This story will obviously be familiar to you if you're on this website reading Fringe fanfiction. It starts at the beginning and follows canon, although not completely. While it's true that much of the dialogue was taken from the episodes, there are plenty of dialogue and scenes which were not. The first few chapters are mostly by the book, with the additional scenes coming later in the pilot and in the following episodes, and sometimes in between them.
My main goal is to shed a little more light on the team's daily lives, while at the same time try to remain (mostly) true to their characters, and to each episode.
The POV's are mostly Olivia and Peter, but Astrid and Walter will each have some at some point also.
Please leave a review if you have any comments. I love reading them.
I own none of the characters or story or setting.
The turbulence shook the plane's cabin,and lightning flashed outside through the small window next to him. He could hear the passengers around him as they grew restless and uneasy with the vibrations that running throughout the plane. He didn't mind the turbulence however, and never had. He was a man of science, and he knew that the odds of a plane crashing due to turbulence in this day and age, were extremely low. He did hate overnight flights though, as they had taken off from Hamburg hours ago, and still had many more to go until they landed in Boston.
On the small display embedded into the seat in front of him, a Fasten Your Seatbelt animation began to play. The flight attendant's voice rang out over the intercom in German, instructing them to make sure that their belts were securely fastened. Sitting next to him was whose face pale, and growing paler by the second. Sweat beaded on his forehead, running rivers down the lines of his faze. The pale-faced man leaned forward, hunching over in his seat, as if he had an upset stomach. The man had dark hair and a slender build, and he saw a slight resemblance to a friend of his back home in India. The man was now leaning back in his seat, back rigid, eyes darting around the cabin nervously.
"Hey, my friend," he said to the sick-looking man. "It's just an electrical storm. There is nothing to worry about."
"I understand," the man gasped, keeping his focused on the seat in front of him.
The man from India smiled. "Here. I have some gum. Would you like a piece?" He offered the tin-foiled wrapped chew.
"No, thank you," the other man said, and reached for the briefcase sitting at his feet. He fumbled with catches for a moment before opening it and removing a small medical kit. His hands shook as he opened the kit and pulled out a small, thin cylinder with a pointed cap at one end. He removed the cap to reveal a short needle.
"Insulin?" he asked.
The man gave him a nod and pulled up his shirt. He pinched the skin of his side between his thumb and forefinger and plunged the needle in. Afterwards, he put the needle back in the kit, returned it to the briefcase, then sat back in relief. The man closed his eyes and began to take deep breaths.
Suddenly, he leaned forward again, obviously in pain, and gasped. The back of his shirt was drenched in sweat. The man lunged out of his seat and began to make his way down the aisle, towards the rear of the cabin. The plane hit another patch of turbulence and the lights began to flicker. The flight attendant, having caught sight of a passenger, unrestrained, and moving around the shaking cabin, began to make her way after him, shouting at him in German.
"Sir, you must sit down!"
The plane went through another stretch of turbulence and the flight attendant staggered into an elderly couple, looking anxiously towards the man fleeing the indignant flight attendant. The lights continued to flicker overhead, creating patches of light and darkness in the aisle.
"Sir, you must return to your seat!"
The man from India could hear the plane's engines begin to whine as the pilot increased the throttle to maintain altitude in the face of the storm outside. As he watched his former seatmate lurch down the aisle, the man suddenly jerked to a stop, holding his hand up to his face. He gasped as if what he saw shocked him. When the flight attendant reached him, she grabbed his arm to direct him back the way he came.
"SIR, you..." She broke off as the man spun around, screaming a wordless scream.
The flight attendant let out a terror-filled shriek, sending the passengers near confrontation into a panic. The man from India's mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The other man's face had begun to change. His skin was covered in large, irregular spots, and as he watched the spots begin to grow, he realized that they weren't spots at all. It was as if the man's skin were being dissolved by acid, revealing the muscle and sinew below. His face sagged, and then fell away. the skin of his cheeks tore apart in great bloody rips. Without warning, the sick man vomited a greenish froth into the screaming flight attendant's face. She shrieked even louder, and began to choke, covering her face with her hands and pitching back onto a couple sitting next to the scene, their eyes huge in alarm.
The man from India noted with a detached thought, that the vomit had seemed to go right into her mouth; a perfect shot. In another time and place, he might've been extremely amused by this, but a sudden burning sensation running down the length of his arm to his finger tips pulled his attention away from the commotion. He held up his palm and gasped. Dumbfounded, he watched a large red spot in the center of his hand grow noticeably larger before his eyes, until it encompassed his entire fist. The redness and heat moved up his forearm, disappearing beneath his shirt cuff. The burning spread, heat upon layers of heat; to his arms and legs, his chest and back covered in pinpricks of fire that traveled up his neck to his face. His vision blurred and a horrific keening filled his his ears, screams coming from all directions. He was screaming also, he realized from an increasingly distant corner of his mind, and had been for a long time.
"Sir, we have a situation back here. People are getting..." The flight attendant's frantic voice told the captain through the cockpit phone before it broke off, and he heard what sounded like shouting, maybe screaming.
"Can you repeat that? People are what? Hello?" He hung up the phone and turned to his co-pilot. "Go see what the hell is going on back there."
The co-pilot nodded and turned to the cockpit door behind him. As he opened it, they were greeted with a chorus of screaming and wailing, the likes of which the captain had never heard in his life. He reached for the auto-pilot toggle, switching it on, then rose from his seat. He looked at the open cabin door.
The view was mostly blocked by the co-pilot, but what he could see was a vision of pure chaos. The passengers were all screaming, clawing at the skin on their faces frantically, which were peeling off into their hands like wet, sticky clay. There was a faint chemical odor in the air that burned at his eyes. The screaming grew louder, if that were possible, more panicked. They had a serious problem.
"What's going on?" he shouted to be heard. "What is happening out there?"
The co-pilot turned around slowly, holding up both hands as if in supplication. His eyes were full of pain. The captain stood still, mesmerized by what happened next. His co-pilots's flesh began to sag as if whatever forces holding him together had fled. The skin dripped off the bones of his fingers, off his face, exposing the inside of his mouth, his jawbone, his teeth. A moan that sounded like death filled the cockpit as the co-pilot's jaw sagged, unhinged, stretching toward the floor in slow motion. Horrified, the pilot fell back in his seat, screaming, his mind receding as a burning heat banished all thought.
After a while, there was only silence. The yellow auto-pilot light flashed intermittently, guiding the plane to its final destination.