Just Another Day in the Lab
"Walter," demanded Astrid, "stop that." Her patience as assistant to the brilliant yet mentally unbalanced scientist was a source of personal pride. While others might see her as his obedient lab girl or his caretaker, she saw herself as more: a vital, stabilizing force, a source of strength and peace in his life and, thereby, in that of others—not to mention her own. That said, there were times when Dr. Walter Bishop managed to crack her even-tempered demeanor. And this morning was one of them.
"What?" asked Walter, startled from his reverie. He'd been staring at Astrid with nearly unblinking eyes, head slightly cocked, eyes hazy, fingertips stroking the arms of his chair.
"You know what," she answered as she turned away, collecting several used flasks to wash free of strawberry milkshake.
"I'm not doing anything." His voice was innocence personified, a child speaking from a sixty-plus year-old man's body. But if he was childlike, it wasn't only his brain damage that made him so.
Dropping the flasks in a large metal sink, Astrid returned with a cloth to wash the counter that was supposed to be used for serious experimentation, not dessert. "You've taken LSD again, haven't you?"
Walter licked his lips and shrugged his admission. "I suppose I have." Raising a finger as a wide grin spread, he added, "But this time, I've added something special."
That "something" could be anything, Astrid knew. "Secobarbitol?" she guessed.
Walter shook his head conspiratorially, and smiled down between his legs. "Come sit on my lap, and I'll tell you, lovely Aspidistra," he cooed.
Astrid frowned. The bulge in his lap was obscene, and his newest mispronunciation of her name was downright insulting. Did he truly see her as some common houseplant?
When Astrid turned away and returned to cleaning, Walter rose and quietly approached. He pressed his body against hers from behind, hands gripping the counter around her. " Methaqualone," he whispered into her ear and nipped her earlobe.
"Quaaludes?" she snapped, pushing Walter away with her elbows.
"Ludes, sopers, mandrake, mandies," chanted Walter happily, releasing Astrid then standing before her as she turned to face him. "They make a man feel…fresh."
"Fresh?"
"Fresh flesh, so fleshy fresh," chimed the glassy-eyed man-child. "How can a man not want to savor the ripe freshness of you, sweet Astilbe?" He dropped to his knees before her and began to hike her skirt.
Astrid smiled and allowed Walter access. Certainly, a lush astilbe was more apt than a common aspidistra. And such recognition should not go unacknowledged. She tugged her panties to the side and Walter's tongue delved. She took secret pleasure in knowing that he would never speak of this, thinking it a hallucination.
Ah, what pleasure there was in knowing each drug-enhanced encounter she permitted Walter would be as fresh as the first!