Chapter Five.

He could remember his father taking him to a boxing match on his seventh birthday. Despite the loud noises and odd smells, Peter had been having fun- he was simply overjoyed to be with Walter, doing what his father called 'Man stuff', which usually included gambling that Peter was instructed not to tell his mother about. He could remember watching, wide-eyed, as each of the boxers landed heavy strikes on one another, and with each, his father's expression seemed to change, as if the hits were on him.

His father had lost a very large bet, that night.

When Peter had at last shaken Walter back to consciousness from his sprawled position in the bloody snow, his eyes filled with tears as he wailed for his father, Walter had only blinked up at him, through a daze, "You're bad luck, son," he had rasped.

That may have been when he had first started to hate his father.

"You look familiar," someone said, breaking his thoughts. Peter glanced up from his task of pumping petrol into his car, and shook his head, pulling his cap down.

"No, sir. I've just got one of those faces. People always think I look like their brother or something."

The station purveyor chuckled, settling his hands into the large front pocket of his apron, "I guess that's what it is. Are you headed into Atlantic City?"

"Yeah." Peter suddenly wanted the conversation to end.

"Don't gamble your shorts off, son."

"I hate gambling."

"A few rattles of the bones never hurt anyone."

Peter snorted, "They always say that," he muttered under his breath, and finished his task, returning the nozzle to the station, "Well, be seeing you," he said, tipping his cap as he climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engine.

"If you chance by a little place called Captain Lows, the drinks are cold," the clerk suggested, "tell the bartender Mark said you were alright," he shifted as Peter looked surprised, "It's only because you look so familiar, and I can't put my finger on it."

"Thank you kindly," Peter murmured, and pulled away.

xXx

There came a soft mew in the dark, breaking her dreams; "Miss."

Astrid blinked awake, raising a hand to rub an eye, "Hmm?" she questioned as someone shook her shoulder, "Walter?"

He stood at her bedside silently, shivering.

"Did you have another bad dream?" she questioned, sitting up and rubbing her features to frown with concern. He stopped her hand from switching on the light, and her brows drew with worry, "Come here, hun, come here. It's alright," she moved over in the bed, sweeping the covers away and patting the mattress, "climb in, sweetie."

Walter climbed into the sheets, and Astrid pulled his shivering form to her, tugging the blankets around his shoulders, "Are you alright, Walter? You're fevering. Have you been drinking?"

Walter said nothing, putting an arm around her waist.

Astrid sighed, kissing his damp forehead and smoothing away sweaty curls, "It's okay. Just go back to sleep," she allowed him to listen to her pulse, and at last their breathing evened, and dreams found them. Silence followed, until an all-too-real rapping drummed Astrid awake.

"Walter." Astrid rolled over, her eyes shut tightly as her hand searched for him in the dark. Her fingers found his ear, making him flinch away, before she stroked the curls against his neck.

"Hmm?" Walter's hand moved from her side and grabbed hers for confirmation, as he blinked his eyes open drowsily, "What is it?"

"Walter, get up. I think someone's at the door."

There was a pause as he listened, and the knocking had stopped, "No, no, there isn't. You dreamt it, dove," Walter settled back in the pillows, giving a sigh as he nuzzled her hair.

"No- just keep listening. There's someone," Astrid released him to pull the blanket around her shoulders as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, "Turn on the light…" Astrid murmured.

"No. If it's someone unscrupulous, I don't want them to know we're in," his voice was deep and raspy from his slumber, his all-but-forgotten Louisianan accent hinting through. It made Astrid smile every time.

"They've been banging on the door for an hour. They know we're in," Astrid chuckled tiredly, "just go and see who it is."

"Okay." Walter delved under the pillow, drawing out a black snub-nose. He pressed the revolver into her lifeless palm, "keep this with you, cher."

"You say the sweetest things," Astrid yawned as Walter climbed from the warm sheets, shrugging in the chill as his feet found his slacks, and he pulled them on over his under shorts, the pressed fabric crinkling with cold. He left the straps of his suspenders to dangle about his legs, and shuffled out of the room. He cursed sharply as he stubbed his toe, "I told you to turn on the light," Astrid pointed out.

"Quiet, you," Walter grumbled, and Astrid laughed. The wooden floor of the hallway creaked hesitantly as he made for the stairs.

She was certain he'd grab the shotgun in the kitchen pantry. Walter was one paranoid old bastard… she just hoped he wouldn't end up shooting someone on her front step, in the dark. And with that thought, Astrid began to get up, pulling on a silk kimono over her nightgown and holding it shut as she switched on the light. She was rubbing the cold from the tip of her nose as she followed him down stairs.

"Walter, leave it," she said as she heard him rummaging about in the pantry.

"Where are the extra shells?" he hissed in the dark.

"Just leave it. Get the door." Astrid switched on the lights in the entry way, and Walter moved past her, firmly placing himself between Astrid and the door.

The pounding continued, until Astrid jammed Walter in the kidney and he issued a grunt, pulling the door open, "Yes, hello?! Do you have any idea what time it is?!" He blinked a moment in shock, and Astrid craned her neck to look over his shoulder at the stranger. Astrid exclaimed in surprise at the blonde woman before them, her dress sharp and her fair features flushed slightly with the cold, "…you're not Davy."

"No, sir. My name is Olivia Dunham," the stranger smiled, offering her hand.

"Do I owe you money?"

"I don't think so, sir."

Walter smiled in return, shaking her hand, "I'm Walter Bishop. Uh-" he retracted his grasp as she spotted his missing digit, "-sorry."

Olivia looked as if she thought nothing of it, and raised her eyebrows, arching her neck to look at Astrid, "hello," she smiled.

Astrid prodded Walter aside, shaking hands, "Hi. I'm Astrid," she said, "is there something we can help you with…?"

"Oh. Yes. You're that singer from the Domino Club, right?"

"Yes. Walter's my pianist."

"I saw your picture in the paper," Olivia nodded, "I didn't know that you two were…" she glanced back and fourth between them, silently expectant.

"Oh- no, Walter and I aren't… together. He stays here," Astrid explained.

"I have a voice box, last time I checked," Walter grumbled.

"Won't you come in?" Astrid offered.

xXx