Olivia folded her right leg over her left knee and clasped her hands together, staring straight ahead. She was the picture of professionalism as she sat in Dr Sumner's office for the umpteenth time. She had actually been lucky to score this meeting in the first place because she wasn't due to see him until a further three weeks but persistence and two cancellations in his schedule allowed her such a slot.
"So... Agent Dunham," he glanced down at his diary as if he needed his memory jogged. "What can I do for you this time?"
"I'm here regarding Peter Bishop," she announced flatly. "It was actually my assistant you were talking with last time, I was otherwise engaged."
"Bishop, Bishop..." he rattled off. "Ah! Yes, sorry, excuse me. So many patients, so many names. But I do remember Peter. It's... hard not to remember Peter."
She suspended her disbelief as he made a show of rooting about his desk before coming across a large black file underneath a few stray papers. Licking a thumb, he began flicking through the catalogue of inpatients, "Here we are. Bishop, Peter." He skimmed over the profile before meeting her knowing silence with a tight grin. "Your friend Peter is what we like to think of as... well, one of our little success stories."
"You'll have to pardon me Dr Sumner but I don't see anything remotely successful about him."
"When Peter first came to us he was easily one of the more difficult ones."
"To be fair to him, he wasn't so much as referred to a doctor. The way in which my office passed him over to your care facility was... sudden. He felt threatened."
"He was a little hot-headed, you mean? You know, he's punched out four nursing staff since he's been here and accosted several others."
"Peter you can't just – you can't do things like this, do you understand? Are you even listening to me?" Olivia demanded, grabbing onto his arm and peering deep into his eyes. "You can't go around abusing the staff or – or they'll put you in solitary confinement and we mightn't even get to visit you anymore. Would you like that? Would you like us to stop coming?"
He said nothing. He just sat there. Breathing. Blinking. Not much else.
"Then you really would be like Walter, wouldn't you?" she added spitefully before she could stop herself. A hand flew to her mouth immediately and she fell down onto her knees in front of him, pulling at both of his hands. "I didn't mean that. Look at me. Peter? I honestly didn't mean that the way it sounded."
He opened his mouth in retaliation or perhaps defence but then clammed up before thoughts could materialise into words at the feel of a trail of spit dripping from his bottom lip. She dried him with her sleeve, no longer repulsed by the idea, and tilted her head at him.
"Peter, why did you hit that man? He was only trying to bathe you. I know it must be humiliating but it's his job. You have to let him get on with it."
He sighed, trying to look anywhere but right at her.
"I'll tell you what. If we don't get this cleared up right now – because we do have to write up internal reviews on you separate from St. Claire's – it'll be Broyles you'll have to answer to. Now who would you prefer to deal with?"
"He pulled my... pants down."
"He was giving you a sponge bath, Peter!"
"He was laughing at me," he disagreed. "They do that... sometimes. Sometimes if they're... feeding you," he said, hesitating to clear his mouth. "Soup especially, they'll... purposely miss your mouth and spill it. I'm not a baby, 'Livia. Why don't you go... stick that in your stupid review?"
"I'll make an official complaint," she apologised half-heartedly, wiping again at his wet chin. It was hard to be patient with him at the best of times because his speech was very slow, but when he was being difficult, she found it next to impossible not to snap at him."But you have to be on your best behaviour. No one's going to believe your word over his if you attack the guy, Peter."
"Don't."
"Don't?" she sat back on her heels, bringing her hands to her thighs. "If I find out that you're lying to me-"
"I'd rather it go on record that I punched the guy."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Don't be ridiculous? Me? Look at me 'Liv. How can I... how can I punch a guy?"
"Five of those complaints were revoked due to insubstantial evidence. I think at the time the lack of witnesses compromised the claim. Added to the fact that the drugs he was dosed on, it just wasn't believable that he could stand upright without assistance nevermind taking a swing at one of your-"
"That's all well and good, Agent Dunham. But I can't just ignore that the claims of assault from my medical team haven't been isolated one-offs. Disregarding the outcome of them, it still doesn't change the fact that they kept happening. Just the other morning, in fact," Sumner raised his hand, showing her a plaster around his index finger, "I was on the receiving end of one of Peter's little tantrums."
"Oh, I hope you told him off," Olivia replied, perfectly reserved. "I'd hate to think he'd make a habit of biting people."
"Yes, quite," Sumner grew bored of her infinite patience, wondering when the conversation should turn. "Now, I understand you wanted to see me. I'm sorry to have lost you in a digression, but I was just highlighting that in some aspects we do recognise that he's come on leaps and bounds. Ignoring this week's little... fiasco with me."
"You know, I can't see him having the opportunity to bite you at all, Dr Sumner," Olivia couldn't resist. "Were you paying him a personal visit or something?"
"He was on one of my rounds. I like to do routine checks, make sure everything's in order. It can be very distressing around here for the doctors. I think they appreciate my grass roots approach to the running of this hospital. I'm not just some fancy director signing pay checks from the comfort of his own office. I like to familiarise myself with the patients when I can."
"By playing dentist? What were you doing, brushing his teeth?"
Sumner chuckled, pointing at her with his joined hands, "I like you Agent Dunham; and I can tell Peter likes you."
"Yes," she took a breath, sounding sceptical. "Whether he likes me or not really isn't the point of this meeting. I was actually here to discuss maintenance."
"I can assure you-"
"If I may stop you right there, Dr Sumner?" Olivia interrupted. "You're wasting my time as well as your own if you're prepared to sit here for half an hour to an hour discussing how well Peter's being looked after and debriefing me on the follow-up of Agent Farnsworth's meetings with you when we both know that that just... isn't the case."
Sumner looked marginally pissed off, but gestured with a wave of the hand that she may continue.
"Countless weeks in a row now we've visited him and a full dinner tray is sitting next to him, the food cold and untouched. If it weren't for us practically force feeding him, I don't see how he's being tended to. It just doesn't occur to him to pick the fork up himself. It's like it's beyond him or something, as if we're expecting the impossible."
Olivia held the door open for a reluctant Broyles. She was daring enough by this stage in that she knew what to expect, willing to go on in ahead of him and then stand there like she was inviting him in. This would be his first visit and he hoped it would be a less depressing environment. But to his credit, it didn't stop him visiting on his intended monthly basis; sometimes with Charlie and sometimes without. Astrid was called away on a family-related issue but even if one of them couldn't make that week, they arranged that Peter would never be stewing alone.
They found him sitting on his bed with a hand resting on his stomach. A helping of food, as ever, was on a grey plastic tray beside him. Today the selection appeared to be something akin to spaghetti but it could easily be instant noodles with an unhealthy dollop of puréed tomato sauce. His cook had a lot to answer for.
"This doesn't get old," Olivia mumbled to herself but loud enough for Broyles to hear before she knelt down in front of him and took up his fork, twirling it about the congealed pasta. "This looks delicious, Peter. Have you tried it yet?"
His stomach rumbled beneath his hand but he turned away from her when she tried to pry his lips open, "Peter, not in front of..." she whispered, making eyes at Broyles. "Come on now. You wouldn't want to show yourself up, would you? I know for a fact that you're hungry."
"Can he talk?"
Olivia looked at Peter fondly and released a breath, realising that he wasn't going to be talking anytime soon just to prove himself. She set the fork down and rubbed his arm, swivelling round to Broyles while still crouching by the bed, "Eventually. He likes to take his time, don't you Peter? Sometimes it's hard to get you to shut up," she teased. Then she remembered her boss. "He... yes he can talk. But it's not exactly his favourite pastime really."
"Why?" Broyles frowned curiously. "Surely talking is about the least he can do."
"Well," Olivia excused him, trying as well to include him in the conversation and not like a piece of furniture whether he was prepared to contribute or not, "I guess he's just a quiet kind of guy. Aren't you?"
Peter caught Broyles' eye and refused to look away, unflinching. Until his stomach growled again, in which Olivia pulled his attention towards the fork once more.
"Agent Dunham, if you realised how much tax payers money it would cost just to have even one patient being monitored above the quality of care that we here at St. Claire's pride ourselves on then-"
"I'm not taking issue with hospital expenditures and incomes – I understand the importance of cutting costs and budgeting but I don't understand how you can justify that green leather-backed throne you sit on day in, day out when there's a young man left to starve on his own six out of seven days of the week. If even you extended his visiting hours – two days, three days, we'd be here."
"I don't think it's in Peter's best interests if he were introduced to other people besides those that work here too frequently. He could become used to you, grow dependent on the outside. It might depress him."
"He's already used to us," Olivia scowled at the man's dire sense of logic. She nearly suggested that he needed to take up permanent residency in his own padded cell but somehow she couldn't see that one going over so well. "There must be something you're prepared to do? Like, I don't know, scale back his medicine and maybe he'll have a bit more independence. That's very important to him."
"He's on a very steady diet of pills," Sumner wasn't budging. "If I start chopping and changing his prescriptions on a whim before he finishes his course, he'll run the risk of becoming ill and I can't have that on my good conscience."
"So let me get this straight, because I will be requiring written minutes, you can't let him feed himself and you can't make sure there'll be someone there to feed him on the days that we aren't here?"
"Let me assure you, he does eat."
"I'm telling you now that he doesn't. I seen him two days ago, same story."
"Would you be happier if we moved him into the cafeteria with the rest of his inmates during meal times?" Sumner compromised, looking down at Peter's file. "Because it says right here that he refuses to interact with them – he has recreational time just like the others. He's allowed to sit outside, play games and use art materials but he refuses Agent Dunham. He refuses and that's his right. If he wants us to leave him be, it's his call. But he'll spend his time-out in his room. It's not fair to the other patients if my staff are wasting time trying to coerce him out of his shell. Unless the government's willing to donate a considerable amount of money on his behalf, I just don't have the resources for the one-on-one you're asking here."
Olivia set her jaw, finding his whole presence patronising and fulsome, "Even if we're talking about the clichéd kicking and screaming, yes, it would be much appreciated if you could make sure that he eats in the cafeteria under staff supervision from now on."
Sumner cleared his throat, picking up a pen and scribbling quickly on the bottom of Peter's patient profile page, "Duly noted."
