1.
Peter Bishop awoke feeling pretty much the same way he had the night before: lousy. He rose stiffly from his bed and frowned at the empty side next to him. He had really hoped she'd stay with him last night, but she – ever the voice of logic and pragmatism – reminded him that he had a big day ahead of him, and he needed to get a good night's sleep.
"I'll see you in the morning, anyway. I'll be there bright and early to pick you and Walter up, okay?" she had said, kissing him on the cheek, as you would a child. Peter got the distinct impression that Olivia didn't want to spend the night anyway; she was having a hard time dealing with the recent diagnosis that Peter's childhood illness had returned. They had just been reunited after he had operated the Machine – and wound up in a universe that didn't remember him, nor he it.
The universe had been re-set to its proper timeline, and everyone's memories had been restored, but the consequence had been that Peter's physiology had been re-set to its original state; again, he was ill, and most likely dying, just as he was when he was brought to this universe as a child.
It threw Olivia for a loop, possibly even more than it did Peter himself. Perhaps he was just in denial, but he had a hard time thinking that this general malaise – this feverish, achy feeling, with a side order of bruises – was actually going to kill him. It had been a week since they'd found out, and in that time, it had been business as usual – endless paperwork and debriefing from the FBI, lab tests, and supervising the rifts and vortices that had been threatening to rip the universes apart, but were now healing and sealing themselves of their own accord. He had gone to bed each night more tired than usual, and popping fever-reducing Tylenol at a Homeric clip, but it had usually been with Olivia by his side. Some nights, she would run a loving, soothing hand through his damp hair to lull him to sleep; other nights were a bit more active, with languid lovemaking taking its turn with good old-fashioned, spine-shattering sex.
But not last night. Last night, Olivia had left him alone – to rest, she had said. To prepare for the worst, he had thought; you can't prepare to have half your heart ripped away when the other half is lying beside you in bed. He thought perhaps she was preparing herself to be alone again.
So, this morning, Peter woke alone. He washed his face alone, brushed his teeth alone, showered alone (that part really sucked), and dressed alone. Donning his most comfortable, beaten-up jeans, he then pulled his softest, most worn t-shirt over his head. Looking at his face in the mirror, he decided again that shaving wasn't worth the effort, and smiled at the Violet Sedan Chair logo that was barely visible on his ancient shirt.
The logo was the only thing worth smiling at in the mirror; the face that stared back at him was pale, almost ashen, save for the red-rimmed eyes, and the circles that surrounded those eyes like bruises. Maybe they were bruises, he thought; everything else felt black and blue most times anyway.
Still in his bare feet, Peter padded downstairs, holding onto the banister for balance, and found Walter in the kitchen. No surprise there; what was surprising was that he was standing at the stove simply staring at an empty griddle, a ladle of batter in his hand. "Walter?" Peter said softly, hoping not to startle him. Luckily, he didn't, and Walter looked his way. "Good morning."
Walter laid the ladle gently back in the bowl of batter. "Peter," he said quietly, a small smile coming to his face. "I was going to make breakfast. Are… are you hungry?"
"Yeah, actually. Whatcha got there? Don't tell me… pancakes." Peter stepped closer to his father.
"Yes. Yes, I was going to make pancakes. But then I realized… well, when you were – I mean… yes. Would you like some pancakes?" Walter stammered as he clumsily pulled the ladle back out of the bowl. As batter splattered everywhere, Walter muttered, "Dammit."
"Walter…" Peter said again as Walter continued muttering oaths at the pancake batter. "Dad." Walter turned to look at him. "I'll be in the living room, okay? Take your time with the pancakes. We have plenty of time til we have to get to Massive Dynamic."
"Yes, all right. How are you feeling today, son?" Walter said, reaching out toward Peter's face, but stopping short of touching him.
"Pretty good," he lied. "But… hungry." He smiled and gestured at the stove to remind Walter of the task at hand.
"Ah, yes. Yes, of course," Walter said, forcing a smile as Peter walked slowly to the living room. From the corner of his eye, Walter watched how his son seemed to be straining to stay upright. He sighed and shook his head. Hearing Peter seating himself on the living room sofa, Walter called in, "Blueberry okay?"
"Yup, great," Peter replied. "I'm so glad it's okay for me to eat. I probably would've gotten violent if I had to do this thing today on an empty stomach. Thank God, it's just injections."
Walter stopped what he was doing. "About today, Peter…" he began.
"Yeah?"
"I'm afraid I won't be able to be there. I… I got a call last night… I need to attend a board meeting at the same time as your appointment, and it's a rather important one. I've blown off a number of meetings, and now they're more than a little peeved that the owner and CEO of Massive Dynamic can't be bothered to attend his own meetings, so…"
Peter sighed and interrupted him. "That's okay, Walter, I understand," he said, although he was disappointed. He took a breath and said in his most casual tone, "So, who's doing the honors?"
"Brandon Fayette," Walter said. "I called him earlier this morning. He'll take good care of you."
"I'm sure he will," Peter said. "He has to answer to the owner and CEO if he misses a vein or something."
"Don't say that!" Walter snapped. "I would be there if I could!"
"Okay, okay, I know," Peter placated him. An uncomfortable silence fell over them, which Peter decided was unacceptable. "You can talk about him, you know."
Walter looked over his shoulder dismissively as he flipped a pancake. "I don't know what you mean," he said, shifting his attention back to his cooking.
"Peter," he said simply. "Your Peter. You can talk about him. You should. You know the difference between us now. You understand it. So don't feel like you can't talk about him, okay? He was your child, Walter. Your son."
"I know that, don't you think I know that?" Walter snapped again as he spun to look at Peter. When his eyes fell on the pale young man and his distraught face, his voice softened. "I know. I'm sorry, son." He turned back to the stove. "Thank you."
"It's okay, Walter." Walter finished making the pancakes, and the two men then ate in silence.
That silence was interrupted by a knock at the front door. "That'll be Olivia. We probably should've waited for her," Peter said, standing quickly – a little too quickly, because he swayed as he soon as he got up.
Walter put a steadying hand on Peter's arm as Olivia used her new key to open the door. "Hey, you two," she said cheerfully, although the cheer didn't quite reach her eyes as she noticed Walter practically holding Peter up.
"Hi," Peter said. She walked over and kissed him – on the lips, this time – and put her arms around him gingerly. He sniffed her hair, and said, "God, I missed that smell this morning," as he returned her embrace.
"Wow, one night away from me and you're all moony," Olivia teased him. Touching the back of her hand, and then her lips, to his forehead, her face turned serious. "Did you take your temp this morning?"
"Yes, dear," he droned sarcastically. "One hundred point seven, thank you very much." He suddenly grinned. "Sounds like a radio station – you're listening to one hundred point seven! Music from the Other Side!"
"You're a regular riot, Bishop," she said, forcing a grin to match his. Or just a little delirious, she thought to herself.
"Say, have you eaten yet? I think there are a couple of pancakes left. I'm really sorry we didn't wait for you, but you weren't supposed to come for another half hour, and I was going to eat my arm otherwise," Peter said sheepishly.
"That's okay," she assured him. "I had a roll and coffee before I came over. But thank you." She looked at Walter. "So, do you want to just hang out here for awhile, or just get going?"
"Might as well get this over with," Peter said as he went to get his coat and Walter's. "Sooner I get shot up with Walter's amazing happy juice, the sooner we get back to whatever passes for normal with us."
"Yes, that's a good idea," Walter said, taking the coat from Peter with a nod. "I'd like to go over some paperwork before my meeting."
"Meeting?" Olivia asked. "You have a meeting after Peter's treatment?"
"No, dear, I'm afraid I'll have to miss administering the dose," Walter said briskly. "Brandon Fayette will handle the treatment."
"Are you kidding me?" Olivia said, her voice rising. "You're going to a meeting instead of being with Peter? Walter, what the hell?"
"'Livia, it's okay," Peter interjected, his eyes pleading with her over Walter's head. "The board just won't take no for an answer. You know how it is."
Olivia glared at him. "No, I don't, but fine. Come on, let's go," she finished brusquely.
They piled into the car, Walter in the back seat and Peter in his usual spot in the front passenger seat. Mere minutes into the trip, Walter was already asleep, snoring softly. "I swear, he's like a baby," she said aloud. "A couple of minutes into a trip, and he's out like a light."
"Mm-hmm," came the barely audible reply. She glanced over at Peter at the first stop light, and saw him resting his head against the cool glass of the window, his eyes pinched closed. She was pretty sure he was shivering.
Olivia turned the heat up in the car, and reached over to touch Peter's forehead again. "Peter," she said softly.
"Hmmm… yeah?" he said groggily, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, did I nod off? I'm getting as bad as Walter."
"That's okay, you have an excuse. I think your fever's up," she said worriedly.
"Yeah, kinda feels like it. Walter told me I probably shouldn't take any analgesics after 11 last night." Peter scrubbed a hand over his face. "Come on, talk to me. I hate falling asleep in the car." He looked back at Walter, blissfully asleep. Lowering his voice slightly, he said, "Okay, full disclosure."
"What?" Olivia asked in disbelief. "You actually want to play that now?"
"Sure, why not? You start." Peter straightened up in his seat, determined not to look sick.
She glanced at him sideways – he was serious. "Okay. Full disclosure," she said as she made a left turn. "How are you really feeling?"
Peter's brow furrowed. "Me and my big mouth," he groused, earning a smile from Olivia.
"You know, you look about ten years old right now," she laughed. "Come on, answer the question. Full disclosure."
Sighing, he resigned himself to telling the truth. "I feel like shit. And cranky. And… " He turned his gaze away from Olivia to the window. "And, a little nervous, I guess."
Olivia took one hand from the wheel and briefly caressed Peter's hair. "Yeah, I kinda figured as much. We're going to get through this together, all right?"
Peter nodded. "Okay. My turn."
"Uh-oh," Olivia chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. "Go ahead, shoot."
"You didn't really want to be with me last night, did you?"
Olivia sighed, pulled over at the curb, and turned off the engine. Turning in her seat to face Peter, she said, "What made you ask that?"
"I don't know, I just got a feeling you needed some space to wrap your head around this before it got started," he shrugged.
Olivia lowered her head, and Peter was surprised to see she was laughing. "And to think I ever doubted how well you knew me," she said, raising her gaze back to Peter's.
"I've noticed how you've looked at me lately," Peter said simply. "I'm glimmering, aren't I?"
Olivia nodded as Peter took her hand in his. "I'm sorry. About last night."
Peter shook his head. "It's okay. I wasn't exactly sparkling company anyway. I ate some dinner, and was dead asleep on the couch by 9. Walter had to wake me up to tell me to go to bed," he laughed.
"Huh? What?" Walter awoke suddenly in the back seat. "Are we – "
"No, Walter, we're not there yet," Peter replied. "Just stopped for a minute, is all."
"Are you all right?" Walter asked, worry furrowing his brow to match Peter's.
"Yeah, we're fine," Peter answered, smiling knowingly at Olivia. "Right?"
"Right," Olivia smiled back. "Let's get you better, Bishop," she finished as she pulled back onto the road.
