The Bishop's Apartment - 2010
Astrid's P.O.V.
Astrid wiped the sweat from Walter's brow and whispered quiet reassurances as he tossed in his bed. The fever raged on, and Astrid considered whether it was time to call the ambulance. Walter would hate waking up in a hospital, having spent an inordinate amount of time in a mental facility. She would avoid it as long as she could.
If only Peter was here.
"Any change?" Olivia's voice interrupted Astrid's contemplation. Up until last night, they had taken turns staying over at the Bishop's house through Peter's disappearance. Even though Walter had made significant progress in the past several months, leaving him alone was not an option. However, they had both stayed overnight, after Walter had passed out in the lab and needed to be brought home. They had barely got him home, undressed, and into bed, before his condition sharply declined.
"He's worse, Olivia. His fever is 104, " Astrid replied, running the cool cloth across Walter's shoulders and around his neck. "That must be some bug going around Ella's school. It's hit him pretty hard."
Olivia sat on the edge of the bed, taking Walter's hand in hers. " Well, he's been through a lot lately. We know he hasn't been eating. He can't sleep. He misses Peter…"
"He's been self-medicating…" Astrid added with a chuckle, pushing Walter's wet curls away from his eyes. Only a few days ago, Walter had been high on a particularly potent blend of marijuana, when called into service to help babysit Olivia's niece. He ended up regaling the girl with a drug-induced fairy tale, one that was initially intended to entertain, but down deep, told of his self-recrimination. Peter had left in a fit of anger against Walter, and the older man feared that his beloved son would never return.
Astrid felt Olivia's gaze as she wiped down Walter's shoulders. His breathing was labored, and the antibiotics he'd told them to take from the lab had not kicked in as yet. Astrid absently wondered how often Walter had been sick at St Claire's? Who had really taken care of him then, or was he just left to shiver it out alone in his room?
As she finished bathing his brow with a cool cloth, Astrid felt his hand softly take her wrist.
"Liz?" He mumbled.
"No, Walter, it's Astrid," she replied. "You're very sick. Olivia and I are both here with you."
"Liz, It's okay…" Walter breathed.
"Walter is delirious, " Olivia said calmly, almost to herself,
Astrid proceeded to wipe his forehead again.
"Who is Liz?" She asked, not expecting Olivia to answer.
Her companion sucked in a breath.
"I think he's referring to his wife. Her name was Elizabeth," Olivia said quietly.
Astrid only nodded her reply.
Walter had always referred to his late wife as "Mrs. Bishop" or "Peter's mother." Of course, Astrid mused, the woman would have to have a first name. She was unsettled that this fact took her by surprise, almost as though she had come across a secret, something that wasn't hers to know.
After all, Walter Bishop's mind could be in a thousand places at once, nine hundred ninety nine of which could be inordinately random. However, Astrid sensed that in his fevered state, he was remembering something, a memory, which might have remained locked in the recesses of his brain for many years. His memories were usually spurred by food or music. Now, meeting Olivia's eyes, Astrid now knew pain could be a cue as well, potentially making Walter much more vulnerable to those who might forcibly attempt gain access to his knowledge. As fleeting as Walter's recall could be under stress, the chances of the correct memory being accessed would be slim.
"We'll protect him, Astrid," Olivia assured.
Walter's hand weakly tightened around her wrist, as Astrid heard him mumble his late wife's name once more. They just had to get him through tonight, she told herself. She would worry about tomorrow later.
"It's okay, Walter. You'll be okay," Astrid murmured as she pushed his curls back from his forehead.
Harvard University - 1977
Walter's POV
"Walter, honestly, you've been burning the candles at both ends," Elizabeth noted, pressing her other palm to his forehead. "No wonder you've taken sick."
He glanced up at his lovely wife, his bride of only two years, and tried to smile reassurance. "It's okay, Liz. Belly and I… we're almost finished, and I promise to come home." With that, Walter's knees buckled and he caught himself on the edge of the lab table.
Her reaction may have translated as an exasperated sigh, if Walter was able to pay attention. However, he did feel Elizabeth take his elbow, "You're finished now, love."
Out of the corner of his eye, Walter caught his lab partner swooping down upon them. "Walter, I told you that you needed to go home," Belly said quietly. "Now, your wife is going to be upset with me."
In reality, Belly had said nothing of the kind, but Elizabeth's presence could often speak volumes. It may have been why she had taken to showing up at the lab, rather than calling on the phone. Elizabeth seemed to well understand the rather unique dynamic that played between William Bell and himself. And, more importantly, how caught up Walter could be in his research.
As he straightened up, with Elizabeth's and Belly's assistance, Walter knew that the battle was lost, and allowed them to slip off his lab coat and help him into his well-worn denim jacket.
"Sorry," he shrugged at her, looking down at his sleeve. While Walter was still a graduate student, Liz had sewed patches over the worst of the holes in the old jacket. With twenty odd colorful patches, the jacket fit right in with what everyone was wearing then. It didn't matter that Walter couldn't afford to buy new clothes. The rattier the jacket looked, the cooler it was. Still, as he shrugged it on, Walter remembered he had finally given in, and made a promise to Elizabeth to finally throw it out and wear something more respectable. However, Elizabeth took his hand.
"Do you think I should take him over to the Brigham, William?" Walter heard Elizabeth inquire of his partner.
Walter knew Belly would encourage Liz to take him home, not to the hospital. William was counting on him to keep the peace at home and do what he was told today, so he could get back to the lab by tomorrow morning first thing. They were close to a breakthrough.
"Oh, your old man here has been through a lot worse, Liz." William reassured, gently propelling both of them toward the exit. "Remember the time we accidently exposed you to a variant of the Spanish Influenza, Walter? Now, that was some bug. We had to call in the CDC. If you hadn't been so out of it, you would have had a blast." Belly chuckled.
Walter didn't have the strength to answer him, even if the door to the lab hadn't closed behind them, before waiting for a reply. He shook his head. Belly knew when to retreat and live to fight another day.
"C'mon Doc," his wife urged, as the sidewalk seemed to move of its own volition. "Let's get you home."
The Bishop's Apartment - Cambridge, MA. - 1977
Walter's POV
She had been pressing him for some time now about children, Walter thought, watching her from their bed wearily, as she closed the blinds.
Random thoughts popped into his mind, as the fever raged. She wanted him to rest, although he wasn't sure he could. There was so much to do. Did he shut the Bunsen burner off before he left the lab? What about the samples in the centrifuge, would Carla know to remove them? How long would it take for Elizabeth to become pregnant anyway? The average number of months had grown since the advent of birth control. He would need to look at the latest round of research.
Truth be told, Walter would never deny Elizabeth the family she wanted, but he was scared to death. She was such a sensitive person. After years of sleeping around and taking measures not to have kids, some of their friends were now married and having a hard time starting families. That was not surprising, a woman's fertility was not a switch that could be toggled on and off. Belly and Caroline were separated, their marriage crumbling under the strain, and disapproval from her side of the family. Could he and Liz survive a bout of infertility?
Before Elizabeth, Walter had his share of casual partners, many of whom were enamored by he and Belly, sensing that they were up and coming researchers, "ones-to-watch". Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, it was all happening in their basement lab. Both he and Belly had been carefree, caught up in the times, taking advantage of the opportunities which presented themselves at the lab, conferences, faculty parties, and elsewhere. Belly had well known dalliances with visiting faculty and some married professors, those were always safe as far was he was concerned. Walter preferred the lab assistants, or "lab groupies". He never had much time to look further than his microscope and when he did, it was nice to have an attractive and willing sexual partner close at hand, who would move on to post-doctorate work when she realized that a formal relationship with Walter Bishop just was not going to happen. They were smart, Walter had reasoned. That's why they worked in the lab.
How Walter had managed to meet his wife, have the good sense to pursue her, and later to convince her to marry him was sometimes a mystery to him, although, Belly had taken some initiative in that matter. His colleague maintained it was only for self-preservation, high time to stop the revolving door amongst the lab assistants. He had introduced Walter and Elizabeth after a conference and always took time to redirect him, when Walter was about to mess it up. Those were better days for Belly, Walter remembered.
With Elizabeth's Irish Catholic upbringing, she had been much more conservative than the lab groupies. Still, she'd been on the pill since they had become serious, about three years ago. It might take awhile for her to conceive. And, up until meeting Liz, he had been commitment-phobic, preferring the cells co-mingling in a petri-dish to the co-mingling of his life with someone else's. Wasn't having a child together the ultimate commitment? Would he even make a good Dad?
As she pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, to help with his shivering, Walter knew without question, Liz would be a good mother. She had the patience to put up with him. And, the one thing he knew above all else, casting quantum theory, genetic sequencing, and Fourier Methods aside, Walter loved Elizabeth Bishop beyond words.
He could perhaps see himself singing a youngster to sleep, and he knew how to make pancakes. A little Bishop could tag along to the lab and meet Gerry, the cow. If their offspring was a boy, maybe someday, they would toss a Frisbee on Harvard Yard. If the baby was a girl, he would counsel her not to take any internships in any of the Harvard labs.
Maybe he might have something to offer…
The room was still, while he drifted in and out.
"You're going to have to rest and stop working so much," his wife murmured as she stroked his hair. "We're going to have a little one to take care of in about seven months. He's going to need you."
If he hadn't been so weary, Liz's comment and the irony behind its timing would have catapulted him from the bed and into her arms.
Instead, he passed out.
Bishop's Apartment - 2010
Astrid's P.O.V.
"Peter?" Walter bolted awake, lifting up on his elbows and surprising Astrid Farnsworth out of a light doze. Olivia Dunham had a meeting with Broyles first thing in the morning, and had left a few hours before.
"Oh, thank God," she said with relief, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. Pushing gently on Walter's shoulders, Astrid continued, "You've been sick, Walter. You need to lay back."
"But, where's Peter, Astrid?" he asked. "I'm worried about him."
"He just needs time, Walter." Astrid said quietly.
The older man allowed himself to settle back against the pillows. Astrid could not tell if he was reassured, or if his strength had given out. Given Walter's pallor, she doubted that her words had much effect.
She didn't know how many times she had repeated herself over the last several days, but she would keep on doing so. Peter Bishop would not leave his father like this. Despite how he might feel about his origins, the young man knew what it would do to Walter.
It would kill him.
Yes, Peter Bishop will come home, Astrid told herself.
He would not break his true father's heart.