Committed, a Fringe fanfic

[cortana]

Title: Committed
Spoilers: Up to "Safe"
Author's notes: A little Astrid drabble. Written for fandom_stocking.

 

I watch Walter walk into the cluttered room, somehow missing knocking over one of his experiments as his brain is preoccupied with his random thoughts. Suddenly, he looks at me. "Ashley--" he starts.

"Astrid," I firmly correct.

He snaps his fingers quickly, as if it will help him to remember my name. "Astrid, yes! Anyway, I was just thinking about a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup. You know, the kind with big chunks of carrots and celery." He turns to me with a hopeful look on his face. "Do you think--"

"No, Walter, I am not going to make you chicken noodle soup," I interrupt, before he can ask. Though I restrain from crossing my arms, I look at him disapprovingly.

"Oh," he mutters, turning away with a frown.

Part of me feels bad; his request isn't *that* unreasonable, especially coming from Walter. Maybe I would go down to the cafeteria and pick him up some soup during lunch. If he remembers my name, I decide.

I turn my attention back to my work--more research from Agent Dunham's most recent time in the tank---that Walter has requested. As the data downloads into the database, my mind drifts to the conversation I had with my co-worker last night.

We were having a comfortable dinner, rehashing old stories of our favorite cases when he brought up my current assignment.

"Trid, I cannot believe you are still in that lab with that mad professor. I'm telling you, if someone sedated me just so he could hide some mystery device, I would have kicked his ass to next Thursday. Then I would have demanded for a different assignment," he said, obviously confused by my decisions.

I quickly put an end to the conversation and steered it to more neutral topics. I know he is not alone in his opinion. I see it in the looks of my fellow agents when I go back to the field office. I hear the whispers. Am I crazy, stupid or both?

But, I know the truth, that I've seen more--with the exception of Agents Mulder and Scully--than they ever hope to see. There is something, a pattern, here and I want to be the first one to know what is going on.

I am pulled out of my thoughts as another set of footsteps enter into the lab. "Ah! Peter," Walter greets with a smile. "I was just thinking about some chicken noodle soup. You know, the kind--"

"That's going to have to wait, Walter. Olivia just called. She needs up to meet her at Philadelphia National Bank. Apparently, there is a body trapped in a wall."

Yeah, I think as Peter helps Walter put on his sweater, I love my job.