Title: Strong (2)
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.
A/N: These drabbles aren't connected (except this one!) and won't be in chronological order.
A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.
“There’s something different about you,” Walter says without any preamble and it’s only with extreme self-control that Astrid continues looking straight ahead at the computer.
She doesn’t let her voice shake or give herself away in the slightest as she asks, “Really, Walter? In what way?”
And she doesn’t jump either when he appears on her left side suddenly, just barely in her line of sight. She wasn’t surprised, anyway – she could feel him as he moved throughout the room.
(She could do that with everybody these days. Track them even when she couldn’t see them, even when she wasn’t really paying attention. She could hunt them
if she needed to, that part of her whispers.
....It's actually made watching Walter a bit easier.)
He studies her, his eyes serious and face utterly devoid of expression. “It’s the way you move,” he finally says, his voice low and precise. “There is a grace to your movements; a control of your muscles – tension and release -,” Walter makes a fist and opens it again in demonstration and Astrid’s eyes track the movements of his hands automatically, “that is quite new.”
She stays quiet and the tension in the room starts to build but then an almost childishly delighted look comes across his face effectively breaking the feeling. “Agent Farnsworth,” he asks excitedly, even bouncing a bit, “have you been taking waltzing
Astrid lets out a startled giggle and swivels her chair so it turns to fully face him, relief flooding through her. “No, Walter,” she says shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been taking any sort of dancing classes lately.”
“Oh,” he frowns. “That is a shame. I think you would be very good at it.”
“Thank you,” she replies, feeling oddly touched.
“Your welcome, Asterix, dear,” he smiles and pats her on the shoulder before something behind her catches his eye, distracting him and he wanders off muttering about root beer floats.
Astrid waits until he is gone before letting out a sigh. She didn’t like lying to him, to any of them, about this - even if it was simply a lie of omission. Because this wasn’t something small; it was major and personal. Seeming to effect her more and more everyday.
There should be someone she could call, someone she could talk to about this – because she knows there are others. She has dreams of the other Slayers but doesn’t know who exactly they are or how to get in contact with them. And she doesn’t know if she really wants to anyway....if that will open her up to certain decisions and responsibilities.
She doesn’t want to live like the girls in her dreams.
Astrid doesn’t want to go out at night and fight odd looking creatures in what appear to be graveyards. She helps fights darkness everyday here with a mad scientist in a quirky basement lab that has it's very own cow. And in the same way she doesn’t want her team to ever have the chance to try to take the Slayer part out of her she doesn’t want the Slayer part of her to have the chance to take away the life she has already.
But things never stay suspended in place forever and she knows eventually something will happen - one way or the other. Astrid just isn’t sure, when the time comes, which side of herself to root for.