Yes. Another update so quickly. That's what happens when you get laid off from a job you've had 13 years, you find yourself with a fuck ton of free time (am I angry and bitter? A little bit.) and you use that free time to immerse yourself in one of your favorite fictional worlds.
I've been giving you a lot of Sad and Bad lately in this story (don't say I didn't warn you, though). So for a slight change, here's some…not so sad and not so bad. Life takes time to work itself out sometimes, but you know these characters. They always get there. They just sometimes spend some time in the dark.
"Oh good," Toby said when he entered the garage with Happy just behind him. "You're here."
"I wish I wasn't," Sylvester grumbled. "But if I don't work, I'll go crazy."
"So this…isn't crazy?" Happy asked, gesturing toward him.
"Not quite," he said through clenched teeth. "Though – I swear to God, Toby, if you yak at that bird right now I will turn you into a rug."
"I won't tell Super Fun Guy that you love him," Toby said. "One day, you'll learn to tell him yourself. But listen, buddy," he said in a low voice when Sylvester's eyes narrowed and he turned back to the chalkboard. "Paige told me about…yesterday morning. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Do you think maybe you should talk about it?"
"No."
"Sly."
Sylvester put the chalk down and looked at him. "I don't want to talk about it because I'm embarrassed. I got into this weird…physical persona and I still haven't snapped out of it. It's not who I am, and I hate that Walter made me – "
"Okay," Toby said, "but did he make you?"
Sylvester looked away again. "Every time something goes wrong with Florence and I, he's always right there in it."
"He does not have feelings for her."
"I know that. And don't bother telling me she doesn't have feelings for him, because I know that, too. But not every problem has to have romantic roots."
"And not everything has to be a cause of a problem," Toby said. "Do you really think if Florence wasn't going through everything else, she would have still left you over Walter mistaking her for his sister? You can't blame the straw when the camel's back buckles."
"Do you know why they can't start building a real case against Marcie Lucas and her team?" Sylvester said, turning to face him. "Do you?" Toby and Happy both gave small, solemn nods, but he continued anyway. "Because they don't know yet if they'll be including homicide in the charges." He bit his lip. "They can't move forward until Tilly is discharged or…or until she…"
Happy stepped around Toby and threw her arms around her friend. "It's going to be the former, Sly."
"She had to have the oxygen tube put in again yesterday," Sylvester said. "I missed the call about it because I was…because I went to the beach after…"
"That happens, sometimes," Toby said. "Sometimes they just want to give them a little nudge. It happens with adults, too."
"I know that. But she's my daughter. It's so much worse now that I have a daughter."
Both halves of Quinn – Curtis knew what he meant by that, the it that was worse. They knew it from being parents themselves, and they knew Walter in particular was struggling with it when it came to Amber struggling to learn things.
It would never fully go away.
"We're here for you, Sly Dog," Toby said. "And we'll be there for her, too, when she's ready."
"I worry about her," Sylvester said quietly. "She comes to work, but she leaves, she doesn't engage in anything, she…I have you guys. She doesn't have anyone." His lip trembled. "I just want her to be okay. With or without me. She's more important than us. But…" He took in a deep, labored breath. "I just want her to be okay."
"Sing. Sing a song. Sing out loud. Sing out strong. Sing of good things, not bad. Sing of happy, not sad."
The tensions of the past few months, boiling over the last forty – eight hours, were taking a toll on their daughter. Paige and Walter had spoken, briefly, earlier as they grabbed breakfast and rushed to work, about making more of an effort to make sure Amber didn't have to bear the weight of all that was going on around her.
"Sing. Sing a song. Make it simple, to last your whole life long."
She slowly rubbed the toddler's back. Maybe Tilly needed more oxygen. Maybe Florence felt lost. Maybe Ralph was hundreds of miles away. Maybe Walter worried when Amber cried whenever they talked about green or purple. She wasn't even three yet. She shouldn't have to worry about any of that.
"Don't worry that it's not good enough for anyone else to hear. Just sing. Sing a song."
It was her fourth time through the song. Halfway through the third, Amber hadn't tried to do the la la-la la las, and Paige could tell by her stillness and the slow tempo of her breathing that the girl had fallen asleep. "I love you, baby girl," she whispered before rising.
She headed back into the living room, where Walter was finishing tidying up Amber's toys. "She's using the mirror as an ice skating rink now," he said. "Like in the movie, she says. I don't know what movie she is talking about."
"I don't, either," Paige said. "At least it hasn't got scratches on it." The mirror was one of hers, from when she was growing up. She didn't have a dresser with one, so her father had gotten this one, with a stand, to prop on it. She ran her finger around the edge fondly. "I remember when I got this. It was the best gift I'd ever gotten that I knew for a fact wasn't stolen or scammed." She set it on the desk by the window, catching her reflection as she gazed down. "Wow, I look old," she said with a laugh.
"You are not old," Walter said, standing up and fitting the lid back on the toy box.
"I didn't say it was a bad thing," she said. "Just that I'm starting to show it. I'm forty, Walter." Walter walked up behind her, lowering his head to rest his chin on her shoulder, watching their reflections in the mirror.
He slid his arms around her waist. "You're beautiful," he said. "No matter how old you are or how old you feel. And even when you're mad at me."
She smiled, chuckling a bit, sliding a hand up to the side of his face. He kissed her cheek, his thumb gently rubbing her side. It was fairly basic affection for them, so she surprised herself when a small, barely audible gasp escaped her, only fully realizing in that moment just how touch starved she was. Walter ran his hands over her stomach and back to her sides, wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her cheek again. Paige knew he would be able to feel her trembling, and she was almost embarrassed. He had an injury, a potentially dangerous one, she'd promised him she would put his healing first and here she was, betraying herself with how much she craved his touch.
Walter shifted his weight and kissed her neck, his fingers slowly stroking her belly through her top. She flashbacked to the weeks they were marooned, newly a couple and unable to do anything about it. Mama's a little pent up, she'd whispered to him. They were years removed from that, but man, did she remember exactly how that felt.
Perhaps it was even worse now, because she knew what they were like together.
"You know how much I love it when you do that," she murmured. What are you doing? Don't encourage him. It's selfish of you.
"I do know that," he said, chuckling against her neck before kissing her there again. Paige closed her eyes, a tiny moan deep in her throat. Then, one of his hands slid upward from her stomach, and she gasped again, pressing her back hard against his chest and moaning louder, her mouth remaining open to pant as his hands continued to caress her.
She breathed his name, opening her eyes ever so slightly, finding being able to see what he was doing via the mirror so incredibly titillating. "You're such a tease."
One of his hands left her, disappearing between them, and then she saw his belt sliding out of the loops. "Not a tease," he mumbled in her ear, "if I follow through."
His trousers moved over his hips, disappearing from the view of the mirror. One of his hands trailed up and down her thigh. Brain injuries can have a severe impact on libido. If you wish to continue sexual activity, it is often best to take advantage of moments where the party with the brain injury is in the mood. Paige remembered those words, but the ones jumping out at her most were brain injury. She put a hand over the one of his attending to her breasts. "Walter, we can't."
"I'll be fine," he said. "Trust me."
It could be dangerous. And small percentages always seemed to happen to them when it was not something good. She knew he could feel her hesitating, and as soon as his hands left her, she regretted saying anything at all. But he didn't leave. He still stood close behind her, watching her in the mirror. "Do you want to stop?"
"No," she blurted, turning her head to see him, not his reflection.
"Well then," he said, putting his hands back on her hips, kissing her again, on the lips this time. She faced the mirror again when he moved back to her neck.
He slid a hand downward, then back, pushing her skirt up. She bent slightly, curled her hands around the edge of the desk, and trusted him.
