Oneshots are perfectly wonderful for a rantfic. Now, if you have never experienced a rantfic, it's simply a story written to express the views of the writer/fandom/general audience as an angry, yet ignored, protest. In this instance, I'm really quite upset with the choice to pair Peter and Rachel. It will change, of course -I have no doubt it will-, but, until then, this is what I believe to be an unhealthy scenario where Walter can voice what most of us have been feeling. Not that he says much of anything…

*Fringe is owned by Fox broadcasting, I think. And they had better keep it in it's box- it's dangerous. O.o


Peter could see Walter smiling at him from the reflection of the hotel room in the bathroom mirror. His father crossed his arms across his chest as Peter dried his face and turned off the tap, "I'm happy for you, boy," he murmured, realizing that Peter had spotted him.

Peter smirked, "Thanks, Walter. You seem happier about this than I am."

"I am!" Walter beamed, "You're young, you should be going out. Not that I don't want to spend time with you, but… you have a date! It's all very exciting, really."

"It's not a date," Peter repeated, "I'm just going to… hang out."

Walter only twitched a brow upward.

"Anyways, " Peter continued, brushing past his father into the rest of the hotel in search of his jacket. He pulled if off of the back of the chair, shuffling around in the pockets in search of his cell phone, "Are you sure you don't need me to call for someone to look out for you…?"

"Nope," Walter replied cheerfully, flouncing onto the bed to hug his pajama-clad knees to his chest, "My gift to you- I promise that I won't do anything wrong tonight. " Peter eyed him suspiciously, and Walter looked slightly annoyed, "Promise, really. I don't want you to worry about anything tonight, son."

Peter looked slightly impressed, "Wow. Thanks, Walter."

Walter only smiled. Peter returned to the restroom, wondering into the mirror if he should shave. There was a knock at the door, "That's her," Peter said, "crap, I don't think I-"

"I'll get it!" Walter chirruped, his robe flaring behind him as he jumped from the bed and darted to the door. He paused, straitening his garb and brushing back his hair with his fingertips. He cleared his throat, and opened the door, "Hello!" he greeted brightly.

Rachel stood outside the door in the hallway, looking slightly taken aback. Walter did not appear to be much better, and they stared at each other blankly for a few moments, before Walter leaned back slowly, "Peeeter?" he called, without looking away from her, "Who's thiiiiiis?"

"Oh," Rachel said, finally blinking away her daze, "I'm-um, I'm Rachel, I'm here for Peter," she offered her hand.

Walter shook it, "Hi," he said without emphasis.

"You must be Peter's roommate, Walter. He's talked about you, it's nice to finally meet you," Rachel attempted politely.

Walter looked fairly stricken, "Roommate?" he questioned distantly. He sobered bitterly, "Oh, yes, I am, I suppose." They stood in more uncomfortable silence, Rachel shifting from one foot to the other while Walter only watched her with cold calculation.

"Walter, let her in!" Peter snapped, "Quit being rude!" and his father begrudgingly stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

"This is nice," Rachel said, looking around and nodding, "I mean- um-"

"Yes, much better than St. Clair's," Walter replied shortly, "tell me, how is it that you know my s-" he coughed, "I mean, how do you know Peter?"

"Oh. I'm Olivia's sister," Rachel replied with a smile, "We met when they were working together, and… he's a pretty cool guy. To hang out with, I mean."

"Oh, I'll bet he's deliriously amusing," Walter grumbled, glaring up at his son as Peter emerged, pulling on a blazer.

"Sorry it took so long. So, are we ready to go?" Peter asked cheerfully.

"Um, yeah," Rachel replied, sparing a worried glance at Walter and a weak smile at Peter. She proceeded out the door before Peter, "It was nice to meet you, Walter," she said.

"The feeling is reciprocated, my dear. Have a wonderful time," Walter replied mechanically.

"Take care, Walter," Peter said, ignoring the evil eye he was receiving.

"Uh-huh," the last view Peter had of his father was through the door as it shut, as he was slumping down on the side of the bed, fuming silently.


The hallway was empty and quiet, as Peter returned to the hotel, the hum of the distant ice machine muting his soft footfalls on the plush carpet. The scrape of the keys as he pulled them out, across his cell phone in his pocket; the soft jingle as he slid the key across the tumblers, and twisted the lock open.

Peter could distantly hear the muffled babble of the television- Walter must have fallen asleep with it on again. Peter thought nothing of it, as he pushed the door open, stepped inside, and locked it behind himself.

"Welcome back, roomy," Walter said, and Peter jumped slightly.

"What are you doing still up? It's got to be at least two in the morning," Peter said, surprised.

Walter turned his sour expression and slightly reddened eyes back to the television screen, "I wasn't aware that I had a bed time."

Peter sighed, "Okay, so you're mad. I get it."

Walter did not respond.

"I'm not in the mood to fight, Walter."

Walter turned his attention to his son, his brows raised expectantly. Peter frowned, "Don't look at me like that. I'm sorry I told her that you were my roommate, okay? But you're not exactly someone that's easy to bring up in conversation, you know."

Walter only continued to watch him, resting his cheek on his knuckles.

Peter felt his face heat with anger, "Sure! Yeah, you're right! I'm going to tell some girl I've just met that I babysit my ageing, mentally precarious father, because girls just adore things like that!" he threw his keys onto the table with a crash, storming to the bathroom.

Walter's eyes followed him, and Peter could feel them at the back of his burning neck. He turned on his heel, glaring back, "Listen! So you may not like Rachel, But I do! And I'm not going to screw this up for myself just yet, alright?! Not that it's any of your say, who I date! Why the hell should I care what you think?!" he returned to ignoring his father, twisting on the tap to wash his face and calm himself.

Walter scratched his forehead and sighed softly, and Peter exploded again.

"And so what if it isn't the truth?! You said yourself that all I do is lie, remember?! What should it matter, if I've faked everything else in my life?! No one would listen to the truth anyways, even if I told them!" Peter flared hotly, his vision intent on being everywhere but aligned with two blue irises across the room, "Name one person, Walter! Name one person that wouldn't get away from me as fast as they could, if they found out I had anything to do with you! Name one!"

The stare was so enigmatic, it nearly made him shiver, and Peter had to swallow back his curse, and still his urge to leap across the short distance between them and end the old man, "Go to hell, Walter," Peter said, fully aware of the silent answer his father offered, "go to hell." he slammed the bathroom door.

There was silence for a few moments, and the sound of the shower starting. Walter waited a bit more, "…I'm assuming no one brought me leftovers," he grumbled, slumping back on the pillows to pout.