Updates to The Cyclone Trap and Season Five coming! I've been chasing racehorses the past few weeks and it's been so hard to write. But the cancellation of the show isn't stealing my passion for it; once my life settles I hope to be cranking this shiz out again. In the meantime, while you wait for the fix it fics and write your own, I hope you are all still enjoying this story. There's still quite a bit to come, although we are definitely in the second half.

"There's holmium and helium and hafnium and erbium and phosphorus and francium and fluorine and terbium…"

Sylvester had made himself learn the song to impress Florence's friends the first time they had gone to a chemistry event together, one that they had almost missed due to a delayed case in Florida, but the stars had aligned and they'd arrived home with just enough time to drive over. With his memory, tackling the song had been fairly easy. Perhaps fitting when thinking of proportions, effort versus reward, they hadn't been overly impressed. She had been, though, and that was really all that mattered.

That was hot, she'd explained when, after her friends headed off for food, she'd pulled him around the line of vending machines and kissed him hard on the mouth.

He remembered being cocky, almost to the point where he didn't sound like himself. Oh, you like that, huh?

They'd still been in the fairly early stages of their relationship then, a couple months in, her still learning to be vulnerable and him still learning that she wasn't with him as some sort of consolation prize. It was in that moment, with impulsive kissing and smug grins and the giggling that followed that he realized they were going to be okay. He'd never discussed that revelation with her – not specifically – but she had told him the first time they slept together, just days later, that something changed at that convention. It was like walking from a muggy Orlando afternoon into air conditioning.

Our relationship is a muggy Orlando afternoon to you? Even then, he knew his ability to joke meant he was confident in her answer.

You know what I mean. Clarity. Like this is one hundred percent where we're supposed to be. Now should I take my bra off or do you do it? I'm not clear on protocol when it comes to foreplay.

Sylvester chuckled at the memory.

If she can hear you, she will be glad to hear your voice. That's what the doctors said. It was day fourteen, and he had run out of things to say to her other than updates on things that were going on. And while he knew you could never tell someone you loved them too much, he could only repeat it so many times before breaking down. But this silly song? He could run through it, taking some time away from the long silences that hung in the room when he couldn't come up with anything else.

"And manganese and mercury, molybdenum, magnesium, dysprosium and scandium and cerium and cesium. And lead, praseodymium and platinum, plutonium, palladium, promethium, potassium, polonium…"

And okay, maybe the song wasn't so silly. It helped a lot of people learn. He kept singing, squeezing her hand, hoping she felt it but also hoping he wouldn't feel anything back. She'd opened her eyes before – coma patients sometimes did. Their muscles would move, too, giving the impression they were squeezing a hand or tapping a foot. Knowing that anything he saw or felt was nothing, just reflexes, not any sort of sign that she was going to be okay, made him hate those moments.

"There's sulfur, californium and fermium, berkelium, and also mendelevium, einsteinium, nobelium…"

Her most recent EEG had shown that she still had brain activity. He was clinging to that. She was being given plenty of nutrition through tubes – victims of burns needed extra to help recover – and part of him was glad she hadn't been awake for the worst of it, through the skin grafting and the oozing bandages. Her burns and lacerations, while still serious, were under some level of control now, and her fractures were healing normally. If he knew that she would wake up, he would almost wish she could stay like this until she was healed, despite the inevitable deterioration of her muscles. That would be a struggle for her. She wasn't one of those workout gurus with an Instagram page and a ton of preprogrammed hashtags, but she prided herself on staying relatively in shape. Muscular atrophy was probably one of her worst fears, right after dealing with a brain that wasn't working quite like it had before.

Florence's eyes opened halfway, remained that way for a couple of seconds, and then closed again. Sylvester bit his lip, then sighed. Patty had been here with him a couple of days ago when she'd done that, and her entire face had lit up until he told her it meant nothing. At least the others didn't require any explanation. They struck up conversations, including Florence in them, or sat with the couple in silence when that was all anyone could manage. Sylvester loved Patty, but as smart as she was, she knew next to nothing about this type of condition, and it was emotionally taxing for him to explain things to her when he was barely able to process a thought himself.

He finished the song and reached for his water bottle, taking a swig. It was nearly gone, his fourth one today. He didn't think he talked this much when the person he was speaking to was actually speaking back. His phone buzzed while he was leaning over to set it down, vibrating its way out of his pocket and clattering to the floor. "Dammit," he muttered. Reaching down, he picked up the phone and swiped to open the message – it had landed face up and he could already see it was a media message from Paige. The image loaded, a selfie of her with her arm around Ralph, Walter standing behind them. Paige was the only one who knew where to look so it appeared she was staring right at them. All three were smiling. The text that accompanied the message said home safe, will come by tomorrow?

Sounds good, Sylvester texted back. Good to see you smiling. He knew Paige well enough to know that she would know he wasn't being snippy, that he was genuinely happy that she was hugging her son again.

"Ralph is home," he said to Florence, reading the text message aloud. "I hope the break from life here did him good." He tucked the phone back into his pocket, lifting her hand up so he could kiss it. "We're gonna have to throw Paige a baby shower soon. Well, not have to, that implies we're doing it out of some sort of obligation, and I think it will be fun. It's just a matter of picking a date, picking games…I don't even know if she's made a registry. It's tricky. She loves the gift giving at Christmas but part of it is she gets to give gifts, too. I honestly don't know how she feels about showers, now that I think about it, especially considering how much we've all been pinching pennies. She may at least accept diapers from us." He bit his lip, tapping his foot against the chair. Her eyes opened again, halfway just like the last time. Sylvester supposed he had better make sure Paige and Walter prepare Ralph for things like this. The kid was very nearly a legal adult, and had been operating as one for years, but…you never knew how someone was going to react. And seeing her like this…

Actually…Sylvester's heart picked up the pace. This was different. She was looking at him, and when he stood up, her pupils shifted. She was tracking him. She was conscious.

"Florence?"

"Ssss…"

"Oh my God," he said, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in at least eight places. His mind was racing almost as fast – she was awake, but what if she had horrible brain damage? What if she didn't know him? What if the sound she was making was just her breathing?

It didn't matter. She was awake. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. Not the work that would have to be put in, not the unknowns, not anything but the fact that she was conscious for the first time since the explosion. "Florence," he said, grabbing one of her hands. "Florence." Every time he opened his mouth, he swore he had something to say, a sentence, something other than her name, but it kept rushing through his lips. "Florence."

"Sylvester," she said, the last syllable trailing off. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, then opened them again and focused back on him.

"Are you…what…" he was finally saying other words, but they weren't forming complete thoughts. He paused, closing his eyes and counting to five. "How do you feel?"

"I'm tired," she said. Her voice sounded so, tired and weak. "It hurts."

"What? What hurts?"

"Everywhere." He saw her shoulders move; it was barely anything, but he knew she was trying to shrug. "It's fine."

"Oh…" the term of endearment he was going to use caught in his throat. What if she remembered him, but not them? He knew he could just ask. He should just ask. He took a breath, bracing himself. "Do you remember what happened?"

She frowned. "Bomb. On the job." She took in a long, deep breath. "Did they pay us?"

Thank God. "Yeah. Yeah, they did. You saved Scorpion, baby. You saved Scorpion."

She nodded, looking pleased. "Worth it, then."

Worth it? "You've been in a coma for two weeks." She looked surprised at that. He took her hand, feeling a rush of relief when she squeezed it, because she was awake and it was on purpose. "Yeah. You've been here fourteen days, exactly."

"Worth it," she repeated weakly. "For Scorpion."

"We've all been spending time with you every day. All of us. Everyone has been here."

"I know."

"You do? You can remember?"

Her head moved slightly side to side. "Not a lot. Not…specific. More like a presence."

"Mmm." He ran his thumb over hers.

"Ssssylvester?" Florence said, raising what was left of her eyebrows.

"Hmm?"

"What is it?"

"I'm a mess."

"No you're – "

"I am." She moved her head again, side to side, each action very deliberate. "You make me less of a mess, though." He smiled. So did she. "I did feel that you were here, even though I didn't really know what was going on, or where here was. But wherever I was, you were there too, so I knew I was going to be okay." Sylvester squeezed her hand, opening his mouth to respond, to tell her how he wouldn't have spent the past two weeks anywhere else, even with the world at stake, but she continued before he could say anything. "I know once upon a time I said I wouldn't do this, but I was misguided. When I was running from the bomb, the only thing I could think about was the things I hadn't done." She shifted her weight, moving ever so slightly onto her side. "When I get out of here, will you marry me?"

Sylvester blinked. "Wait, what?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm tired. Are you going to make me repeat all that?"

He chuckled, leaning over to rest one forearm on her other side and smiling down, his face inches from hers. He could see the exhaustion on her face and the love in her eyes and she wanted to look into his for the rest of her life – a period of time no longer terrifying to think about. "Of course I'll marry you."

He lowered his head to kiss her, but she tipped her head to the side. "My lips are dry."

"I don't care."

"Mr. Dodd?"

Sylvester straightened up quickly, turning to see one of the nurses standing in the doorway and realizing he should have yelled for them as soon as she woke up. "She's okay!" He said, a big grin on his face. He pointed at Florence, as if there was anyone else he could possibly be referring to. "She's okay!"