Author's note: Okay, I had to go there. I don't know how therapeutic this will be for anyone else but me, but it was something I need to get out evidently because it popped into my brain and wouldn't leave. Plus it's not what you think. Just give it a chance. Please. It's not what you think. Reviews, even flaming ones, will be gladly accepted. It's not what you think.
Disclaimer: This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the enjoyment of other Scorpion fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights of K/O Paper Products, Blackjack Productions, Perfect Storm Entertainment, SB Films, CBS Television Studios, or anyone else.
TALK ABOUT AWKWARD
Six months. Twenty-six weeks (plus one day). One hundred eighty-three days.
Walter O'Brien stared at the large black numbers on the calendar indicating it was October sixteenth. Had it really been that long? It seemed as if that final argument had taken place only hours earlier. The wounds were still fresh. Every word she'd said to him had been as sharp as a knife, knowing just the right spot to cut so it would do the most damage.
Then, since wounding him so deeply evidently wasn't enough, she'd hijacked most of his team. The people he'd originally brought together, the ones he'd saw wasting their potential, the ones he'd provided a place where that potential could flourish. . . They'd all sided with her as she started a rival business in what appeared to be a childish attempt to drive his into the ground. At least he stopped that from happening.
And yet. . . He still loved her. He couldn't stop that. It wasn't like a faucet he could turn off and on. Not like she could. Word had reached him through the grapevine (if Cabe, Allie, Patty, and Sylvester passing along gossip constituted a grapevine) she'd been dating other men, no one serious apparently, but. . . Yeah. It was still painful to hear.
Throwing himself into his work had been his lifeline. He'd hired a mechanical engineer, Mack Johnson, a borderline genius who couldn't touch Happy's expertise with a 25 foot measuring tape. But he got the job done.
Allie had become office manager by default. She and Cabe were spending most of their time together so it made sense she come work at the garage. She'd never been happy working for Patel anyway.
When he'd advertised for a behaviorist, the last person he expected to apply would have been Quincy Birkstead. But the clinical psychologist had and Walter had hired him. Mostly because he felt somewhat responsible for the man's fall from grace over the bunker incident. But then there was the added bonus of pissing off Toby, who, rumor had it, had gone bat shit crazy over the news. It was satisfying Quincy had become a more than adequate replacement, and not just because he wasn't Toby. But Walter had to admit that helped.
Florence had stayed and became a full-fledged member of the team. Her expertise had become invaluable, making him realize he should have sought out a chemist years ago. And of course, Cabe had stuck by his side, for which he was extremely grateful. But he'd seen the sadness in the older man's eyes, knowing the agent missed the others as much as he did.
Because it just wasn't the same. But then maybe that was a good thing. The new team all worked together in an efficient manner. No drama, no nonsense, no learning more about his co-workers's sex lives than he ever wanted to know. But there was also no warmth, no camaraderie. . . The feeling of family just wasn't there.
It had been tough going at first. Team Centipede had suctioned off half of the jobs which otherwise would have gone to Team Scorpion. Thankfully, Homeland had honored their contract, although Walter wondered what kinds of strings Cabe had pulled on his behalf.
So despite everything, Scorpion 2.0 was keeping its head above water. Barely.
And while his business affairs were in order, his personal life was a complete mess. In the eleven months and fifteen days he and Paige had been together, he'd grown used to a woman's touch. Which was strange since he'd lived most of his thirty-five years without it. It wasn't just the intimacy he craved, but just being with her; working together, cuddling on the couch watching old movies, hearing her moving around his loft. It was pathetic how much he missed her.
It was time he moved on. Seek out other female companionship. And he already had a candidate in mind.
He'd become aware of Florence in the past few months, after he'd gotten past the worst of his pain. She was a brilliant chemist, an excellent team member, enjoyed many of the same pursuits he did. They seemed to get along, working together in a cordial manner. She understood when a problem or project captured his attention and he neglected everything (and everyone) until it was solved.
Walter had no idea if she was still harboring feelings for him. She'd never mentioned them again after that horrific evening when his whole world had tilted upside down. Glancing over at her as she sat at what used to be Sylvester's desk, pouring over the calculations of a formula she was working on as a side project.
It had taken him several days, actually closer to a week, to make his decision and work up his nerve. Getting to his feet, he tried to casually walk toward her, all the while feeling as if he'd stripped himself naked.
"Hey," he said when he came to a stop in front of her. "I need to ask you a question."
She made a moue, something he noticed she often did when she was confused. "Sure," she replied, closing her file. "It's not about my work with Styrofoam Solutions, is it?"
"Uh, no, nothing like that." Just say it. There was no pretty way to do it, no candy coating to make it more palatable. "I, um, I've been wondering if you. . .you still lu. . .er, still have those feelings for me? You know. . . Or have they faded?"
"Oh." She tightened her grip on her folder. "Total honesty?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"I'd appreciate it." He took a deep breath, girding himself for another blistering diatribe about how defective he was.
"There are some residual feelings," she stated, lowering her eyes. "They're not as intense as they once were." She glanced back up at him. "Why do you want to know?
"I'd like to attempt a romantic relationship with you," he said. He saw immediately he had shocked her. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She tried to speak but only managed to emit incoherent squeaks.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . ." He sighed in defeat. "It's just I've grown fond of you. And we work well together. And have similar interests." He aimed his gaze down at his shoes. "And I would like a female companion."
"So this would just be a sexual. . .?"
"No. . . No," he answered quickly. "No. Not if you don't. . ." He was bungling this badly. Big surprise. He needed to lay all his cards down on the table. "I don't know if I'll ever love you like I love. . ." Paige's name stuck in his throat and he had to wait for it to clear. "I mean I don't think I can ever love someone else. But if you can accept that. . . I, uh. . .I'd like to give us a shot."
"Walter. . ." She didn't finish her sentence as she stared up at him as if she were trying to read his mind.
"Okay, forget. . ."
"Can I think about it?" She smiled nervously. "It's a lot to take in."
"Of course." Well, she hadn't turned him down outright. But it brought up another concern. "It's just. . .I have a couple of tickets to that new Hubble presentation at the planetarium on Friday night. I'm not trying to bribe you," he added when she frowned. "I just need to know if I should take someone else."
"Yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes, I'll go with you to the presentation, and yes, I'd like to attempt a romantic relationship with you." She flashed him another anxious smile and he wondered if she was already second guessing herself.
"Good." Not sure what to do with himself, he twisted from side to side before turning to his right and heading toward the kitchen. A small flicker of happiness flared inside him. But it was almost instantly quashed by the overwhelming guilt which swept over him.
He shook his head as he poured a cup of coffee. Paige was gone and he needed to accept she was never coming back. He had to move on unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life alone. Being with Paige had showed him how lonely his life had been before he met her. And not only that, his time with her and Ralph had stirred up a desire to have a child of his own, which would never happen if he retreated to his previous monk-like lifestyle. The thought of going back to such a sterile existence. . .
It didn't assuage his conscience though. Being with Florence, any woman really, felt like he was cheating on the love of his life. He closed his eyes, trying to fend off their growing dampness as sorrow welled up inside him.
ooooo
Friday night arrived all too soon. Walter stood outside the door leading to Florence's lab. There was something wrong with his breathing. His heart was acting funny as well. His skin felt too tight. And his gut. . . He'd heard of the expression "butterflies in the stomach" before. . . Well, butterflies would have been welcome compared to the pterodactyls currently slamming around his abdomen.
Inhaling deeply, he knocked on the metal surface. Florence must have been standing on the other side, because the door was immediately flung open. "Hi, Walter," she said, giving him one of her tentative smiles. She looked pleasant enough, dressed in a beige sweater and brown floral skirt. She also smelled like flowers. He wasn't sure which ones. He just knew they weren't lavender.
"Sorry we have to leave so early," he said. "But the program starts at seven and if we waited until afterward to eat. . ."
"It's fine." She stepped out into the alley and locked the door behind her. Dropping her keys into a small brown purse, she glanced up at him. "I usually eat dinner no later than six anyway. Gives the food time to digest before bedtime."
They talked about the planetarium program during the car ride to the chain restaurant he picked out. Once they were seated, Walter perused his menu, mentally debating his choices. He wasn't really hungry. The pterodactyls seemed have taken up permanent residence in his stomach.
"Oh, dear." He peered around the edge of his menu to note the dismay on Florence's face.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'm not seeing any vegan options," she complained, flipping over the garish plastic coated menu. "Oh, here they are." Looking them over, she shook her head. "Everything has soy in it. I'm allergic to soy."
"There should be something. . ." he began, cursing himself for not asking if she had any food preferences. He'd never been to this particular restaurant before, deliberately picking a place he had not frequented with Paige. There hadn't been much choice in a price range he could afford these days.
"They have a green salad. Oh, nope," she said.
He glanced at the salad list, wondering what she could find objectionable about lettuce, tomatoes, red cabbage, and shaved carrots. His confusion must have shown on his face because she offered an explanation. "Carrots, I'm allergic to them."
"You could tell them not to. . ."
"Oh, I've tried that before. They usually forget." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so picky. I just have a lot of food allergies."
"No, it's okay," he tried to say, but before he got the words out of his mouth, she began listing all the food she couldn't eat. He couldn't help but notice most of them were vegetables or protein substitutes. So if she was a vegan, what the hell did she eat? Honestly, she was worse than Sly. . .
The thought of the younger genius cause a pang of regret to resonate through him. Shoving the unsettling thoughts to the back of his head, he plastered a smile on his face.
Florence had finally settled on a rice pilaf by the time their waitress had returned. Despite the fact he really had no appetite, he ordered a chicken pasta dish with a house salad.
"So, the presentation sounds exciting, doesn't it," she said brightly as they waited for their food.
"Uh yeah." They'd already discussed this in the car. "You said you were really looking forward to it."
"Oh, of course." She made the little moue with her mouth again. "I'm sorry, I'm just really nervous."
"Me, too."
"I did some research," she began, "on safe topics to talk about on a first date. I found an app. . . I mean. . . I'm sorry. It's not like I've already run out of things to say. It's like my head is a total blank."
He could understand that. His brain felt like mush. "The app sounds interesting. I say let's give it a try."
Florence fished her cell out of her purse and quickly brought up the app. "Okay, first question," she announced. "First movie you ever watched."
Walter had to think for a moment. "The Wizard of Oz. My sister. . .uh, she loved it. . ." Mentally wincing, he realized bringing up Megan might not be ideal. Not only because she and Sly had been married, but he still had trouble dealing with her death. It was at times like this he really missed her; her love of life, her ability to drive him out of his shell, the way she never pulled her punches with him.
"Okay, next question," she said crisply, obviously sensing his discomfort. "Do you want to ask me, or shall I continue. . ?"
"You. . go ahead," he managed to say.
"First time on an airplane."
An easy one. "Flying from Dublin to New York when I was sixteen."
Florence sat up a little straighter. "What did you do in New York?
"I moved there."
"At sixteen?" She sounded surprised
"Yes. I'd received my junior leaving certificate and I'd been. . ."
"Wait. . .a what?"
"A junior leaving certificate. It's the Irish equivalent of a high school diploma."
"You're from Ireland? But you don't have an accent."
A tedious discussion of his lack of an Irish accent lasted until their meals were brought to them. Florence picked at her plate, separating bits of something from the rest of the food. His chicken Alfredo was overdone and dry, but he forced it down anyway.
"Did you still want to play?" she asked after more than a few minutes of silence passed. "The questions, I mean."
"Sure." Anything to distract him from his mediocre food and discomfort about talking about Ireland.
"Okay, here's the next one. Oh. . ." Her cheeks flushed pink. "Maybe we should skip this one."
"Why? What is it?"
"First time. . .having sex." She stared at her phone as if she wasn't sure she'd read it correctly. It did seem to him like an odd question to bring up on a first date. "You don't have to answer it. . ."
"No, if this. . .you and I. . .if it succeeds. . ." he began, "you'll find out anyway." Setting his fork down on the table, he stared at his lap. "Paige. She was my first."
"Really? No, I believe you," she assured him. "It's just. . . Wow." She slid her cell back into her purse. "In the spirit of fairness. . ."
"You don't have to. . ."
"No, I want to. Like you said, if this. . .succeeds, you'll find out anyway." She reached for her water and took a sip. "My first time was when I got drunk at frat party when I was a freshman in college. I don't remember much of what happened and I don't know if I ever knew his name." She glanced down at her lap. "There's only been one other guy since, someone I dated a few years ago for about six months."
Neither of them said much the rest of the meal, and they both declined the offer of dessert. Once Walter paid the check, they headed to the planetarium.
ooooo
The Hubble presentation turned out to be a success, mainly because there had been little need to converse. Florence did place her hand on his as they were gazing up the other worldly images sent back to Earth from the giant telescope. He wasn't sure if the contact had been an accident or an "accident." Although it hardly mattered. Her hand had felt warm against his and. . .that was it. No tingle, no spark, no electric current charging through his body, stirring his every nerve, stimulating his libido. Not like the way Paige's touch had. . .
Nope, he wasn't going to think about her. Not if he wanted this experiment to flourish.
He'd been filled with hope as they drove back to the garage. They'd talked about the program, getting into a lively discussion about gas giants. But they'd both became quiet as he walked her to the door of her lab. Like him, she had living quarters on the upper floor of her side of the building. They stood outside, trying to avoid directly looking at each other.
"So, you do want to come in? Maybe a cup of coffee?" she asked, breaking their self-conscious silence.
"Uh, sure, if it's no trouble."
"No, no trouble at all." His anxiety grew as she led him upstairs. He'd visited her laboratory before on several occasions. A couple of their cases had involved the use of her equipment. And he knew she'd been in his loft before, just not since the team had been torn into two. Seeing her living space should have been no big deal. But for some reason, it was.
She was in her tiny kitchen, scooping coffee into an overly complicated looking machine. He glanced at her sparsely decorated rooms. Like him, she was a minimalist, choosing function over form.
"So that's going to take a few minutes." He jumped as she came up behind him.
"Okay."
"So, I've been thinking," she began, "and, well only if you agree, of course, if you would want to take this romantic endeavor a step further?"
Walter froze. Oh, shit. She wasn't talking about intercourse, was she? He was positive he wouldn't be agreeable to that. He knew he'd never be able to deliver. Dating was one thing. Sex. It wasn't going to happen. Especially not tonight.
"Uh, how much further. . .?"
His expression must have given away what he'd been thinking. "Oh, no, not. . .not that," she said in a rush. "I was thinking maybe a kiss?"
"A kiss?" Hmm, he could do that. He hoped so anyway.
"Yes. Maybe you should tell me about the one we shared in your dream?" she suggested. "What was it like? Did you enjoy it?"
Memories of the dream kiss flooded his brain. He remembered why it had disturbed him so much, why it had made him feel so guilty. He had enjoyed it. It had been stimulating, had stirred his lust. That was why it had been so confusing, why he'd felt like he'd cheated on Paige.
"Yes," he admitted. He told her the rest of the details of the dream.
"Oh." She appeared to be shock, and he thought possibly a little bit sad. He didn't like the idea he'd hurt her, but she'd wanted to know.
"So, do you want a comparison?"
Did he? What if he enjoyed the real thing? What if it was better than kissing Paige? His whole world could be turned upside again. He still hadn't recovered from the last time his life had shifted tumultuously.
But he needed to know, to move on. He wanted someone who would accept him for who and what he was. It was crystal clear that woman would never be Paige. He had to forget her and take a chance on someone else who could make him happy.
"Yes," he finally said, "I would like to kiss you."
"Okay." Neither of them moved. He wondered if the smile on his face appeared similar to the grimace on hers.
Taking a step forward at the same time she did, he leaned in at the same time she did, tilted his head in the same direction she tilted hers. Realizing one of them needed to switch, he angled his head in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, she did as well.
She giggled as he tilted his head once more. Swallowing nervously, he moved toward her as the same time as she did. He pulled back, she pulled back. He leaned in, she leaned in. Their lips hovered millimeters away from each other.
A rush of anticipation flowed over Walter. This kiss. It could change his whole life.
He caught the flicker of frustration in Florence's eyes a second before she pressed her mouth on his. After the initial surprise, he noticed her lips felt. . .dry. That was it, just dry. Worrying he wasn't putting enough effort into it, he slid his lips over hers, swiping at them with his tongue. She gasped, her mouth opening up, and his tongue slipped inside a lot farther than he'd planned.
She gagged a little, then seemed to recover, only to convulse again as their tongues rubbed against each other. She pushed him away, an unnecessary gesture as he was already distancing himself.
"Oh." She covered her mouth, muffling her next words. "I think I'm going to be sick." Spinning on her heel, she rushed off in what he presumed was the direction of her bathroom. The door had barely slammed before he could hear her retching.
Fighting his own nausea, he realized kissing Florence had been one of the most disgusting things he'd ever done. And that was saying something. He'd done some pretty disgusting stuff, like sticking his hand into raw sewage to find Toby's stupid key ring.
This experiment, this endeavor, this kiss, had been an utter disaster. And one he knew he would never replicate. He suspected she'd reached the same conclusion when she emerged from the bathroom.
"Sorry." They were once again avoiding each other's eyes.
"No, I"m sorry," he said. And he was. This had been one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made. "Will you be okay?"
"I promise not to vomit any more if you promise not to kiss me again," she said with a wry smile.
"Okay."
"I think we just annihilated whatever feelings for you I had left," she stated. "There was never anything romantic between us, was there?"
He shook his head. "No, not on my part. I'm sorry if you thought my interest in you was anything but platonic. I didn't. . . It was never intentional."
"Oh, I know." She bobbled her head from side to side. "It's the old story; strange lonely female misinterprets gestures of friendship from an equally strange male, one who she knew was in a relationship with another woman." She lifted her head, meeting his gaze. "She's the only one for you, isn't she?"
He nodded. "I can't explain it, I never used to believe in love, but since the day I met her. . ." Tears threatened to spill as his throat closed up.
"It's okay," she said, stretching out her hand, hesitating for a moment before patting his arm. "I'll be okay. I hope you can be okay too."
"Little hope of that," he said, his voice rough. "But thanks."
A beep startled both of them until Walter realized it was the coffee maker.
"Do you still want. . ." She waved her hand toward the device on the counter.
He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket. "No, I best be going."
"Uh, we can still be friends, right? No hard feelings?" she asked. She smiled at him, a sad little smile which told him she'd lied earlier when she'd said she was totally over him. But she had to know as well as he did they were romantically and sexually incompatible. This evening had more than proved that hypothesis.
"Friends sounds good," he replied, remembering back to when they'd first met, when he didn't think they'd even be good neighbors. They'd both come a long way.
"All right, good night, Walter
"Good night, Florence," he replied. "See ya Monday?"
"Yeah, see ya Monday." He noticed her lips tightened a split second before he turned to leave.
ooooo
Walter let himself out of her lab, his heart heavy. Evidently he'd been right all along. Correct in his assumption he was too weird, too odd, too much of a burden, to find a woman he was both attracted to and who could love him despite all his flaws.
He'd thought he'd found that woman in Paige. And look how wrong he'd been about her. No, ever since he'd been a child, he'd knew he would eventually be alone in the world. It was time he accepted that fact.
He walked back into his empty half of the garage and sighed as he shut the door behind him.
