Hello, I'm Faust, and I seem to have written something.

I really hope you aren't expecting anything serious, from this fic, as it was written meerly in fun. I mean, sure, it's got some serious parts, as any decent fic would... but don't be dissapointed to find it lacking a resolute point. I hope you simply have fun with it, as I have. Enjoy!

*I do not own Fringe, and have yet to find a better use for my Tuesday nights.

Chapter One.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Doing that thing with the basket. Stop it."


"Yes, that. Knock it off, people are staring."

"Okay." he set his chin in his palm glumly, resting his elbow on the hand bar of the shopping basket, "I'm just bored. I'm sorry."

Peter shook his head, trying to concentrate on the shopping list and ignore his fathers behavior, "We need to pick up some snacks for the road- what do you want?"

"Anything without coconut," Walter replied, his gaze lost in a display of apples.

"Why?" Peter said, before he could stop himself.

"Do you really have to ask, at this point? I'm simply not in the mood for coconut. Peter, this is just a question, but do you hate anything? Not dislike, but actually hate?"

Peter looked up at the display of apples as they slowly passed, "Hate's a pretty strong term. I guess I don't. However," he frowned, and Walter looked up at him, " I do hate it when people stare because you keep riding on the basket. I told you to stop, now stop."

"Oh," Walter stopped the small tire with his toe, stepping off the foot bar, "Sorry. I don't think I hate anything, either. But if I had to make a choice, it would have to be butterscotch pudding. I would murder butterscotch pudding, given the opportunity."

"That's nice, Walter. I guess we all get to be a little insane." Peter grinned, tipping a carton of butterscotch pudding into the cart.

"Hey!" Walter exclaimed, "I'm serious!" He reached in, taking the pudding and placing it back onto the shelf, "Be careful I don't hit you with this, boy," he grumbled.

"Just pick something for the road, Walter," Peter sighed, stuffing the list into his pocket. The squeak of the front tire of the basket had ceased, and Peter turned around, "Walter?"

Walter was motionless, watching curiously as a shapely brunette passed him, smiling at the attention. His eyes followed her down the aisle, until she disappeared around the corner, flipping her hair over her shoulder for show. He jumped as Peter touched his shoulder, "Ah! What? What was it, you were saying?"

Peter chuckled, "Walter, were you just checking that woman out?"

"No- I just- um- No, no."

Peter grinned, "Don't lie. She was pretty hot, for a tease."

Walter raised a brow, "Hot?"

"She was attractive. That's what 'hot' means," Peter urged him down the aisle again, "But I'm afraid I've got you beat, with that one."

"I beg your pardon?" Walter questioned.

Peter chuckled, "Well, that woman was a total tease. So what you have to do is tease back."

"…Why am I listening to you?"

"You are looking at the duke of dating, my friend," Peter replied, a hint of vanity in his voice, "any kind of lady, I can get them."

Walter blinked, frowning, "You're quite full of yourself, aren't you?"

"Hey, don't hate. I just happen to be what woman want," Peter said, "Watch." he grabbed up a bottle of orange juice, leaning back against the display to read the label, one hand in his pocket, the other arm posed to show the bulge of muscle under his black sweater.

Two woman passed, pausing from their conversation to sneak a glance over at Peter. When they had gone, he turned to his father, "See?"

Walter seemed confused, "So… woman like slobby, unshaven delinquents?" He took the orange juice from him, placing it in the basket.

"No. Just me."

"An interesting, yet slightly snobbish, insinuation, Peter. But I fail to see why a woman would think she could have an intelligent conversation with a man that refuses to tuck in his shirt." Walter mused a shelf of olive oil.

Peter shook his head, "You don't get it. Woman like to believe that under this rough, rebellious exterior is a deep, sensitive guy, capable of feelings and fears."

Walter glanced over at him, "Until you open your mouth, and she realizes you're an idiot," he pointed out.

"Nope. That's where you're wrong. It's not just about getting the looks, everything is about 'the talk'." Peter jammed a thumb at his own chest, "and, with that, I am the master."

Walter looked flatly unconvinced, shaking his head as he read the label of spaghetti noodles.

"Fine, I'll prove it," Peter said, slightly offended, and he looked around, spotting a candidate, "Ah- see that woman, over there? I bet I can get her number."

Walter looked up at her, blinked, and returned his attention to the noodles, "I'll bet you can't."

"If I can, you have to eat a butterscotch pudding. The whole thing, not just a few bites."


Composing himself, Peter cleared his throat, slinking toward the produce where the blonde stood, perusing the salad greens. He leaned forward, brushing her with his tensed shoulder, "Oh, hey, sorry," he murmured.

"No problem," she replied, stepping away and looking up, "Oh- hey, Peter."

Peter looked flabbergasted, "Olivia!" he exclaimed, "What are you doing here?"

"Shopping," She laughed, "Were you just trying to pick up on me?"

"What? Oh, no, no, I just…" He glanced back to see Walter gasping with laughter behind the cart. He glared, "I'm just here with Walter, picking up a few things for the trip tomorrow."

Olivia nodded, "Yes; Jersey is a ways off. Hello, Walter," Olivia said as he approached, striking a tear of laughter from his eye.

"Good evening, Agent Dunham." Peter was flushed as he stared at his shoes, and Walter grinned at him, "I've decided I want animal crackers, Peter."

"Oh- yeah. Well, it was nice seeing you," Peter said, clapping his hands, "So, I guess we'll see you tomorrow."

Olivia nodded, "Tomorrow then."

"Great. Goodnight," and he backed away as Olivia returned to the micro greens.

"I know what you're going to say," Peter was growling as he returned to the shopping cart, "And I know you set me up for that, you bastard-" he paused, looking around, "Walter?"

He glanced back as Walter was bidding Olivia goodnight, and he hurried to catch up, "Okay, animal crackers."

Peter frowned, "What was that about?"

Walter smirked, flipping Olivia's cell phone number out of his sleeve.

"Jackass," Peter growled.


"I had no idea they had frosted animal crackers," Walter was saying through a mouthful of cookie as they entered the hotel room, and Peter flipped on the lights, settling the brown paper grocery bags on the counter, "Amazing, truly."

"That's the eighth time you've said that, Walter," Peter sighed, tossing the keys onto the table as Walter settled his own bags on the counter, "Next you'll talk about how festive the sprinkles look, and your favorites are the stuck-together, mutant ones."

Walter blinked, and shrugged, eating another cookie, "These would be good with-"

"Raisins, I know. Don't eat too many, you won't be able to sleep." Peter dropped onto the couch, sighing tiredly. Walter pulled off his coat, draping it over the chair before he took a seat, watching his son.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, "We had a long day," Walter said at last, "but it was nice, to spend it with you. It's always nice to spend it with you."

"Thanks, Walter. Did you pack?" Peter was rubbing his eyes wearily.

"I did." Walter replied.

"Are you sure you got everything? Toothbrush, all that?"

"Yes. I used the checklist, like you told me to."

"Wonderful. Go take a bath and change into your pajamas."

Walter sat, motionless. Peter watched him in confusion, and sat up, alarmed as Walter gripped the crease of his slacks, bowing his head. Walter stood suddenly, the chair clattering backward as he turned away, "I'll be in the bath," he said gruffly, sweeping away. He slammed the door.

"Walter?" Peter questioned, rising and moving to knock on the bathroom door, "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Go away, boy."

Sighing, Peter went back to the couch, stretching out across it and crossing his arms behind his head. He shut his eyes, just for a little while…