“The Intersect was supposed to be suppressed,” Chuck said, frowning. “After everything Quinn did, she shouldn’t be able to flash at all.”
Peter Bishop made the final adjustment to the headpiece his father had created in the 80s and went over to check the monitor to make sure that it was outputting the correct wavelength readings. “You should have called the Fringe division in a long time before this,” he said as he tapped a few things into the keyboard. “Things like this Intersect are kind of our department. We deal with the spooky.”
“It’s more technological than spooky,” Chuck said. He didn’t feel that the rebuke was entirely fair—how the hell was he supposed to know that the man who had served as a TA in his physics seminar at Stanford worked for a secret government department?—but at this point, he’d give his right arm for Sarah to look at him the way she used to. His left arm, too, and any number of toes, really.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He’d give everything.
Sarah sat quietly wearing the headpiece, not at all perturbed by the fact that they were in a basement in Harvard. Chuck felt like that was progress. The mad scientist in a lab coat that talked about bacon-flavored mints on end hadn’t fazed her, she’d smiled politely at the harried lab assistant, and she’d calmly signed all of the paperwork the FBI agent—who could kind of be Sarah’s cousin, though Chuck didn’t say anything—had handed her.
She hadn’t even blinked at the cow.
“Okay, so we’re going to induce a flash,” Peter said, looking first at Sarah and then Chuck. “You said you brought some flash cards?”
Chuck hurriedly dug them out of his coat pocket and tried to hand them over. “Why don’t you do that part?” Peter asked.
Walter Bishop wandered back in and took the flash cards. “Fascinating! And these, as you say, cause a flash?”
“Yeah, they’re subliminal triggers,” Chuck said.
“Fascinating,” Walter said. “You know, I once met a man who had a theory that the brain could be used just like a processor for data.”
Chuck exchanged a look with Sarah. She might not remember meeting his father, but she’d read all the files on his private journal.
“He had a name…oh, it was a silly name, a constellation. Cepheus?”
“Orion?” Sarah asked as Chuck took a sip of coffee. The day just kept getting more and more surreal.
“Yes! That was it. Brilliant man.” Walter thought about it. “Made a really great raspberry rumble, too. His wife, as I recall, was a stone cold fox.”
Chuck choked on his coffee.
“You know this guy?” Peter asked Chuck.
“Let’s just say, you’re not the only son of a mad scientist around here.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-10-26 06:45 pm (UTC)“The Intersect was supposed to be suppressed,” Chuck said, frowning. “After everything Quinn did, she shouldn’t be able to flash at all.”
Peter Bishop made the final adjustment to the headpiece his father had created in the 80s and went over to check the monitor to make sure that it was outputting the correct wavelength readings. “You should have called the Fringe division in a long time before this,” he said as he tapped a few things into the keyboard. “Things like this Intersect are kind of our department. We deal with the spooky.”
“It’s more technological than spooky,” Chuck said. He didn’t feel that the rebuke was entirely fair—how the hell was he supposed to know that the man who had served as a TA in his physics seminar at Stanford worked for a secret government department?—but at this point, he’d give his right arm for Sarah to look at him the way she used to. His left arm, too, and any number of toes, really.
Oh, who the hell was he kidding? He’d give everything.
Sarah sat quietly wearing the headpiece, not at all perturbed by the fact that they were in a basement in Harvard. Chuck felt like that was progress. The mad scientist in a lab coat that talked about bacon-flavored mints on end hadn’t fazed her, she’d smiled politely at the harried lab assistant, and she’d calmly signed all of the paperwork the FBI agent—who could kind of be Sarah’s cousin, though Chuck didn’t say anything—had handed her.
She hadn’t even blinked at the cow.
“Okay, so we’re going to induce a flash,” Peter said, looking first at Sarah and then Chuck. “You said you brought some flash cards?”
Chuck hurriedly dug them out of his coat pocket and tried to hand them over. “Why don’t you do that part?” Peter asked.
Walter Bishop wandered back in and took the flash cards. “Fascinating! And these, as you say, cause a flash?”
“Yeah, they’re subliminal triggers,” Chuck said.
“Fascinating,” Walter said. “You know, I once met a man who had a theory that the brain could be used just like a processor for data.”
Chuck exchanged a look with Sarah. She might not remember meeting his father, but she’d read all the files on his private journal.
“He had a name…oh, it was a silly name, a constellation. Cepheus?”
“Orion?” Sarah asked as Chuck took a sip of coffee. The day just kept getting more and more surreal.
“Yes! That was it. Brilliant man.” Walter thought about it. “Made a really great raspberry rumble, too. His wife, as I recall, was a stone cold fox.”
Chuck choked on his coffee.
“You know this guy?” Peter asked Chuck.
“Let’s just say, you’re not the only son of a mad scientist around here.”