always distracted by a new thought.
Asterisk delivers Walter his mail. She seems long suffering when he calls her that, but that is how he keeps track of the days of the week. It simply would not make sense to call his assistant the same thing every day of the week. How else would he know what day it is?
Peter walks in with a box of cookies. It reminds him of that vile, horrible woman who had replaced Olivia and that he must be more alert in the future, for there is no telling how devious his counterpart is.
The phone rings, and he remembers that today is something important. Asterisk answers, and tells him that it is Nina on the phone.
And then Walter remembers what day it is, and he nods and sets down the bowl of cookie dough.
Today is William Bell’s funeral.
Nina is the only other who shows to the funeral. Walter is a little surprised, but he supposes that he should not be. Belly had been away from this universe for a long time.
She does not offer any platitudes or tokens of grief, but he can tell behind her iron exterior and robotic arm she is weeping. The arm reminds him of the night on Reiden Lake, when he had broken the universe apart to save a boy.
The night that he had stolen another man’s son and ignited a war.
Walter has never told Nina this, but that is why he can rarely stand her company. She reminds him too much of whom he had been, of what he had done.
Nina leaves him at the grave, sensing that he wants privacy. There is no body to bury- Belly had been converted to energy. A natural process, but accelerated far beyond its natural course.
“You were right, Belly. I was ignorant. Arrogant, even, to think that I knew best. But you were always telling me how we must finish the things that we start.” Walter wipes away a tear from his face. “And I have started this war, no matter how well intentioned I was in saving my son. What I had done then was an act against God and- and. And I must not forget that I must finish it.”
He lays down a single, white tulip on the grave. “Goodbye, Belly.”