Remember to Forget
Memory is partial to self-preservation.
"This comfort is not what it seems,
Is not what it seems."
- Opaline, Dishwalla
The one and only time he decides to step out of the room is when she wakes up.
He had meant to take a brief walk; his back and legs have become tense and stiff from having not left her bedside since they found her three days ago, lying unconscious and, by all outward indications, unharmed at a small community graveyard in Jacksonville.
The speculations for the whats, whys, and hows (and the rhetorical, "is that even possible?") have been put on hold. Walter has been weaving theories the instant he received the call from Broyles, but he was adamant in not participating in any of it. This wasn't just another one of their cases; the usual sway of burning curiosity has been replaced by something far more consuming, and it clutches at his chest, allowing him only shallow breaths and scant hours of sleep. He has a feeling it will not subside until he finds her eyes looking back at him again.
That might be today, he glosses over the thought as a scream pulls him back to the room. There is a stinging sensation in his legs that makes him half-run and half-limp, and all he could do is mutter "shit" when the nurse gets to her room first. Some protector you'll turn out to be.
She demands and he overhears: "How did I get here? What happened to me? Is Rachel here? No, my sister. How about Broyles? Has he come by yet? A Peter Bishop? Who's that?"
By the time she finishes, he's at the door and it's too late to process or to grieve.
She's awake, fixing him a steady, soul-baring stare with not the slightest hint of recognition.