Yeah...I'm behind on everything FF-related. If I haven't reviewed your story lately, it's not because I lost interest, I promise. Just haven't felt like reading much. But I'll get there eventually.

I'm hoping to update Double Jeopardy within the next few days. But, well...both of my WIPs have decently complicated plots, and that stuff takes time to hash out. I will always be grateful for comments and encouragement, they help A LOT. :)

Oh, and Walter's POV is coming soon in this fic, most likely in the next chapter.

"Mom?"

Paige thought she didn't have anything left in her, but tears welled up as soon as she heard Ralph's voice. She turned around, rushing over to him and dropping to her knees, pulling him close to her. He didn't like when she lowered herself to his height, anymore. He insisted it made him feel like a little kid. But she didn't care. Not today. "I'm so sorry, baby. I should have been there when they picked you up." Paige pressed a kiss to the side of his head. "Don't be scared. It's going to be okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, mom." He allowed her to squeeze him for another few seconds before gently extricating himself from her grasp. "They won't tell me what's happening, though. Is Scorpion in trouble?"

Paige shot a glare at the two men standing by the door to the interrogation room. She'd paced restlessly around the small space for twenty minutes, demanding to whoever was on the other side of the glass—if anyone was even there—that her son be brought to her. Every request was met with resounding silence. They could surely afford to give her a moment of privacy now.

"You have five minutes," the taller one offered before the two agents left the room, shutting the door loudly behind them.

Paige sat in the hard metal chair, grasping Ralph's hands as he stood in front of her. He looked concerned but otherwise unfazed. As always, she was amazed by his grace under pressure. "Honey…" Paige swallowed. She couldn't let him hear this for the first time from a bunch of strangers, but she was about to crush her son's world just like Cabe had crushed hers. Maybe a better mother could have protected him from this. She shook the thought out of her head. "A bomb detonated at Homeland today. They...t-they think Walter did it. They're claiming that they caught him on surveillance video. And he ran. We don't know why. But it's bad, baby. People got hurt."

People died. She wasn't quite sure why she couldn't say that. Ralph thrived on facts, after all, and the agents questioning him would surely mention that in an attempt to coerce his cooperation. But she couldn't force the words past her lips, because then it would be real. Walter would be a fugitive accused of mass murder.

Ralph stared at her for a long time, silent, the wheels in his head turning almost visibly. "Do you think he did it?"

Of course not, how could you think that? Her pulse ratcheted. If her son, who worshipped and idolized Walter, had doubts, what hope would there be for anyone else to believe in his innocence? Did Ralph see something that she was too blind to notice?

She stopped. He wasn't asking if there was a chance Walter was guilty. Ralph already knew he wasn't. He was asking if she was unsure. The tightness in her throat eased slightly. "No. It's not who he is."

"Nope," the young genius said simply before staring down at his sneakers. "What should I say? I want to help Walter."

"Oh, honey." Paige brought her hand to his face, brushing his temple with her thumb. "We all do. But it's not your job to worry about this. You don't have to answer any of their questions, but if you do, just tell the truth. Walter is innocent. The truth can only help him."

Ralph nodded and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. She barely restrained herself from sobbing again as she rubbed his back. Whether he was doing it for her benefit or his own, she couldn't be sure. But he didn't let go until their five minutes were up.

"You were married to Mr. O'Brien for several years, is that correct?"

Happy popped her gum. "Don't ask me questions that are already answered in your dipshit file."

Agent Daniels raised his eyebrow, closing the folder in his hands and pushing it to the side. "Straight to the point. Alright. Why did your marriage fail?"

"Eh, he was a little too nerdy for me."

"Mrs. Curtis, this is a serious matter," Agent Schwartz said sternly. "Public servants—people working for the good of this country—lost their lives today. You're a smart woman, and your work for Homeland suggests that you feel a duty to protect others. Do you really agree with what Mr. O'Brien did today?"

"No. I don't."

"Then I encourage you to put aside your loyalty to him and help us to—."

"I mean you're wrong. I don't feel a duty to protect others," Happy interrupted, promptly silencing Schwartz. She leaned forward, clasping her hands together on the table. "If I'd never met Walter O'Brien, I would still be bouncing between dead-end jobs and telling the world to go screw itself. Because I don't care. Not like he does." The mechanic huffed out a dry laugh. "He's risked his life dozens of times doing your job for you. He's as much a public servant as anyone who died today. You should throw him a damn parade."

Daniels clenched his jaw. "With all respect, Mrs. Curtis, we've shown you the evidence. We are aware of his record, but we have little doubt that Mr. O'Brien is responsible for this attack."

"Evidence can be faked. What he's done can't." She dropped back into her chair, staring the two agents down. "I bet you'd love to hear that our marriage broke up because he was abusive, unstable, violent, right? That I knew something like this would happen eventually?" Happy shook her head. "Walter was willing to upend his entire life to protect my family. That's the person you just destroyed."

"I told him not to wear that shirt. Terrible color."

Schwartz paused the recording, narrowing his eyes. "Do you understand what you're watching here, Mr. Curtis?"

Toby shrugged. "America's Most Wanted?"

"This..." The agent cleared his throat, his exasperation growing steadily more evident. "This footage shows your business partner wiring explosives in the exact location where they were later detonated, killing seven and critically injuring twelve."

"Ha! First off, Walter is my boss. He'd have a stroke if you called us partners." Toby cocked his head to the side, tapping the rim of his hat. "Second, you have video that may or may not feature him doing something that vaguely involves wires, in an area that you swear is the same even though every inch of this boring building is identical. Not to mention the whole thing could be a fake."

"Preliminary analysis confirms that the video was unaltered," Daniels rebutted.

"That's cute. I'm Toby Curtis, it's nice to meet you." He extended his hand, pulling it back when the agents looked at him in confusion. "You clearly haven't met me, or the rest of Scorpion, because we have software that could fool any of your besuited analysts. And if we do, that means someone else does too. Can't stop progress."

Daniels ran a hand through his stiff blond hair, fixing his best hardened stare on Toby. "Your wife has agreed to cooperate. I suggest that you follow her lead and make this easier on both of you."

The psychiatrist snorted. "Yeah, Hap's nothing if not cooperative. I bet she raised all kind of hell." Their shared glance confirmed his suspicions. "Look, I know O'Brien is a slam-dunk suspect here. You have all the evidence against him. Since Agent Daniels here," he motioned to the taller man, "is angling for a promotion, and Agent Schwartz has been sleeping in a motel since his wife kicked him out, I imagine you both need a big win right now."

Dead silence. Toby smirked.

"Mr. Dodd. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. I'm Agent Forrester." Sylvester pulled his shirt sleeve over his palm and touched the man's outstretched hand. "Are you ready to get started?"

"I don't know what I can tell you."

Forrester took a seat and gestured for Sylvester to do the same. He pressed his lips into a thin line. "You're aware of the accusations against Mr. O'Brien, yes?"

"Yes. But it wasn't him."

Forrester raised his eyebrow. "I've read your file, Mr. Dodd. A brilliant mathematical mind. You've played an invaluable role in Scorpion's cases. Tell me, is it statistically more likely that Mr. O'Brien carried out the attack today, or that the evidence is somehow incorrect?"

"Incorrect? No." Sylvester shifted to get comfortable in the narrow chair. "Planted? Yes. It's not the first time we've been wrongly accused of a crime. Walter being guilty?" He took a deep breath, giving his voice more substance. "Not a chance."

"We want justice to be served, Mr. Dodd. That's all." He clicked his pen, poising it above a notepad that was just out of Sylvester's sight. "You believe Mr. O'Brien has been framed. That's a natural response. Do you have a suspect in mind?"

"N-No," he admitted, his confidence starting to waver. "But if you stop questioning us and let us assist with the case, I'm sure we would find one."

Forrester offered him a condescendingly sympathetic smile. "I'm afraid that would be a conflict of interest. Your best chance of helping him is right here, right now, in this room."

"This is bull."

"Trust me, Cabe, it took a lot of convincing for me to be in here. They wanted some rookie from New York to handle you, but I told them you'd talk to me." Agent Jenkins tilted his chin in Cabe's direction. "We've been friends a long time."

"Going on twelve years. Doesn't mean I'll tell you what you want to hear."

"All I want to hear is what you know." Jenkins crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. "I've met the kid. He's reckless. Insubordinate. Cocky. Is that a fair assessment?"

"Yeah. He's also family. And maybe the best person I know." Cabe straightened up in his seat, aware that Jenkins was intentionally giving him the authoritative position to make him feel more in control. More relaxed. More likely to slip up. "Has anyone bothered with a motive yet?"

"Baghdad."

The blood drained from Agent Gallo's face, but he coughed to cover his reaction. "Walter made his peace with that."

"Did he?" Jenkins's demeanor changed, only slightly, but enough for Cabe to know this would be less than friendly. "From what I hear, you had more than one falling out over it. The first lasted over a decade. Sounds like he has no problem holding a grudge."

"I deserved that. And anyway, it's history now. He's done a lot of good work for Homeland since."

"True." The agent tapped his fingers on the metal table. "He's patient, I'll give him that. Got unrestricted access to Homeland. Time to plan."

Cabe balled his hands into fists, hiding them from Agent Jenkins's view. "Walter might have turned his back on Homeland, and on me, but it didn't make him violent. He was fixing wi-fi and taking care of his sick sister when I met him again."

"Scorpion, and particularly Mr. O'Brien, has received seventeen official complaints in three years. Harassment. Assault. Breaking and entering. According to witnesses, he once let a man drop to his death. Made another man choke on sarin gas. Doesn't sound like my IT guy."

"When you ask us to save the world, you're gonna have to deal with a few broken eggs."

"Not if my agents lose their lives," Jenkins snapped. "Tell me he didn't sit in those hearings, listening to all the things he did wrong, and start to think that he deserved better? That Homeland owed him? Needed to be taught a lesson? You and I both know people kill for a lot less."

"Not Walter. He's spent his whole life trying to save as many people as died in Baghdad that day. No way he'd add more to that list unless it was self-defense."

Jenkins fell quiet, studying the agent intently. Then he stood up, banging on the one-way window, and waited for a young man to enter the room, handing him a stack of papers.

"What is that?" Cabe asked sharply.

"I hoped we wouldn't have to waste our time with this, but I don't think you'll be persuaded any other way." Agent Jenkins threw the printouts unceremoniously on the table. "Mr. O'Brien e-mailed this to us twenty minutes after the attack. Read it. When you're ready to talk, I'll be back."

"Have you ever seen Walter angry or upset?" Agent Bostwick asked all of his questions in the same tone of voice. Mild, even, encouraging. It was an attempt to develop rapport, and Ralph loathed it.

He looked to James, the lawyer Cabe had called in, and received a brief nod. A nod meant he could answer the question if he felt comfortable, or stay silent if he didn't. If James thought he absolutely should or should not answer a question, he would direct him verbally. They'd prepared for twenty minutes before Agent Bostwick joined them. Ralph didn't think he needed a lawyer—he had nothing to hide, and the rest of the team waived their right—but he knew it would comfort his mom, so he didn't protest.

"Yes. His reactions of anger and frustration seem to be statistically on par with the average for adults. They can be somewhat amplified because of his low EQ, but he's consistently improved in his ability to process and display emotions."

The agent furrowed his brow, which suggested he didn't quite understand Ralph's answer, but pressed on. "Did you ever get scared when Walter was upset?"

"No. There is no evidence to suggest that he would hurt me or anyone else."

"And has he ever talked about the incident in Baghdad with you, Ralph?"

He'd overheard the story when Walter told his mom the first night they met. Walter still didn't talk about it much, but when he did, the weight of it seemed a little less crushing each time. "Yes."

"And how did it make him feel?"

"Sad."

"Why sad?"

Another nod from James. "He blames himself, even though he didn't know what his software would be used to do. He feels like he should have known, because he knows so much." Ralph was gutted when his software was stolen by his professor. He felt betrayed, used, naive. That was a minute fraction of what he imagined Walter felt at sixteen. "He wouldn't hurt anybody. I know people always say that. But Walter is different. Because he would sacrifice himself for anybody, even if he doesn't know them."

Ralph had no doubt that Walter would do whatever it took to come home to him and his mom. But it didn't stop fear from wiggling its way into his head some nights, fear that Walter wouldn't come home, that he would trade his life for another and Ralph would resent that person forever, even though it was his dad's choice.

Agent Bostwick frowned. "Does Walter blame anyone else for what happened?"

"He blamed Cabe. But Cabe was trying to protect him. And Homeland does more good than harm, so he takes on cases. It's a logical balance of risk versus benefit."

"Ralph," the agent said quietly. "If your file is correct, you're probably the smartest person in this building." Definitely this building. And California. Potentially the U.S. But that didn't seem worth noting. "I think you could help us find Walter. Bring him in safely, so we can get to the bottom of this. Isn't that what you want?"

Paige tossed the documents on the table. She'd felt guilty even reading them, like she was somehow entertaining the possibility of Walter's involvement. After fighting back a wave of nausea on page three, Paige decided she had enough. "He didn't write this."

"It was sent from his e-mail account. A copy was found on his office computer." Paige glared at Agent Markowski. The garage was the logical first place to search—for Walter, for evidence, for more bombs—but it still felt like an unforgivable invasion of privacy. "We're having it analyzed, but the writing style appears to match reports and proposals Mr. O'Brien has submitted on behalf of Scorpion."

"Okay, but I've known him for three years, and he's never said a single sentence that sounded like this." Paige threw her hands up. "I don't know much about terrorism, but I know a lot about people. And I'm pretty sure they don't successfully hide radical beliefs for years and then unleash them all in a twisted manifesto."

Markowski looked unmoved. Of course he did. He'd never watched Walter hand himself over to armed smugglers, or unhook a speeding train car, or dive into shark-infested water. He knew nothing. "People are shockingly good at hiding their true nature, Miss Dineen. Do you ever watch the news? Watch the family of someone accused of robbery, arson, murder? They all say the same thing: the accused wasn't that type of person, they couldn't be responsible. But the evidence doesn't lie."

He wasn't wrong. And her judgement in people—men in particular—was not always flawless. But from a logical perspective, there would be no purpose in proclaiming his innocence to her and then publicly taking credit. And from an emotional perspective...she'd never known that a person could be as pure and selfless as Walter O'Brien was. He was arrogant. Insufferable sometimes. Clueless most of the time. But he was good.

Right?

Paige dropped her head into her hands, smoothing back her hair. She was exhausted from crying and arguing and worrying about her family. Agent Markowski's job was to get into her head, plant the seeds of doubt, turn her against Walter. She had to be strong. For him. "You're wasting your time. I don't know where he is. That's what you really want to ask, isn't it?"

"I find that hard to believe." The agent stood, leaning against the wall and pushing his hands into his pockets. Paige grimaced. She didn't like being looked down on, physically or metaphorically. "You seem convinced that you know Mr. O'Brien quite well. You know all his secrets. So the way I see it, there are two possibilities. Either you know him as well as you think, which means you have at least some idea where he would go. Or you really don't know, because there are still parts of his life that he hides from you. Which one is it?"

"There's no right answer to that question. I—." I know everything about him that matters. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it. She didn't have to defend herself. She wasn't legally required to say anything, and she would be damned if she let this stranger manipulate her. "I'd like to take my son home now. You can direct any other questions through our lawyer."

They shared a challenging look until Markowski backed down, gesturing toward the door. "You're free to go. Agents will be patrolling all of your residences in case Mr. O'Brien pays a visit. That's nonnegotiable."

He knew better than to come to her apartment. It was too dangerous. But Paige couldn't help the small part of her that wished he would. She'd been with him just that morning, not even twelve hours earlier, but she was desperate to see him again. Just to hold him, make sure he was alright, look into his eyes when he assured her that he was the person she thought he was. He couldn't stay in Los Angeles, but he'd never make it to Ireland with his name on every travel watchlist. Paige wasn't sure where else he would go, and that simultaneously relieved and scared her. She couldn't tell the agents what she didn't know. But maybe there really were parts of Walter that he still kept secret from her.

"Miss Dineen?" Paige paused. Her hand was on the knob, even though she didn't remember getting out of her seat. Agent Markowski shot her a knowing look. "Innocent people don't run."

"They do if there's no other choice," she said before slamming the door behind her.