"Ma'am?"

Florence jumped as she realized the woman behind the desk was speaking to her. She cleared her throat. "Yes. Um. I'm here for…for visiting…NICU visiting, I'm…" she shook her head, trying to clear it enough to speak. "Florence Tipton – Dodd," she said. "I'm Florence Tipton – Dodd."

"Ah, Mrs. Tipton. Tilly's mother."

"Yes." Her throat was dry.

"Wait right here, and I'll bring Jessie up to take you to see her. Your husband and brother have been quite the regulars around here."

It really, really felt like this receptionist – Elmer, the name tag said – was making a point about how Florence hadn't visited in weeks. She set her jaw. She didn't bother correcting him that Walter was not her brother, and was only barely her brother – in – law.

"Looks like Jessie is coming now," Elmer said. "She'll be happy to take you, Mrs. Tipton."

"Thank you. And it's Tipton – Dodd."

"Of course, Mrs. Tipton – Dodd. Jessie. This is Tilly's mother. Can you escort her back? I don't think she knows the way."

Florence was tired, but had a feeling that were she well rested the problem would not be coming up with something snarky to say back, but deciding which of the options that popped into her head would be best to use. She was slipping. Unprepared.

She followed Jessie down the hallway, past the place she'd had her meltdown weeks before. Another nurse – Annelise – stopped to say hi to Jessie. She said she was going on her break. "Hi there," she'd added to Florence.

"This is Tilly's mama," Jessie said.

Tilly's mama.

She felt some sort of emotion when Jessie called her that. She couldn't identify what that emotion was.

They continued walking, past a couple employees only doors, and to the small room that was assigned to her daughter. It wasn't as drab as she was expecting; there were some photos taped to the wall. She washed up, putting on the gown they provided. She was told she didn't need to wear gloves as long as she washed her hands if she touched anything else.

"I'll leave you with her for a few minutes," Jessie said after reminding Florence not to attempt to remove Tilly from where she lay. "You can touch her, though," she said. "We encourage that. And talk to her all you want, so she knows you're here."

"She probably doesn't know me," Florence said. "She wouldn't have been hearing me long."

"She can get to know you, though," Jessie said with an encouraging smile. "You're her mother. It will work out."

When she was gone, Florence stuck her fingers in through the side, lightly brushing the baby's foot. It was the first time she'd touched her – ever. She wondered how much Sylvester had. She wondered if Walter had. "I'm sorry, Tilly," she said. "I don't know how to be your mother."

It was more than not knowing how – she didn't feel like someone's mother, much less the mother of the little girl in front of her. She was supposed to have gotten bigger. She was supposed to feel somersaults, and be able to tell if it was Tilly's head or bottom against her ribs. She was supposed to have had a shower. She was supposed to sit awake with Sylvester, timing contractions, a mix of excited and scared. And then she was supposed to have had Tilly on her chest, right after birth, breaking down and crying under the emotion of knowing that the life before her was a combination of her and the man she loved. She was supposed to love her daughter more than she'd ever loved anything before.

She didn't feel that.

She felt something for the baby, that was for sure. An…affection, perhaps. That constant fear in the back of her mind that Tilly would never come home. But it was foggy, muted, in slow motion. It wasn't quite there.

Her phone buzzed. She checked it. It was Walter.

How are you? Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?

Another text quickly followed.

Please don't hesitate to ask. It's what brothers are for.

She rolled her eyes. "Uncle Walter is being dramatic," she said to Tilly. "He's Sylvester's brother in law via his first marriage, but I don't think he would be mine since I'm sort of in the same role as his sister once was. I know he and Syl…" she blinked. "He and your father still consider themselves brothers, though." And she supposed she did just refer to him as Uncle Walter, so it's not like she disagreed with the dynamic. "We're kind of a weird family, Tilly. Scorpion is kind of a weird place. But it's our weird place, you know?"

She texted Walter back. With Tilly.

She almost put her hand back against the baby when she realized she'd touched her phone. She had to rewash her hands. Oh my God I could have killed her. Was she being dramatic? Maybe. Maybe not. She couldn't tell anymore. She couldn't identify anything anymore.

She sat quietly in the chair, hands folded in her lap. Jessie popped in to say the doctor would stop by if she had any questions. Florence gave a polite smile. The questions she had were far too private to share with someone she barely knew.


They'd suggested she wait to be evaluated by a counselor. She was "behaving listlessly" when they came back into the room. Resources, they said. We have resources. Something like that. They told her to go down to this place, fill out a form, someone would speak with her.

"Over the last two weeks," she read quietly, "how often have you been bothered by any of the following problems?"

She read the list. Little interest or pleasure in doing things. Feeling down, depressed, hopeless. Difficulty getting to sleep, or sleeping too much. Blah, blah blah. The form said to put a check mark by your answer, but the options were numbers, for number of days. Wouldn't it make more sense to circle? But it said do a check. That didn't make sense. It wasn't efficient. It wasn't effective. It was messy and it felt like a trap.

Everything faded away. Vision, hearing, it blurred and dulled. Florence shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She'd lost her train of thought.

So far away but still so near.
The lights come up, the music dies.

She hated music in places like this, as quiet as it was. It was supposed to be comforting, to help pass the time, she supposed the people at the desks would recognize the order in which the songs were played. Oh, I love this song, or oh, not this one again. Perhaps some were also sick of the music, same songs every day.

But you don't see me standing here.
I just came to say goodbye.

Same song every day. She understood that.

She stood, ripped the evaluation in half, and had her hand over the trash bin when she froze. Trash was public property. Trash could be seized.

She shoved the torn paper in her pocket as she walked out.


I know a lot of the focus here is on Florence, but that's been what the premise of this fic has always been about – the case is related, but the focus is on how Scorpion reacts to what Florence and Sylvester are going through, and it wouldn't be a lengthy fic from me without the angst. Next chapter, more of what's been going on with Walter – bits of which was hinted at in here – and stuff will be coming to a head reeeeal soon, for multiple dynamics. Brace y'all selves for more emotions. There's a scene coming up that, once upon a time, has content I genuinely believed I would never write.