Thanks for WeBuiltthePyramids for her suggestions on this chapter. I get a lot of ideas, directly or indirectly, from reviews, so keep them coming!
He never should have left Paige's bed.
If he had any idea how that day would unfold—if he'd known that only a few hours later, the world would think he was a mass murderer—he would have stayed with her. Committed every moment to memory and told her over and over how incredible she made him feel.
What was she thinking? He wanted to explain, to hear her reaction, but there wasn't enough time. Did she believe him? Could he rightfully expect her to? He'd watched the video. Seen the news. It all looked real.
Walter slipped further into his seat, tugging his hood down. Fortunately, sunglasses and hoodies were not out of place in Los Angeles, but sooner or later he would start to look suspicious. Agents had arrived at the station minutes after his train pulled away. They would have had more time to catch him at the airport. Driving his car or borrowing one from anyone he knew was not an option. No one looked at each other on the train. It was his best chance for anonymity.
The team would have helped him. Willingly. But he couldn't involve them any more than they already were.
Walter dragged his hands over his face. He'd been so stupid. Why didn't he question it? His meetings with Deputy Director Cooper always took place in the same conference room. Like clockwork. He should have been suspicious when her text named a new location. He should have called. He should have done everything differently.
Walter could feel the bruises on his arms and ribs from being grabbed and bound. Three men. They were on him as soon as he entered the dark room—he'd had no chance of fighting them off, especially not once he was sedated. They didn't realize, of course, that his fingers hadn't quite healed right after he broke two of them on Scorpion's last case. It took all of his remaining mental clarity to snap them again and slip out of his restraints.
It wasn't hard to see, now, why they'd left him there alone. He was on the south side of the Homeland offices, ten feet from the bomb. If he'd known...god, if he'd known, he would have warned everyone. Gotten them out safely. Instead, he barely managed to return to the garage and throw together a bag before the explosives detonated. The last estimate was eleven dead, but that didn't account for the agents and staff who were still missing.
He had to disappear. Walter refused to believe Cooper was involved, but someone sent that message to lure him. Someone planned to obliterate him with that bomb, and manipulated the footage to make him look responsible. Every law enforcement agency in the country would be chasing a ghost, and no one would ever realize he wasn't the real culprit.
He'd never seen the men's faces. At least one of them had to be a Homeland agent, if not all three. Maybe more were involved. He didn't know why they'd carried out the attack, or why they chose him to frame. It was better for them to believe, as long as possible, that their plan had succeeded. Turning himself in before he knew who to trust was a suicide mission. And that was assuming they wouldn't just throw him in a dark cell for months without a trial.
The conductor announced his station and Walter grabbed his backpack, keeping his head bowed as he moved toward the door. He was exhausted, constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to recognize him. It had only been a few hours. How long would he be able to keep this up?
Walter checked his watch. Eight minutes until his connecting train. He glanced quickly around the crowded terminal, his eyes landing on a row of phone stations. It wasn't as much cover as he would have liked, but the metal partitions would shield him from onlookers until he could board. He slid into one of the empty seats, fumbling around for the phone in his pocket.
The genius hesitated. Keeping contact to a minimum was the logical course. And what if...what if Paige didn't want to talk to him? What if she blamed him? Walter didn't think he was strong enough to handle that at the moment.
It didn't matter. His need to hear her voice was stronger than his trepidation. He typed in her number, hands trembling, and held the phone to his ear. She picked up after the second ring. "Walter?" she said hopefully.
He swallowed. "Y-Yeah. It's me."
"Oh god. Oh my god." The words were muffled, like she was holding her hand over her mouth. "Are you okay?"
"I'm okay. I'm safe." Walter dropped his head into his hand, suddenly and forcefully wishing that they were face-to-face. He knew the soft noise in the background was her trying to stifle tears; he'd heard it before. "I'm sorry, Paige. I'm so sorry."
"Tell me it wasn't you." His heart twisted painfully at the pleading in her voice. "I need to hear it again. Tell me you didn't do it and I'll believe you."
"I didn't do it," Walter said quietly, not wanting the commuters on either side of him to overhear. "I was supposed to die in the explosion. I got out. Someone set me up, but I don't know who. Not yet."
Paige let out a shuddering breath. "I don't doubt you. I don't. I'm sorry—."
"Paige," he cut her off. "I know. It's okay. I wouldn't blame you if you did."
She was no longer holding back her sobs. Walter shut his eyes, leaning into the phone as if that would allow him to be closer to her. "Where are you going?" she asked finally, her voice shaking.
"Somewhere safe. It's better that you don't know." He needed to end the call. Even on a burner, it wasn't wise to stay on the line for too long. It was possible that her phone had already been tapped. But he didn't want to let her go. "Paige?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
"I, uh..." Walter cleared his throat, feeling his own eyes start to burn. Getting emotional would only draw attention. He tried to steady his breathing. "I would never give up my life with you and Ralph. F-For anything. I wanted you to know that."
Paige didn't answer right away. Sometimes, when they were on the phone, she would nod and then remember that he couldn't see her. He wondered if she was doing that now. "Just come home, Walter. I love you."
"You're the love of my life." Walter always said that when I love you didn't seem like enough. This was one of those times.
He hung up.
The breeze felt good. It was a warm evening, and the sky was overcast. There were enough people walking around, waiting for tables at restaurants or pointing into the windows of stores, that Walter could pass through mostly unnoticed.
That was another reason he'd chosen the train. From the station, it was only a ten-minute walk. Safer than being studied by a cab driver. Everything he'd taken with him fit in one bag—his laptop, two disposable phones, and whatever clothes were within reach. Nothing else seemed that important.
Walter didn't have to double-check the address. He'd been turning it over and over in his head for hours. He walked around to the back of the complex, jogging up the stairs and knocking on the door to apartment twelve. He moved back as the door swung open in his direction.
"You made it," Veronica said with a grin, stepping aside. "Come in."