The warehouse is empty and dark when I return and, in all honesty, I'm relieved. Lit by nothing more than the glow of the neon scorpion explosives sign, there's something calming about the space when it's empty; or maybe the soft buzz of the sign gives off is just pleasing to a mechanic. Either way, it quells the ever-present anger in my chest.
I shouldn't be angry right now. I went to a drag race with a cute guy. And sure, maybe I'd made the comment about Temple being cute because I get some sick sense of glee from pushing Toby's buttons, but that doesn't mean it's not true. Plus I like drag racing! It's machinery at its finest. Well maybe not always it's finest, but usually it's pretty good. I mean its machines! I love machines! Cars, tractors, elevators…especially elevators at the moment.
My footsteps echo as I head towards Toby's desk. Maybe this is stupid and I should just forget about it. I could go home and no one will even know I was here. I glance down at the item in my hand and pause. I've come this far, I should just do it. I place it down on his desk, right next to that stupid pig. I find a scrap of paper and scribble a note. He should at least know it's from me.
I hesitate before I put pen to paper. What do I say? How do I justify this? My mind goes to the hastily written note that I've been carrying around in my pocket for weeks now. And, like he said it would, every time I read it I smile. But it's not just that. My smile has little to do with the dumb joke, the made you look jotted on the scrap and more to do with the crazy doc that wrote it. I might not be Paige, but even I can figure out that that means something. The fear I felt when I hear Paige's voice over the com telling Walt that Toby was in trouble, the urge to smirk every time he makes an inappropriate remark, it all means something. I scribble the note and leave it next to my gift before slipping silently out of the warehouse.
He's sitting at his desk when I walk in the next morning. He's got his feet up on the corner of his desk, haphazardly leaning back in his chair in such a way that would drive Sylvester nuts. He glances up when the door shuts behind me and his gaze meets mine. He shoots me a lazy smile and tips the brim of his new fedora. The hat was waiting on his desk when he came in, right beside that stupid pig. There's a note still perched on the brim. It reads idiotic, but ballsy. I smirk and head over to my latest project.