As we know, Emmy nominations were announced today.
No love for Fringe, again…
But what do Cortexifans do in situations like this? We get creative!
Inspired by today’s “scandalous” events, fan Donna Hazel (@oconnellaboo) wrote a cool piece of fanfiction. We’re sharing it here with you all to cheer you up.
We don’t need some awards show to know that Fringe is special, and that the cast are world class in every way. We are all strong together–united in love for a story and characters that will live on beyond their television run.
Enjoy! Donna is one of my favorite fanfiction authors.
by Donna Hazel
“Henrietta, dear, don’t torment Gene,” Walter said without taking his eyes off his computer screen. Three-year-old Henrietta Bishop was tying ribbons to the lab cow’s tail, having already secured a colorful flowered hat, with matching ribbons, to her head.
“What’s toe-ment?” Henrietta asked, continuing her cow decorating.
Walter was about to reply when Peter and Olivia entered the lab. Peter made a beeline to Gene’s stall. “For crying out loud, Walter!” he exclaimed, scooping the little girl up as Gene mooed her protest. “Thanks so much for keeping such a close eye on my child.” Holding Etta close to him, he turned and glared at his father. “How many times do we have to tell you, she is not allowed in the stall alone?”
Olivia rubbed Peter’s back. “She’s fine, Peter,” she reassured him. “You good, sweetie?” she asked the child.
Grinning, Etta nodded over her father’s shoulder. “Yup! Gene’s funny,” she replied.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Gene’s funny. Great.”
“Walter, you were watching her, right?” Olivia asked evenly.
“Of course,” Walter groused, his eyes still glued to the computer screen. “That was the third pink ribbon the child tied on Gene’s tail, to match the ribbon on her hat. Gene never moved more than a foot closer to her at any time.” He shot a brief, withering glance at Peter. “She was in no danger whatsoever.”
“I’m okay, Daddy!” Henrietta confirmed. “Put me down,” she added, squirming in Peter’s arms.
Sighing, Peter set Henrietta down on the floor; she immediately ran back to Gene, who swished her tail happily at the little girl’s return.
Olivia put a paper bag she had been holding down on the table next to Walter. “Brand new shipment of Red Vines came in to the candy store this morning,” she said.
“Hm,” was Walter’s only reply, deepening the furrow in his brow that matched Peter’s.
“What’s wrong, Walter?” Olivia asked, peering over his shoulder at the computer screen.
“It’s a travesty, I tell you!” Walter proclaimed. “An utter travesty!”
“What is?” Peter asked, pulling up a lab stool.
“This!” Walter said with a wave of his hand at the screen.
Olivia looked at him quizzically. “What? A list of past Nobel Prize winners?”
“Yes, a list of past Nobel Prize Winners,” Walter said bitterly. “Look at this – Two thousand eleven. A team won the prize for medicine for demonstrating that people make better decisions about some kinds of things – but worse decisions about other kinds of things – when they have a strong urge to urinate.” He snorted. “I knew that years before. And do I get any recognition? No. No, I do not. No prizes for Doctor Walter Bishop, thank you very much.”
“Ah, I see,” Peter said. “Walter, you have to let this go.” At Olivia’s questioning glance, Peter said, “He does this every now and then. When a scientific prize is announced, Walter wonders why he’s never been acknowledged for his contributions to the betterment of society.”
“It’s a valid question!” Walter barked, drawing Henrietta’s attention in the stall. He lowered his voice slightly, and continued, “How many times have I discovered something groundbreaking, Peter? How many? Countless, I tell you!”
“That’s true,” Olivia interjected, “But sometimes, discoveries like yours are better kept… low-key.”
“She has a point, Walter,” Peter agreed. “I mean, I don’t know if the world is ready to give a prize for ridding society of mutant-underground-molebabies, ya know?”
“What’s a molebaby?” Henrietta asked, running over and hugging Olivia’s leg.
“Never mind, sweetie,” Olivia smiled, as her eyes gave a warning glare at her husband.
Walter sighed. “I know, I know,” he said, deflated. “I know that most of my beneficial discoveries have been made out of the necessity to repair some damage I did myself. I don’t deserve any awards.”
“Hey,” Peter said sharply, “Don’t do that. Walter, you have paid for your mistakes a thousand-fold. So stop beating yourself up.” He noticed a shift in Walter’s demeanor; the older man seemed a bit placated by his son’s words, so Peter continued. “The way I look at it, you and Olivia both deserve medals for what you’ve done. Medals, parades, Nobel Prizes, laurel wreaths, Emmys, Oscars, and Tonys.”
“What’s an Emmy?” Henrietta inquired.
“I think it’s some kind of award for actors,” Walter said, with a bit of distaste.
“Hey, don’t knock the profession,” Peter said with a grin. “I worked with the Williamstown Theater back in ’02, and they work damn hard.” His grin faded. “Seriously, Walter. What you and Olivia have done is nothing short of heroic. Hell, heroic is too mild a word. I’m in awe of what you’ve accomplished. And so are the people you’ve helped, the ones who know, that is.” He placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “And, well, I guess you’ll just have to be content with the fact that because of you, because you exist in this world, and do the work you do, there are millions of people out there living their lives happier, and safer than they would have if you didn’t. Know what that makes you?”
Walter smirked at his son, knowing where Peter’s slightly geeky mind was going. “Big damn heroes?”
“Big damn heroes,” Peter smiled.
“You’re a big damn hero, too, Daddy!” Henrietta squealed, launching herself onto her father’s lap.
Chagrined, Peter looked at Olivia. “Sorry, hon.” He settled Henrietta on his lap. “Nah, not so much, sweetheart,” he said to his daughter.
“This from the guy who saved two universes,” Olivia smirked. “Yes, sweetie, Daddy’s a big hero, too.”
“And Gene!” Henrietta added.
“Yup, Gene, too,” Peter concurred.
Walter grinned slyly. “Best Performance by a Bovine in a Supporting Role!”
“I like it.” Peter looked fondly at Walter. “Just because they don’t throw awards at your feet, don’t ever think that you’re not amazing. Because the people that count know the truth. Always.”