I've given up on trying to get through this story more quickly, but I will keep chipping away at it slowly but surely. ;) Thank you for your patience and great reviews! This has been an interesting fic for me to write and I hope that you're all enjoying it. :)
Sylvester was sick of hospitals.
He'd never enjoyed them, of course. They represented twenty-seven of his forty-three severe phobias, and all the hand sanitizer in the world did nothing to combat their inherent terror. But that was how much he had loved Megan, to spend weeks—months—by her side, braving the toxic atmosphere. She made it easy, knew just what to say to calm him down. She made it worth it.
And now Ralph—their Ralph—was hanging by a thread, and Sylvester only hoped he might offer Paige half as much comfort as she'd given him. Their situations were not the same, but he could scratch the surface of her feelings. There could be no peace while there was still hope.
Paige blinked when she saw him, clearly lost in her thoughts. "Sly?"
"Hey." The mathematician approached her gently, lowering into the narrow chair beside her. "How is he?"
The distress in her eyes when she looked at her son made Sylvester's chest burn. "Worse," Paige murmured quietly, reaching out to sweep away the bangs that clung to his clammy skin. "I've tried to keep it together, but…I'm scared, Sly."
"Paige, it's going to be okay." He was averse to a great many things, but physical contact was not one of them, which gave him an advantage over the other geniuses in situations like this. Sylvester placed his hand on her upper back and rubbed a soothing circle with his thumb. "Ralph is an incredible kid. A fighter. And you've seen how far Scorpion will go for people we don't even know…we'll never give up on him. He's one of us."
Her shoulders rose and fell as she exhaled deeply. "I know. Walter left like a bat out of hell with some idea in his head. Where did they go?"
Sylvester frowned. "They?"
The liaison blinked, caught off guard by his uncertainty. "Yeah, Walter and the team. Did they tell you what the plan was?"
He hesitated, unsure if he should reveal what he knew, but Paige raised one eyebrow expectantly. Sylvester had already given too much away by his silence, and she wouldn't let it go until she'd drawn it out of him. Might as well save them both the energy. "The team is at Homeland, but Walter…he's not with them."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know," Sylvester confessed, pulling his hand away as Paige's back stiffened. "He told me to come to the hospital and then he didn't answer any of our calls after that." Concern flooded her face, and the genius shook his head. "But I'm sure he's fine, Paige. You know how he gets sucked into things. He's probably researching a—."
"I don't think so." Paige interrupted, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. "I can't explain it, Sly, but something in his face when he left…I thought he'd be okay if the team was with him, but if he went off alone," she glanced nervously at Sylvester, "it usually means he's putting himself in danger."
Sly sighed. "I don't know," he said again, uttering the most frustrating words for any genius to admit. "We'll just have to trust him, okay?"
The statistician needed to keep her mind off Walter. Worrying about both of the men she loved would stretch her too thin. He nodded toward Ralph.
"Have you talked to him?"
Paige bit down on her bottom lip. "A little, but I, um…I don't really know what to say."
That must have been as frustrating for her as not having answers was for him. Sylvester inched his chair closer to the bed, ignoring the discomfort of the stiff plastic armrests. He should have been used to them by now. "Maybe you can tell a story?" he suggested. "I've always wanted to hear about the day Ralph was born."
The liaison nodded slowly. "Okay."
"You look different."
Collins smirked cockily as he rubbed his clean-shaven face, not missing the way Walter's muscles tensed. That smirk always did get right through to him. "People typically change their appearance when they're in hiding." Mark tugged on a strand of his freshly-dyed black hair for emphasis, twisting it between his fingers. "I hate to fall prey to the clichés, but I understood the necessity."
Walter bit down on the inside of his cheek, searching for some way to channel his rage without carrying out the host of terrible actions his mind was contemplating. Collins was deserving, of course, but violence was a thoroughly ineffective tactic against his former partner's psychopathy. Once again, Walter was exactly where Mark wanted him to be.
Right now, that was a seventeenth-floor office that appeared to have been abandoned during renovations. White tarps loosely draped over the furniture and an abundance of wood dust that irritated Walter's throat made it an ideally dramatic setting for Mark's grand plan. He'd never let the genius near whatever haunted cave he'd been holed up in for three months.
"You're less dead than I expected," Walter said flatly.
Collins grinned. "Shockingly easy, isn't it? I know you've done the same for Sylvester." He shook his finger at Walter. "My only regret is that I didn't get to see your reaction. I'll plan that better next time."
Walter couldn't even say with certainty what his reaction had been. It was a blur…the shots, the blood, the paramedics flying in. The perfect storm of diversions to mask Mark's escape. "Was that your plan all along?"
Collins pressed his lips together as he thought. "More of a plan B, really. Even I'm not capable of getting past a SWAT team alive. Your trauma was…well, let's call it an added bonus."
Under the guise of adjusting his watch, Walter slid two fingers over his wrist to check his pulse. Racing. He needed to find some way to get himself under control before he ruined his best chance at helping Ralph. Not an easy task when Collins was purposefully goading him, but his ego wasn't worth putting his family in any more danger. "You had a clean slate. You could be halfway around the world by now, why would you stay?"
"Really, Walter, it can't be that difficult to grasp." Sensing the man's doubt, Mark rolled his eyes. "Revenge. It's revenge. I keep trying to get it, and you keep ruining it. So I had no choice but to…" he gestured into the air, "branch out."
That sent another bolt of anger through Walter's veins, and it was only Paige's calm voice in his head that steadied him. Ralph was just another piece on the chessboard to Mark, a means to a twisted end. He'd never understand or care how remarkable the child genius truly was. An emotional plea would fall on deaf ears.
Walter had to play his game, and this time he was going to win. His hands dropped to his sides and clenched into fists. "Then get it. I'm standing right here, Collins. Get your revenge."
"You never were a patient person," Mark mused, his lips still curled in that insufferable expression. The effect was magnified without his beard, and Walter wondered how the disgraced genius had never shaved simply to antagonize the team further. "Fortunately, I am. Last time, I was willing to let Paige and Ralph leave safely and live out the rest of their petty lives. I don't plan to be so generous this time."
It was like battling the Hydra; every time Walter defeated Collins, the man came back from the shadows stronger and more vicious, threatening more and more of his world. He'd tried so hard to save Paige before, protect her even if it meant saying goodbye to her and her son for good. And then they were safe, part of his life in a way they'd never been before, and his happiness clouded the reality that Collins would do whatever it took to break them.
There wasn't a trace of doubt in his voice when Walter said, "I know you have the antidote. You need to control the situation. You need a bargaining chip." Collins shrugged and offered a flattered grin, as if Walter was praising him for his extensive preparation. "Tell me how to save Ralph. I know you've got a plan, so let's hear it."
"Testy," Mark muttered loudly, folding his arms in front of him. Even his clothes—a crisp blue button-down shirt and black pants—were different, an oddly close representation of Walter's own wardrobe. Surely that was intentional; Collins did nothing without a purpose, even if it was only clear or logical to him. "The kid's not dead yet, Walt. We have time to catch up."
An ugly fear reared up in him again. Ralph…gone…Walter sucked in a breath with some difficulty. That wasn't a possibility. He wouldn't allow it.
"If anything happens to him, I'm going to kill you," the genius snapped. "The antidote, Collins. Now."
Mark stared at him curiously. Walter rarely resorted to violence, and neither of them could be sure whether it was an idle threat. If he lost Ralph, though, they were both damn sure going to find out.
"This side of you is fascinating," Collins hummed, tapping his finger pensively against his left cheek. "But depressing. I told you to excise the emotion, Walter. If you were using that beautiful brain of yours, you would have solved this puzzle a long time ago and saved your precious prodigy." He cocked his head to the side. "Though I suppose you wouldn't care as much. Humans are peculiar that way, aren't they?"
Walter had spent decades burying his emotions, but there was no world in which Ralph and Paige didn't mean everything to him. They were an inextricable part of him from the day—the second, most likely—he saw them in that pathetic diner. He'd worried in the beginning about the impact that his heightened EQ would have on his intelligence, on his work, but now Walter knew for sure that he would willingly give up his genius to keep them.
Mark clicked his tongue, bringing the other genius's attention back to him. "We had so much left to do, Walter," he said with an artificial hint of sadness. Leaning his weight against the edge of a rickety desk, Collins crossed his ankles and slumped over slightly. "Whatever 'good' you think you've done with Scorpion is nothing compared to the change we could have made in the world. The lives we could have saved—."
"You didn't care about that," Walter hissed, tired of Mark's self-righteous tone. He took a step forward but restrained himself from advancing any further, lest he lose the self-control he was frantically clinging to. "You're incapable of caring about pain or suffering. In fact, you thrived on it. And you brought me down with you."
Collins scoffed, predictably showing no signs of offense. "High horses are for idiots, Walter. I didn't bring you anywhere. You went where you wanted to go." He shot the genius a searching glare, the kind that had always made him feel as if Mark knew him better than he knew himself, though Walter reminded himself that it was just a parlor trick. "Because the truth, which you are so desperately afraid of admitting to yourself, is that you're exhausted. Caring is exhausting. You've spent three long, torturous years trying to become something you're not so you'll be considered worthy of love."
Don't give in.
Paige admitted that she'd imagined him saying that to her when Mark's manipulation became overwhelming. Walter had a long history of succumbing to it, but perhaps hearing those words, in her voice, would help him too.
Don't give in.
He didn't answer, so Collins continued almost gleefully. "And what have you gotten out of it? Pain. Heartbreak. Megan's dead, and so is any misguided hope you might have had of a relationship with your parents." Walter's lungs were on fire as he inhaled shallowly, the memory of his sister devastating him all over again. Mark lifted his fingers as if he was counting. "Cabe was an adequate father figure, but you'll lose him. And you will most certainly lose Paige and Ralph. If I had a little more time to wait around, I'd just let nature take its course instead of getting involved. Because you and I both know…" How much he wanted to permanently remove that damn smirk from Mark's face. "That you'll make a mistake. An unforgivable mistake. And the woman you love so much will be gone. She won't look back. Why should she?"
He couldn't deny it. Collins had always been a master at laying his insecurities bare, pressing down on his dreams and fears until Walter was crushed under his thumb.
Don't give in.
"And do you know why?" Mark asked, obviously delighting in the storm he'd provoked. "Because you weren't meant for this life, Walter. Neither of us were. Accept that and you'll spare yourself a lot of trouble."
Collins was stalling and Walter was growing frustrated with the psychiatric examination. "If you want to work together again, then just say it," he demanded sharply. "You don't need the theatrics. I'll leave with you right now and we can disappear to anywhere in the world. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Walter could accept this. He'd delayed the inevitable once and gotten three more months with the team. Three months to do all the things he should have done before, to watch Ralph grow up, to show Paige how strongly he felt for her. If he could've changed anything, it would have been to tell them that he loved them more often, but he was sure they already knew.
"I'm sorry, Walt, but that door is closed." Mark lifted himself off the desk, taking slow, deliberate steps toward the genius. "I've had a lot to time to think up something a little more interesting. And I have to admit that I'm quite curious to see what you'll do."
He narrowed his eyes, an uneasy feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. "What do you want, Collins?"
"I want you to go back to August 22, 2012," Mark said with a knowing look. Walter's throat tightened. The day he'd had his closest friend committed. Everything started there. Wrong or right, it was a decision Walter could never escape. "Do you remember what you said? As they were taking me away, restrained like some kind of wild animal?"
Of course he remembered. The words still echoed in his mind sometimes, when he was in the garage alone, staring out the window at the exact spot where he betrayed Mark. The rest of the team assured him that he had done the right thing. That his motives were unselfish. He wasn't as sure.
"Say it," Collins hissed. "I want to hear you say it."
"I told you…" his voice faltered and he cleared his throat to reclaim it. "I told you that I didn't have a choice."
Now that Mark was closer, Walter could see that the smarminess in his eyes was replaced with a familiar darkness. The same darkness the genius had witnessed right before Collins shot himself. Walter had a hunch he was about to pull another trigger now.
"'I have no choice.' I thought about those words every day I was in that godforsaken mental hospital. The doctors couldn't possibly comprehend my level of intelligence, so of course they thought I was crazy. But you…" He closed the final bit of space between them and jabbed his finger into Walter's chest. "You should have understood. You knew I wasn't crazy, but you feared me. Feared the parts of yourself that I drew out. The real you."
He'd hated that person. That version of himself was cruel, cold, paranoid. He had constantly felt lost and alone, and if not for the other Scorpion members, his partnership with Collins might have killed him. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly, knowing all the same that his apology would be lost on Mark. "I did what I needed to do."
The man nodded slowly, a slick grin forming on his face. "I had a feeling you would say that." He stepped back from Walter just enough to reach into his pocket, producing a thin glass vial with transparent pink liquid inside. He pressed it into the genius's hand. "Do what you need to do."
Walter's palm tightened around the object, careful not to shatter it with the strength of his grip. "What the hell is this?"
Collins quirked his eyebrow, shoving his hands loosely into his pockets. "I can tell that you already know it's not the antidote. I'm not giving that to you out of the kindness of my heart."
"You don't have one," Walter said bitterly, earning a deep laugh from Mark.
"Don't be hyperbolic. Regardless, I do have what you need to save Ralph. You were right about that."
The genius allowed himself a second of relief, though he knew from experience that whatever was coming next would negate the feeling of hope.
Collins nodded toward Walter's hands, knuckles turning white as he clutched the vial like a lifeline. "If Paige drinks that, the antidote is yours. The boy will survive with no lasting damage, like none of this ever happened."
Walter suddenly felt very, very nauseated. "And what will it do to Paige?"
"Oh, it'll kill her," Mark shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the prospect. "I mean, probably. Poison is unpredictable. But if she doesn't drink it, then Ralph dies. Those are your options."
The first time around, Collins had guaranteed safety for both of them if they just left the team. Walter now realized that was him being merciful. "Don't do this," he begged through gritted teeth. "It doesn't have to be like this."
"You're right. It shouldn't be like this." Collins reached out for Walter's free wrist, and the genius jumped as his nails sank suddenly into the skin, leaving a trail of scrapes and dark red impressions. "But poor little 197 didn't have a choice, right? Well, now I'm giving you one." He threw the hand down. "Choose, Walter. And I would hurry. The clock is ticking."
