The moment of your greatest joy sustains:
not axe nor hammer,
tumor, tremor,
can take it away, and it remains.
It remains.

And it pains me to say, I was wrong.
Love is not a symptom of time.
Time is just a symptom of love.


September, now "Donald", woke up to a soft pile of something landing on his chest.

"Here you are! New clothes!" Walter exclaimed. "I figured you needed something other to wear than that suit… Don't worry, I assure you they'll fit! I took your measurements while you slept."

A look of pure excitement crossed Donald's face as he sat up and examined the clothing. "Thank you, Walter. I really appreciate this. I feel that I may owe you."

Walter felt relieved by Donald's reaction. He was used to others meeting his unsolicited gestures of kindness with bewilderment or exasperation, particularly Astrid and Peter. "You owe me nothing! You're helping me save the world. You could ask me for just about anything, and I would think nothing of it." Walter leaned down and patted Donald's shoulder. "Also, I got you these." He reached into his pocket and presented a pair of sunglasses. "I figured your eyes may still be sensitive."

Donald nodded with a slight laugh. "Thank you. They were even when I had my device. Sensitive, that is. It's just worse now. I'm feeling much better today, though, in general."

Walter smiled, noting the small change in his friend's speech. Contractions – something Observers rarely used. The cadence of his speech had become slightly more fluid, as well. "Good. That's good to hear."

Donald went on. "I was always a bit of an anomaly. My differences were subtle enough to pass under their radar. While my senses were dulled much like those of the others, it was never quite to the same extent. It was easy enough for me to hide. Had that not been the case, well, I would most likely not be here right now. The boy, however…" He sighed. "He was a different story."

"Do tell me," said Walter.

"He has a capacity for emotion far beyond that of…Observers and humans alike, while retaining the potential for super-human calculation that Observers have. This was unacceptable. He never had a cortical implant installed and he was to be destroyed. Killed. We come from a time when any emotion will be viewed as a hindrance," Donald explained. "My guess is that the pattern behind his atypical nature started with my heightened capacity for perception… again, still quite low, but somewhat above average by their standards. He is well above average. By all standards."

Walter nodded along as Donald spoke of his son. Ideas flitted through his brain, but all he could think to say was "Does he have a name?"

"…No. The others called him Anomaly XB-6783746."

"How unfortunate," Walter said, looking down.

"Walter. I feel well enough to retrieve him. I know where he is, I remember. Please," Donald said. "We will need to hide him again elsewhere at a later time, but I…" The corner of his lip skewed. "I need to see him now. When I hid him, I was in a rush. I was not thinking of his comfort, only his survival."

Walter arched an eyebrow. "Where is it that you hid him, exactly?"

"The basement of an old warehouse in this area." He drew in a sharp breath. "I realize this may not have been … healthy for him. I feel strange. As if I am expecting a punishment."

Walter placed a firm hand on Donald's shoulder. "You were desperate, Sep- ah, … Donald. What you are feeling is guilt, but you don't need to. You had his best interests in mind. Considering these circumstances, however, we must get to him quickly. You are correct in your suspicion that a warehouse basement is not a healthy environment, especially for a child."

Donald's face tensed up visibly.

"Don't worry, Donald. If anything happens to be wrong with the boy, I can help him, just as I'm helping you."

Warmth coursed through Donald's body and his arms felt as though they were charged with electricity. He compulsively wrapped them around Walter. "Thank you," he whispered as he released him. "Shall we go?"

"Yes. You lead the way," Walter whispered, surprised by the contact.

Donald nodded and wrote down the address of the building. Walter arranged for a taxi to take them there.

When they arrived, they saw a pair of construction workers leaving the building. They paid no mind to them and continued towards the door.

"Hey! You two! You can't go in there, that building's condemned," one of them called out. "We just cleared it out for demolition. You go in there, you'll be dead."

Donald went pale and froze in his tracks. "There's something in there I need to see," he told the construction worker.

"What did I just tell you, cue-ball? Do your urban exploration or whatever they call it someplace else, this place is done for."

The other worker's eyes went wide and he tilted his head. His co-worker turned towards him. "Hey, what's the matter with you?"

He stood in place with his brows furrowed and his mouth hanging open. "There's somethin' wrong. Something's wrong. I feel like I've forgotten something. I've gotta go back in."

"Oh, come on! We checked this building over-"

The other worker ran past his partner and back inside the building. Donald sprinted in after him. Walter remained outside the building, having drifted off into thought during the interactions of the other three men.

"Aren't you gonna go in after him?!" The construction worker asked Walter.

"…Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing. About your co-worker," Walter deadpanned. The construction worker squeezed his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Inside the building, the other construction worker stomped on the floor. Donald stood in the doorway, watching him.

"I know where the soft spot is," Donald said.

The worker turned towards him and arched an eyebrow. "Do you, now? You got something to do with this? What have you done to this place? What's happening to me?"

"Just trust me," he said as he walked to the corner of the room. "Right here." He slammed his heel against the floor harder than he intended to, and fell through. He landed on the concrete with a strained growl.

The construction worker rushed to look down into the hole. "You all right down there? Just wait, I'll get someone to pull you out."

Donald did not reply. He winced in pain and tried to pull himself up. His consciousness threatened to slip away from him – he still was not accustomed to the pain of injury. As he struggled to rise to his feet, a child, naked and completely hairless, clutched his hand. Donald made eye contact and recognized him immediately. "You're safe," he breathed through clenched teeth. The child knelt next to him, and he felt his pain subside a bit.

Minutes later, the construction team returned to pull Donald and the boy from the basement. The construction worker who felt compelled to run into the building supported Donald until they found a place for him and his child to sit down. Walter followed them in silence and removed his coat to drape over the child's naked form.

"Listen, buddy, I don't know what just happened, but… You gonna be okay?" The construction worker asked.

Donald looked up. "Yes, I believe so."

"So, who's the kid? He looks an awful lot like you. Y'know, I saw a documentary about a family who had some kind of genetic condition. Alo-somethin' or other. You two kinda remind me of 'em," he said. "'Cept you've got a bit of fuzz on you."

Donald shrugged. "It is of no importance to you. Please, return to your life and forget this ever happened," he said with a meek smile.

"Well, that's a bit of a tall order considering this is some pretty weird shit, but I'll try. You take care of yourself, okay?"

Donald nodded. "And yourself as well."

The workers walked off, chattering under their breath to one another.

Walter turned to Donald. "Are you all right?"

"I am having a difficult time moving my left shoulder without pain, and it is painful to walk as well," Donald replied. "I will be fine. I am more concerned about him," he said, tilting his head towards his son who simply stared at the two of them.

Walter nodded. "Right. Let's get the two of you to the lab."

When they arrived at the lab, Walter set Donald's shoulder back into place and gave him an injection of morphine. He then began examining the boy. The child remained silent the entire time, but he looked nervous. His eyes were fixed on his father, who drifted in and out of sleep, only coming into a semblance of wakefulness to scratch a persistent itch on his cheeks. "He'll be just fine," Walter reassured the child. "Your father is very strong. He has been through things I cannot even imagine within this past week, things he is still healing from, and yet he insisted on going out to retrieve you today. He loves you," he said. The boy smiled, appearing to understand completely.

Walter discovered the child was healthy aside from some slight malnutrition and intolerance to the oxygen-rich environment he was pulled into. He remedied these issues by feeding him a small meal and hooking him up to a portable tank of air more suited to his needs. He would gradually introduce him to more oxygen over time. As soon as he set the air tank up, he heard a knock at the door. "I will be right back. Just rest," he said.

He stepped outside to greet the person at the door. He saw a tall, olive-skinned woman who had long, brown hair with a stripe of green in it. Her eyes darted about and her hands were stuffed inside her pockets. "Yo, you work here?" She asked Walter.

"This is my lab," he replied. "Who might you be?"

"Doesn't matter," she said, then shook her head. "Ya happen to see a weird, sickly lookin' guy come in here about a week ago? With literally no hair whatsoever? I dropped him off near this building, he told me he was tryin' to get in here. He was real nervous, I think he was off his hinges. I'm really regrettin' it, I shoulda just taken him to the damn hospital… He was all beat up," she rambled. She looked down at her feet, which she bounced and swayed on as she spoke.

Walter looked her over with confusion and then realized she was referring to Donald. "Oh! No, no, he's fine. He's staying with me. He's a friend of mine, he's going through some difficult times."

"All right. That's good, I guess. I'm Amelia Leitao," she said, extending her hand.

He took her hand. "And I'm Dr. Walter Bishop."

"Oh, holy shit! The Dr. Bishop. The Dr. Bishop who worked with William Bell. Wait 'til I tell my li'l sister Miranda I met you, she's all about unusual activity in science-land. Big conspiracy theorist. You two were all she talked about for like, a year. Anyway, glad to hear the guy's okay. It was weighin' pretty bad on my conscience there. Keepin' me up at night."

"Well, you've nothing to worry about, Ms. Leighton," Walter replied, patting her on the arm. "Thank you for bringing him here. It really was the safest place for him." When he fully processed everything she said, he frowned involuntarily at the mention of William Bell.

"I see. You're welcome. And, it's Leitao," she corrected. "What do I care, though? It's a dumb name. Means 'baby pig.' Get it as wrong as you want."

"Interesting. My friend is here now, would you like to come in and see him? We could have some snacks together," he suggested. "I am sure he would be grateful for a visit."

Amelia smirked and shook her head. "No thanks, man. I've gotta run, I was just makin' sure I didn't screw up by bringin' him here. Peace!" With that, she strode off with her hands buried in her pockets as deep as they would go.

Walter re-entered the lab to find the boy petting Gene, the cow. He laughed. "She's quite friendly, isn't she?"

The boy turned to him and smiled.

Donald eased out of his morphine-induced stupor and sat up. "Hmm… Walter. Is he all right?"

Walter blinked, somewhat surprised to hear Donald's voice. It took him a few moments to realize he was referring to his son. "Oh! Yes, he is fine. Much like yourself, he will need some time to adjust to a new environment, but no irreparable damage appears to be done. He does not speak, however – did he never learn?"

Donald's cheeks lifted slightly. "He has never spoken. He has not aged since I hid him. I do not believe this indicates anything wrong, necessarily – he may have a different way of communicating that we will need to learn. I have always imagined there was so much information coursing through his mind at all times that coherent speech would be impossible for him, so he remained silent and continues to."

Walter nodded. "Yes, that would make sense…"

"Walter. I feel somehow …very uncomfortable on this examination table. It isn't the table's texture – that, I am used to, but my body feels tense and my pulse feels uncomfortably fast as long as I am on it," Donald said.

"I suspect that is due to what you have endured in the Observers' laboratory. That's trauma. We can return to my apartment if you like," Walter replied.

"Where will he sleep? There are only two bedrooms."

Walter tapped his chin. "Well… I could sleep on the couch, he could use the room where you have been staying, and you could use mine."

Donald shook his head. "I will take the couch."

"You need space," Walter protested.

"I will be fine."

When they returned to the apartment, the boy went to sleep instantly. Donald sat with him for a while, feeling relief as he looked him over, but also guilt. "I am so sorry," he whispered.

"Donald!" Walter called out. "Come have some dinner."

Donald shuffled out into the hallway, leaning against the wall to avoid putting too much pressure on his sprained leg. "Isn't it a bit late?"

"Nonsense. It's been a very long day, particularly for you, my friend. You need to replenish yourself."

"Fine," Donald said. He did feel hungry. He sat down at the table and Walter set a plate of baked salmon with vegetables in front of him. "…I don't believe I have eaten anything like this before. This is some sort of fish, correct?" The scent of salmon was very distinct, even in comparison to all the new smells he was growing used to.

"That you are! Try it. It has quite a bit of vitamin E – good for healing."

Donald took a forkful of the fish and cautiously put it in his mouth. It tasted oily, but not unpleasant. He enjoyed it. "It figures I should have trusted your judgment," he said, looking up at Walter, who smirked in return. When he finished, he leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes.

"You must be tired," Walter said. "I doubt even that morphine nap you took in the lab was sufficient rest to recharge from such an eventful day."

Donald nodded. "Could you help me to the couch?"

"I am not having you sleep there, Donald, I will not allow it. It's too narrow – you could fall. Again! You don't need to fall a second time."

"But I have inconvenienced-"

"You most certainly have not. Come," Walter urged.

"Fine."

Walter wrapped his arm around Donald's waist and led him into his bedroom. He eased his friend onto the bed. Donald draped the covers over his body and closed his eyes. Moments later, he felt a weight on the bed, and he opened his eyes to see Walter. He felt confused, though not uneasy.

"I thought beds were for use by one person at a time," Donald said.

"That all depends on the size of the bed. This one has enough space to accommodate two individuals. As long as you're not uncomfortable with it, that is."

"I'm not. Not with you, that is…" Donald re-positioned himself to minimize his pain. Walter heard him whimper under his breath as he did this.

"More painkillers?" Walter asked.

"No. They made me feel strange."

"Ah, well. Probably a good thing – they're not something you want to take for long periods of time," Walter explained.

"I see."

As soon as Donald found his optimal position, his breathing slowed. Walter smiled at him, seized by a sense of kinship with the other man. They had both gone to great lengths to save their children – measures it was unlikely anyone else in the world, even the most devoted of ordinary parents, could say they had taken. He placed a hand on Donald's back and stroked up and down until he was certain his friend was fully asleep.

(A/N: The lyrics I have been tacking on to the beginning of chapters are all from Joanna Newsom's "Divers" concept album, which I would recommend to any fan of Fringe even if her voice takes some getting used to.)