Television and movies liked showing couples falling asleep cuddling, and waking up the same way. It wasn't realistic, not for the majority. People slept in different positions, people liked their space, people were uncomfortable with shared body heat. Sylvester and Florence had rarely entered or exited sleep in each other's arms.
But now that she wasn't there, it felt like they had. Sylvester was so far removed from the old days, the days even before Scorpion was Scorpion when his anxiety controlled him, prevented him from making phone calls, kept him from those who might be his friends and left him lying awake at night feeling like every minute that passed was an hour, that he'd almost forgotten that insomnia was a part of that. He'd forgotten how long the night could feel, with no one to talk to until both voices faded out, with no reassuring presence sharing the space, with no periodic mattress shifts in the night as she rolled over, stretched, or otherwise stirred.
Now, it was still and quiet unless he made things different. It was unnerving. It was lonely.
Sylvester got up, glancing behind him almost instinctively to make sure he hadn't disturbed her. Even as his head was swiveling to look back at the bed, he hated it, knowing that she wasn't there but failing to break the habit anyway. Crossing the room, he took the framed photo of him and Megan, stepping toward the window to allow the moonlight to fall on it.
Megan would know how to best help him. She'd either tell him what to do, how to handle it, or she'd tell him that she trusted him to know how to help himself. She had always been good at that, knowing what he was capable of and knowing when it was her turn to provide. It was a skill – or perhaps a natural inclination – that drove home what Walter had always said about her: that she was a genius, not like him, but in her own way.
"I don't know if I know how to do this," he whispered, looking down at the photograph. He had no doubt that had Megan lived, she is who he would be married to now. He wouldn't have left her for Florence. But he also knew, that had Florence entered his life anyway, that they would have become the best of friends. He would still want to help her if she was hurting. He would still want to be in her life.
But now, the lines were blurred. Now he wasn't a friend that could reach out. He wasn't a third party that she could rely on. He was her husband, at least for the moment, and any attempt to get through to her would be a direct violation of what she wanted. He had somehow become part of the reason she had lost herself.
They had been apart once before, when he hadn't wanted to be. That had been different. That had been before they were together. Back then, he thought things couldn't get worse. Then, against all odds, they'd come together. Her crush on Walter had faded and developed into a crush on him. It had blossomed, intensified, overcome, and then they both knew what it was like to be together, a unit, a partnership. He knew what she could give him, and she knew what he could give her. He had been prepared to be whatever she needed him to be, to stand by her side through anything. The poets said having something and losing it was better than all the 'what ifs' that would come with never having a chance. That was no comfort to Sylvester. At least if he and Florence had never had their chance, he wouldn't feel like what he had to give wasn't enough.
He supposed, maybe, that that wasn't fair. She said she needed to learn to not rely on him. She loved him so much that she forgot how to exist without him. Maybe that ought to make him feel good, to be loved with such intensity, but what kind of a husband was he to take her identity from her? He suddenly felt guilt for every time Scorpion had gone to a party or event and he'd introduced her by placing "my wife" before her name. He'd been proud to do that, look at my wife, my accomplished wife, my strong wife, my hero wife, how lucky I am to call her my wife. Walter and Paige glowed when one introduced the other that way. So did Happy and Toby; Toby shined more than the other three put together. Those four, for all their struggles, disagreements, and past fractures, had managed to figure it out. Sylvester had thought that he and Florence were there, too.
He was awake the rest of the night, the photo face down on his stomach, as he stared at the ceiling and wondered where he'd gone wrong.
The moon shining through the window was well on its way to being replaced by sun when he realized the common denominator in both of his falling outs with the chemist.
Paige knew the little things in a relationship were often the most important. The quality time together. The just being present, regardless of how momentous the occasion was.
In theory, she should be content with making out in the kitchen until the water boiled. And usually, she would be. But the situations they were living within prevented that. She was torn. Torn between worrying about his health, frustration at their nonexistent sex life, and hurt at the pro forma way he was kissing her, hands awkwardly to the side like the first time they kissed. Oh, and guilt. Because she knew she shouldn't blame him for his lack of focus and enthusiasm. Because his brain was damaged. And she didn't know how much it would improve, if at all.
To be fair, it was also a bit hard to get her to focus, her mind still spinning from the letter from Investigator Daniels.
…that the team lead by Marcie Lucas is responsible for the crash. While it is believed that most of the staff involved in the attack thought they were aiming for an unmanned target, we have not been able to rule out Lucas herself being aware that it was Scorpion's chartered plane, nor have we been able to determine whether or not Lucas was the one who ordered the attack.
The counter was pressing against her back in a way that was uncomfortable, so Paige placed her hands on the edge and lifted herself up, scooting backward slightly so she was sitting solidly on the surface. Walter stepped closer, and she wrapped both arms around his neck. He put his hands on her thighs, still a slightly awkward position, but at least he was touching her. "I like that," she whispered between kisses, wanting to encourage him, to let him know that he shouldn't feel bad, that what he was doing was enough.
The first half of that was true, anyway.
…we have not been able to rule out Lucas herself being aware that it was Scorpion's chartered plane…
Walter pulled back slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. "Are you okay?" She asked, grabbing the wrist of his free hand.
"Yeah." He shook his head slightly. "Yeah, just got a…" He squeezed his eyes shut again, his hand still in place. "Blood leaving my head, I guess, whew." He shook his head again, and then opened his eyes and smiled at her. "It's okay."
"I worry about you so much." Her pent up frustrations were fading, replaced with concern. "Walt…"
He set his jaw. She could tell he was trying not to get angry. He'd been very irritable the past few weeks, the major evidence being their fight while out with Amber. His injury was hard to process, she knew that even though he wasn't talking much about it with her, and she appreciated that he was able to recognize when the mood swings were getting the better of him, and doing his best not to take it out on her. She reached up, placing a hand gently on the side of his face. "Love, do – "
"Come out!"
Both Walter and Paige jumped.
"Come out!"
"Christ on a bike," Paige said, putting a hand on her forehead. "She scares me with that every time."
She slid off the counter, heading for Amber's room, and just as she expected, the toddler was standing on her bed, hands on top of the crib like guard rail that prevented her from falling in the night. She grinned, banging her hands on the rail. "Come out!"
"Okay, we'll get you out." Paige undid the safety latches and removed the safety guard. "Come on. Do you need to use the potty?"
"Yes, mama."
"Kay. Come with me. Do you want to do it by yourself?"
"Yes."
Paige pushed open the bathroom door. "I'll wait out here. You let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"Paige?" Walter called from the kitchen. "The water is boiling, I put the eggs in."
"Thank you!" She called back.
There was a sudden banging sound, and Paige frowned. "Walter?" For a moment, alarm returned to her, fearful that he had fallen. Then she was able to pinpoint the sound. Someone was banging on the door.
Cabe. Tilly. Something had happened. The knock was not the professional tap tap tap of a delivery person. She raced down the hall, but Walter had reached the door first and was already opening it.
Walter's body came flying backward as if he'd been shot from an arrow. He collided with Paige, who managed to catch him under his arms and prevent him from falling backward. Sylvester was nearly on top of them, bellowing something she couldn't make out. Before he could lunge again, as he caught himself on the wing wall, Walter was on his feet, shouting back. What? What is it? What is it?
"You homewrecker!" Sylvester shouted. He was red in the face, sweat was on his brow, and Paige, startled, struggled to process what was happening. She was frozen, her usual talents as mediator buffering, and she found herself unable to do anything but take in the scene in front of her.
"What are you talking about?" Walter shouted back.
"It's your fault! It's always your fault! Every time she leaves, it's because of you!"
"What?" Walter said again, his voice almost coming out in a screech.
"Florence! I was going to ask her out, but she liked you instead! She started doubting our relationship while you and Paige were pregnant! And we already had so much going on with Tilly, and then you had to unload all your problems on her, and she leaves me the same day."
"Your wife is depressed," Walter said. "It has nothing to do with me."
"Then explain why the only common thread in our relationship problems is you. Explain it, Walter." Sylvester paused for the briefest of moments. "See? You can't!"
He sprang forward again. Walter put out his arms to block, and they both fell backward against the couch, causing it to move forward several inches.
"Sly, stop it!" Paige said, snapping out of her freeze and pulling on the back of his shirt. "Sly! Sly!" She forced herself between the two men, making Sylvester straighten and back off. His eyes were wild, the tension in his jaw showing how upset he was. "Sylvester, take a deep breath."
"He ruined – "
"Stop it."
"But you! Aren't you wondering what's going on?"
"Nothing is going on. Not with them. Come on, Sly, if I'm no longer paranoid about it, you sure as Hell shouldn't be. I'm the irrationally jealous one on this team, remember?" She could hear Walter behind her, staggering to his feet. "Sly, what's going on with you and her is complicated. You have to try to look at their conversation as what it would have been if she wasn't going through everything else. He was concerned he was acting inappropriately around her without realizing it and was trying to apologize. Whatever realizations it assisted her in coming to, they were likely things she was struggling with anyway. And based on what you told me about that conversation, I think you know that. This whole situation with you and her? It sucks," Paige said. "Point blank. It sucks. And we're all rooting for her to feel better, for you guys to get back together, but…" She shook her head. "We can't blame each other. We have to support each other. No matter what."
"Of course you would take his side," Sylvester said. "You're his wife. You're Walter and Paige. You have it allllll figured out."
"Ha!" Paige said, a bit more forcefully than she had expected.
Walter looked at her. "What does that mean?"
"You think we're perfect? When we snap at each other? When we can't be intimate? When we've stopped talking about anything but work because anything else feels too real, but when we do talk about work you get frustrated because of your memory and headaches? We're a shell of what we were, Walter, and I know you're trying and I know things aren't your fault, but to say we're living in some beautiful utopia just because one of us hasn't walked out yet is grossly inaccurate."
Walter stared at her. "What do you mean, one of us hasn't walked out yet?"
"I know you've told Toby that sometimes you think I deserve better."
"He told you?"
"No. You said it in your sleep. You gave me the whole conversation. Unconscious Walter does a pretty good imitation of Toby, actually. It's almost unnerving. But how can you think that when..."
"I must be doing something wrong, since you don't trust me."
Paige blinked. "Who says I don't trust you?"
"You don't let me do anything without harping on me about my head."
"Because I'm worried about you!" She felt tears threatening in the corners of her eyes. "Don't you understand? I love you so damn much and I want to spend decades with you but half the things you want to do are dangerous, especially to someone with a TBI. I can't bear the thought of losing you, Walt. Even if it means you stop being by my side on cases. Even if it means we never have sex again. I don't care about that. I just want Amber to know her father, even if he isn't exactly the same as he was before."
"Must be nice to have someone to worry so much about you," Sylvester said. "And you're going around destroying other people's marriages without a care in the world."
"That is not fair and you – " Walter started.
"That is so goddamn uncalled for," Paige snapped at Sylvester. "I know you're going through stuff right now, but don't project your own issues onto someone who they don't apply to."
"A bit ironic, you giving the lecture on that, don't you think?" Sylvester asked.
Paige opened her mouth to respond, but Sylvester was already shaking his head, moving for the door. "You know what? Screw you guys. Screw you guys, screw Toby and Happy, screw the damn parrot, screw this whole freaking situation. Screw it!" He crossed the threshold, then stopped and turned, reaching for the door knob. "In the butt!"
The door slammed shut a split second before a laugh escaped Paige. Walter looked at her, seemingly startled. "What's funny?"
"Nothing." She put a hand over her eyes. "It's just…you know how when something comes out of someone's mouth and you would…never have expected to hear it from that person specifically? That's what…ugh," she shook her head. "Nothing's funny."
"That," Walter said, "makes at least one thing we can agree on."
