courage, my dear

by cowlicklesschick

What's it going to take for him to decide that he doesn't care how scared he is, that he's done hiding? As with most of the good things in his life, Paige is the catalyst.

Okay first of all

If you've not read To Find Roots Somewhere by WeBuiltThePyramids, press pause, go read it, cry for like a week, then come back and read this. Paige's monologue is heavily inspired by that and it remains one my top 5 favorite pieces of Scorpion fic ever.

Secondly, I hope you like this. It's been marinating on my flash-drive for eons.

/

They all know that Sylvester is the bravest of them.

It makes sense, because courage is essentially denying your fears, and the mathematician has more fears than Toby has witty comebacks. So it stands to reason that the one who has the most to overcome is the most proficient in overcoming it.

Still, Walter envies him.

He makes it look so easy – not things like touching door handles or dodging bullets. Sylvester has half a dozen anxiety attacks every day from those things. Happy keeps building him new stress grips because he keeps breaking them.

No, what Sylvester has courage for, in spades, is loving.

Walter could blame his friend's hyperactive EQ, but that's probably not fair. Sylvester has difficulty relating to normals like the rest of them; he rarely comes across as rude, like Happy or Walter, but usually he gets assigned the term 'weird'.

But despite his anxious babbling, his phobias and borderline addiction to hand sanitizer, Sylvester shows an extraordinary ability to come face-to-face with a terrifying situation, and dive in without hesitation.

Honestly, the last thing Walter expected from that trip to Bosnia was for his sister to fall in love with his friend. Part of his negative reaction while in Mexico had been purely from shock. But while it was easier to understand Megan's feelings, Sly's kept him baffled for days.

Sylvester's afraid of everything. Shouldn't he be afraid of being with someone who is terminally ill? Aside from the fact that Megan lived in a hospital – the birthplace of many of Sylvester's nightmares – for the last several months of her life, Walter knew in his bones that the odds weren't in his sister's favor. What if he couldn't save her? Wasn't Sylvester terrified of losing her? Why would he intentionally choose to be in pain later?

On and on the questions went, giving him a headache from the seeming absence of logic in his friend's decision.

Finally they went to visit her together. He always smiled more around his sister, but the moment they set foot in the door Sylvester's entire face lit up with sheer joy and it never dimmed until they left.

Eidetic memory or no, Walter will remember that look – and the matching one on Megan's face – until the day he dies.

He watched the two of them carefully, cataloguing the small touches and gentle looks, and went to get some coffee later to give them a moment alone. He stood for much longer than necessary in front of the coffee machine, replaying their visit in his mind.

There wasn't any doubt that Sylvester was still afraid. Fear was a part of Sylvester's personality, and yet he sat in a hospital room comfortably, completely at ease with his surroundings because of who he was with.

It began to make sense, then.

To Sylvester, Megan was worth the emotional grappling, the anxiety and the panic and the fear; she was worth the effort it took to overcome them.

To him, she was worth everything.

And so Walter is beginning to understand, all these months later, just what an incredible thing it was for Megan to have been loved by someone like Sylvester Dodd.

He's come to regard his brother with something akin to awe. He knows what that fear is, strangling and suffocating in your chest, and to know someone who's already overcome it…

He supposes that a normal person would call it inspiring.

But for him, it's almost depressing, because he's not sure if he can ever do that for himself; it takes him another few months to understand that Sylvester was able to love Megan because she helped him find the courage. Her presence, her mere existence were Sylvester's motivation for facing his fears.

That then begs the question: what will make Walter overcome his? What's it going to take for him to decide that he doesn't care how scared he is, that he's done hiding?

As with most of the good things in his life, Paige is the catalyst.

The case today was a tough one – a young girl with Down syndrome got separated from her companion at a carnival; through a bizarre turn of unlikely events, Emma accidentally found a stash of heroin that was hidden behind a trash can for a pickup. The case had a tracking device inside, and the girl had simply picked up the case and trotted off with it.

(Melissa, her caregiver, later explained to them that one of Emma's favorite things to do at home is tote empty suitcases up and down the hallway, pretending she's going on a big adventure. Since the drugs were in a briefcase, she thought nothing of playing the same game there).

There were far too many close calls for Walter's taste; Emma had been within twenty feet of a gunfight and Paige ended up throwing herself on top of the child before it was all over. While he certainly understands Paige's actions, Walter can't forget the panic that clawed at his insides when he saw her lying on the ground beneath flying bullets, doing her best to keep Emma calm.

On top of all that, the girl's mother had been extremely difficult to track down; she was on a business trip to San Diego and didn't seem to grasp the concept of her daughter being in serious danger, because she kept arguing that 'Melissa should be able to handle it, that's her job'. Eventually, Cabe just told her that a legal parent or guardian, along with the girl's caregiver, would need to pick her up from the garage. She had sighed before agreeing.

Thankfully, no one had been seriously harmed, other than a couple of drug dealers; Emma was brought back to the garage to wait for her mother and Melissa to pick her up. Toby's showing her how to play Proton Arnold in the meantime.

They're in the middle of paperwork (Cabe is debriefing Homeland) when the door opens and Melissa, a woman in her early thirties, in jeans and a sweatshirt, walks in – followed by Emma's mother, who's wearing pencil skirt, heels, a Bluetooth earpiece, and an expression that manages to be both hostile and demure all at once.

Walter hurries forward; Emma beats him there and throws her arms around Melissa's waist.

The mother smiles thinly. "Mr. O'Brien," she extends one hand. "Thank you for finding my daughter. Emma has never tried anything like this before. Please accept my sincere apologies for the inconvenience, and trust me – it won't happen again."

Melissa's eyes flicker to the ground upon hearing those words, and Walter doesn't miss the way Paige goes rigid behind her desk. He's still not great with social cues, but he's fairly certain that her speech indicates some major problems in the mother's thinking.

She offers another tight smile before spinning on her heel, motioning for Melissa and Emma to precede her out the door. Walter wonders if he should offer a farewell to Emma – she's a sweet child, with a great deal of curiosity, and nothing about today was her fault, so he'd hate for her to leave thinking he's upset with her.

Paige, however, takes matter entirely out of his hands.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Chapman?"

The woman turns, one eyebrow raised. Paige folds her arms, which Walter has learned means nothing good for whoever she's talking to.

"I've been thinking, and I'm sorry if this appears nosy or rude, but, um…I wondered if I might offer you some advice?"

Mrs. Chapman blinks. "You have a child with Down's?"

"No," Paige admits. "But – "

"Then nothing you have to say could be of any value to me." Mrs. Chapman turns. "Let's go, Melissa."

"You're making a mistake."

Mrs. Chapman pauses, looks over at Paige. "You think so?"

"We looked into your family's accounts and history when Emma first went missing," Paige reminds her. They had been slowed down considerably by the family's bank being uncooperative in releasing financial records. "You hired Melissa when Emma was only three months old."

"That's correct," is the terse reply. "Down's children have very specific needs, so a qualified caregiver was important to find."

"And you did a great job," Paige says. "Melissa is wonderful with her. But it's like you're a stranger to your own daughter – you're gone at least two weeks out of every month, sometimes more. Melissa's job title is companion, but in reality she's the one raising your child. And that's a mistake."

There's a heartbeat of ringing silence, before Mrs. Chapman clears her throat. "Melissa, take Emma to the car and wait there for me."

She's obeyed without hesitation; Emma waves goodbye to them all and Walter grins, wishes Ralph could have met her.

The moment the door clangs shut, Mrs. Chapman removes her Bluetooth and draws herself up to her full height before facing Paige.

"I'm glad you had enough spare time between bickering with drug lords and almost getting my daughter shot today, to pass judgments on my decisions as a mother." Her voice is ice-cold steel. Paige meets it without so much as a shiver. "But since you clearly have no idea what the challenges of a special-needs child are – "

"I have more of an idea than you think," Paige cuts her off.

Illogical though it might be, Walter would not be surprised to see actual sparks fly out of her eyes.

"My son is a genius. There are aspects of him that I will never understand, and I spent the first nine years of his life thinking he was intellectually challenged," here, Paige utters a choked laugh and rolls her eyes, as if her misconceptions about Ralph were due to her own stupidity, or lack of effort. "I thought he had some unheard of mental or learning disability. Instead, it turned out I was the problem. I wasn't trying to connect with him in the right ways. I was failing him, and I had no idea."

There's so much emotion in her voice that even Walter picks up on it; he glances at her, notices that Mrs. Chapman now looks a little hesitant, even as she argues again.

"But a genius versus a child with Down's Syndrome – I was so afraid – "

"Stop saying it like that," Paige snaps. "It's an extra chromosome, not the Bubonic Plague. And do you think I wasn't afraid? My boyfriend ditched us, stopped sending rent money after two months. We got evicted, my three-year-old son lost his favorite toy because our belongings were piled on the curb – "

Her voice catches, but only for a moment. "I carried him for miles, because I refused to let him sleep on the streets. I scraped two dollars in change out of the bottom of my purse and bought him an ice cream while I begged for an advance on a waitressing job. Do you honestly think you're the first parent to ever be afraid that they're not good enough for their child?"

Walter doesn't realize he's holding his breath until it hits him how quiet it is; they're all staring at Paige, but it's like she's forgotten the team's even in the room.

Mrs. Chapman's voice is quiet, defeated now. "The fear we felt –"

" – is, at the end of the day, no different than the fear that every parent feels." Paige shakes her head. "Being afraid is no excuse for being a coward."

To Walter's immense shock, Mrs. Chapman doesn't seem further offended. Instead she looks up from where her fingers are twisting together anxiously. "I'll never truly understand her – "

" – and yet you found someone who does," Paige points towards the door. "Does Melissa have any family or friends with Down's?"

"No."

"So what makes her special, if it's not experience? Why is she able to connect with and understand your daughter?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Chapman almost shouts. "She's a very empathetic person, maybe – "

"Wrong." Paige tosses the papers she's holding onto the table, steps forward until she's almost toe-to-toe with Mrs. Chapman. "The difference is that she tries. She sees that little girl with her quirks and personality and smiles and hugs, and she chooses to love and cherish all of it, not hide from the challenging parts of raising a child who is different from her."

"I love my daughter," the whisper sounds strangled, but there's a defensive note underneath it. "I – she's kind, and funny, and…I don't want her to be anything other than she is."

Paige softens a little, and reaches one hand out to the other woman's arm. "That's the most important part, Mrs. Chapman. But there isn't a parent alive – regardless of what their child's needs are – that knows all the answers. Raising a kid is a learning process. You…you just have to be willing to try. Emma needs that from you."

"I'm not ready to be the only one taking care of her," Mrs. Chapman sounds panicked, and shakes her head.

"I wouldn't be either," Paige smiles gently. "I took the job here at Scorpion because they help me understand my son. It was terrifying at first, watching my elementary-school-age-kid work calculus equations and rattle off chemical formulas from memory. But that's who he is. He has gifts, talents, and he's learning how to use them for good. But even with all the progress he's made, I could never do it without Scorpion."

"Emma loves to draw," Mrs. Chapman notes, looking hopeful for the first time. "Melissa is always hanging her artwork on the fridge."

"Then maybe Emma would enjoy a mother-daughter art class," Paige says. "Talk with Melissa, ask for some ideas. Mrs. Chapman, there's nothing wrong or shameful about asking for help. Just…just don't forget you're Emma's mom."

The woman inhales shakily, nods before clearing her throat in an attempt to regain her stoic professionalism. "I'll…keep that in mind." She squints, eyes Paige in a new light. "You know, I don't think anyone else would have had the courage to address me the way you did today."

"I...um…" Paige looks nervous for the first time. "I'm sorry if I came across as, uh – "

"You did," Mrs. Chapman answers, but smiles ruefully. "But I needed it."

She nods farewell to the rest of them, and makes an exit that's every bit as impressive as her entrance was.

None of them dare move; Walter's head feels like it's spinning, and for the first time in all the years he's known him, Toby appears completely speechless.

After a few moments, Paige spins on her heel. "Excuse me," she murmurs, and takes the stairs to the loft quickly without making eye contact with any of them, though Walter thinks she took special care to avoid his gaze in particular.

Toby swears softly under his breath. "Did you guys know all that stuff? About her and Ralphy before they met us?"

"Ralph must have been so little," Sylvester frets.

"I…I knew they were evicted. But I, um. I didn't know the…s-specifics." Walter swallows, surprised to find it's difficult with the lump in his throat. The paper's he's holding are crinkled around the edges from his grip, and he has to take several deep breaths before he realizes that he's upset.

Really upset. He's able to identify the emotions of sadness, anger, and guilt, but they're all so knotted up and tangled together in his gut that he knows it's useless to try and process them right now.

So he clears his throat, smooths the forms in his hands. "We should give her some space," he says. "She'll come back down when she's ready."

Wordlessly, they all turn back to their desks, each taking a chunk of the post-case paperwork that normally falls to their liaison. They work for the better part of two hours, in silence and without any appearance from the loft.

Finally, Happy tosses her pen down. "Okay, I'm willing to admit I'm distracted. Why hasn't Paige mentioned how bad it was for her before? It's not like she has reason to be embarrassed, we know Drew's to blame for ditching them."

Walter has to grip the edge of his desk so he doesn't snap a pencil in half; the fresh wave of anger that sweeps over him upon learning just what, exactly, Drew allowed to happen all those years ago startles him, but for once he doesn't shy away from the intensity of the emotion. Somehow he knows that his anger here is completely justified.

"You don't talk about your time in foster care," Toby says gently. "People avoid talking about the bad times in their lives."

"He's right," Sylvester surprises them all. "Megan didn't like talking about the times she got sick as a child, or all the things she couldn't do anymore as she got worse. And she definitely didn't like talking about the day she was diagnosed."

"I've avoided talking about details," Happy argues. "But you guys still know about that part of my life in general."

Sylvester straightens the pile of papers on his desk, smooths the corners down. "And I knew about Megan's illness," he says quietly. "But Megan told me once that she wanted to spend what time she had left making new, happier memories. Not dwelling on sad ones."

Let's make new memories while we still can, Walter.

He's halfway to the stairs before he even registers that he's moving.

"Walt – hey, Walter – "

Toby pulls on his arm. Walter turns to face them, from his place on the bottom step.

"You said we were going to give her some space," Toby reminds him.

"It's been two hours," Walter rolls his shoulders. "I-if she…wants more time then I'll give it to her. But…I'd like t-to…um, make sure she's okay."

Toby squints up at him, nods slowly. "Okay. We're gonna head out, then. If, um. If you guys need anything – "

"Sure." Walter nods back, watches them gather their stuff and when the door shuts behind Happy he resumes climbing the stairs, only much more slowly than he started.

How could he have been so stupid?

All this time, from the tiny moments when their fingers brush as he hands her a cup of coffee every morning, to the months – years, if he's being honest – spent talking, teaching Ralph how to love the beauty with which science paints his world rather than appreciating the science alone…

All this time, they could have been using to build their already rock-solid trust in each other, to make something that takes every piece of logic his brain offers as an argument and blasts it to shreds.

His palms feel sweaty as he reaches the landing. For once, he doesn't need help understanding why he suddenly feels nervous.

It's entirely possible he's too late.

Because he's been so afraid of losing her, all this time, and while part of him prickles defensively at the thought, saying it was understandable, he knows that what Paige said earlier is true – being afraid is no excuse for being a coward.

But it's the only excuse he has, so it'll have to do.

Paige isn't in the living room or kitchen; he enters his bedroom area cautiously, hesitating when he hears water running in the bathroom. He decides to wait on the couch for her to finish, and turns back towards the door – only to freeze when he sees her jacket and shirt draped over a chair.

The jacket is in one piece, but the sleeveless blouse she wore today is sporting a long rip across the back, the surrounding fabric dotted with tiny flecks of dark red-brown.

Before his brain has a chance to catch up with the rest of him, he's already three steps into the bathroom.

"Walter!" Paige yelps, grabs a towel to haphazardly cover herself. "What are you – "

"Why didn't you tell us you were injured?" He cuts her off. Vaguely he's glad for his churning emotions; they're keeping him from staring at the bare skin she's showing.

Paige stares at him. "Walter…I – "

"What if it had been serious?" He continues, even moving to stand behind her. She's stripped to the waist, hair pulled into a sloppy knot on the top of her head. His eyes land on the angry cut on her shoulder, red and swollen and mercifully ruling out the possibility of a gunshot wound.

"It's just a scratch," she squirms away from him. "It happened while I was guarding Emma."

Vaguely he remembers seeing her roll the girl away from the gunfight; she had taken her jacket off earlier and one of the rough gravel stones in the empty parking lot must have caught its edge on her shoulder. But he doesn't understand how she's hidden it this well from the rest of them. Obviously she put her jacket back on, probably so Emma wouldn't see, but despite how superficial it is a wound like this has to be causing her extreme discomfort at best.

"It could get infected, you should have told Toby – "

Walter pauses, suddenly listening to the small-but-growing part of his brain that pays attention to things like body language and social cues. Paige is looking at the floor, mouth a thin, tight line. Her eyes are shining with what he belatedly recognizes are tears.

His chest aches.

"Oh." Deliberately, he talks slower, lets the concern soften his voice rather than sharpen it, and he sees her shoulders relax slightly. "I'm sorry, Paige. I just…I-I saw your shirt and jumped, uh. Jumped to conclusions."

One side of her mouth quirks up a tiny bit, but it makes him feel a lot better. "It's okay, Walter. You're right, I should have told somebody. I had some trouble getting it clean; sorry for getting your towels dirty."

He glances over, sees the red-spotted towels on the floor by the recently-used shower. Now that the frantic hum of worry has receded, he notices she's wearing a pair of his sweatpants, rolled over at the waist. There's an old tshirt, folded on the counter, alongside the first aid kit he keeps in the kitchen.

"They'll wash," he says, feeling himself relax as he forms a plan. "Do…um. May I help you?"

He's learned a lot from her, and that's why he phrases the question as though he wants to, not as if he's checking whether or not she wants his help. If she's absolutely uncomfortable with him patching her up, she'll tell him, he trusts her to do that. But if she's merely indifferent to the idea, there's a far greater chance of her saying yes if she knows it's something he needs in order to calm himself down again.

"Sure."

She turns around, offers him a clean washcloth, and clutches the towel tighter against her front. Walter takes a moment to dampen the cloth with warm water, and begins to wipe the dried blood away from the skin surrounding the wound. Paige did a decent job getting it clean, especially since it was at an awkward angle for her to reach, but he can see a few bits of gravel and dirt caught in the rough, jagged edges of torn skin.

Once the wound is clean, he reaches for the med kit. "This might sting a little," he warns. She doesn't pull away from the antibacterial swab, but he sees her grimace in the mirror, and makes an effort to soften his touch even more.

This time he sees her swallow, and she glances up to meet his eyes before quickly looking away.

He focuses on applying the ointment and bandage, making sure the edges lie flat and comfortably so they won't catch on her clothes. The silence stretches on, heavy but not uncomfortable, and he suddenly realizes that all of their silences are like that. She's never pushed him to say something he's not ready for, always letting him draw the line. But she also never given him reason to doubt that she'll be waiting for him when he finally scrapes together the courage to step over that line, to reach outside his comfort zone of facts and figures.

He thinks of Megan's face, smiling at the camera.

Walter, don't be afraid to love.

He thinks of Sylvester, putting the stars on a hospital room ceiling and wearing a white band-aid on his finger.

I just want you to be as happy as I am.

She was, he realizes. Megan was in constant pain and her quality of life was abysmal at best during those last few months…but she was completely, blissfully happy. Because she and Sly chose not to be afraid of love.

He doesn't like thinking about himself like this, pointing out and defining the fear that cripples him. But it's there, and he's developed too much emotionally in the past two years to pretend it's anything else. Walter O'Brien is terrified, and the reason is currently standing in front of him with a towel across her chest and a gauze bandage taped to her shoulder and tears glistening in her eyes.

The last detail compels him to gently turn her around. She stares at the next to last button on his shirt.

"Paige."

She swallows, but otherwise doesn't let on she even heard him.

Walter hesitates for a bare second before he lets the back of his fingers dust her cheek. Her eyes fly up to meet his.

"You…um. You were very brave today."

She shrugs. "We've been in gunfights before. And Emma was right in the middle of it all, I had to do something."

"I agree," he says, wondering why his hand hasn't moved back down to his side yet. Instead it's resting in the hollow between her neck and shoulder, his thumb brushing her jawline with a touch that's gentler than he thought he was capable of. "I, uh – I don't want you anywhere near gunfights as a general rule but I certainly understand your actions today. You did the right thing."

She nods. He takes a deep breath.

"B-but, I wa-wasn't talking about the gunfight."

Paige frowns; he grins slightly.

"Mrs. Chapman was much more intimidating than those mercenaries."

She snorts, more from surprise than amusement, but it lightens the atmosphere a little.

"I guess so," she concedes. She makes no move to step away from him, even though his hand is more or less cupping her neck while his thumb rubs soft circles by her ear. "But I've stood up to people like that before, you wouldn't believe the number of school counselors I had to fight tooth and nail to keep Ralph out of the special education program."

He can only imagine, and then he does so with a grimace.

"I guess the rest of us…we didn't really understand what you went through before you joined Scorpion. How bad it was."

She looks at him, serious and quiet, and says, "It's not your fault you didn't find us sooner, Walter."

"I know." That doesn't stop me from wishing I had. "But a-aside from that, it…um. I don't imagine it was easy. Talking about it in front of everyone like that."

He's surprised her. He can tell by the way her lips part with no sound coming out. But he can also tell he's pleased her with his insight, by the way her eyes soften.

"It wasn't," she admits. "It was really hard. You guys are really sweet and are always singing my praises as a mom…it's hard to talk about when I was failing."

"You weren't," he says immediately. "Don't ever say that, Paige. You told Mrs. Chapman yourself that sometimes all parents can do is try. And for Ralph's whole life, you've tried to be what he needs even when you didn't know how. No child could ask for a better mother than you."

Paige blinks rapidly, draws in a shaky breath. "Walter – "

"It takes courage," he tells her, wants her to understand. "All those years you did it alone, without anyone to help you and feeling like you weren't helping your son…you were so brave, Paige."

She chokes on a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "Walter –"

"I wish I could be that brave for you."

That last part wasn't supposed to come out, but the moment it crosses his lips Paige's jaw drops.

"What?"

He stares at her for a moment, and remembers one night when he and Sylvester went to go see Megan. His sister had had an awful day, her pain meds weren't doing anything to help her and while Walter went to go talk to the doctor, Sylvester stayed behind to keep her company. Just before he left the room, Walter paused, taking in the scene of his best friend and his sister holding hands.

"I'm so tired, Sly." Megan pushed her hair out of her eyes. "Normally I can at least get a couple of good hours each day. But today – "

"Tomorrow will be better." Sylvester squeezed her hand. "It's a Saturday, I'll bring breakfast and we can watch a movie."

Megan smiled. "You know, Sly…there's times when I'm lying here and my illness terrifies me. But when I think about being with you, and seeing you again…somehow I find the courage to face another day. I love you for that."

Sylvester leaned across to kiss her brow. "You give me the courage to face…well, everything, so I guess that makes us even. And I love you too."

Amid his sister's laughter, Walter ducked out of the room, but didn't go looking for the doctor just yet.

Paige's hand on his shoulder jolts him back to the present; her eyes are wide and concerned and he can smell that lavender hand cream she still uses. He resists the impulse to bring her hand up to his face and nuzzle into her palm.

"Walter, are you all right?"

"Y-yes. Just, um. Remembering something my sister said once."

Paige blinks at the apparent change in subject, but he rushes on.

"She told Sly that…that he gave her the courage to face another day. And he did, I could tell…um, towards the end. She was happy, in spite of everything."

Paige nods slowly, like she's trying to figure out where he's going with this.

He'd tell her if he knew himself. He's in the dark, searching for the light he knows is there and praying he doesn't trip over himself and lose it all.

"Paige…" Walter swallows. "F-for so long now, the thought of letting…um, letting myself be with you was terrifying. But, uh. But I've slowly realized that the s-same person who makes you afraid can also give you courage."

Understanding dawns in Paige's eyes; she goes still, but he can feel her pulse jumping wildly under his hand resting against her neck.

"You've always helped me find courage when I've been afraid," he says quietly. "I think…I think I understand now, what Megan meant. When she told me to not be afraid to love." His other hand curls around her hip, not pulling her closer but not letting her go either. "I…I don't want to be afraid anymore. I don't know how good at being brave I'll be, because this is all new, but…if, um. If y-you're willing to…help me, I'd like to try."

For several long moments, Paige just stares at him. Walter can practically see his words hanging between them, threatening to ruin the most precious thing in his life, and the first beats of panic are starting to panic in his chest when Paige erupts into movement.

Her weight, thrown against him, makes him stumble, his back hits the wall of the tiny bathroom and he's reminded all over again of her lack of clothing when he automatically reaches around her middle to steady them both. But he's quickly distracted from his shock by the taste of Paige, her hands carding through his hair and the sheer desperation he feels in the kiss.

It's sloppy, her aim isn't quite right but it's making him see stars anyway. He cups her face in his hands and adjusts, relishing the quiet sounds she's making and the way she's clinging to him, like she's as afraid as he is but trying to be brave, too.

Maybe that's it, he thinks. Maybe love is about both people being afraid, but learning to be brave with each other.

Paige squirms in his grasp, and his brain short-circuits when he feels her drop the towel that's been between them.

Yes, he decides. This moment, with his whole world in his arms, will give him courage to face another day.

/

*special-education programs are great for kids who need them; Ralph didn't need them so that's why there's a negative connotation for them here.

thanks for reading, Just a Number should be updated sometime this week