Fandoms: Fringe/House, M.D./Die Hard 4
Characters: Walter, House, John McClane (Slightly Slashy)
Summary: A doctor, a cop and a mad scientist meet up in a bar...
Author's Notes: Written for a fic meme (because I would never have tried to threesome these guys on a bet), but posted up separately for the wonderfulness of Walter in this story.
This bar was really rather nice, Walter thought—well-lit, decent paintings. Not the sort of thing one expected to find in New Jersey. He admired his drink, a lovely blue concoction he'd ordered because someone else had one, and the color was irresistible. Rather like the transference liquid he'd made in the lab a few weeks ago, although (he chuckled to himself) far less toxic, of course!
A man with a cane sat down next to him and ordered a Scotch. "No ice," he barked, hooking the cane over the edge of the counter between them.
On Walter's other side, a bald man in a leather jacket and white t-shirt leaned in to catch the bartender's attention. "Could I get a couple of Heinekens?"
"Sure thing." The bartender set down the Scotch and went down to the other end of the bar to get them.
Walter couldn't take his eyes off the bald man—the muscles, the machismo—and realized too late that he was probably staring. Peter would have chided him for it, of course. "Hello. I'm Walter," he said belatedly.
"John McClane. Good to meet you." The man's grip was remarkably firm, like tensile steel.
"John…" Walter said, rolling the name over his tongue. So marvelously old-fashioned, such a pity it was falling out of favor. He wondered briefly how the man came by that impressive physique. Athletic hobby, perhaps, or something related to his work? "And what is it you do?"
"I'm a police officer—NYPD, though I'm working on something cross-jurisdictional here in Jersey. What about you?"
The man on Walter's left spoke up suddenly, as if the question had included him. "I'm a genius doctor with a troubled psyche and a bum leg. I solve the unsolvable with my team of medical minions. Though they're not as useful as you might think," he added.
The police officer blinked. "And you?"
Walter laughed at the absurdity of it. "I’m a bit of a mad scientist, I suppose. Alien experiments, thought-wave machines, that sort of thing."
"Good, good," the officer said vaguely. "Well, I've got a friend I'm meeting. Nice talking to you," he said quickly, gathering up the beers and hurrying away.
There was a brief silence. "What kind of experiments?" the doctor finally asked. "Human experiments?"
"On occasion. Though the subjects are usually dead, of course." Walter sipped his drink again. It had a bitter fruitiness followed by a delightful zing. "Quite a virile specimen, that one," he said, referring to the now-absent cop. "The quintessential alpha male."
The doctor leaned his head on his fist, nodding congenially. "I could be an alpha male," he suggested.
Walter laughed. "My dear fellow, one cannot achieve alpha status based on wishful thinking. That man was born to it."
"Yeah," the doctor admitted, looking down at his cane. "And he's got it in spades. Hell, I'd hit that, and he doesn't even have a great rack."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Jugs. Wondermelons. Boobies. Tatas."
"Ah," Walter nodded sagely. "Though in a sense, he does."
The doctor squinted across the room. "You're right. The guy has pecs like Adonis. I'd definitely hit that."
"Mm, yes," Walter said absently, thinking of how disappointingly rare such opportunities always were for him.
He toasted the man's sentiment a little sadly. "So would I…"
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