5.

September watched the unresponsive Walter in his arms for a few moments, as his body quaked and his lungs stuttered for breath. Carefully- September knew he had to be careful, this man was fragile- he shifted Walter in his arms, touching his palm to his chest, murmuring something quietly. Slowly, Walter's breathing began to even, his face unwinding from his grimace of pain.

September laid his listless form out on the cement, rising and stepping back as his mind whizzed with activity. Doctor Walter Bishop- he knew him, they'd met before. After the fire, at the chemical lab Walter used to work at. Doctor Bishop had died, that night, only to be pulled back from the other side, his lungs permanently blistered in what was a fatal form of chemical anthracosis. But Walter's heroism had been in vein- the assistant he had plunged in to the fire to save had died shortly after he had pulled her out, and flames that had proven fatal for her had only scarred Walter from the inside out.

For years September had watched, as Bishop's condition only worsened, causing him first to retire, then lose his wife, and eventually land him a residence in the hospital. Different treatments, different medications… these only regulated the times Walter passed between one world and the next.

September supposed that he should probably take the good doctor back up to his room. He guessed that if he looked over his schedule again, and the hotel roster, he could see if perhaps he had made a mistake, but he doubted he had.

He stooped to gather Walter from the floor, pulling his arm across his shoulders and rising with a grunt of effort. Slowly he began to drag Walter across the walk-in, pushing his way into the darkened kitchen. He paused as he heard a quiet call, "Walter…?"

September slumped Walter onto the floor against a cabinet, and emerged quietly from the kitchen, smoothing down the creases of his dark suit as he approached the curly-hair girl, whom was peering into the dark corners of the room, searching for her missing companion. "Can I help you?" September suddenly questioned, making her jump and turn.

"Oh- ah- hello," She smiled, striking a stray curl from her eyes, "I-I'm looking for my friend, he was in here a little while ago? An older guy, sort of grayish-brown hair, white shirt and blue jeans- have you seen him?"

September tilted his head slightly, lying, "No."

She blinked, "Oh. Well, I was just… we were just looking for someone that could help us… he was hungry, so…"

"There are vending machines posted in the hallways, near the ice machines," September replied calmly, "but the kitchen is closed until six o'clock tomorrow morning, I'm sorry."

"It's alright," She assured him, "But… if you see him, do you think you could send him my way?"

"Certainly," September replied. After an awkward silence, she gave him a small smile, and left the restaurant.

September returned to the kitchen, pulling Walter to his feet again, and dragging him along, "Someone's looking for you, Walter," he said quietly.

xXx

"So, what about you, then? What's your story?" Peter questioned.

"Which one?" Olivia smirked, arching a brow.

"Whichever one you feel like telling me," Peter replied.

"Good answer. Well, since you're going to find out anyways… I'm a murderer."

Peter paused in his drink, uncertain of how to respond.

Olivia laughed, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. You see, when I was growing up, I lived with my sister and my mother in some gee-dunk town in Arizona. Now, my mom… not the smartest woman, I have to say. She liked some real creeps. And sometimes, the creeps didn't like just her."

"You and your sister…?" Peter questioned, shocked.

"Yeah. Until I was fifteen. My sister was twelve, when we decided to run away. But Rachel… she just wouldn't. She said it was terrible, to leave our mother behind. I had to leave them both.

"Years went by. I moved on with my life- I was in the army, wouldn't you know? Well, I was stateside, one time, when I got a call from my sister. She said that her husband was, you know… with my little niece. So, I went AWOL and drove to Arizona, and put a bullet in his brain."

"Then what?" Peter questioned quietly.

Olivia downed the rest of her drink, "Then there was the police, then I came here."

"Rehabilitation?"

Olivia looked at him, her eyes filled with green sparks that made his stomach shutter, "Sure, we'll go with that."

"So that's your story?"

"I've got another one about circus monkey, would you rather hear that one?"

"But what you did wasn't wrong," Peter said, "You were protecting your family."

"Like you?" Olivia arched a brow with a sneer.

"No. I'm not protecting Walter." Peter took a drink of his beer, and looked down into the bottleneck for a while, "I'm just making the best of the time that's left, for him."

"How long does he have?" Olivia questioned.

"A few weeks. A month, maybe. And after all of the stuff that's happened, tonight…" Peter shook his head.

"We've all got to go sometime," Olivia replied.

xXx