Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.
A/N: These drabbles aren't connected 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.
He is almost positive
that she can sing. A lovely voice - strong and clear.
He has dreams about it sometimes. Marvelous dreams where they are dancing and Peter is constantly singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," in the background. His assistant will smiles that little mischievous smile she gets that always lets him know she is going to follow him - is ready and perfectly willing to help him chase down all the many various flights of fancy his mind may take each day.
He treasures that smile.
She gives him that smile and without missing a step in their waltz, picks up the song form the beginning when Peter starts the second bit again. She gives him a significant look and he catches her meaning in time to sing his part. The jumble of words somehow manages to bled musically.
(Olivia usually makes an appearance at this point. Looking relaxed and happy, riding around them in a wide circle along with her beloved little niece atop Gene. All three of them are wearing birthday hats.)
When they get to the end of the round and he hears all of their voices harmonizing together her has to close his eyes at the beauty of it and try not to weep in joy. (He knows Peter gets uncomfortable when he does that).
When he opens his eyes again Walter has woken up but he can almost swear he smells ginger. (And scent is, of course, tied to memory).
It is such
a wonderful dream.