Chapter Six

Walter stared at the piles of boxes stacked in front of his desk. They'd only been gone a few hours. Paige and Ralph had showered and changed while Walter had assessed the condo for any damage from the quake. The three of them had stopped for lunch at a Chucky Burger on the way back to work.

"Where the heck did all this come from?" he asked, waving his arms.

"A delivery van showed up about half an hour after you left," stated Sly. "We didn't know what to do, so we just signed for them all."

"I did order a couple of things a few days ago." Walter was at a loss to explain the sheer volume of packages. He had no idea if the purchases he had made were somewhere amongst them. "My order must have gotten screwed up." His eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to him. "Or this is someone's idea of a prank." He glanced at Toby.

The shrink held up his hands. "Whoa, buddy, this is not my doing," he said. "If I was going to prank you, I'd put a whoopee cushion on your chair or replace the sugar with salt, not bankrupt you."

"Maybe we should open them?" said Happy, looking at one of the boxes.

"No!" He didn't care they were all startled at his outburst, he didn't want anyone to know what he had bought. Not yet anyway. "I'll do it. Everyone else go back to work."

"We were waiting for you guys to come back so we could go eat," said Toby. "Guess we'll go now."

Walter waited until the others had left before approaching the nearest pile of boxes, picking up the one on top. Judging by its weight and size, it could possibly be one of the items he had ordered online. Pulling out his pocketknife, he sliced open the tape then peered inside.

He was slapping the flaps back down when Paige came up to him. "What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing." He could feel his face burning and he knew she knew he was lying, but he wasn't about to tell her the package was full of sex toys. He definitely had not ordered those. Vowing to check the return addresses first, he moved onto the next box.

"Are you sure I can't help?"

"You, ah, could call my credit card company," he suggested.

"Do you think you've been hacked?" Paige sounded skeptical. "But why would they send the merchandise to you? Most ID thieves buy stuff for themselves."

"I don't know," he said. "But it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Okay." He took his card from his wallet and handed it to her. While she was on the phone, he sorted through more of the packages.

"Walter, they want to talk to you," Paige said as he found a box with the name of the website he'd ordered from on it. She handed him the phone, and he began the frustrating process of getting the unauthorized purchases erased from his card.



Friday Evening


"Where are we going?" Paige's question broke the silence as Walter steered his rusty Datsun down the familiar street leading to the garage. "Did you forget something?"

"Uh, no." At least he hoped he hadn't. He pulled up in front of the brick building and turned off the engine. Unbuckling, he then bolted from the car before jogging around to its passenger side, opening the door.

A long, shapely leg emerged from the vehicle and Walter inhaled sharply as the rest of Paige followed. She was wearing a black dress, the one she had worn during their mission in Bahari. The one which clung to her body, making all the blood rush away from his head.

His heart was racing, his breathing was shallow, his palms were sweating. . . It was stupid to feel this way. He'd been on dates with other women. He'd been nervous about them as well. But none of them came close to matching the dread he now felt. None of those other women had been as important to him as Paige.

This dinner was just an excuse, a reason for them to be alone together. His ribs were healed. He'd calculated the odds of the evening ending in sex at 99%, and he didn't know whether it was that probability or the 1% chance of disappointment feeding his anxiety. He kept telling himself he didn't have to be perfect, she didn't expect perfect. For reasons he failed to comprehend, she loved him, flaws and all. But still. . .he wanted to make it perfect for her. Because he loved her.

He led her through the garage, now dark and quiet after he had sent everyone home two hours earlier. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Paige was frowning slightly and he wondered what she was thinking. Maybe his plan of surprising her hadn't been such a good idea after all.

Opening the door to the roof, he watched as her expression change as her eyes widened and a smile touched her lips. "Walter." She sounded breathless. "It's beautiful."

Paige glanced around at the lights and candles before focusing on the table in the middle of the patio. It was draped with a white linen tablecloth, set with floral patterned china dishes and gleaming silverware. A long stemmed red rose rested atop one of the plates. Soft music played in the background.

"Did you do all this?" She didn't mean to sound incredulous but. . . To think Walter O'Brien, the least romantic man she had ever met, had managed to do all this on his own. It was mind-boggling.

"Yes," he replied. "I, uh, I did some research on the internet, and. . .um. . . Do you like it?" He was staring at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty.

"I love it," she said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.

"Um, w-would you like to eat first or, uh. . .dance?"

"I thought you don't dance."

Walter's mouth curled into what she could only describe as a mischievous grin. "I've discovered it's not so bad."

"Well, then, let's dance."

Moving closer to the boombox, she saw his nervousness return. "You remember where to put your hands, don't you?" she teased, recalling their first dance. She'd had a feeling then he had never held a woman in his arms before, and what she'd learned since only confirmed her suspicions.

"Yes." Paige shivered as he demonstrated he did indeed remember, placing his right hand on the small of her back. She rested her hand on his shoulder as they began to sway to the music.

"D-Did I tell you, uh, how beautiful you look?"

"No, but thank you," she said. "You look very handsome." And he did, in his dark grey suit and red tie.

"Uh, okay." He sounded doubtful.

"You don't think you're handsome?"

"I've never given it much thought," he said with a shrug.

"Well, I think you are," she said as she became aware of his fingers slipping lower until his hand lay flat on her bottom. With a smile, she slid her hand from his shoulder up to the back of his neck and into his hair.

She wasn't sure who moved first as their mouths met in a frenzied kiss, any pretense of dancing forgotten. He pulled her closer and she could feel him trembling. With need or fear or both? she wondered. His lips left hers to trail along her jaw then down her neck. His hands traveled upward until they were cupping her breasts. She gasped sharply at his touch as a mixture of pleasure and pain shot through her.

His hands lifted immediately. "Oh, damn. . .I'm. . .I'm sorry," he murmured, panting against her ear. "I didn't. . ."

"It's okay." Paige placed her hands in his. "You didn't hurt me. I'm not wearing a bra so I guess it's kind of sensitive. . .there."

Walter stared at her, his dark eyes filled with awe. After several moments, he opened his mouth to speak, although it took a couple of attempts for him to actually form coherent words. "Uh, um, are you r-ready. . ." he finally said. Oh, God, yes, she was more than ready. ". . .t-to eat d-dinner?"

"Dinner?" She took a few deep breaths. Of course he would have a schedule, and one he would stick to, because to do anything else would be inefficient. She chuckled softly.

"What?"

"Nothing. And yes, I'm ready," she said, smiling as he totally missed the innuendo.

After he pulled out her chair, he picked up the rose on her plate and handed it to her. "Did you know flowers have meanings?" he asked. She nodded. "I had no idea. Who comes up with such sh. . . uh, stuff like that?"

"Probably not scientists," she replied with a laugh. She held the rose to her nose. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

"It means love," he blurted out. "A red rose does," he added as his face turned the same color as the flower.

"I know." Paige kissed him on the cheek before she sat down. He scooted her chair forward, then stood awkwardly beside her.

"I'll, uh, I'll get the salads," he said, before turning around and walking over to the mini-fridge Happy had installed next to the grill.

She was impressed he had remembered her favorite salad dressing; raspberry vinaigrette; and wasn't surprised when he opened a bottle of sparkling cider, admitting he knew nothing about wine. Thinking it was probably a good idea they both go through the rest of the evening with clear heads, she told him it was fine.

"Let me take that," he offered once she had finished her salad. He cleared their plates, going back over to the refrigerator and pulling out a covered dish. Then he turned off the grill before opening it.

"Very efficient," she said as he placed a warm plate in front of her.

"It's chicken piccata," he said, taking off its lid. "I-I didn't make it. I, uh. . ."

"It's okay, Walter," Paige cut in. "I'm sure it will be delicious."

He sat back down and removed the cover from his food. Paige tried to hide a grin when she recognized his favorite meal, fermented herring in cod oil. She admired his dedication to his belief it improved brain function. She had tasted it once, and while not being the worst thing she'd ever eaten, she couldn't imagine wanting to eat it on a regular basis.

She was on her second bite of her chicken when a breeze kicked up, causing a very unpleasant odor to reach her nose. Her stomach lurched and she could taste bile in the back of her throat. Oh, God. . . Clamping her hand over her mouth, Paige frantically searched for somewhere to throw up. Finally, she spotted a wastebasket near the grill.

"Paige! Paige, are you okay?" She could barely hear Walter's shouts over the sounds of her retching. Once she had finished, she plopped down on the ground, gulping in as much air as she could.

"I'm sorry," she said as he knelt down beside her. "Your fish. . . The smell. . . Oh, no. . ." She hung her head over the bin once more.

"It's never bothered you before," he said when she was done.

"Maybe it's gone bad or something." Paige closed her eyes as another wave of nausea swept over her. "I don't think you should eat it." She tried to push herself up, but Walter put his hands on her shoulders.

"You probably should take a moment," he said.

"No, I'm feeling better." At least her stomach had stopped churning. She glanced down at the front of her dress. "I, uh, need to go clean up."

Seeing she was determined to stand up, Walter helped her to her feet. "Do you need me to. . .?"

"No, I'll be fine," she replied. Despite her reassurances, he walked with her to the door. "I'm really sorry, Walter. You went to all this trouble and. . ."

"It's okay," he lied. She frowned a little as she passed through the doorway but then smiled uncertainly before disappearing into the building.

Striding over to the table, Walter grabbed the back of his chair. Had she been pretending all this time his fermented fish consumption didn't bother her? Was she willing to let herself get sick because she didn't want him to know she found it disgusting? And thanks to her and his heightened EQ, he knew he was being an ass for even thinking such thoughts. It still didn't change the fact his food had made her ill. He was beginning to believe the only person he needed to protect her from was himself.

With a snarl, he picked up his plate and threw it as hard as he could against the brick wall.


Aftershocks Chapter Seven

</ back to scorpion fanfiction >