Been a few days without any updates, so sorry for that! We are nearing the Kentucky Derby (it's on Saturday) and that's the biggest day of the year for me, so I've been running around my side of the Mississippi for prep races and festivities and all that jazz, and I'm going to be in Kentucky most of this week, so I'm not sure if I'll be able to update again before next Sunday. I'll see how I feel in the evenings, though! In the meantime, hope you enjoy this chapter!
I know I'm not what you want in a relationship. But if we can put enough behind us to be friends, I would like that.
The words were playing on loop in her mind. Paige shook her head, silently asking her brain to put anything else in her head. Anything else.
Our state fair is a great state fair…
Okay. Maybe she should think about why agreeing to be civil to Walter had put her in near tears the moment she was alone. Although if she was honest with herself, she already knew.
She missed him. It shouldn't be that hard for her to admit that, at least to herself. They'd been together for nearly a year, and with the exception of the month immediately before that, she'd rarely gone more than a few days without seeing him. Even when she was upset with him, seeing him was a comfort that she never really let herself question. After spending years at his side in a professional sense and eleven odd months with his hand in hers, completely separating from that was really fucking hard. And now, when she was angry with him again, she still hated him not laying next to her now, sound asleep, relaxed and vulnerable in a way that he never was with anyone else.
Sure, they had their problems. But every relationship had problems. Not every relationship was special, and hers and Walter's was certainly that.
Paige pulled the pillow from the other side of the bed to her chest and buried her face in it, inhaling deeply. The only scent was that of detergent. The very night she had broken up with him, she'd washed everything that might smell like him. She wanted to go back and throttle herself. Paige stared up at the ceiling. The paint was slightly uneven. Once, Walter had likened the pattern right above the headboard to some sort of constellation. She'd thought of that the night everything fell apart, something she hadn't minded at the time but she used to internally justify her accusation that Walter always bored her with science.
Saying that the paint splash looked like Boötes wasn't boring. It was incredibly interesting. Paige never would have thought of that, and yet the moment he pointed out the resemblance, she saw it. That was creative. That was the side of his brain he struggled with, and he was nurturing it by referring to what he knew. Wasn't that how people learned? Shouldn't she have been proud of him?
Of course, she stood by other examples she gave him. She did want to walk on the beach and have the words that passed between them be exclusively sweet nothings. She did want him to like her friends…although if she was perfectly honest, she was sadder that he was uncomfortable around them than she was mad that he didn't act like he wasn't. That had been yet another cheap shot. One that wasn't even something she'd been mad about and was simply holding back – though she knew that was an issue of hers, too. That point had been just plain unfair.
Open communication. That had been their mantra, ever since they'd first confessed that there were feelings there. Open communication. When they did it, it worked. Their relationship was progressing steadily after that initial confession, to the point where she'd even told him that thinking he had slept with someone who wasn't her made her feel an unpleasant sort of way, even though they weren't together and he'd had every right to have slept with Stella. His assurance to her that nothing had happened was just another thing that he didn't have to do. It was as if they were, even though they weren't.
Then he had tried speed dating as a way to better his social skills and that bothered her too, but she clammed up, flat out insisting that it didn't. Shortly after, Tim Armstrong had showed up, he hadn't told her that the way the SEAL looked at her bothered him, and then suddenly they were both seeing other people, he was ruining her dates and she was telling him she loved him only because she knew he wouldn't remember it.
He'd done some stupid, immature things. But all those things happened because communication stopped, and that had been no one's fault but her own. She had tipped the domino to start that chain reaction.
The first few months of their relationship was like that as well. Laughing and kissing and cuddling and sex and holding hands just because they could…and talking. They talked a lot those first few months. They were honest and they were vulnerable and they learned about each other in a way that wasn't possible without that kind of dynamic. Then, after Christmas – after he had nearly died – they stopped again. She knew part of it was he was worried about how she would react to knowing he dreamed about Florence. And she knew part of it was she let him believe the dream didn't bother her when it did. After that, anything regarding Florence was going to be a touchy subject, and so when she found out about the lecture, even though he hadn't told her to spare her feelings, she…overreacted.
I had a right to be angry he lied. She stood by that, even though she knew the white lie concept had to be confusing for him. But was that worth a breakup over? Was that worth throwing every tiny little miniscule issue she'd had with him over the past eleven months in his face and then saying she was done?
I know you're keeping something from me. I don't care what it is, I love you.
Cabe once said, in a rare moment that he spoke of his daughter, that you know your true feelings for someone more when you're afraid to lose them than in any other situation. She knew Walter was alive and well, but what if Team Scorpion 2.0 went out on some mission tomorrow and he was killed and she would find out via the news? After everything they'd been through together, she would learn of his death the same way she learned of his precarious situation on the cliff's edge way back in the first year they knew each other.
She would like to believe that Cabe would call her. But what if he didn't?
What if Walter died because he was trying to be the hero, as he always did, but this time it was too much to ask of someone who was short four members of what had been a finely tuned problem – solving machine that had saved the entire human race on more than one occasion? What if he needed one last breath of oxygen to get out of a toxic building? What if he needed someone to talk his dying brain into saving his own life? What if the next time he was in a tornado, he was the one who wasn't secured, and no one was there to hold his hand and promise they'd never let him go?
How did we let something so good end so badly?
She wasn't even sure if the thought was about Scorpion or their relationship.
Paige pulled the pillow back to her chest, just for something to hold. Ralph had asked her several questions about her conversations with Walter at the picnic, and he seemed pleased when she said they were going to try to be friends. She smiled to herself as she remembered. The kid's questions were so pointed and methodical, as if he was doing research for an experiment.
That thought made her wonder why the things she found so special about her son were the things she claimed she liked the least about Walter.
I don't care what it is, I love you.
That was all that had been in her head when she thought he could die. That they needed to talk to each other again, and everything would be okay, because she loved him and she knew he loved her. All they needed, to get through anything, was the communication they seemed to always shut down despite how well doing it worked.
I love you.
Well, that didn't matter now. He just wanted to be friends.
Florence reached out and dragged her finger across her phone screen, knowing exactly where to place it to silence her alarm – again – without opening her eyes. She grunted at the alarm for good measure, then rolled over and curled up into a ball, nestling into the mattress.
She was exhausted. She supposed that was only to be expected; Team Scorpion was working with less than half of what they were used to, and although she was sure he would take offense if she pointed it out, Cabe really couldn't help with most of the heavy lifting. So to speak, anyway. For actual heavy lifting, Cabe was actually pretty useful. But when one part of your body started working harder than normal, the rest of your body went into overdrive to help, and you ended up tired. But just because it made sense that her brain was draining her body of energy didn't mean it was convenient.
And her brain had been doing a lot of personal work too, in the past week.
Ever since the mixer.
She and Sylvester hadn't talked, at least not about anything important. He'd seen something on the news about a recall on her car, so he'd texted her to make sure she saw it. She'd said thank you, with an emoji that either looked relieved or carsick. She'd sent the message hoping that either the emoji meant relieved or that Sylvester would wrongly interpret it the same way she did.
She wanted to talk to him. She was confused and guilty and confused and…she couldn't remember if she'd already listed confused but she was probably twice as confused as she was guilty so it would work anyway. Maybe. She didn't even follow her own train of thought anymore. She blamed it on her overworked brain. They really needed to find a new mechanic or a new doctor soon, to ease some of the pressure and let the current team members catch up on sleep before she and Walter and Cabe started forgetting things. Fatigue was dangerous when it came to cognitive ability. That was how people in high pressure situations failed or died. She couldn't afford to forget anything.
And suddenly, she remembered something she had forgotten. Something she'd even written on her hand, in a code she'd made up in the sixth grade, as a reminder. Sitting bolt upright, Florence flung the covers off and ran for the door, slipping her feet into the only footwear she owned that she didn't need to tie. "Shit." She grabbed her bag and her keys and she was halfway to her car before she realized she was still in her pajamas, but she didn't go back inside. She couldn't. She was probably too late already.
"Shit," she said again, jumping into her car and fumbling to put the key in the ignition. Her watch was ticking, and she swore it was ten times louder than normal. "Shit, shit, shit."
