Fanfics: Ain't Got Nothing On A Kilovolt
Posting all the fanfics I have written so far, for Fringe, up here. Figured they should be archived somewhere. One per entry. These are also posted on FF.net under the username blackiebrens.
Title: Ain't Got Nothing On A Kilovolt
Rating: PG
Summary: Walter's point of view of the Peter/Olivia scene at the end of 1x06 "The Cure". One-shot.
Characters: Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop, Olivia Dunham
Genre: Humor, Romance
Fandom: Fringe
Spoilers: None, really.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the usual suspects.
~
I can’t remember which toothbrush is mine.
I know Peter just told me, and I know I repeated it to myself every second floor of the elevator’s ascent, but after putting away all our groceries (in what I hope is the correct place; food does go in the oven, right?) - yes, after putting them all away, it completely slipped my mind.
“Peter? What colour is my toothbrush? I’m sorry, you told me, but I’ve completely forgotten. I really tried…”
Peter is not grumbling or yelling as he normally does when I forget things. Of course - Peter must still be downstairs with Olivia! Thinking I shall simply yell down and ask, I walk across the room and slide up the window, carefully nothing the slight crack in the amorphous solid that may be the source of Peter’s distress at night. I open my mouth to yell and then stop at the sight that greets me. Olivia is still here, and they are sitting on the bench outside the lobby doors, quite close together. And she’s smiling, as it were. Poor girl does nothing but mope or yell usually. Rather like Peter really. Astrid is the only of the bunch who is any fun. Now that she seems to be over her sedation, that is. And Olivia does trust me, which means something I suppose. And Peter is my son, for all his grumbling, and he reminds me when I forget things. As I open my mouth to yell down to him about my toothbrush, I remember suddenly that these are moments that shouldn’t be interrupted and I close my mouth with my hand, just in case I forget again. She’s a lovely girl, Olivia - and Peter seems utterly enamored, always volunteering to go out and hunt suspects with her. I had not, until now, figured out whether that was because he hated me to the extent that my very presence bothered him or because he was interested in her. Judging by the scene below me, I am inclined to suspect, with great personal happiness, the latter. I am unexpectedly reminded of Peter’s musical selection for her and I laugh at its ironic application to my place above them. Someone to watch over me. Whenever did he develop a love for jazz?
They’ve both gotten up now, and Peter’s just moved in even closer to Olivia - my, that boy is forward. I should get ready for bed; he’ll be upstairs soon. Humming to myself I move back into the room.
White, white for Walter - there we are.
I hope Peter will play it again for Olivia; she did seem to enjoy it. I should remind him when he gets up. No, that is something he would not like me to say. My previous attempts to comment on their inevitably amorous relationship have all been met with cold glares and harsh words.
Gershwin takes me to the bathroom and although he has nothing on a kilovolt, it sure is something.
~
Title: Ain't Got Nothing On A Kilovolt
Rating: PG
Summary: Walter's point of view of the Peter/Olivia scene at the end of 1x06 "The Cure". One-shot.
Characters: Walter Bishop, Peter Bishop, Olivia Dunham
Genre: Humor, Romance
Fandom: Fringe
Spoilers: None, really.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the usual suspects.
~
I can’t remember which toothbrush is mine.
I know Peter just told me, and I know I repeated it to myself every second floor of the elevator’s ascent, but after putting away all our groceries (in what I hope is the correct place; food does go in the oven, right?) - yes, after putting them all away, it completely slipped my mind.
“Peter? What colour is my toothbrush? I’m sorry, you told me, but I’ve completely forgotten. I really tried…”
Peter is not grumbling or yelling as he normally does when I forget things. Of course - Peter must still be downstairs with Olivia! Thinking I shall simply yell down and ask, I walk across the room and slide up the window, carefully nothing the slight crack in the amorphous solid that may be the source of Peter’s distress at night. I open my mouth to yell and then stop at the sight that greets me. Olivia is still here, and they are sitting on the bench outside the lobby doors, quite close together. And she’s smiling, as it were. Poor girl does nothing but mope or yell usually. Rather like Peter really. Astrid is the only of the bunch who is any fun. Now that she seems to be over her sedation, that is. And Olivia does trust me, which means something I suppose. And Peter is my son, for all his grumbling, and he reminds me when I forget things. As I open my mouth to yell down to him about my toothbrush, I remember suddenly that these are moments that shouldn’t be interrupted and I close my mouth with my hand, just in case I forget again. She’s a lovely girl, Olivia - and Peter seems utterly enamored, always volunteering to go out and hunt suspects with her. I had not, until now, figured out whether that was because he hated me to the extent that my very presence bothered him or because he was interested in her. Judging by the scene below me, I am inclined to suspect, with great personal happiness, the latter. I am unexpectedly reminded of Peter’s musical selection for her and I laugh at its ironic application to my place above them. Someone to watch over me. Whenever did he develop a love for jazz?
They’ve both gotten up now, and Peter’s just moved in even closer to Olivia - my, that boy is forward. I should get ready for bed; he’ll be upstairs soon. Humming to myself I move back into the room.
White, white for Walter - there we are.
I hope Peter will play it again for Olivia; she did seem to enjoy it. I should remind him when he gets up. No, that is something he would not like me to say. My previous attempts to comment on their inevitably amorous relationship have all been met with cold glares and harsh words.
Gershwin takes me to the bathroom and although he has nothing on a kilovolt, it sure is something.
~