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Butterfly	By : pip Category: 1 through F > Fringe Views: 2189 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe. I do not make any money from this work of fanfiction.

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Chapter Four
The next day, rather unsurprisingly, Walter was much more tired than usual. Mercifully, life in the lab began to establish something of a mundane routine. They were left to their own devices until the afternoon, at which point more victims were brought in, and the previous days' bodies were taken away to make space. Each corpse was tagged, autopsied, analysed and studied in exactly the same way, and exactly the same information was gleaned from each of them, which was precisely nothing.
This didn't discourage Walter as it might someone else. His enquiring mind was only spurred on by it, even if he did bestow longing looks in the vague direction of the video-cassette recorder every now and again. Several times he made brilliant leaps of deduction which he then set out to prove, coming to a dead end every time.
Yet eventually, after his sixteenth theory on the manufacture of a blade of atomic thickness was proved impossible, and after he'd looked down one too many microscopes, only for his restless mind to see a remembered image of Astrid confessing her desires, he growled in frustration. His outburst, subdued as it was, did not go unnoticed.
“What's wrong?” She was always so gentle, so caring, and now it infuriated him further, knowing what he knew about her dreams. He could barely look at her without wondering if her lips tasted as wet and sweet as they looked, without wondering how many things he knew to do that could make her moan the way she –
Walter swept everything from his desk, enraged with himself, causing Astrid to jump back a step, startled, and that just made him feel worse.
“Nothing!” he cried out. Every corner his mind turned now, it was there waiting for him. Her dreams, they were his dreams too. This should be easy, and somehow it wasn't. Somehow it was all wrong and irrational. He threw his hands up in a dramatic fashion. “Everything!”
He refused to look at her, because sometimes when he did, no matter what she said, he only heard those confessions he'd stolen when she wasn't aware of it. The way her eyelashes brushed the top of her cheeks when she blinked was ruining what little concentration he had left, and he didn't deserve her concern for that. But, true to form, a small and insistent finger turned his head and he was suddenly lost in her eyes. “Walter?” she said, obviously worried, but he couldn't smile at her this time. Not now.
Just one momentary lapse of judgement, and arrogance. He thought it had been drummed out of him, but now he knew that it lie in wait to ruin things because that is what he was – what he had always been – a thief. To avoid her seeing the truth in him he closed his eyes to hide, but that didn't help either, since her image seemed to have been burned into his retinas.
“Walter, I want –”
“I know what you want,” he blurted at the first excuse and opportunity to confess, quite unable to keep it in. Astrid looked slightly doubtful.
“You do?”
He nodded, and then, as if they were of one mind, both of them looked at the dream machine. Walter saw realisation dawn in her eyes. He'd never felt so wretched as he did when she looked back at him. The betrayal shone in her as she folded her arms and drew in a deep breath of shock.
“You did, didn't you?” she asked, toneless, and his heart flopped lazily in dread. Truth time. Walter swallowed.
“Yes,” he admitted, and Astrid closed her eyes for a second. “But nothing else, I swear.” That didn't seem to make things better. “I didn't do anything to – with – you.” That sentence definitely made it worse, and Walter looked away because he couldn't bear the way she was looking at him now.
For a long minute, there was silence, and Walter felt like something Astrid was looking at through a microscope. He tried again. “I'm sorry. I just couldn't stop myself. I wanted to know, to help...” He reached out to grasp her hands and she backed away a couple of steps... quickly.
“Don't touch me, Walter,” she said, and his arms dropped to his sides. Then, clearly choosing her words carefully: “I'm very angry with you.”
Walter couldn't do anything except look at the floor. It was very dusty under the desk. “Yes.”
“Did you record it?” she asked, and Walter felt a muscle twitch in his cheek, but remained obstinately looking at the floor. He felt about a foot tall.
“Yes.”
When she didn't say anything else, Walter wrung his hands together in a nervous gesture. She was – had been – good for him, and it occurred to him in a disturbing burst of mental clarity that a part of him might have pushed her away on purpose. He took a deep breath. “I accept full responsibility for my actions, Accio. And I understand if you decide that you don't want to work here –”
“How many times?” For a second or two, he didn't understand the question. Her clipped tones made him feel panicky and uncertain.
“Excuse me?” he said helplessly. He looked up, but she was still glaring at him, so he looked at Gene instead.
“How many times have you watched it?” she demanded. Oh.
“I, um, think I, may have lost count,” Walter admitted, and looked at her again, but it didn't make him feel any better. Without even blinking, Astrid held out her hand. Walter was at a complete loss.
“What...?” Then he understood what she wanted. “Oh! I-I see! Y-yes, of course!” he stammered. “Just, um, let me see where I...” Astrid only moved to continue facing him as he bumbled around the lab looking into video cassette boxes as if his life might depend on it. “No... Not that one. Not that one, either.”
“The machine, Walter!” He jumped as if she'd shot him, and obeyed the instruction.
“Ah... yes, quite right. That's where it is.” He pressed the eject button, and they both knew what it meant. He'd been watching. “In the... machine.” He shot her a humourless smile, then, at last, he put the videotape into Astrid's hand. “Sorry.” She looked at it blankly.
“Thank you.” Walter waited while she went to put the tape into her bag, and then watched as she walked back over to the autopsy table where she had been gathering tissue samples without another word or glance in his direction.
“What now?” he asked, simultaneously wishing that she would stay, and hoping that she would go. What had he done?
“Now?” she repeated without looking at him. She pulled on some surgical gloves, and the snapping sound was no longer familiar – instead it sound angry. “Now, we get on with our work.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“What do the results mean, Walter?” He frowned, but the train of thought from a moment ago had derailed several hundred kilometres before the station. It was gone, but it had been important. Something about the concentration of plasma, perhaps... was it? He breathed in and the air was flavoured with her perfume – freesia, violet and amber. Why amber? A prescient shiver raced across his brain, and he gave up.
“I don't know!” he cried out, sinking his head onto his arms on the desk. “I can't concentrate!”
“What can I do?” she asked, ever ready to be helpful, matter of fact because it was important. Walter looked at her, and it just was not possible to work like this. He was human, and his mind followed his body eventually, just as it did for everyone else on the planet.
“Just...” he began, trying not to sound angry, “can you just...” He breathed. “Move away.”
Astrid raised a cool eyebrow at him. He waved a hand, and gave her as pleading and heartfelt a look as he could muster. “Go over there.”
Astrid looked behind her, and moved into the other part of the lab, turning back around to face him, clearly waiting for him to voice the thought that would cause all the white-shrouded autopsy tables that surrounded her to make sense.
“Back a few more steps,” Walter suggested innocently, and she obeyed little by little while he continued waving his hand. The further away she got, the more relieved he felt.
“A bit... more.”
Astrid sneaked a look behind her, and then refused to move any further, standing quite still and defiantly folding her arms. “You want me on the other side of the door?” she asked in disbelief.
“Preferably,” he admitted.
“That isn't going to work, Walter.” To his chagrin she walked back to the desk again, standing before him. Walter looked up, helpless, aware that his body was reacting to her nearness in a way that could only be embarrassing to them both, and he loathed it.
“Well, I don't know what else to do!” he snapped.
“I didn't cause this,” she prodded.
Like he needed the reminder. Guilt didn't make it go away though, and Walter felt more thoroughly desolate than at any time since he had left St. Clare's. “I know.”
After some of the longest moments of his life, even those artificially extended by hallucinogenics, Walter jumped when Astrid took hold of his hands and pulled on them to get him to stand up, which he did. Without speaking, she continued to hold onto one of his hands, leading him to the back room.
“What? Where are we...?” His voice trailed off uselessly as they walked into the darkened room. The door was half open, leaving just enough light to see by as Astrid pulled apart his lab coat, the press studs making little popping noises that sounded madly like a miniature round of applause.
“What are you doing?” Walter asked, not certain how to proceed with so little to go on. But then her hands were skimming down his shirt-covered chest, closer to the problem, until she got to his belt buckle which she worked on loosening. In response, Walter covered her hands with his own to still them.
“Hands off, Walter.”
Her tone was so cold, and his hands dropped automatically as if someone had cut the strings. “But I... I m-mean,” he babbled, his voice getting quieter and quieter as she undid the buttons of his fly. “I don't want you to...”
The moment she touched him, his erection leapt into her grip, and he breathed in deeply, staring down at her. At last she looked up at him, and her eyes glittered. She was angry. Walter gibbered.
“Y-you watched, didn't you?” She didn't answer, just began a slow mechanical up down motion with her hand that made his body tremble while he remembered all the things that were on that videotape, all the questions he had asked, all the answers she had given. And he imagined Astrid watching that videotape, all alone.
“I'm so, so sorry, Astro.” Still no reply, and now she even looked away from him while she worked that hand on him, preferring instead to stare out of the half-open door as if longing to be on the other side of it.
Truth be told, Walter thought he would rather be on the other side of it too. His body was reacting to Astrid's touch, but his mind was miserable, and he felt tears stinging his eyes, running down his cheeks as she squeezed and coaxed him. It was the most impersonal touch he had ever known, and he had known orderlies.
“Please,” he begged eventually, but she didn't relent until he came undone to her touch, spilling all over the back of her hand with a helpless sob. It didn't take much. And while it was done to him, Walter didn't dare to move or stop her for fear that he would stumble into something worse. This was an adult thing, this game, and he had long ago forgotten how to play it.
When it was over, and he was barely able to keep standing, Astrid wiped her hand on a paper handkerchief from her lab coat and threw the used tissue on his day bed. At last she looked at him, and she must have seen his tears.
“Better?” There was a catch in her voice that belied her seeming carelessness.
Slowly, Walter shook his head, feeling utterly chastised. “No.”
“Good.”
She left him without another word, leaving the door wide open behind her while Walter struggled to make himself presentable again. When he looked up, his gaze fell upon the bed, where a familiar figure sat lounging, smirking at him. It was the other him. The one from St. Clare's. The hallucination.
Well, hello, Walter.
“No. Oh, no,” he babbled. “Do you see...?” he said to her, pointing, but she was long gone, and he heard quiet tinkling noises from the main body of the lab as she gathered up beakers and tubes and flasks.
I think she's furious with us. What do you think?
As the vision spoke, Walter turned to look out of the door, watching Astrid as she cleaned the day's equipment. “I think you may be right.”
I think you've hurt her.
“No.” He denied it, but it was the truth. He had hurt her, by stealing her privacy.
Yes.
“It wasn't intentional,” Walter argued, and that was true too. “Leave me alone.”
There was no answer except for a laugh that crawled up his spine and made him shiver. That imaginary version of himself wasn't going anywhere.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, a subdued Walter stalked into the laboratory, followed immediately by Peter. Without a word he made his way to the desk and sat down heavily in his chair, searching among his private pharmacy for an anti-psychotic that he hadn't tried yet. Just because Walter Two couldn't be seen, it didn't mean he wasn't around.
Finding what he was looking for, he surreptitiously eavesdropped on Peter and Asher while he dry swallowed a couple of the tablets. They never thought to talk quietly enough. They just went back to acting as if he wasn't there whenever he wasn't doing so well.
“Astrid. Was Walter all right yesterday, in the lab?”
“Same old Walter. Why?”
“He's had a bad night. He's almost like he was when we first got him out. I don't know – maybe it's this case. Still no headway?”
“Nothing.”
He tuned them out deliberately and leaned back in his chair with his eyes closed, but he was aware nevertheless when she walked over to the desk. Peter was gone then. When she took his hand he jumped, and his eyes flew open as he began shaking his head.
“Walter,” she said, and her voice was like the voice of God. Merciless and unyielding. Walter shrank in the chair, pulling his hand away.
“No. Please. Not again.” He didn't know how to escape, and all the while that other Walter lounged on a corner of the desk, sniggering at him. “No more punishment.”
“Walter...” she said again, and he quite sure he whimpered. “Walter!” That stopped him, and he dared to look at her, becoming present for just a second as she stared at him.
“I'm so sorry,” he said again, willing her to hear it.
“I know. I forgive you. I'm sorry too, Walter. I was very cruel. I was just so angry with you, and I really do like this assignment.” The sentences came so quickly on top of each other it took him several moments to catch on, and when he did, he smiled. The relief was so great he took her hands and kissed them impulsively.
“I like working here with you,” she continued. “I don't want to ruin this.” Walter nodded. It didn't matter, as long as things could be the same as they were before... before. But they couldn't, he realised, because he'd always know. Unless he could make himself forget. There were so many things he'd forgotten. It couldn't be that difficult.
“I understand,” he said quickly, realising that he still held her hands in his. He let her go.
“No,” she said, and then sighed. “You don't.”
The first touch of her lips on his could have cured all the insanity of the world. It was real, and warm, and she wasn't tentative or shy, but confident and certain. It passed through her and into him. Walter stood without ever breaking the kiss, pulling her into his arms naturally while she stood on tiptoe to reach him.
There were no dreams like this, no flashbacks. This was inevitable, and he'd known it before he saw her dreams. He knew it that night when she told him she couldn't sleep. They shared so much, knew each other so well by now they could almost finish each others' sentences. Walter felt a surge of love in him that almost made him stumble, and he drew back, opening his eyes so as not to miss the sight of her.
Those long eyelashes fluttered and she gazed at him from under them. This first kiss was the complete antithesis of what happened between them the day before. Walter felt strong and confident instead of weak and helpless. Unable to resist, he checked the corner of the desk for Walter Two, and the restoration was complete.
“Astro,” he said in wonder.
“Astrid.”
“He's gone.”
“Who?” She really did look adorable when she was puzzled, and Walter chuckled.
“It doesn't matter,” he said, then kissed her again, just to check that it was really true. It was.
“We shouldn't do this,” Astrid said, but she led the way to the back room as if she couldn't wait. Walter followed only a little more slowly. She was full of surprises, and her passion was stunning to behold.
“Indeed,” Walter noted as she pressed against him, her lips seeking his and her hands pulling him closer for the kiss. When it was over, Walter tilted his head. “Would you like some drugs to help you relax?”
The new Astrid was suddenly replaced by the not-quite-pleased version that she teased him with. Walter nodded. “No, no. You're quite right, probably better not.”
To make up for the suggestion he gathered her slight form into his arms so that he lifted her from the floor, nuzzled her right ear lightly with his nose and then placed several light kisses in a line from just behind her ear to her neck.
“That feels so nice,” she sighed. Walter nodded, absently noting how her hair felt against his cheek. Her hair held a sweet fragrance of coconut and almond oil. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't recall what. It felt good.
“Would you like some drugs to heighten the sensations?” he enquired.
“No drugs, Walter,” she replied, a little more sharply. He only smiled. She wasn't really angry.
“Have you ever been with an older man?”
“No.” Setting her down on her feet again, he lingered over her, breathing warm onto her crown, then kissing her brow before tilting her head back to concentrate on her throat. “Oh, Walter,” she breathed, and he could feel the vibration of her voice in his lips.
“I see. That's wonderful. Have you ever participated in tantric sex, Agent Farwood?”
“Farnsworth,” she corrected automatically, eyes closed as Walter looked down at her as if she was dessert. “And no, I haven't.”
“Excellent. I can teach you,” he said, reaching behind them to lock the door and dim the light. “I do pride myself on being something of an expert. We have several hours, all to ourselves...”
To be continued...
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Butterfly