Author's note: I think I may have bit off more than I can chew here, trying to write a big emotional Quintis scene. Hopefully it doesn't suck. And a gentle reminder, dear readers, the circumstances of Happy's marriage in this fic are obviously not canon. I started writing this before Season 3 began so I had a totally different scenario plotted out and decided not to change it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

With more trepidation than he expected to feel, Toby took one last step, bringing him to the threshold of Happy's front door. Wiping his sweaty palms on the thighs of his jeans, he then raised his hand, intending to knock. Questions began to swirl in his mind, some of which he didn't want to know the answers.

What if she hadn't come back here, to her apartment, the only place he realized she would try to hide from him? What if Walter was an idiot and he'd misread her (an entirely feasible scenario, Mr 197 might be IQ smart, but people smart? Yeah, no.) and she didn't want to be alone? What if she was engaged in sexual congress with that roadie, whatever the fuck his name was, right at this very moment?

Lying to himself the anger and jealous raging through him were totally rational, he let his fist fall against the unyielding wooden surface then pounded as hard as he could. After what seemed like a lifetime, the door opened a crack.

"Go away." He caught a glimpse of Happy's perturbed countenance as she tried to shut the door. Jamming his foot in between the door and its frame, he grimaced in pain as his injured big toe was squeezed unmercifully.

"Let me in."

"No."

"Then come out."

She stared at him for what felt like another eternity before saying, "Okay." Letting go of the knob, she added, "Let me get my jacket."

As it was nearly 90 degrees, he knew her need for an outer layer of protection was nothing but a defense mechanism. He just wondered if it was from her insecurities. . .or from him.

Toby said nothing when Happy returned wearing her black leather motorcycle jacket, zipped up all the way to her neck. After locking up, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and stared expectantly at him.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Getting her to a neutral location might help her loosen up. At least he hoped so.

"Sure."

Letting her take the lead, he paced himself to stay by her side. He could see her eyes darting warily toward him from time to time, probably expecting him to start throwing a barrage of questions at her. Not that he didn't have a million of them, but he kept his curiosity in check. No, if she wanted to talk, he could wait until she was ready.

They walked for several miles before Happy stopped in the middle of a small bridge which spanned a dry arroyo. Bracing herself against the concrete railing, she leaned forward, keeping her gaze averted.

"I have some things I need to tell you," she began, her words barely above a whisper, "and I need you to let me tell you without trying to analyze what I say every five seconds with your psychobabble bullshit. Okay?"

Toby rested his back against the bridge, semi-facing her, noting she still wouldn't look him in the eye. "How bad is it?"

"Bad enough." Pulling her hands from her pockets, she set them on the weathered concrete. He watched as she gripped the edge so hard, her knuckles turned white. "I mean it. One word before I'm finished and I'm outta of here."

"Okay. Will I get a chance to speak at all or. . .?"

"Maybe." Sneaking a peek at him, she quickly refocused on the weedy riverbed. "About a week before my 18th birthday, I get a visit from my caseworker who told me I had to leave the group home where I'd been living. I have no money of my own, no job, month left of high school, and I'm booted to the street. Happy Birthday to me."

Righteous indignation rose up inside him as she described her desperate search for a job, her reticent manner ruling her out for most retail positions. And the sexism she'd contended with while applying for mechanic jobs. . .it really burned his ass.

Happy took a deep breath, pausing for several moments before speaking again. "So there was this auto body shop a few blocks from the group home. I'd hung out there a few times, and they'd let me tinker. The owner. . . He was an older guy, probably late 30's, early 40's, not too bad-looking. He'd flirt with me, say things like he'd marry me when I was old enough, crap like that. So, I went to go see him. . ."

Shit, he had a good idea where her story was heading, and it made him sick. He listened to her as she explained how she'd cut a deal with her future husband. A job in exchange for letting him marry her and. . . Ugh, the thought of her sleeping with "Bob the perverted bastard" twisted his gut even more.

She must have noticed his distress because she added, "It wasn't like he was the first or anything." A statement which did not make him feel any less like punching the lecher in the face.

"It was okay for a few months," she said, interrupting his violent impulses. "Then he started hinting he wanted a kid, someone to take over his business when he retired. Like I wouldn't be able to handle it." She rolled her eyes with disgust, lost for a moment in her remembrances. "I'd told him from the start I didn't want kids. It was just fuel on the fire though. We'd already been fighting about other shit."

"Then, uh, then one night. . . Things got a little outta control and well, I split." She snuck another peek at him and it took everything in him not to show his emotions on his face. As welcoming as it was she was finally opening up, there was a shit ton she was still withholding. And with his fertile imagination, he could fill in the blanks of what she was omitting. . .and it wasn't a pretty picture.

"I had some money stashed, enough to tide me over until I found another job." Another half-truth, if her compressed lips were anything to go by. "As far as I know, he's never filed for divorce and he's not dead. But . . .but at the time, I figured why poke a hornet's nest, right? He sold his business about four years ago. Guess I should have kept track of him, just in case. . ." She shrugged.

"So now you know that sad tale of woe," she said before inhaling then exhaling nervously. "As for the rest. . . I. . .well, I kinda lost my head. I'd been stressed out. . ." He opened his mouth to apologize, knowing he'd been the major cause of her stress, but she shot him a dirty look, and he snapped it close again.

"And there was booze and pot, and I thought, what the heck, when in Rome. . ." She chuckled for a moment, glancing over at him, obviously noting his puzzled expression. "I was just thinking of Walter. He acted like an outraged PTA mother for the first couple of days. They thought he was a narc." Shaking her head, she swallowed her mirth.

"About the other. . ." Her voice faltered, guilt markers etching themselves into her beautiful face. "It was just kissing. . .and maybe some groping. Anya and I. . .we decided we didn't suit, I guess I wasn't lesbian enough for her. And. . .Akim. . ."

He grunted with displeasure at the other man's name. Darting another warning stare in his direction, she continued. "At first it was just pretending to suck up to the boss, hoping he'd spill more info. But then. . . I don't know, I just got caught up, and the alcohol and marijuana were clouding my better judgement. Last night, he and I were smoking a joint and things got kinda crazy. . ." Kicking at the bottom of the railing, she related her encounter with the son-of-a-bitch roadie behind a stack of amplifiers.

Happy turned to finally face him when she'd finished, cramming her hands back into her pockets. "I'm sorry, Doc," she said in a sad yet with a defiant undertone voice as she cast her eyes downward.

"Can I speak now?" he asked after taking a few moments to process everything she'd told him.

"If you must," she conceded grudgingly.

"I love you." He knew better than to say he'd forgiven her, he didn't want to have to drink his meals through a straw or sing soprano in a boys' choir.

Her head snapped up. "I just told you I basically prostituted myself for a roof over my head and that I was seriously contemplating banging another guy and that's all you have to say?"

"Happy, you did what you had to do to survive," he began. "I know what it's like to be down to my last dime and I'm not proud of some of the things I've done to keep a roof over my head. I don't particularly care for the idea of you marrying someone just so you didn't have to sleep on the streets, but I can understand the desperation that drove you to do it."

"Yeah, well. . ." She closed her eyes, turning away from him again.

"As for the other. . ." He sighed wearily. "I can't say I'm thrilled about that either, but I understand why it happened. Going undercover has its risks. Especially going undercover into an atmosphere as drug-fueled and sexually charged as traveling with a rock and roll band. Trained police officers sometimes get so immersed, they forget which side they're on. The people they're spying on become their friends. Lines get blurry.

"You guys went in without any preparation. All three of you have been effected by the life you've been leading. Walter and Paige just weren't as stressed out as you were going in, which made you more susceptible."

"I said no psychobabble." Lifting her eyes, she glared at him. But there was no malice in it. Underneath, he saw her gratitude for not condemning her for her reckless actions.

"Sorry." He adjusted his hat. "And I do love you."

"I don't know whether to kiss you or push you off this bridge."

"Can I pick which one?" He smiled impishly at her.

"Shut up, Doc." She grabbed his shirt, pulling him to her, kissing him firmly on the mouth.

When they finally came up for air, Happy took several deep breaths. "You wanna go back to my place? she asked in a husky whisper.

He nodded his acquiesce, because for one of the few times in his life, he was at a loss for words.

ooooo

"Mom!"

Walter, who had spent the last hour sneaking peeks at Paige as she sat across from him at her desk, watched as she jumped out of her chair. Just in time for Ralph to barrel into her, wrapping his arms around her waist. A grinning Sylvester followed in the boy's wake.

Waiting until the liaison finished fussing over her son, Walter got to his feet and stepped toward them. "Hey, buddy," he said, feeling a bit awkward. Which was understandable, considering what he'd been doing with the youngster's mother only a few hours earlier. "Good to see you."

"Hey, Walter." The boy extended his fist and Walter bumped his against it. "You wanna see what we did at camp today?" He slung his backpack off his shoulders and started to unzip it.

"Sure." Glancing up at Paige, he wasn't surprised to see her smiling at them, but the tears in her eyes were unexpected. Hoping he hadn't done anything wrong, he diverted most of his attention back to the miniature rocket Ralph was showing him.

'Thanks for picking him up, Sly," he heard her say, glimpsing at her as she furtively dabbed at her cheeks.

"No problem," replied the human calculator. "I needed to get away from the garage for awhile."

"Well, I hope you can stay for dinner." Paige waved her hand toward the kitchen. "I'm making spaghetti and meatballs."

The door creaked open and Cabe strode inside. "Sounds good. Sign me up."

Walter looked up at her and frowned. "Paige, you don't have to cook for all of us."

"I know. I just want to do something normal. . .useful." She sighed. "I feel like. . . Well, I need to feel like me again. The real me." Pursing her lips together, she tipped her head. "Does that make any sense?"

He nodded. "It does." He, too, wanted to go back to being his normal self (although normal was the wrong adjective to use in his situation). Handing the rocket back to Ralph, he moved toward her. "Is there anything I can do to help? W-With dinner preparation, I mean."

"Yeah, you and Ralph can make the garlic bread." She smiled at him and his heart nearly skipped a beat.

It wasn't until the boy genius was showing him how to use a garlic press, her earlier words resounded in his head, when she'd said she needed to feel like herself again. Did that mean she hadn't been herself when they'd. . .when they'd been. . .been intimate?

The youngster's instructions were drowned out by the anxiety suddenly flooding his brain. Finding it hard to draw air, he grasped the counter to steady himself. Had being with him been just an aberration, a lapse in judgement brought on by the craziness of traveling with the band? Would it be over between them once the case was resolved?

"Are you okay, Walter?" Ralph's worried voice shook him out of his troubled musing.

"I'm fine," he fibbed, smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. He didn't like lying, and he especially didn't like lying to the boy standing beside him. But he could hardly tell the young genius he was afraid Paige would stop having sex with him after their mission was completed.

"Did you know a garlic press is a class 2 lever?" he asked, changing the subject. "Its fulcrum is on the end and the force it produces is in the middle."

Ralph nodded. "But too much force just smashes the garlic. The clove has to be pressed gently or it's ruined." He stuck a piece of garlic into the press. "It's all in the technique. Watch."

Walter stared as the youngster applied just enough pressure so the clove was perfectly squeezed through the grid. Taking a deep breath, he realized he too had to find the perfect technique in his relationship with Paige, or else he could end up smashing and ruining everything.

ooooo

"You guys almost done?"

Walter nearly dropped the wet, slippery plate Sylvester had just handed to him to dry, catching it before it slid to the floor. "Uh, yeah, almost," he stated, turning to see her leaning against a nearby pillar. The younger genius had volunteered to wash the dishes, guilt tripping Walter into helping him. Cabe had gracelessly bowed out, citing his security gig as an excuse.

"Ralph? Do you want to stay here or go home?" she called out, glancing over her shoulder.

"Home. It would be nice to sleep in my own bed again."

"Okay." She wandered over to her desk. "Hey, Sly, we can give you a ride home if you want to go back to your place."

"Thanks, Paige, that would be great." The human calculator gave a saucepan one last scrub before thrusting it at Walter. He slowly rubbed the dishtowel over it, his breathing accelerating as he wondered if he was included in any of her plans. And if so, should he decline any invitations so she and Ralph could spend time together?

He'd seen Paige more than Ralph had in the past week (a lot more of her as a matter of fact). There were things he could catch up on here at the garage; projects, paperwork, sleep. . . He needed to give her some space, even though spending every waking (and non-waking) second with her still wouldn't be enough.

"Hey, Walter, you're coming with us, too. Right?"

He snapped out of his thoughts to see Ralph staring expectantly at him. Glancing over at Paige, he tried to take his cue from her on how to reply, but she just smiled enigmatically at him.

"Uh, you should have some time alone with your mom. I shouldn't intrude."

The boy looked from him to his mother. "But I've missed both of you. It's all right if he comes with us, isn't it, Mom?"

Paige nodded as her grin grew wider. Ruffling her son's hair, she said, "Walter, you're more than welcome to stay with us. In fact, I insist."

"Okay. Just let me get my stuff." Thankfully, he had already efficiently repacked his duffel with fresh clothing earlier in the day. The fact he couldn't say no to either Ralph or Paige would probably prove problematic someday. But he wasn't going to worry about it at the moment. Or maybe ever.