Chapter 8—Alternate Ending B
"I…didn't," said Walter.
Cabe stared at him for a long time, as if trying to sum up something. Finally, he sighed in exasperation. "Well, if it wasn't you and if it wasn't Happy, then who was it?! I don't know of anyone else who could think up of such an idea!"
"We will figure it out," said Walter. "It can't be long before—"
A squeal and a gasp came from the other room before Walter could finish. Cabe and Walter rushed out to find the garage in a bit of chaos. Apparently, Sylvester had tried taking Tweety of the birdcage and now he and everyone else were trying to re-capture her. "I didn't think it would fly away from me!" Sylvester cried as he pranced around the room after his bird.
Ralph held out something in his hand. "Here, Tweety," he called. Lured by the sight of food, Tweety flew over to Ralph's outstretched hand and took in some of the lettuce the boy was offering. Speaking soothing words to the bird, Ralph carefully led it back to the birdcage and coaxed it in. Sylvester stopped just short of the boy, shaking from nerves and excitement. Ralph took Sylvester's hand again until he could calm down.
The bespectacled genius smiled down at the boy. "Thanks, Ralph. You've been such a great help." He paused. "As a matter of fact, it's almost Christmas, and I have something for you."
"Actually, I do, too," said Toby.
"Me, too," said Happy, as she scampered off after her friends.
"Well, I guess I better go get my present then," said Walter.
"Clearly, we have a favorite around here," said Paige, coming up to Ralph and mussing his hair.
The geniuses came back with bundles in their arms. "For you," they said to Ralph.
The boy looked up at his mom, as if asking her permission.
Paige seemed to understand him. "Of course you can accept them. These are your friends."
Ralph stepped forward and received a gift from each one of them, a heavy box from Sylvester, a not-so-heavy one from Happy, a small box from Toby, and a strangely-shaped one from Walter.
"Ralph," Paige said, deciding to take this opportunity as a teaching moment. "What do we say when people do nice things for us?"
To everyone's surprise, Ralph launched himself into their arms, his eyes squeezed shut against his tears.
"Well, that's the best thank you I've ever gotten," said Walter. The others laughed. "Go on ahead, open your presents."
Once Ralph had unwrapped everything, he unveiled a new chess set from Sylvester, a remote control airplane from Happy, and a Brainquest game from Toby. The last gift he held up for everyone to see. It was black box covered in leather with something round protruding from one side. "A camera," explained Walter. "I built it myself. Ralph has been talking about how he wants more pictures of everyone so I thought this would be a good opportunity to teach him photography."
"Thank you, Walter. Everybody." Paige said, blinking back tears herself.
Ralph held the camera, looking from his mother to the gift and then back to her. Then he came up to Walter and whispered something to him. Walter's eyes lit up. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" he asked, smiling in encouragement.
Ralph stepped over to his mother and whispered the same thing to her.
"Of course, Ralph." Paige answered. "You can ask the whole group, too."
Moments, later, Happy had on her new boots, Toby donned his new hat, and Sylvester was trying to balance Tweety on his index finger. Paige emerged from the bathroom in her new dress, the dark green folds glimmering when they caught the light. Ralph took his mother's hand and led her over to where the group was assembled. Walter held up his blueprints and Cabe stood with his sunglasses on. "Everyone say geniuses!"
Click.
Ralph snapped a few pictures and Walter loaded them onto the computer. He was looking them over, his eyes inadvertently lingering on Paige in her new dress. She looked…nice. More than nice. She looked…angelic. And the dress seemed to fit her so well. Like it was made for her, with the sash hugging her middle and the emerald color offsetting her brown eyes.
Walter froze. A custom-made emerald dress. Boots which fit perfectly. A hat with Toby's initials on it. Hi-tech sunglasses. Blueprints buried at the bottom of multiple boxes…
"I think I know who's our Secret Santa," he said, so quietly that almost no one heard him.
"What?" asked Paige, who had come up behind him to look at the picture. Walter did not hear her, however. He was busy glancing over the gift items as he ran calculations through his head.
"It all makes sense now…" he muttered. With a click of a button, he printed the picture Ralph had taken and tucked it away. Let's see what our Secret Santa has to say to this…he thought to himself.
That evening…
A tiny woman was just about to leave her office when she noticed a round, brightly painted doll perched on one of her tea tins. "Now what is this?" she said softly, reaching out to it. Her hand was mere inches away when—
"You might want to check that out first, just in case it's a bomb."
The woman wheeled around. A man with olive skin and curly hair was sitting at her desk, swiveling in her chair. "That's what we did when you sent us gifts," the man remarked.
"Walter O'Brien," the woman stated.
"Henrietta Lange," the man replied.
"I assume you are here for more reasons than just to warn me about mysterious dolls lying round my office."
"Of course," Walter said, standing up. "I came to give you a message." He cleared his throat and gestured behind Hetty. "You'll find it in the doll. Or dolls, I should say."
"Ah, you figured out my Matryoshka dolls."
"But of course," said Walter. "And no, there's nothing dangerous in there. Just a note from all of us at Scorpion."
Hetty gave a small smile, barely perceptible. Smart people had a way of doing that. Walter reached over, plucked the doll off of the tea tin, and held it out to Hetty. The NCIS operations manager took the round, carved figure into her nimble hands and carefully opened it, extracting one doll from another. In the smallest doll was a sheet of glossy paper. She removed it from the nesting doll and unfolded it. It featured a picture of everyone at Scorpion brandishing their gifts. On the back of the picture, handwritten words said, "Thanks Hetty! From all of us here at Scorpion to you." This was followed by everyone's signature.
"Merry Christmas, Hetty," said Walter.
"The same to you, Mr. O'Brien."
She held the picture up to his face. "You know, some would argue that photography is a kind of art form."
"I wouldn't necessarily agree with that. Originally, it was made to be a chemical process in which light entering the lenses of a camera—"
Hetty held up a hand. "If we're going to debate about art, I would rather do it over a cup of tea. Join me, Mr. O'Brien?"
"Gladly," said Walter, moving to help her prepare the tea. "Gladly."