Author's Note: This is pretty short. The title and this author's note are probably more lengthy (and deep) than the piece itself. I'm still getting to know this show and these characters, so I apologize for any glaring canon inconsistencies. I'm playing in a new sandbox here.
Rating: K
Category: Episode tag, flash fic
Pairing: None
Spoilers: S1E17
Characters: Walter (and mentions of the team)
If It Makes You Happier
If it's news to anyone, Walter O'Brien is unusually intelligent. He knows it, and he lets whoever he meets know it, too. It's not ego (according to him); it's a statement of fact, and if there's anything Walter lives his life by, it's fact.
Facts and figures. Hard, concrete. Verifiable.
The sky looks blue.
The Earth is round.
E equals MC squared.
Walter O'Brien is a genius with an IQ of 197.
Like some people are gifted athletes, and others are natural artists and poets and creators, Walter's got a super-computer for a brain, and it's always running. There's no off switch. No "force quit" option. No reboot.
So when Richard Elia comes by with a heartfelt "thank you" (for which Walter has no use) and a job offer (an amazing, incredible job offer), Walter's busy, busy brain latches onto it, and instantly he's going through the options and outcomes, pros and cons, in synchronous, unstoppable loops.
Over and over. No "escape" button to be found.
He's happy where he is, he says. He's happy here with Scorpion, with this team he's made, an odd-ball bunch though they are.
Toby and his acerbic - yet unexpectedly wise - humor.
Happy and her tough exterior, and equally tough interior; she is nobody's fool.
Sylvester and his brainy, quirky good nature.
Cabe's stoic personality. Finding them trouble, yet keeping them out of too much of it.
Then there's Paige. And Ralph. Well, they're just special, aren't they? They are special in a way Walter is ill-equipped to figure out, let alone communicate
He knows it has something to do with emotion, which has never been his strong point. His any point, really.
Then Elia makes the suggestion: You could be happier.
Impossible.
But, as sure as magnetic force, Walter has to think about that, too. It's a neurotic compulsion that Toby has thrown in his face more than once. Rightfully. Because Walter is neurotic, and if there's a shred of doubt to be found in a decision, he will find it and he will analyze it to death.
Could he be happier elsewhere? He's a genius, not a clairvoyant - and besides, what could "happier" even entail?
He thinks he knows what happiness is, the definition of it, at least. Hard facts of the word and how it's used. He's seen it on the faces of his coworkers, and maybe even he's seen it on his own face. But as far as feeling it, and desiring it -
Emotion. Again, it's not his thing.
Logically, he doesn't know if it's possible to be more of something he doesn't truly understand. So, instead of stumbling over the emotions - undefined, nuanced, irrational - he sticks to the facts.
Happier equals better. Better money. Better opportunity. Better challenges. Better people.
Walter stares at his people. They're laughing and goofing off. Playing. Oh, he knows what play is - that activity common in most mammalian young, crucial for growth, development, and internalization of important life skills.
He doesn't play - just like he doesn't prescribe to the vague notion of happy. He's "played" games. And he sees most of their cases as games - all of life is a game, really, and not one of Toby's wasteful games of chance. But for Walter, there's no play involved. Just strategy. Angling for the win. Thinking, thinking, thinking. 'Cause there's nothing that can get past his steel-trap of a mind.
And Walter loves to win.
So, yes. Things could be better than this. (He could be happier.) According to logic.
Before Elia departs, he tells Walter to reconsider. Think it over. He's just a phone call away. It's an amazing opportunity, and Walter can't disagree with that. Logic won't let him disagree with that, and neither will the facts.
But...
Sometimes Walter wishes he could stop thinking. Just for a moment. Because sometimes, he wants to start living.
He catches Toby's eye. He's got his arm around Happy's shoulders, and she's allowing it, for now. Toby waves him over, and from where he's still standing next to the jet engine he's been picking away at for months now, Walter moves his lips around into something that should be a smile.
And this? What is this?
He doesn't know.
Maybe it's happiness.
Maybe it's misery.
But no matter how many times he mucks things up with his ego and his general Walter-ness, they keep tolerating him. Forgiving him. Somehow.
That has to count for something, right?