Fringe fic: Five Things That Might Have Happened to Astrid and One That Did, Rish
disclaimer: not mine
fandoms: Fringe, Torchwood (COE), X-Men, Criminal Intent, Battlestar Galactica 2003
character: Astrid Farnsworth
pairing (what there is of it): Astrid/Peter Bishop
spoiler warnings: None for Fringe (afaik), vague ones for BSG and TW: COE.
rating: er, it would be PG except that I managed non-explicit sex at the end. Whoops. PG13/R, language, sex
length: 2300
notes: I suspect Astrid spends a lot of time going, "wtf did I do to get here?" and drinking. Copiously. Sadly, the other idea I had (Astrid as one of Scully's medical students) didn't pan out.
Five Things That Might Have Happened to Astrid and One That Definitely Did
by ALC Punk!
1.
"What have you got for me, Walter?" Astrid asked as she strode into the lab.
Going from straight FBI work to this weird little world on the fringes hadn't really been in Astrid's plans for her career, but she was beginning to find that she liked it. There was something almost addictive about the things they came across, the unexplainable science. It almost helped her forget Broyles and his betrayal, though seeing him out of the corner of her eye didn't help.
Sometimes, she almost thought he were still alive, watching her like some creepy guardian angel.
"Ah, Agent Farnsworth." Walter Bishop bustled up to her, dodging through his benches and equipment, some of it older than Astrid herself. "Has that lovely assistant of yours--Oliver? Elsa? Ah, Olympia!" he looked pleased with himself, though he'd gotten Olivia's name wrong, "Has she gotten my new cow yet?"
"The new one will be arriving this week," Astrid assured him. After the little debacle with his last cow, she'd ordered Dunham to make certain they'd be able to get a new one in less time if there was another accident. "And it's Olivia, Dr. Bishop."
"Yes, yes. Good." He beamed at her, then turned and worked his way towards his microscope, "This is a very fascinating case, you know. It reminds me of..."
And he was off. Astrid almost had a fond smile on her lips as she gently prodded him into explaining what he'd discovered. There was a young girl who needed their help, and as much as she wanted to rage at Walter, she knew that would prove fruitless--even Peter couldn't budge him when he needed to reminisce.
2.
Someone was calling about getting the gases turned off as Astrid slowly picked her way across the rubble. She wondered how incompetent that made this group of soldiers, or if getting the gas turned off were really that hard. Given the size of the explosion, perhaps it was the latter.
Nearby, she could hear grumbling as others slowly picked through the top layer of rubble, searching for survivors.
Agent Johnson hadn't been pleased when Astrid had turned up in front of her, cell phone in hand. "UNIT would like me to observe," she'd reported, her tone calm, factual. In the right place at the wrong time, researching local legends for Walter, Astrid had been fascinated by the explosion (she'd heard it from her hotel room).
Everyone in Fringe division knew of Torchwood, though no one knew about it. In Cardiff, everyone seemed to know more about Torchwood than Torchwood itself did. It was an easy call to make, presenting her credentials to the UNIT people, offering her services. A neutral observer, someone who had no stake in covering up anything that was found, she'd pointed out, would lend anything that happened more credence.
And with the children thing, every government was scrambling to cover itself, fearful of a populace that hated the very idea of intelligent life in the universe that wasn't them.
Astrid had heard things about Torchwood ever since she'd joined Fringe, following Dunham's footsteps. While Fringe division might deal in reality and science, Torchwood dealt in aliens and technology, fairy tales and vampires. Or so the legends went. Most of what came out of reports about Torchwood seemed fantastical or ridiculous. Then again, she was standing atop an explosion that should have taken out the entire bay, but had only managed to destroy a small area of it. Most of the blast had apparently gone downwards.
They'd taken away a body earlier, barely making enough pieces to fill the whole bag and Astrid had thought of some of the things Walter dissected, feeling glad that it wouldn't be her comparing dental records this time.
A glow attracted her gaze and she slipped down another section of rubble, her flashlight barely adequate for the task. Crouching, she pushed a few small pieces of concrete and glass out of the way, uncovering a still-bright computer monitor. The Torchwood logo was flashing on it. Turning her head, she thought about calling out, then decided against it.
First, she wanted to find out what was there. If it were just a stray monitor, still holding a charge, it would be useless. But a working hard drive? That might be something of value.
Not that she was planning on pocketing anything, but if no one really wanted it, Walter would probably enjoy a present or two.
3.
The wind slides over her skin, and Astrid smiles into the sunlight, basking as she almost dances across the breezes. There's always such joy, such movement in the air when she flies. As a small child, she used to watch the airplanes, and think of being up there, in the cockpit, wheeling through the sky.
Now, she cartwheels without metal surrounding her, without a plane to slow her down, she streaks and soars, always her own person.
Laughter escapes Astrid as she ducks and spots Peter, still unsteady in his new wings, the leading edges still moulting slightly. The laughter stills, memory of what was done to him washing over her for a moment before she banishes the blood and pain and doubles back to dance past him, the air swirling her into a spiral (and she swirls the air into its spiral, a complicated arrangement that leaves her breathless and tumbling before a stray breeze springs into action, sliding around her).
"Astrid!" He falters for an instant, then executes an awkward turn, annoyed and laughing at the same time.
Sliding easily away from him, Astrid grins, "Something wrong, Peter?"
He glares, but the look fades into wonder as he lets his wings shift and move him, the air somehow changing him from the strained, quiet boy he'd been mere days before.
"Betcha can't catch me!" Wiggling her fingers, Astrid zaps him with lightning as she streaks by him, and the chase is on. She'll win. It's hard for a mere angel to triumph over a weather Goddess. Especially one that likes to dance in the rain.
4.
There was nothing worse than a brutal murder scene before your first cup of coffee. It made Astrid late, but she didn't care. One hand wrapped around a still-steaming paper cup, she made sure her badge was clipped in view before she ducked under the yellow tape, the young man on duty giving her an unimpressed look.
Once, she would have cared about what he thought, worried about looking good in front of the brass. But the brass had been trying for five years to unseat her ass from Major Case and punt it back to Vice. Problem was, she was just too damned good at her job.
Vice could beg all it wanted, it wasn't getting her, or her partner, back.
Over the years, Astrid had stopped getting squeamish at the sight of blood. Still, that didn't help when she saw the size of the body. A shapeless lump that wasn't big enough to be an adult, and her stomach dropped just a little. She began to wish she hadn't had milk in her coffee as she got closer, the taste in her mouth a little sour.
Astrid made a mental note to visit her brother and hug his kids when this was all over. She'd need it.
"Detective Farnsworth?" The young badge on duty over the body while the coroner's people started bagging and tagging the body looked a little green around the gills.
Hard to blame him, given the blood and body. Astrid focused on him for a moment before giving him a dismissive nod. He turned away gratefully and she could hear him swallowing before she looked down at Peter Bishop, carefully tagging every piece of rock he was picking up from the ground.
"You gonna be long?" she asked.
"Another five." He sounded distracted, waving a hand, "She's thataway."
Astrid touched the badge's arm as she walked past him. "You don't have to stare at the body," she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear before she was out of touching distance.
He didn't reply, but she hadn't expected him to.
Spotting a familiar blonde head, she skirted a group of technicians and found her partner chatting to one of the other badges. "Eames."
"That still hot?" The shorter woman asked, reaching for the cup before she'd finished; she nodded over her shoulder, "There's another one over here."
Astrid sucked in a breath, then nodded for Eames to lead the way. Rodgers was going to have a field day, if Rodgers did that sort of thing. "What've we got?" The question was mostly rhetorical, there'd be reports later, but Eames had been on the scene first, and Eames had her own way of telling a story.
So did Astrid, when it was her turn to be there early. It was one of the reasons they made a good team.
5.
There were days when Astrid looked at her job, at the blood and guts, the putrid smells and the lack of recognition, and hated Fringe division. She hated that she did so much of the grunt work (junior agent or not, there had to be limits) while others took the glory.
It wasn't even that she really wanted the glory. But there had to be more to her job than ordering endless supplies, or keeping tabs on Walter Bishop.
Of course, working with Walter had given her an intimate knowledge of the workings of the university. Even when he was in plain sight, she sometimes found herself underground or in boiler rooms, wandering in places where dust was more of a lifestyle than something to clean up. There was a sort of peace to be found in the silent shushing of the boilers, the rattles and creaks of the pipes.
Returning one afternoon, having felt stressed out when Walter disappeared, Astrid felt almost normal again. She'd been sleeping badly the last few weeks, and she wasn't entirely sure why.
"Walter, what are you creating?" She asked, feeling idle as well as curious as she wandered down into the lab. Dr. Bishop had been muttering to himself for weeks. The thing was spread across two benches, parts of it just inter-connected wires while other parts were tubes or gears. Even in that state, there was something strangely humanoid about the torso. And it had a head, a too-large skill with deep-set red eyes that glowed, even when there was no reason for them to glow.
"I was thinking," Walter explained as he tinkered, "the last time I tried this, the technology simply wasn't there. Too analog, too bulky. But now--!"
Which didn't answer her question, and he waved her away when she moved to ask again.
Astrid felt her irritation well up again. Perhaps it was her lack of sleep, perhaps it was the strange nightmares she only half remembered as she woke. Maybe it was just that, sometimes, the job wasn't worth it. "Walter, what is it?" She demanded, her voice sharp.
Looking up at her, as though he'd forgotten she were there (he probably had), Walter beamed. "It's a proto-type."
"Of what, a robot?"
"Nothing so crude. I'm thinking of calling it a Cylon. There was something in Greek mythology, you see," he started rambling, about Troy or Aesop.
Words Astrid wasn't listening to as her breath froze in her lungs and her head began to spin. All of this has happened before... "What does it do?" She rasped, her voice grating in her own ears, sounding wrong somehow.
Walter took no notice, babbling away about his new prize, about consciousness and A.I. and the wonders of micro-chips in sub-zero conditions.
It was all she could do not to back away and run screaming--all for reasons she could barely name, could only feel. With his every word, her horror spread. It must not happen again. Could not! She just wished she knew what her mind was panicing about, what made her hands go cold even as they clenched into fists.
The thing on the bench moved, and for an instant, the red eyes were staring into hers.
"I've got filing," Astrid mumbled, escaping for the moment. She sat in her office and trembled with emotion and things she couldn't name, until she finally began to plan.
Three nights later, Astrid dismantled the prototype, smashing the chips thoroughly, stomping on the led eyes until they were so much ground glass, and obliterating any notes she found, going so far as to burn an entire sheaf of papers filled with Walter's looping scrawl and notations.
Walter would be upset about it, but Astrid was willing to let that happen to stop the end of her world.
She never even questioned whether the dreams that stopped that night were real or not. She simply knew. And when they started again, months later, she watched and waited for the thing that was to come.
6.
Peter was really good at what he was doing. Astrid arched against him, trying not to make any sound. On the other side of the office door, Agent Dunham was talking to Walter. Inside the office door, Peter was using his mouth on her, under the desk, her skirt pushed up around her hips.
She hadn't signed on for this, she really hadn't planned on having a man under her desk doing that with his tongue. But as her knuckles went white while her fingers gripped the desk, she decided it wasn't a bad idea. She might even let it happen again.
There was a case to solve, a computer to crack--it would wait ten minutes, she decided as the world went white and soundless and every muscle froze.
From underneath the desk came a smug little sound.
Astrid restrained herself from kicking him, but just barely.
-f-
fandoms: Fringe, Torchwood (COE), X-Men, Criminal Intent, Battlestar Galactica 2003
character: Astrid Farnsworth
pairing (what there is of it): Astrid/Peter Bishop
spoiler warnings: None for Fringe (afaik), vague ones for BSG and TW: COE.
rating: er, it would be PG except that I managed non-explicit sex at the end. Whoops. PG13/R, language, sex
length: 2300
notes: I suspect Astrid spends a lot of time going, "wtf did I do to get here?" and drinking. Copiously. Sadly, the other idea I had (Astrid as one of Scully's medical students) didn't pan out.
Five Things That Might Have Happened to Astrid and One That Definitely Did
by ALC Punk!
1.
"What have you got for me, Walter?" Astrid asked as she strode into the lab.
Going from straight FBI work to this weird little world on the fringes hadn't really been in Astrid's plans for her career, but she was beginning to find that she liked it. There was something almost addictive about the things they came across, the unexplainable science. It almost helped her forget Broyles and his betrayal, though seeing him out of the corner of her eye didn't help.
Sometimes, she almost thought he were still alive, watching her like some creepy guardian angel.
"Ah, Agent Farnsworth." Walter Bishop bustled up to her, dodging through his benches and equipment, some of it older than Astrid herself. "Has that lovely assistant of yours--Oliver? Elsa? Ah, Olympia!" he looked pleased with himself, though he'd gotten Olivia's name wrong, "Has she gotten my new cow yet?"
"The new one will be arriving this week," Astrid assured him. After the little debacle with his last cow, she'd ordered Dunham to make certain they'd be able to get a new one in less time if there was another accident. "And it's Olivia, Dr. Bishop."
"Yes, yes. Good." He beamed at her, then turned and worked his way towards his microscope, "This is a very fascinating case, you know. It reminds me of..."
And he was off. Astrid almost had a fond smile on her lips as she gently prodded him into explaining what he'd discovered. There was a young girl who needed their help, and as much as she wanted to rage at Walter, she knew that would prove fruitless--even Peter couldn't budge him when he needed to reminisce.
2.
Someone was calling about getting the gases turned off as Astrid slowly picked her way across the rubble. She wondered how incompetent that made this group of soldiers, or if getting the gas turned off were really that hard. Given the size of the explosion, perhaps it was the latter.
Nearby, she could hear grumbling as others slowly picked through the top layer of rubble, searching for survivors.
Agent Johnson hadn't been pleased when Astrid had turned up in front of her, cell phone in hand. "UNIT would like me to observe," she'd reported, her tone calm, factual. In the right place at the wrong time, researching local legends for Walter, Astrid had been fascinated by the explosion (she'd heard it from her hotel room).
Everyone in Fringe division knew of Torchwood, though no one knew about it. In Cardiff, everyone seemed to know more about Torchwood than Torchwood itself did. It was an easy call to make, presenting her credentials to the UNIT people, offering her services. A neutral observer, someone who had no stake in covering up anything that was found, she'd pointed out, would lend anything that happened more credence.
And with the children thing, every government was scrambling to cover itself, fearful of a populace that hated the very idea of intelligent life in the universe that wasn't them.
Astrid had heard things about Torchwood ever since she'd joined Fringe, following Dunham's footsteps. While Fringe division might deal in reality and science, Torchwood dealt in aliens and technology, fairy tales and vampires. Or so the legends went. Most of what came out of reports about Torchwood seemed fantastical or ridiculous. Then again, she was standing atop an explosion that should have taken out the entire bay, but had only managed to destroy a small area of it. Most of the blast had apparently gone downwards.
They'd taken away a body earlier, barely making enough pieces to fill the whole bag and Astrid had thought of some of the things Walter dissected, feeling glad that it wouldn't be her comparing dental records this time.
A glow attracted her gaze and she slipped down another section of rubble, her flashlight barely adequate for the task. Crouching, she pushed a few small pieces of concrete and glass out of the way, uncovering a still-bright computer monitor. The Torchwood logo was flashing on it. Turning her head, she thought about calling out, then decided against it.
First, she wanted to find out what was there. If it were just a stray monitor, still holding a charge, it would be useless. But a working hard drive? That might be something of value.
Not that she was planning on pocketing anything, but if no one really wanted it, Walter would probably enjoy a present or two.
3.
The wind slides over her skin, and Astrid smiles into the sunlight, basking as she almost dances across the breezes. There's always such joy, such movement in the air when she flies. As a small child, she used to watch the airplanes, and think of being up there, in the cockpit, wheeling through the sky.
Now, she cartwheels without metal surrounding her, without a plane to slow her down, she streaks and soars, always her own person.
Laughter escapes Astrid as she ducks and spots Peter, still unsteady in his new wings, the leading edges still moulting slightly. The laughter stills, memory of what was done to him washing over her for a moment before she banishes the blood and pain and doubles back to dance past him, the air swirling her into a spiral (and she swirls the air into its spiral, a complicated arrangement that leaves her breathless and tumbling before a stray breeze springs into action, sliding around her).
"Astrid!" He falters for an instant, then executes an awkward turn, annoyed and laughing at the same time.
Sliding easily away from him, Astrid grins, "Something wrong, Peter?"
He glares, but the look fades into wonder as he lets his wings shift and move him, the air somehow changing him from the strained, quiet boy he'd been mere days before.
"Betcha can't catch me!" Wiggling her fingers, Astrid zaps him with lightning as she streaks by him, and the chase is on. She'll win. It's hard for a mere angel to triumph over a weather Goddess. Especially one that likes to dance in the rain.
4.
There was nothing worse than a brutal murder scene before your first cup of coffee. It made Astrid late, but she didn't care. One hand wrapped around a still-steaming paper cup, she made sure her badge was clipped in view before she ducked under the yellow tape, the young man on duty giving her an unimpressed look.
Once, she would have cared about what he thought, worried about looking good in front of the brass. But the brass had been trying for five years to unseat her ass from Major Case and punt it back to Vice. Problem was, she was just too damned good at her job.
Vice could beg all it wanted, it wasn't getting her, or her partner, back.
Over the years, Astrid had stopped getting squeamish at the sight of blood. Still, that didn't help when she saw the size of the body. A shapeless lump that wasn't big enough to be an adult, and her stomach dropped just a little. She began to wish she hadn't had milk in her coffee as she got closer, the taste in her mouth a little sour.
Astrid made a mental note to visit her brother and hug his kids when this was all over. She'd need it.
"Detective Farnsworth?" The young badge on duty over the body while the coroner's people started bagging and tagging the body looked a little green around the gills.
Hard to blame him, given the blood and body. Astrid focused on him for a moment before giving him a dismissive nod. He turned away gratefully and she could hear him swallowing before she looked down at Peter Bishop, carefully tagging every piece of rock he was picking up from the ground.
"You gonna be long?" she asked.
"Another five." He sounded distracted, waving a hand, "She's thataway."
Astrid touched the badge's arm as she walked past him. "You don't have to stare at the body," she murmured, too low for anyone else to hear before she was out of touching distance.
He didn't reply, but she hadn't expected him to.
Spotting a familiar blonde head, she skirted a group of technicians and found her partner chatting to one of the other badges. "Eames."
"That still hot?" The shorter woman asked, reaching for the cup before she'd finished; she nodded over her shoulder, "There's another one over here."
Astrid sucked in a breath, then nodded for Eames to lead the way. Rodgers was going to have a field day, if Rodgers did that sort of thing. "What've we got?" The question was mostly rhetorical, there'd be reports later, but Eames had been on the scene first, and Eames had her own way of telling a story.
So did Astrid, when it was her turn to be there early. It was one of the reasons they made a good team.
5.
There were days when Astrid looked at her job, at the blood and guts, the putrid smells and the lack of recognition, and hated Fringe division. She hated that she did so much of the grunt work (junior agent or not, there had to be limits) while others took the glory.
It wasn't even that she really wanted the glory. But there had to be more to her job than ordering endless supplies, or keeping tabs on Walter Bishop.
Of course, working with Walter had given her an intimate knowledge of the workings of the university. Even when he was in plain sight, she sometimes found herself underground or in boiler rooms, wandering in places where dust was more of a lifestyle than something to clean up. There was a sort of peace to be found in the silent shushing of the boilers, the rattles and creaks of the pipes.
Returning one afternoon, having felt stressed out when Walter disappeared, Astrid felt almost normal again. She'd been sleeping badly the last few weeks, and she wasn't entirely sure why.
"Walter, what are you creating?" She asked, feeling idle as well as curious as she wandered down into the lab. Dr. Bishop had been muttering to himself for weeks. The thing was spread across two benches, parts of it just inter-connected wires while other parts were tubes or gears. Even in that state, there was something strangely humanoid about the torso. And it had a head, a too-large skill with deep-set red eyes that glowed, even when there was no reason for them to glow.
"I was thinking," Walter explained as he tinkered, "the last time I tried this, the technology simply wasn't there. Too analog, too bulky. But now--!"
Which didn't answer her question, and he waved her away when she moved to ask again.
Astrid felt her irritation well up again. Perhaps it was her lack of sleep, perhaps it was the strange nightmares she only half remembered as she woke. Maybe it was just that, sometimes, the job wasn't worth it. "Walter, what is it?" She demanded, her voice sharp.
Looking up at her, as though he'd forgotten she were there (he probably had), Walter beamed. "It's a proto-type."
"Of what, a robot?"
"Nothing so crude. I'm thinking of calling it a Cylon. There was something in Greek mythology, you see," he started rambling, about Troy or Aesop.
Words Astrid wasn't listening to as her breath froze in her lungs and her head began to spin. All of this has happened before... "What does it do?" She rasped, her voice grating in her own ears, sounding wrong somehow.
Walter took no notice, babbling away about his new prize, about consciousness and A.I. and the wonders of micro-chips in sub-zero conditions.
It was all she could do not to back away and run screaming--all for reasons she could barely name, could only feel. With his every word, her horror spread. It must not happen again. Could not! She just wished she knew what her mind was panicing about, what made her hands go cold even as they clenched into fists.
The thing on the bench moved, and for an instant, the red eyes were staring into hers.
"I've got filing," Astrid mumbled, escaping for the moment. She sat in her office and trembled with emotion and things she couldn't name, until she finally began to plan.
Three nights later, Astrid dismantled the prototype, smashing the chips thoroughly, stomping on the led eyes until they were so much ground glass, and obliterating any notes she found, going so far as to burn an entire sheaf of papers filled with Walter's looping scrawl and notations.
Walter would be upset about it, but Astrid was willing to let that happen to stop the end of her world.
She never even questioned whether the dreams that stopped that night were real or not. She simply knew. And when they started again, months later, she watched and waited for the thing that was to come.
6.
Peter was really good at what he was doing. Astrid arched against him, trying not to make any sound. On the other side of the office door, Agent Dunham was talking to Walter. Inside the office door, Peter was using his mouth on her, under the desk, her skirt pushed up around her hips.
She hadn't signed on for this, she really hadn't planned on having a man under her desk doing that with his tongue. But as her knuckles went white while her fingers gripped the desk, she decided it wasn't a bad idea. She might even let it happen again.
There was a case to solve, a computer to crack--it would wait ten minutes, she decided as the world went white and soundless and every muscle froze.
From underneath the desk came a smug little sound.
Astrid restrained herself from kicking him, but just barely.
-f-