Paige was back. That made Sylvester happy. It also meant that they all had the day off, because of course Walter wanted to spend time with Paige and Paige wanted to spend time with Amber and Cabe and Allie wanted some time to themselves since they'd be watching Tad and Ellie the following day. Sylvester almost called Florence, probably ten times, to ask if she wanted to hang out. But he didn't. He didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.
But then she'd called him, sometime around five o'clock in the evening. Did he want to, I don't know, go for a drive, or something? He'd said sure. So here they found themselves, somewhere north of the city, walking along the coast. It didn't matter that they weren't entirely sure where they were. They could get back with GPS. What a wild and carefree life, Sylvester thought wryly.
They parked the car and walked along the sidewalk until they reached an entrance to a beach. Florence took off her shoes, tying the laces together and throwing the makeshift strap over her shoulder. She frowned almost immediately. "Shoe hitting my boob with every step is not going to work." She put the knotted part in her hand.
"You could just leave them here," Sylvester said, "no one else is around."
"Absolutely not and you would have the same reply to me if I suggested you leave your shoes," Florence said.
"Fair point," Sylvester said. "I've gotten better at those things, though."
"One thought of how someone could ride by on a bicycle and spit their gum into one of your shoes and you'd super glue them to yourself to prevent that from happening." She grinned when Sylvester shuddered. "See?"
"I will stop talking now," he said, throwing her a smirk so she knew he was playing; she hadn't offended him.
It was tiring, walking on sand, but with the cooler temperatures that nighttime brought, it wasn't too bad. Sylvester hated their cases that had transpired on beaches. Always tense, always exhausting, always in the blazing heat. Here, it wasn't too bad. And with the row of palm trees and a low hedge separating the beach from the sidewalk, they had a small amount of privacy. He liked that. Florence seemed to, too; her step was a bit lighter than he'd seen it in a while, despite the sand. She appeared deep in thought. Normally, he'd ask her what she was thinking about. Or maybe not normally. He didn't know what normal was anymore. At least they had a case tomorrow at work. Nothing terribly exciting, or terribly terrifying, as he would put it. But it would be their first job since Paige returned. Maybe they'd be able to start figuring out what their new normal was.
"My support group has been going well," she said after a period of silence.
"That's good," Sylvester said. "I don't know if I'd have the guts to go to one of those things."
"I didn't think I was the type," she said. "But I want to get better, you know? I spent most of my life taking care of myself, and it's like I needed to learn that sometimes the best way to take care of yourself is to allow others to help you. And if that's the best way…can't argue with efficiency, you know?"
"It's hard to argue with, that's for sure," he replied.
"Linda's great," she continued. "A bit awkward, you know, but a sweetheart. You can tell she cares about all of us, which is weird, because who cares about everyone? Like obviously, Scorpion does, we want to save the world, but like, Linda acts like every person in the group is her main focus. Like if she had a bunch of kids, she probably would love all of them equally. She seems like the type that would be lost if she didn't have a purpose, and she's found her purpose in making the world better. Not like we do. But in her own way."
"We all liked her," Sylvester said. "We weren't quite sure what Walter was doing with her; that seemed odd to us, but she seemed like a genuine person. And I mean, after the bomb incident, which was when the most of us learned she even existed…it's hard to dislike someone after you've seen them so vulnerable."
Florence grew quiet. He glanced her way. "You okay?"
"Yeah. It just reminded me of something Happy told me. That day where the two…where Walter, Cabe, and I rescued Tad?"
Sylvester knew why she'd cut herself off. That day where the two teams lost people. He'd shot someone that day. Killed him. He was going to kill them, but that hadn't made it less unsettling. Florence had helped, though. She was the first person who had made him feel better about it "What about that day?"
"Happy told me, this was years later, after my coma, that…well, you know how much everyone hated me when the team split."
He nodded.
"Happy told me that as suspicious of me as she'd been, and as much as she hated me after that happened, that was the day she stopped. I don't think we were truly friends for a long time, but she said she saw me crying at the fact that we weren't able to save Aimee's son. It was on the news, you know, me sitting there just sobbing my eyes out. She said she couldn't hate me after watching that. I can't say I'm glad that day happened. But I'm glad that that was able to come from it." She grinned up at him. "Happy's scary when she's mad."
"And that's coming from you."
She bumped her hip against him. "Shut up." Sylvester made a show of stumbling to the side, even though she couldn't knock him over on her best day.
His lack of balance in the sand while goofing off, however, could. His foot came down wrong, his ankle failed him, and he yelped as he fell to the sand.
"Nice try," Florence said with a grin, slight alarm coming over her face when she saw he was really down. "Sly!"
"I'm okay, just shattered my ankle," he said pushing himself to a sitting position.
"Shattered?"
"Probably not. Probably sprained. I'm a child."
She dropped down to the sand. "Breathe a minute. See if it subsides."
"It's fine. I shouldn't have been clowning." Sylvester wiggled his toes inside his shoe. Nothing seemed broken. Perhaps it wasn't even a bad sprain. "I'm dramatic."
"We all know that already," she joked. "These can hurt like a bitch, though."
"This reminds me of this one time Walter and Toby were trying to be show offs in the garage and both rode sandboards right into the wall."
"You know, it's so baffling how Walter has brain trauma."
He laughed. "Right." He wiggled his toes again.
"Can you wiggle your toes?" Florence asked.
He looked at her oddly before realizing that she couldn't see what he'd been doing. "Yes. I'm going to try and get up."
"I think there's a bench about…" she squinted. "Maybe one hundred feet? Down further. We can sit until you feel more stable."
"You're cool sitting there for three to five business days?"
She rolled her eyes. "Well, I'll get you started at least."
Sylvester struggled to his feet. Florence offered out her hand, and he grabbed it as he got to a standing position, for just a little extra balance. She almost pulled him forward, as if she'd been expecting him to topple back and threw her whole body back to counteract it. She kept his hand even once he was balanced, looking at him cautiously.
"I'm good."
"Good." She dropped his hand, but stood next to him as he hobbled for the bench. "You know if I fall, you're not going to be able to stop it, right? I'm a foot taller than you."
"You're eight inches taller than me," she responded immediately.
They reached the bench, and Sylvester settled on it. Florence glanced around. "Do you think any of these places nearby would have ice?"
"There's a gas station probably a half mile up the road."
"Perfect. Be right back."
"No, no!" Sylvester said, holding his hand up to make the stop motion. "It'll be fine. Just sit with me a bit."
She did, lowering herself carefully to his right. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah." It hurts but it isn't swelling up like a balloon. And I'd, uh, rather not sit here by myself."
"Aw, you're scared of the dark."
"I'm not scared, okay," he said. "I just, we don't come to this area all the time. And I think we should stay together."
"You're aware that you'll either have to walk nearly a mile to get the car or I'll have to go and get it myself."
"We can hobble over that bridge when we come to it."
Florence laughed and rolled her eyes. "Fine." She leaned back, closing her eyes.
"How have you been recently?" He asked. "I mean, other than your group. And other than the 'fine' you gave me in the car."
She shrugged. "I've been stressed, honestly. Just…generalized stress. Like something's always…there, and I can't shake it. In the back of my mind. Then all the other things people worry about. And I'm not…I'm not really ready to talk to you about all my feelings about…you know."
Us. Tilly. Sylvester knew. He wasn't sure he was ready for that conversation either. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"
Florence shook her head, her eyes closed, but he caught the tiniest of smirks come over her face, just for a moment. He tried not to smirk himself; he knew she was amused because of the way he helped her relieve stress when they were married married.
"I mean, no one's around," he said jokingly.
She opened her eyes, looking startled. He opened his mouth to apologize, that was inappropriate, but she spoke first. "Sylvester, we're in public." She looked around. "I mean. Sort of." She gestured vaguely to the empty street.
He raised his eyebrows at her. "I mean…"
He could see her face flushing, even in the poor light. "Sly, people…"
"Okay, I'm just saying, offer's on the table." He faced the ocean. He could tell from his peripheral vision that she was still looking at him. He glanced at her again. "I wouldn't want anything in return."
"Oh," she said, shaking her head. "I'd feel guilty."
"Why?" He asked. It wasn't like that wasn't their dynamic for literal years. Her libido had always been higher than his. Guilt just wasn't a part of it. "You know me better than that."
Florene looked over her shoulder. "If someone sees we're both in a ton of trouble."
"We got away with full on stuff at the hospital when Amber was born."
"True." Florence scooted closer to him. "Okay. I think."
"Lori."
She cleared her throat. "Okay."
"There you go." He looked around again. The beach was deserted. Almost every shop along the street was closed. He could see someone moving around inside a building way down in the direction they'd come, but that was it. She was sitting on his right, and now that their hips were touching, if he put his right arm over her shoulders, it just looked like a couple enjoying a night in the sea air. Her pupils were dilated, probably at least in part due to the low light.
He crossed his left arm over his body and pushed his fingertips under her leggings, adjusting his other arm around her. He felt slightly awkward. He usually kissed her when they did this. His other hand was resting on her shoulder, and he moved that thumb slowly back and forth, a level of affection he felt comfortable with. His hand disappeared up to the third knuckle.
Florence craned her neck around, looking up the street. "Relax," he said soothingly. He knew how to touch her; this was as natural to him as breathing. He'd keep a look out.
She faced forward again, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Sylvester squeezed her shoulder in between thumb rubs. He peeked up the street. There was a man on a bicycle, but he was on the other side and didn't appear to be looking around. From the back, they looked inconspicuous anyway. Sylvester faced forward again, in case the cyclist did look around and was suspicious of the guy staring at him.
A couple birds flew overhead. They were followed a few seconds later by a couple more birds. One of them, just as they crossed above the bench, let out a squawk. A dramatically loud squawk."
Florence's eyes opened, and she put a hand over her mouth. He could feel her shaking a little; she was giggling. "He's seen us!"
Sylvester coughed to hide his snicker. Florence moved a hand to his thigh, her finger tips pressing against him. She moaned quietly, her lips pressed together. Sylvester caught himself; he almost had kissed her temple. That's what he'd have done. Before. He looked around again. Still no one. He remembered that day with the team at the other beach, when the two of them had almost gotten ahead of themselves. Had beaches become their 'thing?' Or was it just that the last couple of times they'd allowed themselves to be themselves around each other, they'd happened to be near the water? It was probably a question that couldn't be answered with a traditional experiment; how would they come up with a control?
He was good at reading Florence. He could tell she was close by her breathing. He wouldn't be able to tell anything more, not externally, but she'd let him know. He kept up what he was doing, steady, consistent, trying to not let on how his heart skipped a beat when her other hand, the one not on his leg, came up to grip his hand as it rested on his shoulder. Her hand had been in his twice now tonight. He knew neither circumstance was like that. But it felt nice. He scanned the beach and what he could see of the street again. No one. They were okay. They were safe.
Florence let go of his thigh and grabbed his wrist. He understood. He removed his hand. She let out a deep breath, then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, trying to catch her breath. He chanced rubbing her back. That wasn't romantic. It was soothing.
After a moment, she leaned back again. "Thank you."
"Of course." His arm was around her again; she'd essentially put it there when she leaned against it. He wanted to kiss her. He wouldn't tell her that. He wouldn't make her uncomfortable, make her regret trusting him the way she just had. But he still wanted to.
They remained sitting for a few more minutes, in relative silence. It didn't feel awkward. It was almost nice. Then she looked at him. "Let's go to that gas station. I gotta pee and you need ice."
"Oh, but how will we ever get back to the car, then?" He teased. "We'll be even farther away from it."
She rolled her eyes. "We can Uber back to the car."
He stared at her. He hadn't thought of that. "That's brilliant."
"Hey, I may not be a genius, exactly," she said, "but the old think tank can still spit out some good ideas."
Team stuff next chapter, ayyyyyy.
