Well I didn't expect to go on hiatus with this fic for quite so long, but stuff happens. Thanks to anyone who is jumping back on board or reading this for the first time. I know I'm way way way behind on reading/reviewing too, sorry. I've been stressed lately and writing helps that the most. This chapter is just getting me back into the story so be patient with me. ;)
Previously on this story: Walter has been framed for bombing Homeland and killing people, he went on the run because the real culprits were maybe part of Homeland and tried to kill him, he's hiding with Veronica, and agents searched/trashed the garage. Alright, I think that's the important stuff.
Walter was a bit of a packrat. His loft was stuffed with items that inspired him, things he found useful, and even—though he would never admit it—objects that held emotional significance. But everything was in its place. Always. His system made no sense to her, but she knew better than to come in and rearrange his safe haven.
He would hate to see it now.
Paige tried to stay professional as she surveyed the damage. Her only objective was to find something that could help him, some shred of evidence that would make it all go away. Let him come back home. Back to her.
She couldn't look at the bed. She and Walter had spent their first night together here, and so many wonderful nights after that, and Homeland agents ripped it all up without a thought to the history and love that occupied this room. The desk. She could handle the desk. His computer and most of his papers were gone, but there were still a few odd invoices that she'd asked him to review. The drawers were filled with nothing more exciting than tape dispensers, staplers, and charging cables. She tossed it all on top of the desk for Happy to scan, just in case.
Paige pushed back the nagging doubt in her head that reminded her she had no idea what she was looking for. Would she even know if she saw it? She didn't understand anything that was happening or how the pieces fit together. Was Agent Markowski right in assuming that Walter was hiding parts of his life from her? Or was he just as confused and in the dark as she was?
There was a loud crunch under her foot as she stepped away from the desk. Her hand flew to her mouth as everything she'd been suppressing rushed overwhelmingly to the surface. "You okay, Dineen?" Happy asked, walking over from the kitchen and stopping suddenly. "Not good."
Paige bent down, grabbing the shattered frame. The photo of Ralph at the science museum, Walter's arm draped around him as they were lost in conversation, captured their relationship so perfectly that Paige had to get it printed out. Seeing it on proud display in his loft the next night was one of a million tiny things that made her fall for him all the time.
She was sure her son felt the tiniest bit abandoned, even knowing that Walter had no choice. Because she felt it too.
Taking a deep breath, she placed the frame gingerly on the desk. "Let's keep looking," she said on an exhale as she started rooting through the books on his shelving unit.
"Paige."
She swallowed, feeling the mechanic's focused gaze on her. Paige shook her head, picking up a random almanac and flipping through its pages. "We don't have time for me to fall apart."
"Yes, we do." Happy stomped her foot, her boot connecting loudly with the concrete floor. "And you better do it now, because if you try to keep it together it's going to catch up to you and that fall will be a bitch."
She returned the book to the shelf, pressing her lips together. Happy was right, of course. She had to keep a brave face for Ralph, but right now it was just them and hell if she hadn't been there for some of Happy's toughest moments. "I just, uh…" Paige cleared her throat, burning tears pricking her eyes. She blinked them back. "If it was me, Walter would know what to do. He always does. And I don't know where to start helping him or even if I can, and I feel so useless."
"You're not useless. Walt will do whatever it takes to clear himself if it means he gets to see you and Ralph again. Everything he does is for you guys. Don't be stupid."
She prayed that was true. "I hate this, Happy. The fact that Walter could save so many lives and everyone just...turns on him, believes he could do all this terrible stuff, I don't…" She shrugged, turning to face the mechanic. "I don't even know if any of it matters. Everything he devoted his life to. Nobody seems to care about that now."
"No. We have almost died too many times for it to not mean anything," Happy snapped. "When we clear him, he's gonna come back and be the same selfless pain in the ass we both know and love."
Paige swallowed, her chest so tight she felt like she could be having a heart attack and not even know it. "And what if he doesn't come back?" Even the suggestion was painful. "What if we can't clear him and staying away is the safest option for him? I've already said goodbye to my mother, I don't think I can…" She paused abruptly, her eyebrows furrowing.
"Can what?" Happy exhaled dramatically when she didn't answer. "Can what, Dineen?"
He wouldn't. Would he? It was risky, to be sure, but going anywhere was risky for Walter at the moment. And no one outside the garage knew that Veronica Dineen was still alive.
Paige released a shuddering breath. She couldn't believe she hadn't considered the possibility earlier. But just imagining that he might be out there, safe with someone who would look out for him, made the knot in her chest untangle slightly. And, more selfishly, knowing that she could name at least one place he might go made her doubt a bit less how well she knew the genius.
"Paige! A little help!" Her train of thought was broken by Sylvester's panicked voice. The two women exchanged glances before running downstairs, where the mathematician was pacing behind his desk while Ralph furiously typed on a keyboard. "He won't stop," he said the second he saw her. "By my estimation he only has forty seconds before he gets noticed in the system, but if I interrupt him before he finishes, he can't cover his tracks and the hack is going to be way too noticeable."
"Ralph?" She put a hand on the desk, Sylvester's warning the only thing keeping her from yanking her son's chair away from the computer. "We had a deal."
"Give me twenty-eight seconds and you can ground me for the rest of my life."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Paige muttered, holding her breath as she waited. God, she was a terrible mother. But she'd already spent too long handicapping him because she didn't understand what he was capable of.
"Done," he announced, shutting off the monitor. The team crowded around as he swiped to unlock his tablet. "I got all the documents off Walter's laptop, the original security footage, and whatever else I could download in time. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Paige crouched down, stroking his hair. "Honey, why would you be sorry? You got us everything we needed."
He shook his head, frustration seeping into his voice. "I couldn't figure out a way to stay tapped into Homeland's system without getting discovered. We could have kept tabs on the investigation. We would have access to all of their evidence."
Paige sighed, amazed that this was the conversation she was having with her thirteen-year-old son. "Ralph," she said patiently, "you're the only one of us who could do this. You did more than enough. And you were safe, which is the most important thing. Walter would never ask you for anything else, okay?" The young genius nodded and Paige smiled, simultaneously bursting with pride and feeling like she might pass out.
"I'm glad the kid had some luck because the manifesto is a dead end." Toby was using an old, dusty laptop and Paige expressed silent gratitude that Homeland hadn't bothered with the crappy equipment in storage, giving them something to work with, however slow. "The phrasing matched posts from a bunch of anti-government message boards, but the IPs trace back to fake names and addresses in Indonesia. These aren't your average militia wannabes."
"Wait," Sylvester said, peering at the screen intently. "I've seen these usernames before."
"What? How?"
He frowned, digging into his memory. "March 19, 2017. Walter walked away from his computer to get a glass of water and I saw his screen. He was exchanging messages with these four usernames," the mathematician explained as he pointed to Toby's list. "Whoever wrote these...I think Walter knows them."