So I'm running out of ideas on how to write Tim gracefully bowing out, so in this one it's set a year into the future. Probably the lazy way out, but whatever.

Don't ask me how I'm doing after that ending scene with Ralph and Walter unless you bring like, five boxes of Kleenex. And chocolate.

/

Walter is no stranger to regret.

Even before he learned to accept and recognize his emotions, he knew there were choices and mistakes he'd made that he would do differently, if given the chance.

He wishes he could've found another way other than marrying Happy, when he saw how distraught Toby was after his rejected proposal.

He wishes he had tried harder in his teens and early twenties to reach out to his parents – he was old enough, by then, to understand that they want to breach the gap just as much as he does.

He regrets not being able to save Megan.

He regrets Baghdad.

It took him a long time to accept that the guilt for those particular sins wasn't his, and to lay aside that burden he'd put on himself for so long.

But now, there's no doubt the blame lies entirely at his feet.

That first night, his first night as an American citizen, after he got back from dinner with Cabe, after he'd seen the disarray of Happy's workstation and after he got the text from Toby, he drove to the beach. He sat in Megan's favorite spot for hours, watched the waves and thought about all of the times his sister teased him about Paige.

All the times he was caught staring at her, talking about her, even thinking about her – Megan was even better than Toby at guessing his thoughts…his sister had known long before he did how he felt.

But that night, it just sat heavy in his chest because he missed his window.

You should've taken my mom dancing when you had the chance.

Walter still aches over those words, over the pain he saw in Ralph's eyes. But he wants to scream when he thinks about how disappointed Megan would have been, too – she who told him with her dying breaths not to be afraid, who tried over and over again to show him how beautiful his world could be if he dared to step outside the realm of facts and figures.

He went to the beach a lot after that day, wondering how he was supposed to apologize to his dead sister for not heeding her advice, and for clinging to fear rather than to love.

Because that's what he did – he refused to believe, to hope that the risk was worth it, that Paige was worth it, and as penance he had to watch another man sweep her off her feet.

That was all not quite a year ago.

It's not gotten much easier, truth be told, working across from the woman he wants more than anything and knowing he can't have her. His only comfort is that Tim's appeal for his medical discharge was approved several months ago, and when Paige refused to accept his offer to quit the Navy, because he didn't want to ask her and Ralph to leave Scorpion and come with him, the couple parted ways.

Paige was not herself for several weeks after that. She wasn't depressed, exactly, but Ralph told him privately that more than once he'd woken to hear his mother crying at night. But eventually, her bright smiles returned; it took even longer for the two of them to quit walking on eggshells, to start sharing and just talking like they used to.

Now, though…now, things are good. Great, even.

But they could be better, and Walter wants them to be better, but he doesn't know if she wants that too, and if she doesn't he's not going to say a word about it. He just now got her back in his life, as his friend and confidant. Risking losing that again…it makes him feel cold inside.

It shouldn't really surprise him, then, that Ralph is the one who gives him a nudge (more of a shove, if he's being honest) in the right direction.

It's a normal day – they had a case this morning that involved a life-threatening situation or three, and ended with science prevailing over evil. They were even back at the garage in time for Paige to go pick up Ralph from school. All in all, a good day.

They're finishing up the paperwork; Paige is at the center table, shuffling different forms as they try to avoid paying for all of the property damage that seems to follow them around on their cases, like the plague. Ralph is across from her, playing an online game. Walter took on all of the client's legal forms, which means he basically has to sign a bunch of dotted lines and check a bunch of boxes.

As dull as the work is, he catches himself looking over pretty often, watching as Paige nibbles absently on the end of her pen, the way her brow furrows in concentration, her habit of humming quietly as she organizes the stacks of forms.

He stopped resisting the idea that he finds this woman mesmerizing a long time ago, but that doesn't mean he's gotten used to her, her smile and quirks and all of the millions of tiny things that he never noticed about anyone else before, but somehow is hyper-aware of when it comes to Paige.

More than once she almost catches him, but each time he looks away quickly, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable. Miraculously, he gets through his stack of papers by midafternoon, but it's almost dinner time when Paige finally heaves a sigh and caps her pen.

"Done. I swear those things get longer with every case."

Walter smiles, watches her move to put the papers in the correct files on her desk, but she almost sees him staring again, and he quickly turns back to the code he's been tinkering with.

"Hey."

Startled, he looks up at Paige; she's standing in front of his desk. She has a rare look of uncertainty on her face as she hands him a packet of forms. He recognizes the top one immediately, and frowns in confusion even as he takes the papers from her.

"Why is the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office sending us mail?"

"Not us," Paige corrects softly. "You."

He looks in the top corner and – sure enough, it's just his name on the address, not Scorpion.

"I don't…" he trails off as his eyes catch the top line of the letter. "You - ?"

"I may have mentioned our frequent and personal contact with the Deputy Director of Homeland Security," Paige shrugs, smiling gently. "After that, they were more than happy to move your applications to the front of the line."

Stunned, Walter thumbs through the files. Every single one of his inventions – mostly software and computer programs – is listed, all with approved patents.

"Paige…" he looks up at her. "This is huge, I can sell these products now, to earn extra capital for Scorpion."

Her smile looks a little surer of itself now, but her fingers are toying with the cord on his desk lamp – a marker for slight anxiety, as he's learned from Toby. "I'm, uh…glad you're pleased. They were very argumentative."

The thought of Paige squabbling over the phone with an office of beaurocrats makes him want to laugh, but the thought of her doing it for him makes him want to hug her. He settles for clearing his throat awkwardly.

"I hope you didn't go to too much trouble." He knows now that it's the polite thing to say in situations like these, but he really means it this time. "How long did this take to bring about?"

"Oh." Paige looks down, suddenly interested in his desk. "About three months, give or take."

Walter mentally rewinds – what's happened in that time frame?

Ralph graduated the sixth grade, and turned thirteen.

Happy and Toby's wedding, which was planned and decorated entirely by Paige.

Cabe's sixty-fifth birthday – yet another of her one-woman shows.

Paige herself graduated with her Bachelor's in business, with a minor in world history.

He shakes his head; he's not sure if he could multi-task that much.

"Paige," he says, coming around the desk to stand directly before her, looks down into her face but he's careful to keep the forms in his hands, held in front of his chest between them. Otherwise, he'll do something really stupid, like kiss her. "I, uh. I'm not sure how to properly thank – "

"Oh, don't worry about it," Paige waves him off. "I was glad to do it."

His heart does a strange thud in his chest. "Y-you were?"

"Of course." Paige smiles up at him. "Those inventions are going to help a lot of people."

Walter isn't sure what he wanted her to say, but that wasn't it apparently, because he feels a bit dejected.

She gives him one last smile, and heads to the kitchen to get started on dinner. He watches her, still a little numb, and then looks down at the documents in his hands. He's been trying for the past three years to get these pushed through –

"Seriously?"

Startled, he glances up and sees Ralph, swiveled around to face him and looking severely displeased.

"What?" he asks, because usually it takes quite a bit for Ralph to look at him like that.

Ralph merely rolls his eyes and mutters, "Never mind," before turning back around to face his computer.

Walter eyes him warily for a moment or two, before deciding that it must not have been that important, and he goes back to his desk.

/

A week later, they left Paige and Ralph behind to coordinate during another case. Ralph helped with tech support when needed, but Paige told them over comms he was working on another programming project for his college class. So when the team gets back to the garage, Walter is half-expecting Paige to be on the couch, celebrating another successful mission with a big bowl of popcorn and one of those romantic comedies she's so fond of. It wouldn't be the first time.

Instead, they walk in the garage and find Paige standing on Sylvester's desk, cursing and fighting with the strand of lights that's draped over the scorpion neon sign. She calls hello over her shoulder; Walter sets his backpack in his chair and goes over, standing beside Ralph as the boy patiently sighs.

"No, Mom, the other way."

Sylvester cautiously approaches his desk, like it's an atomic bomb. "Um, Paige, I understand you can't reach but your shoes are going to get bacteria all over my desk – "

"I'm not wearing shoes, Sly," Paige says, breathless from reaching above her head for so long. "And I even cleaned my feet with those wipes you keep in your desk drawer."

Surprised, Walter glances down at her bare feet. Her toenails are a pastel lavender color. He smiles.

"Oh." Sylvester visibly calms down. "Well, thank you Paige. But just to be safe – "

"I will wipe down every inch of your desk top when I'm done." Paige promises, flashing a grin down at him.

Sylvester nods, and bustles off to get a snack.

"What happened?" Walter watches her screw one of the colored bulbs back into its socket. There's a pair of needle-nose pliers in the back pocket of her jeans, and a phillips screwdriver stuck through her hairbun. For all of her nice outfits, Paige really loves casual days at Scorpion.

"One of the lights on this strand went out," Paige explains. "I took it down and Ralph rewired it, but as soon as I got it up here again another one went out and it was such a pain to take down and put back up so I tried to let Ralph talk me through it but – "

She gestures sort of helplessly.

"Ah. Well, here. Let me help." Walter climbs up. "Can I see the pliers?"

"Sure. I've got these two wires, though," she points with her chin, where both of her hands are holding the wiring. "Can you reach them?"

He stares at her like an idiot before his mouth catches up to his brain. "Uh…th-they're, um. In your pocket?"

The back pocket, his brain adds unhelpfully. The one I'm not supposed to touch, look at, or fantasize about.

"Oh, yeah." She pauses, then shrugs. "Well, it would be more efficient for you to just grab them. I mean, I trust you not to be a perv about it."

He really wishes she hadn't used the word grab in this context. "O-okay."

Mercifully, everyone has scattered – Sylvester and Ralph are making sandwiches in the kitchen, Cabe is making the usual report via phone call. Happy and Toby took the rest of the day off – there's a chance she might be pregnant, but they only told Walter so they could go to the doctor together today. He's…well. He's excited. Not as much as Toby, but still. Babies are great.

Anyway, no one is around, and Paige is looking at him expectantly, so he decides to do it quickly and get it over with.

Which means, of course, that he gets mixed up in wait-is-it-my-left-or-her-left, and goes for the wrong side.

"Um." Paige's eyes widen, and pink sweeps up to her hairline. "I – "

"S-sorry." He manages. His face could probably heat the garage all winter long. Save some money on the utilities, at least. He clears his throat, carefully reaches around her again, and deftly retrieves the stupid pliers.

Grateful to have something to look at other than the blush on Paige's cheeks, he peers at the wiring and gets to work. After a few moments, he glances down at her again and notices her face is still rather flushed.

"I am sorry, Paige."

Startled, she looks away from the lights at him. "Oh – "

"I'd, uh, n-never disrespect you that way – "

"I know," she says softly. "I know, Walter. It was an accident. Don't worry about it."

He believes her, but still feels guilty because the blush remains on her cheeks, indicating that while she's not mad, she is embarrassed.

Desperately, he racks his brain for what she does when they're on the case and she has to diffuse an awkward situation –

"Why'd you do this, anyway? You could've left it for Happy."

She shrugs, and to his surprise, blushes more. "No reason."

He takes the wires from her, and she lowers her arms back to her sides. "You don't do things for no reason."

Paige looks up at him through her eyelashes. "I…" she sighs. "I didn't want you to come back and see some of them not lit up."

Wiring complete, he takes the colored bulb and carefully screw it back on. "Why? I wouldn't have been angry."

It's true; just because she keeps his business running smoothly doesn't mean he sees her as his secretary, one who makes sure the bathroom is stocked with enough toilet paper and his coffee mug kept full. He thought she knew that.

"I know," she assures him. "It's…it's just that…well, Megan put these up."

He's done, so he puts the pliers back – on the desk, while trying not to feel disappointed – and hops down.

"I remember," he says. "She climbed up by herself, while we were in Bosnia."

It's a fond memory. Paige smiles with him, and moves to climb down. Before he can second-guess himself, Walter offers her his hand. Her smile gets bigger.

"Thank you." She takes it, curling her fingers around his palm and nimbly hopping down to the floor. He's never realized how much taller he is than her, but then again she's always wearing heels. Somehow, he hadn't noticed when they were up on the desk, but back on the ground it's nothing short of bizarre to be able to rest his chin on her head if he wanted.

Which he does want, but is not going to do. That would be weird.

"So," he says, more to refocus himself than anything, "what does Megan have to do with you becoming an electrician?"

Paige thinks for a moment, and then adopts the voice she uses when she explains an emotional concept to him. "The lights remind you of Megan, and I was worried that if you saw they were starting to not work anymore, it would upset you or make you sad. That could easily make someone feel like their loved one was being forgotten."

Walter, of course, never thought of it that way, but he supposes it's a valid argument. He was testy and short-tempered for weeks after they sent the rocket up, simply because he was so used to it being in the back of the garage, a reminder of the importance of his work.

"Oh," is all he can say despite the long pause while he gathered his thoughts.

Paige nods, and turns to gather the tools to put them back on Happy's desk. Without thinking, Walter reaches out, grabs her wrist. She turns back, surprised.

"Paige." He swallows, glances down. He's going to be imagining her with lavender toenails from now on. "Uh. Th-thank you."

"Oh," she says, flushing again. "It was nothing, really, I – "

"No," he shakes his head. "It…i-it wasn't nothing." He pauses again, and when she shyly looks down, he leans his head forward and bends his knees, to maintain eye contact. "Thank you."

Paige's eyes are wide, and he watches her bite her lip before smiling softly.

"You're welcome."

She turns towards Happy's desk again, and this time he lets her, watches her set the tools down and then go upstairs where she's left her shoes, presumably.

Walter has no idea how long he stands there, but he suddenly becomes aware of someone watching him, and he looks around to see Ralph standing by Paige's desk. The boy's arms are crossed, and he's scowling.

"What?" Walter asks, bewildered.

Ralph glares at him a moment longer before rolling his eyes. "Nothing," he sighs, before returning to the kitchen.

Walter frowns in confusion, but isn't honestly sure if he's done something or Ralph is just being a moody teenager. He wanders over – Sylvester is wiping down his desk, since Paige forgot – and takes the chair across from his protégé.

"Is…something bothering you?"

Ralph plucks a grape off a stem. "No."

Walter levels him with a cool gaze. "You know, I'm not Toby or your mother, but I can tell when you're lying."

Ralph sends him an irritated look over the rim of his water glass. Walter swallows, trying not to feel panicked.

"Ralph, if I've done something to upset you – "

"You haven't done anything to me," Ralph interrupts quietly. He sighs. "I'm sorry for being cross."

Walter knew that Ralph would be a lot like he was at thirteen, but he finds that he's unprepared for how much the boy is still like his mother, despite his similarities to the rest of the team. "You're allowed to be upset with me if I've done something wrong, Ralph. I just can't fix it unless you tell me what I did."

Ralph eyes him with a mixture of annoyance and pity. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"About what?"

He hates conversations like these, where he feels like he's in a dark room and his fingers are inches away from the light switch but he can't quite reach it. Ralph shakes his head as he gets up to throw away his trash.

"You're not doing anything to me, Walt." The boy's voice sounds sad, and Walter hates himself for being the reason why. "It's something you're doing to yourself, and it's something you've got to figure out for yourself, too."

With that, Ralph heads over to the chemistry table Happy keeps set up in the back; Walter knows when a conversation is over, but he feels like he's missing something big. Really big.

He's still sitting there, lost in thought, when Paige comes back downstairs.

When she asks him what's wrong, he merely shakes his head and smiles. "Just thinking." He notices her holding her shoes. "Are you leaving?"

"I was going to see if Ralph was ready," she pads over a few feet until she can see where her son is helping Sylvester. "But I don't think he is. I guess I'll get some paperwork done."

Walter clears his throat. "Or…we could watch something."

She's surprised, but pleasantly so. "Oh? You have something in mind?"

"No," he grins. "You can pick. Just…no musicals. Please."

"No promises," she teases, and drops her shoes next to her desk before he follows her over to the couch. He hands her the remote, and only offers mild protests when she selects Miss Congeniality.

Half an hour later, he looks over and sees Paige sleeping against the armrest, her bare toes tucked under his thigh. She's frowning slightly in her sleep; he glances up and sees the string of lights above his desk.

He smiles.

/

"Hold still," he admonishes, tips her head back so he can see the bruise on her temple. "Are you dizzy? Nauseous? How is your vision? Your hearing? What – "

"Walter," she puts her hands on his wrists, looks him in the eye. "I'm fine."

He purses his lips, shakes his head. "He was twice your size," he mutters before taking her hand so he can check her pulse. "I'm frankly surprised you didn't lose consciousness."

Paige is quiet while he checks her pulse and respirations and pupils and everything else he knows how to check until Toby gets here, but when he finally grows still, her thumb runs over his knuckles.

"I had it under control, you know," she says mildly.

Walter barely manages to bite back the scathing retort – she doesn't deserve his anger, even though he's never been more terrified in his life than when Paige stepped forward and offered herself as hostage if the weapons dealer released Walter. He didn't even have the strength to argue with her at the time, despite the way his brain was screaming for her to run.

"He could have killed you."

Paige shifts so she can put her other hand on his shoulder. "But he didn't. I'm fine."

Just then, the team arrives, and Toby takes over the medical examination. He proclaims that Paige doesn't even have a slight concussion, which is great news, but Walter remains on edge well after they're debriefed at Homeland and get back to the garage. Ralph and his sitter are waiting for them, and the latter departs as soon as Paige assures her she's not needed overnight.

Ralph sits next to his mother on the couch.

"He must've hit you pretty hard."

"He did," Paige agrees ruefully. "But Walter was right there, and I'm okay, honey. I promise."

Ralph nods, and goes to get her a glass of water so she can take the meds Toby prescribed her. She glances up at Walter as he sits on the other end of the couch. Even he can tell he's oozing tension out of every pore on his body.

He doesn't say anything, though, and watches Ralph tend to her for the rest of the afternoon. He drives them home that night, walks Paige all the way to her bedroom door, says goodnight and goes back to the empty garage, where he gets exactly zero hours of sleep, staring up at his ceiling and trying to forget the way Paige's entire body crumpled to the floor when the man hit her.

By early morning, he gives up, and takes a long, blasting hot shower. By the time he feels even remotely ready for the day, everyone else is downstairs. He's just finished getting dressed when there's a knock on the door.

"Walter, are we gonna work on the Kahan summation algorithm today after school?"

"Sure," he fixes his shirt collar in the back. "Speaking of, make sure you run – "

He trails off when he sees who followed Ralph up here.

"Hey." Paige smiles at him, and his breath catches. The upper half of the left side of her face looks like an exotic fruit, even though he can tell she's covered it as best she can with makeup.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice somewhat brusque. He sets about making his bed.

He can tell immediately that Paige knows he's still upset, because she sighs.

"Walter," she says softly. "I'm fine, I –"

Hearing his favorite brush-off is his breaking point.

"No, you're not," he snaps. "You're clearly not fine, because you obviously think that it's okay for you to fling yourself between me and danger."

Out of the corner of his eye, Walter sees Ralph's eyes widen. He'll apologize later – for now, it's all he can do to refrain from shaking Paige by her shoulders.

Her eyes flash. "You'd do the same for me. You have done the same for me."

"That's different."

"Why?" she demands.

Because I love you. Because I pay the bills by trying to make the world a better place for everyone, but it's all pointless if you're not here to see it. Because just imagining my life without you makes me want to give up on everything. Because I love you.

He doesn't say any of that. Instead, he rolls his shoulders, looks away from her. "You know why."

There's a long pause, and he can tell Ralph desperately wants to escape, but Paige beats him to it.

"If that's the case, then there's really no difference at all," Paige tells him, sounding close to tears.

And she spins on her heel, and exits as fast as than she appeared.

He stares after her stupidly for a second before something small and hard pings off his forehead. He flinches, and looks down at an extra thumb drive of his that he keeps on his nightstand. Ralph is glaring at him again, more fiercely than he did a month ago after Paige fixed the lights.

"What?" Walter says, exasperated, but he recoils when Ralph huffs.

"Are you kidding me?" Ralph whisper-shouts, and points dramatically at the bedroom door.

Walter bristles. "Your mom needs to calm down before we can talk again, and I – "

"Walter." Ralph, in a stunning impersonation of Toby, pinches the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. Which seems dramatic, but. Walter isn't going to tell him that. "Why would she say that? That it's not different for her?"

"Because – " Walter starts, but fumbles to a stop as understanding all but clubs him over the head.

There's no difference at all.

Could it – ?

He looks at Ralph again, and his question must be written on his face, because the boy nods, with a duh expression.

"Oh." He breathes. He looks down at the pillow he's holding.

So…that must mean…

Paige…and him…she feels….

When his brain catches up to the rest of him, he's already tossed the pillow onto his bed, and crosses his living room almost at a run. He takes the stairs two at a time, and finds Paige by the coffee pot.

She sees him coming, and looks away, but not before he catches the tremble to her lower lip.

"Walter," she says, "I don't think – "

He reaches out, plucks the coffee mug out of her hands and sets it rather haphazardly on the counter. Then he stands there, rigid, as her gaze becomes indignant, but he's trying to get his thoughts together so they can talk about this.

"Walter, what are – "

That's when he suddenly realizes he doesn't have to talk.

Paige gasps when his hands fly up to cradle her face, taking care to avoid her bruise, but when he bends down to press his lips firmly against hers, the effect is instantaneous – she all but melts against him, grabbing his shoulders like she doesn't trust her legs to keep her upright, and sighing into his mouth. He drops his hands to her waist, tugs her flush against him, and when she goes up on her toes to wrap her arms around his shoulders he swears the earth's axis shifts beneath his feet.

He can hear Cabe, Toby and Sylvester applauding, Happy chuckling, and Ralph complaining even though Walter knows the boy is grinning from ear to ear.

He doesn't care. He strongly suspects that an actual, real-life asteroid could hit downtown L.A. right now and he still wouldn't want to stop kissing her.

"I love you," she gasps when he finally lets her up for air. He grins in response, but the best part is how he isn't afraid to let the pure, unadulterated happiness from those words seep in, all the way down to his bones.

"I know," he says.

And he does. He really, really does.

/