Dear Dashiell;

For hours he had sat, his pen hovering over the page, waiting. Surely there was something more to write than that. So much had happened, already, where would he start? But debating just what to write was painfully difficult.

At last, Walter exclaimed. If he drew a picture, that would take up space, and he wouldn't have to write as much. Then, Walter frowned. What would he draw? He couldn't draw very well, and what would Dashiell do with a bad drawing? Should he send him a picture, then? But that was defeating the point, as he would then have to write just as much as in the first place.

Walter sighed. What would he send to a place that he did not even want to think about? What good news could he possibly offer his friend? Just a reminder- things are going to hell, out here. No. Whatever Dashiell saw the world as, it was bound to be better than what it was becoming.

What Walter had caused it to be. He briefly toyed with the aspiration that the world was about to end. If he could tell that to Dashiell, what would he say?

Tough luck, old man. I told you that your soap was crap.

"Walter?" someone asked, and he jumped. Peter set down the box of files, looking slightly concerned, "are you alright?"

Walter frowned, finding himself slightly flustered, "Yes, fine," he snapped, "Don't interrupt me, boy," and he returned to glaring down at the blank page on his desk.

"Jeez. Sorry," Peter grumbled, shuffling off into the rest of the lab.

"Walter, did you want that article from the Smithsonian?" Astrid asked, rifling through her bag as she entered, "I clipped it and saved it for you…"

"Don't interrupt him," Peter mocked bitterly.

"She's cute. She can interrupt me all she likes," Walter smiled.

Astrid laughed, touching Walter on the shoulder, "Thanks," and she left the article on the corner of his desk.

"So I'm not cute?" Peter questioned.

"Nope," Olivia answered, turning the page of the newspaper, "in fact, you don't get to speak. You're that bad."

Peter laughed, "Ouch!"

Walter smiled, and set the pen to the page;

Greetings from Bratislava.

(the real) END.