After writing 'Sweet Walter' I realized that there's endless crazy Walter Bishop stories out there. So consider this new offering the second in a series I'm calling 'Walter, Walter, Walter.' If you have any subject matter you'd like Walter to get crazy with send me a note.
As far as a timeline, this fic takes place about 3 weeks after 'Sweet Walter.'
Remember I own nothing to do with Fringe. Mistakes are mine. Established P/O here.
Please review if you like it. It makes me smile.
Walter Bishop has a goal, but it's not an easy one to reach.
Error
After the upstairs toilet flushed for the fourth time in twenty minutes, Walter Bishop thought he'd better see what was going on. It had been awhile since Peter's last episode of being badly hungover.
Quite awhile, Walter realized. In fact, since Agent Dunham had started spending more nights with Peter, his son seemed to be in very good health-mentally and physically. Walter smiled at that. Ah, the many benefits of sexual intercourse, he thought fondly to himself.
Walter's smile fell when he remembered the beginning of his current thought. The toilet flushing too much this particular morning. Had Peter's run of good health come to an end? On that somber note Walter padded into the entry way and up the staircase. At the top he could see a flash of blonde hair, his son closely behind heading into Peter's bedroom.
Hastening his last few steps Walter felt a sense of dread spreading through his entrails. Something was wrong. Not cataclismically, but wrong none the less.
As Walter approached the door to Peter's bedroom Peter stuck his head out almost clocking Walter on his. Peter was so intensely distracted he didn't even comment on it.
"Walter. Good, you're up. Could you check out Olivia? She was fine and then she started having diarrhea and vomiting about an hour and a half ago. I'm thinking it's viral but she seems so washed out. I've been trying to force her to drink little sips of water so she doesn't get dehydrated."
Walter could hear the concern in his son's voice and it touched his heart. He absolutely loved that Peter had grown closer to the fragile and yet strong woman he had known for so many decades as his 'Olive.'
"Sure Peter." Walter walked to stand next to the bed. His first thought was that she looked paler than usual. "Hello, Olivia. Peter tells me you're losing everything."
Olivia Dunham opened her eyes and looked up at Walter Bishop. She gave him a tiny, weak smile.
"Hey Walter," she replied in a weak voice. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"Not at all, dear," Walter said smiling and slipping into his clinician mode. He grabbed one of her wrists and checked her pulse counting the beats, as he watched Peter's bedside clock's second hand.
"One hundred ten. Not too bad."
He put a hand on her forehead. Olivia did not appear to have a fever. Then Walter grabbed one of her hands and pinched a fingernail. It reflexively blanched. As he let go it returned to its pink color quickly. "Stick out your tongue, Olivia."
She did as she was told. Walter noted she looked adequately hydrated. Without a word Walter pulled her cover down and pulled up her shirt to expose her abdomen. "Let me know if it hurts anywhere."
Peter watched intently as his father examined Olivia, his arms crossed over his chest. Walter palpated all four quadrants of her abdomen. Olivia did not make a sound. Then Walter replaced her shirt, pulled the cover back up, and turned toward his son.
"I posit that you are correct, Son, and it's just a gastrointestinal viurs. Make sure you wash your hands so we don't all get it. Oh and I'd alternate Gatorade with the water, Peter."
Peter shook his head in understanding. "Thanks, Walter. Astrid will be picking you up to take you to the lab in an hour. I already called Broyles. I'm going to stay here and look after 'Livia."
Walter shook his head expecting as much. He turned towards Olivia and smiled at her.
"I think you'll be alright by tommorow. If Peter thinks you're getting dehydrated I'm sure he'll bring you to the lab and we can give you a liter of normal salind solution. You rest now, my dear."
"Thank you, Walter," Olivia answered mechanically, her eyes already closing again.
Walter started out the door observing his son leaning over and telling her he'd be right back with some Gatorade from the fridge. Peter kissed Olivia's forehead gently and Walter smiled again. You will make such a good father someday, my son, Walter thought to himself as he entered the hall. Then Walter stopped, the proverbial lightbulb snapping on. Oh dear! he thought to himself.
Quickly Walter ran to his proper bedroom on the second floor, scooted in and closed the door. He waited until he could hear Peter's footfalls meaning he was heading for the kitchen. Walter retrieved the old Ring Dings box from the bottom corner of his closet. He pulled out the pen and the notebook and opened it, quickly reviewing his notes.
Olive appears to be taking an oral contraceptive called Ortho TriCyclen, a triphasic.
While replacing them with placebo would work well enough, I don't have any connections with the good people at that pharmaceutical company so I'll need option 2.
Lacing her food during week 1 of the triphasic with PenicillinG or VK in a dose to accomodate her current weight of approximately 220 pounds for approximately 5-7 days should lessen the contraceptive's effectiveness and get us to the goal.
Walter stopped reading and went back to the section regarding her weight. "Oh dear," he said softly. He crossed out the 220 and changed it to 120. That explains that, he said to himself sadly.
Walter Bishop closed the notebook quickly and shoved it and the pen back in the Ring Dings box and replaced it in the closet. He closed the closet door and walked quickly to the bedroom door, opening it slowly. The coast was clear. Walter hurried into the bathroom to get ready for another day at the lab working for the DHS. How could you be off on your dosage by one hundred pounds? Unacceptable! he told himself.
As he turned the faucet for his shower, Walter wondered if dosing down on one of his antipsychotics would prevent any future mistakes.