Fic Post
Title: To Be Forgiven
Rating: PG-13
Length: Much longer than the last one!
I don’t own this.
When agent Astrid Farnsworth arrived at the lab after a weekend spent deliberating whether to return at all, a small envelope sat on the table she normally occupied. As she got closer, she could see an elegantly penned ‘A. Farnsworth’(whether it stood for Astrid or Agent was anyone’s guess) on the center of the letter, in what she immediately recognized as Dr. Bishop’s script. She looked around, certain that she was alone, but wanting to make sure just the same. 7:15; too early for Olivia, who was most likely just getting into her car, ringing a reluctant Peter, who in turn was probably still in the shower, complaining about the few hours of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Thanks to his father, the man who decided it would be a lovely idea to stick a syringe in her neck.
The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to open it. She wasn’t sure what it said, but it was most likely a text version of what he’d told her on Friday and she didn’t want to have to forgive him. She wasn’t ready. She was here, and would help, and that should be more than enough. But one couldn’t pay her to see what Walter had written.
She sighed, logged on to her laptop, and started to organize the new info they had received on their latest case. A lot of new data needed to be compiled, and she settled into a relaxing hour of work and hot, if not entirely good, coffee. Thirty minutes later, the quiet was replaced with footsteps- Olivia’s purposeful, rapid stride, Peter’s more casual walk, and the shuffling gait that could belong to no one else but Walter. She glanced up to see her friend and Peter continue down the hall, deep in conversation; Walter was nowhere to be seen.
“This job gets stranger and stranger everyday, yes? One minute you‘re synthesizing a gaseous polymer that kills in a most…fascinating way, the next you‘re electronically manipulating someone‘s brain to receive communications across city miles, the next, being astounded that your son knows how to play Gershwin,” a bemused voice murmured from the doorway. “Did you know that Peter couldn‘t stand playing the piano when he was a boy?” he asked, smiling wanly. “His mother tried to teach him, thought it was case of the boy not liking the teacher he had instead of what was being taught. She loved Gershwin. One Christmas I gave his mother a jewelry box. It played Summertime, one of her favorites. She was very pretty, curly dark hair, a smile that was hard to earn, but worth it.” It was a few minutes before she realized he was babbling…more than usual.
“Peter says I have a hard time relating to people, that I think my work far more important than their wellbeing. He’s also called me a irritating, crazy bastard. He’s probably right,” his voice dropped to a whisper.
She continued to type, faster now, watching the brilliant but vexing scientist out of one eye. She turned her head a moment, studying a page of the report she was compiling.
It was less than 20 seconds, but Walter was deceptively faster than he looked.
He placed a trembling hand over hers, stilling her movement.
“I am not very good at this sort of thing, but I want to try and make things right. I wasn’t lying when I offered you retribution-anything that you wish to do, anything that can balance the scales, tell me, and I’ll do it….Astrid.”
She blinked, looking up; he was pleading with her, his face crumpled in remorse.
“Walter, I thought I told you to wait in the hall until I got back! Astrid, are you alright,” Peter asked, glaring at Walter.
“I’m fine, but I have a lot of paperwork to file away. Excuse me.” She stood, nervously gathering as many folders as she could carry and quickly heading for the elevator.
He really was trying, she didn’t doubt that, but it had only been a mere three days since the incident, and to be honest, the young agent just didn’t have it in her to forgive and forget.
“God Walter, couldn’t you just leave her alone? Give her space, in case you haven‘t noticed, she doesn‘t exactly trust you anymore.”
“Damn it, Peter! Do you think I did what I did out of fun?”
“I don’t know, you have a seriously screwed-up idea of fun!”
“Had I not given her that sedative, she might not be alive to be mad at me. I couldn’t risk her safety. There were circumstances that you couldn’t even begin to understand. I’m done trying to explain my actions to you.”
“So what else is new. But maybe you should explain them to Astrid,” he said, walking out of the lab.
“How is it when ever I set out to do the right thing, it all goes wrong,” he muttered, glancing over at Astrid’s empty desk.
At least she took the letter with her
, he thought as he sat down at the battered piano to play.
Rating: PG-13
Length: Much longer than the last one!
I don’t own this.
When agent Astrid Farnsworth arrived at the lab after a weekend spent deliberating whether to return at all, a small envelope sat on the table she normally occupied. As she got closer, she could see an elegantly penned ‘A. Farnsworth’(whether it stood for Astrid or Agent was anyone’s guess) on the center of the letter, in what she immediately recognized as Dr. Bishop’s script. She looked around, certain that she was alone, but wanting to make sure just the same. 7:15; too early for Olivia, who was most likely just getting into her car, ringing a reluctant Peter, who in turn was probably still in the shower, complaining about the few hours of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Thanks to his father, the man who decided it would be a lovely idea to stick a syringe in her neck.
The only thing she was certain of was that she didn’t want to open it. She wasn’t sure what it said, but it was most likely a text version of what he’d told her on Friday and she didn’t want to have to forgive him. She wasn’t ready. She was here, and would help, and that should be more than enough. But one couldn’t pay her to see what Walter had written.
She sighed, logged on to her laptop, and started to organize the new info they had received on their latest case. A lot of new data needed to be compiled, and she settled into a relaxing hour of work and hot, if not entirely good, coffee. Thirty minutes later, the quiet was replaced with footsteps- Olivia’s purposeful, rapid stride, Peter’s more casual walk, and the shuffling gait that could belong to no one else but Walter. She glanced up to see her friend and Peter continue down the hall, deep in conversation; Walter was nowhere to be seen.
“This job gets stranger and stranger everyday, yes? One minute you‘re synthesizing a gaseous polymer that kills in a most…fascinating way, the next you‘re electronically manipulating someone‘s brain to receive communications across city miles, the next, being astounded that your son knows how to play Gershwin,” a bemused voice murmured from the doorway. “Did you know that Peter couldn‘t stand playing the piano when he was a boy?” he asked, smiling wanly. “His mother tried to teach him, thought it was case of the boy not liking the teacher he had instead of what was being taught. She loved Gershwin. One Christmas I gave his mother a jewelry box. It played Summertime, one of her favorites. She was very pretty, curly dark hair, a smile that was hard to earn, but worth it.” It was a few minutes before she realized he was babbling…more than usual.
“Peter says I have a hard time relating to people, that I think my work far more important than their wellbeing. He’s also called me a irritating, crazy bastard. He’s probably right,” his voice dropped to a whisper.
She continued to type, faster now, watching the brilliant but vexing scientist out of one eye. She turned her head a moment, studying a page of the report she was compiling.
It was less than 20 seconds, but Walter was deceptively faster than he looked.
He placed a trembling hand over hers, stilling her movement.
“I am not very good at this sort of thing, but I want to try and make things right. I wasn’t lying when I offered you retribution-anything that you wish to do, anything that can balance the scales, tell me, and I’ll do it….Astrid.”
She blinked, looking up; he was pleading with her, his face crumpled in remorse.
“Walter, I thought I told you to wait in the hall until I got back! Astrid, are you alright,” Peter asked, glaring at Walter.
“I’m fine, but I have a lot of paperwork to file away. Excuse me.” She stood, nervously gathering as many folders as she could carry and quickly heading for the elevator.
He really was trying, she didn’t doubt that, but it had only been a mere three days since the incident, and to be honest, the young agent just didn’t have it in her to forgive and forget.
“God Walter, couldn’t you just leave her alone? Give her space, in case you haven‘t noticed, she doesn‘t exactly trust you anymore.”
“Damn it, Peter! Do you think I did what I did out of fun?”
“I don’t know, you have a seriously screwed-up idea of fun!”
“Had I not given her that sedative, she might not be alive to be mad at me. I couldn’t risk her safety. There were circumstances that you couldn’t even begin to understand. I’m done trying to explain my actions to you.”
“So what else is new. But maybe you should explain them to Astrid,” he said, walking out of the lab.
“How is it when ever I set out to do the right thing, it all goes wrong,” he muttered, glancing over at Astrid’s empty desk.
At least she took the letter with her
, he thought as he sat down at the battered piano to play.