Despite the help of multiple flying pigeon 'parachutes' slowing Walter's descent as he fell from the sky, the internal bleeding sustained during his tumble to the ground had required hospitalization.
He'd never felt like this before. Weak, yet alert from the shooting pains pecking his insides. A saline solution dripping from an IV chilling his arm, under the warmth of hospital blankets,
It would have been disheartening, laying there in a hospital bed, waiting for his body to recuperate, while he could barely keep his eyes open. But having Lance lying on a cot, by the side of his bed, made the experience a bit less lonesome.
Lance Sterling didn't know which doctor had decided that IVs would be inserted into the necks of birds needing fluid replenishment, but he was going to have some words with that fool.
Lounging on hospital bedding while his guts healed was no picnic, but having a needle secured by gauze, bandages and medical tape was proving to be a literal pain in the neck.
At least he had a tiny pillow to rest his head on, and a TV was playing in the background, but if he wanted the channel to be changed, then he was out of luck.
Not that he'd want the channel to be changed. Watching steamy, gooey cheese from a pizza commercial was just fine.
"Man, what I wouldn't give for a pizza, right about now." Lance said wishfully, hoping that Walter would drool over a hypothetical pizza with him.
"Yeah..." Walter gave Lance, a feeble acknowledgement, to Lance's dismay. It wasn't like his boy to be listless. Even if he was recovering in a hospital bed. It had been a while since injuries on the job had taken him off the field. But he wasn't going to let a boring R & R slide. For both their sakes.
"Hey Walter, what's your favourite pizza topping? Mine's beef, 'cause my guns need reloading, you know." Lance alluded to his biceps, with the hopes that his self-centered joke would stir Walter out of the fatigue induced fog smothering his mind.
"Pickles."
"Pickles? That don't count, it's a burger topping." Lance said, taking issue with what qualified as a pizza topping. Leave it to Walter to have a favourite topping as unconventional as himself.
"It's tangy and crunchy and gives it a unique taste." Walter defended the cloyingly sweet add-on. With so many common pizza extras, why wouldn't you try something a little different?
"Maybe, but it's no chili pepper."
As if injected with a shot of adrenaline, Walter's face lit up at the chance to spout some avian trivia.
"Fun Fact: Birds are insensitive to capsaicin. The compound that makes chili peppers spicy. Peppers are irritating to mammals, but birds can eat them without feeling the burn!"
"So if I ate a ghost pepper while I was a bird, I'd be good?" Lance asked, for the sole purpose of knowing if he could get bragging rights. Being a bird had its downsides, like difficulty seeing glass and having such a clear view of his ass. But this? It had a cool factor and Lance was curious to know more.
"You would be, but your guts might not agree with you when you change back." Walter replied with a sensible answer about the reality of digested food in transit.
"So I'd get sweaty and my eyes would tear up?"
"Exactly."
"Kind of sounds like a first date." Lance said suggestively, leading the conversation in an effort to get Walter to open up.
"I wouldn't know."
"You never went out on a date? Not even study date, where you're just friends and she gives you a little good-bye kiss?" Lance questioned Walter further. There was no way Walter had missed out on a first date. That would be too sad.
"I never did. My studies always kept me so busy. When you're the youngest guy on campus, people don't want to go out with you." Walter told him, as a matter of fact. It didn't matter if he had a 28% chance of finding love in college, most people had seen right past him. The inventor kid, with a science scholarship. Too young and too bright to be in a serious relationship.
But college wasn't about finding a partner, it was about the pursuit of science. A constant companion that Walter was thankful for.
"What, nerdy Walter Beckett wasn't a catch? Get outta here!" Lance teased. The mental image of students flocking to an awkward teenage Walter, amusing him.
Now it was Walter's turn to fire back.
"You weren't a world class secret agent in the middle of high school either, so spill it!"
"Oh you know, I did martial arts after school, went to chess club, I was at the top of my class..." Lance's deftly included a nugget of intriguing information in the middle of his list of activities that seemed to go on and on.
"What was that last part?" Walter perked up, after hearing what seemed to be a kindred hobby. Lance Sterling didn't strike Walter as the type of guy to subscribe to science magazines or one to cultivate an intellectual hobby, but Lance had just proven him wrong.
"My stellar grades?" Lance innocently suggested. Knowing exactly what he was doing.
"Not that part."
"Chess club?" Lance smiled. "I liked staying sharp and being two steps ahead of people."
"Figures." Walter remarked, but not unkindly.
"Hey, I was plenty nice! And I bet you were too. Tell you what, when we get outta here, I'm gonna hook you up with a brand spankin' new outfit, should you ever get a date. And we can credit your tux as a 'business expense'" Lance generously offered a new set of threads for his gifted partner and shrewdly capitalized on their clothes of the trade.
"Clever."
—
Holding Walter's backpack in her arms, which seemed to be cooing, Marcy entered the room, breathing out a sigh of relief.
"It wasn't easy smuggling your partners in crime here, with all the racket they were making, but I brought you some company."
Marcy set the backpack down on the bed and opened it. Releasing a flurry of pigeons.
Thrilled to have his feathered friends in the room, Walter beamed and called out to his favourite lady bird.
"Lovey!" The brown and white dove glided over to Walter, the brave patient enduring his injuries without her and nestled on his chest, with a loving coo.
"Jeff. Glad you could make it." Lance said through gritted teeth, as his number one fanboy lay down next to him.
"Don't break any of my ribs, while you're here, got it?" Lance instructed his tenacious admirer. His ribs were in no such condition, but he allowed the snuggle just this once.
While Crazy Eyes fluttered about, trying to find a target to zap or cock his head against, Marcy ducked out of the way.
"I'm going to head out now. But I'll be back later to collect these jokers before the hospital staff find out. Enjoy." Marcy informed them and couldn't help but smile at the sight of the agency's top agents paired with two adoring pigeons and a strange, stick thin pigeon, trying to eat the hospital flowers from a vase.