Author's note: AU mash up of two episodes, "Pilot" (1x01) and "Sun
of a Gun (2x14).
Dating at the Speed of Light
He didn't want to be here. The noise, the garish lighting, the people. .
. Such environments overstimulated his senses, and as a defense mechanism,
he would shut down, retreating into the safe, quiet recesses of his brain.
"Walter, wipe the scowl off your face and at least look like you're not
studying a pile of mouse turds."
Rolling his eyes, he crossed his arms over his chest. "I told you I don't
want to be here, Toby," he stated impatiently. "This whole scenario, it's
preposterous. No one can get to know someone in five minutes."
"No, but you can get an inkling of whether or not you'd like to get to know
someone better or not. First impressions. It's a real thing, 197," said the
behaviorist. "Plus you haven't been out with a woman since you broke up with
Janice over a year ago."
"I've been busy." Which was somewhat of an understatement. His company,
Scorpion, had been on the verge of bankruptcy; he and his genius friends
in danger of scattering to jobs which undervalued their brain power and made
them miserable. The unwelcome yet timely arrival of Cabe Gallo, and an offer
to be contractors for the Department of Homeland Security, had been enough
for him to put aside any personal issues he'd had with his former mentor.
Not only were they using their considerable intellect to solve complicated
cases nobody else could figure out, they had been given a sense of purpose.
They each had something special to offer, but in his mind, they were still
missing a piece of the puzzle. Butting heads with authority was becoming tiresome,
but none of them were equipped with the necessary filters to deal with what
they called ‘normals'. People with normal IQs and emotions, people who were
able to navigate the real world and its incomprehensible obstacles.
"I don't want to be here either," said Sylvester. He was the team's human
calculator. Numbers, statistics, probabilities, child's play to the young
genius. Human interaction, however, he was little better than Walter was himself.
The fourth member of their group, Cabe, stuck out like a sore thumb, and
not because he was the only man there wearing a suit and tie. "This has to
be the worst idea you've ever come up with, Doc. Half these girls are just
that, girls. I'm old enough to be their father."
"Grandfather in some cases," muttered Sly, who cringed when the federal
agent gave him a withering stare.
"Shut up, you big whiners." Toby waved his hand across the restaurant. "Look
at all these women. Desperate women. They'd have to be to sign up for an event
like this."
"If they're desperate," Sylvester asked, "what does that make us?" Walter
thought the younger man had a valid point.
"Geniuses."
"Okay, everyone. Welcome to speed dating," a perky blonde announced after
ringing a little bell. "Everyone have their preassigned number? Good. Ladies,
take your seat. Tonight the men will be coming to you."
Her statement drew laughter from much of the crowd, although Walter didn't
see any humor in what she'd said. Drawing several deep breaths, he prepared
himself for what would going to be yet another disastrous attempt to relate
to members of the opposite sex. One where he would be in equal parts, anxious,
bored, humiliated, and rejected.
Let the torture begin.
She didn't want to be here. She was tired after pulling a double shift at
the diner. Her feet and wrists hurt, she felt as attractive as a slug in her
waitress uniform, and to top it all off, her evening babysitter had canceled
on her. Which was just as well because she really didn't have enough money
to pay her anyway. So she had to bring along her ten year old son.
She was only doing this as a favor to her friend, Linda. It had been the
perky blonde's idea to become a speed dating coordinator, with the ulterior
motive of finding herself a husband. She was a year older than Paige and she
worried she was going to be an old maid (Paige had rolled her eyes, did people
even call unmarried women that anymore?), and would gradually become a crazy
cat lady. She already had two.
"Paige!" Linda came rushing up to her. "I'm so glad you. . . Oh, hi, Ralph."
She rose up on her toes and whispered loudly, "What happened? I thought you
had a sitter?"
"She couldn't make it. It will be all right." Paige chuckled humorlessly.
"I'll be able to weed out all the men who cut and run when they find out I
have a kid now rather than later."
Men like her dick of an ex-boyfriend who had abandoned her and their son
when Ralph had been two. Looking back, she was surprised Drew had stuck it
out as long as he had. Almost every guy she'd dated since had promptly disappeared
once they learned she was a single mother. To be fair, here had been a few
who had asked her out a second time. A couple of them she had nothing in common
with and one guy who had creeped her out by being a little too excited by
the fact she had a child.
She'd become much more cautious after that. As a result she hadn't been
out in over a year. She kept telling herself she was happier that way. Ruffling
her son's hair, she smiled down at him. He didn't return the gesture.
Linda looked uncomfortable, like she usually did when she was around Ralph.
"Well, at least he's quiet." She sighed. "Thanks for coming anyway. One woman
short would have thrown everything out of whack."
She then glanced at the clock behind the bar. "Oh, I should get started.
Good luck, Paige. Hope you find Mr Right." The blonde flashed Paige a thumb's
up before going to the middle of the room.
Fat chance of that. She'd met too many Mr Wrongs to believe the right man
for her even existed.
"Okay, everyone. Welcome to speed dating," her friend announced after ringing
her little gold bell. "Everyone have their preassigned number? Good. Ladies,
take a seat. Tonight the men will be coming to you."
Her statement drew laughter from much of the crowd. Paige didn't join in,
however. Instead she led Ralph over to the nearest empty booth, where he immediately
started rearranging the various packets and shakers.
Taking a deep breath, she attempted to clear her mind of its negative thoughts
and plastered what she hoped was an attractive smile on her face (and not
a grimace of despair).
Let the torture begin.
What a horrendous waste of time.
The first woman had stared at him blankly as he'd asked her how to find
the heaviest of eight same sized balls, using a balance and only two weighings.
The second had taken exception to his compliment her features were rodentiform,
thinking he meant she looked like a rat when he'd meant she looked like a
rabbit.
The third had tried to impress him with speaking with various accents, none
of them very convincing and all of them grating on his nerves. He'd left before
his time was up, unable to endure any more.
The fourth woman frightened him, and he didn't scare easily. She'd started
talking about dresses and shoes and colors and what kind of flowers did he
prefer. And when he asked her why she wanted to know, she told him she was
taking mental notes in case they got married. She, too, had been deserted
before the five minutes were up.
Prepared for another round of tedium, annoyance, or worse yet, fear, Walter
approached a fifth woman. She appeared to be attractive, her features symmetrically
pleasing, her eyes intelligent despite the tiredness indicated by the dark
circles underneath them. Her honey colored hair brushed her shoulders. She
glanced up at him and a weary smile touched her lips.
Flexing the now sore muscles in his face, he moved to sit down when he noticed
the boy sitting beside her. His amazement a woman would bring a child with
her to this speed dating circus dissipated as he focused on what the youngster
was doing.
He was nervously twitching a pair of salt and pepper shakers, one in each
hand. His eyes were vacant and he appeared to be lost in his own little world.
A quick glimpse of the packets of sugar and creamer and jam arranged on the
table in front of surprised Walter when he realized what they meant. Slipping
into the booth, he immediately moved one of the sugars closest to him what
he calculated was a space ahead. The boy watched him, then tentatively moving
another packet forward.
With his first genuine grin of the evening, Walter engaged the youngster
in a swift exchange of pieces, flowing effortlessly until the boy tried to
make an illegal move.
"Uh, uh," he said, sliding the jam packet back to its original spot. The
kid stared up at him and Walter saw a flicker of recognition in the bright
green eyes. The boy changed his move, putting Walter into check.
"Uh, excuse me." The woman's voice intruded into his head as he was plotting
his strategy.
He turned his attention to her. She appeared alarmed, glancing at the boy
with what he recognized as panic.
"What are you doing?" she asked as she put her arm around the kid's shoulders.
Walter knew the youngster was going to flinch at the protective gesture before
he did just that.
He got a good look at her fingernails, which were inexpertly painted a dark
purple. "You have anemia," he declared before adding, "It turns your fingernails
pitted. That's why your polish looks streaky. You need more iron."
The woman's mouth dropped open then closed. Walter winced, realizing his
recitation of facts might not be the most polite way to start a conversation
with a beautiful woman. Because she was beautiful, becoming more so when she
tried to shield the child, who had to be her son, from a virtual stranger's
odd behavior.
"Okay," she said, relaxing as she laughed. "I don't recall asking, Einstein."
"Einstein had an IQ of 160. Mine's 197."
Oh, great, now she probably thought he was an egomaniac. Which he was, according
to Toby anyway. Again, not the most ideal way to impress a woman.
"Who the hell are you to tell me my polish looks cheap?" she asked, confirming
his opinion. "My polish looks streaky because Ralph does it." The boy didn't
look up at the mention of his name, a fact Walter filed away in his brain.
"He loves to paint, and don't tell me he needs help, either. I know he's challenged."
Walter glanced over the makeshift chess game, taking a few moments before
moving his queen out of check. Ralph moved his pepper shaker, putting Walter
into checkmate. The boy's eyes darted up to meet his, and Walter felt something
between them click.
"Challenged, huh? Do you know what we were doing?" She shook her head, biting
her lip. "We were playing chess. I'm not a grand master, but I'm close. He
just beat me." Walter registered her astonishment, wondering if she would
connect the dots.
To help her out, he added, "And he doesn't like to paint your nails. He
wants to hold your hand, but he can't process physical contact." When she
continued to stare wordlessly at him, he said, "I hate to be the bearer of
bad news, but your son is a genius."
What a horrendous waste of time.
The first man couldn't leave fast enough when the five minutes were up.
He kept sliding glances at Ralph, appearing terrified he would be forced
to take on responsibility for the young boy just by talking to her. The second
guy was a little less obvious, but still took off like a shot when Linda's
little tinkling bell rang.
The third ‘Mr Right' tried too hard, asking her son if he enjoyed things
like sports and school and animals, which Ralph had ignored, instead fidgeting
with the condiments he'd set up all over the table. The man had asked her
what the hell was wrong with the kid, causing Paige to tell him to leave as
tears filled her eyes.
She knew her son wasn't normal. Teachers and specialists had been informing
her of that fact since he had been in preschool. He was antisocial, uncooperative,
had trouble with his fine motor skills, and only passed from grade to grade
by the skin of his teeth. He'd been tested for various learning disorders,
nothing had been conclusive. She spent as much time with him as she could,
but working two jobs and double shifts just to keep a roof over their heads
made that difficult.
Her fourth speed date had seen the child sitting next to her and had spun
away, not even having the decency to tell her thanks but no thanks. She was
wondering if she should call the night a bust and leave, when the bell rang
again and a fifth man approached her.
He was tall, at least six feet. His hair was dark and curly, his eyes were
also dark, she couldn't tell the exact color in the low light. A scar bisected
his lips and continued onto the left side of his chin, which also had a cute
dimple in it. And, she noted with a bit of surprise, he wore his watch on
his right wrist, just like she did. She speculated if he, too, was left handed.
She'd never dated a left handed man before.
He was staring at her, no doubt assessing her as she had doing to him. He
had been about to join her when she noticed his hesitation as he saw Ralph
seated beside her. His eyes narrowed as he watched as her son fiddled with
the salt and pepper shakers, then scanned the packets scattered on the table.
Another loser, she sighed, frightened off by a obviously desperate single
mother and her obviously abnormal child. So she was shocked to her shoes when
he suddenly slid into the booth, and moving one of the sugar packets in front
of Ralph. Her son timidly pushed another packet forward.
The man grinned then, and she noticed how handsome he was. She didn't know
if that was why she didn't ask him what the hell he was doing as she watched
the rapid back and forth exchange of pieces he and Ralph engaged in.
Then her son made a move, and the man blocked it. "Uh, uh," he scolded,
placing the jam back where it had been. Ralph stared up at the stranger before
picking up the same packet and placing it somewhere else.
Paige couldn't believe what she was seeing, her son, interacting with a
man he'd never met before, and actually meeting his gaze. He never did that
with anyone. She could barely get him to look at her.
"Uh, excuse me," she said as the flurry of activity had ceased. The man,
God, she didn't even know his name, turned to look at her. "What are you doing?"
she asked as she put her arm around Ralph's shoulders, grimacing slightly
as she felt her son cringe away from her touch.
Instead of answering her question, the man insulted both her health and
her nail polish, informing her she must have anemia, which she did, and needed
more iron, which she couldn't afford. She felt her mouth drop open at his
rudeness, but closed it quickly, not wanting to give the satisfaction of knowing
he unnerved her. In more ways than one.
"Okay," she replied, laughing as she tried to appear unaffected by his words.
"I don't recall asking, Einstein."
"Einstein had an IQ of 160. Mine's 197."
What kind of an asshole went around bragging about his IQ? Well, no one
she had ever met before, most bragged about their penis size or their sexual
prowess. This guy was definitely different.
Oh, crap, she couldn't be interested in him, could she? No, she couldn't.
He was a jerk. A cute jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.
"Who the hell are you to tell me my polish looks cheap?" she practically
yelled at him. "My polish looks streaky because Ralph does it." Mr 197 IQ
glanced at her son for a moment before return his gaze to her. "He loves to
paint, and don't tell me he needs help, either. I know he's challenged."
The man didn't say anything but he didn't look upset as he turned his attention
back to whatever the hell game he and Ralph had been playing, staring for
a moment before moving a creamer packet. Ralph moved his pepper shaker, and
the man smiled. Her son looked up at him again, and in that instant, Paige
knew a bond had been forged between the two of them.
"Challenged huh?" The man glanced over at her. "Do you know what we were
doing?" She shook her head, her teeth digging into her lip. She had no idea
what had just happened, except it was something powerful and possibly life
changing.
"We were playing chess. I'm not a grand master, but I'm close. He just beat
me."
Paige's eyes widened. A grandmaster? Like, what was his name? Bobby Fischer?
She vaguely remembered her father telling her about some historic match where
this Fischer beat a Russian grand master. She also remembered her father trying
to teach her to play chess but giving up when she showed no aptitude for
it. Evidently it skipped a generation.
"And he doesn't like to paint your nails," the man went on. "He wants to
hold your hand, but he can't process physical contact."
How on earth did he know that? It had taken her years to understand her
son's dislike of being touched. This man had spent less than five minutes
with him and had figured it out.
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," he said with an expression on his
face which told her the exact opposite was true. "But your son is a genius."
Walter was worried the woman was going to faint and was glad she was already
sitting down. She didn't say anything. Probably had been told by so-called
‘experts' Ralph was challenged, he'd never be normal, she would just have
to accept he was going to a social outcast and never amount to anything.
His parents had been told the same things. But he'd proven them all wrong.
And he knew Ralph would too. He glanced again at the boy, who was still gazing
at him.
"Do you really have a 197 IQ?"
He heard the mother gasp at her son's question. With a smile, he said, "Yes.
It's the fourth highest ever recorded."
"Cool."
"Ralph, can you tell me how fast is the speed of light?" He would be surprised
if the boy didn't know.
"In kilometers or miles?"
"Both?"
"299,792 kilometers per second. 186,282 miles per second."
"Is he. . .is he right?"
He could barely hear her whispered words over the buzz of noise in the restaurant.
"Yes."
"How would he even know that?"
"I imagine he read it somewhere. If his memory is eidetic, like mine, he'll
remember everything he sees and hears."
"Oh my God." She hid her face in her hands for a moment. "I've never. .
.never been able to connect with him like you just did."
"Hey, Paige." The perky blonde came bouncing up to their booth. "The five
minutes are up." She looked over Walter appraisingly before glancing pointedly
over her shoulder. Another man stood waiting, his hands in his pockets. He
was tall, and blond, and exuded a muscle bound bully vibe Walter had encountered
many times over the years.
Paige lifted her eyes to look at the other man, then shook her head. "I
want. . . I need to talk to. . . Oh, I don't even know your name."
"Walter. Walter O'Brien."
"Hello, Walter. I'm Paige Dineen and this is my son, Ralph." She rumpled
the boy's hair again. The blonde woman cleared her throat. "Oh, yeah, this
is my friend, Linda. She's the coordinator of this. . .uh, speed dating. .
."
She turned to plead with the other woman. "Please, I really need to talk
to Walter. Can't you bend the rules a little?"
Linda let out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, but you owe me one." She leaned
in closer to Paige. "Way to hog the cutest guy here all for yourself. Call
me tomorrow, okay?" With a wink, she flounced off to pacify the waiting jock,
threading her arm through his. "Come on, Tim," she said as they walked away.
Walter's face grew hot and he ducked his head, not wanting to meet Paige's
scrutiny. "Sorry about Linda," she said. "She's a little. . ." Paige shrugged
her shoulders. "So what does a guy with a 197 IQ do for a living?"
"I have my own company," he replied. "We're government funded problem solvers."
"We?"
"The rest of my team. They're, uh, all geniuses too."
"A team of geniuses." She smiled at her son. "Did you hear that, Ralph?"
"Yeah."
Walter looked from mother to son. It was obvious they both needed help.
Paige appeared to be working at least two jobs and even then was having trouble
making ends meet. Ralph needed to be around people like him, people who understood
him. Sneaking a peek at Paige again, he again saw something in her he couldn't
name. Something which made him want to keep her. . .and her son in his life.
He didn't believe in claptrap like kismet or fate or any of that nonsense.
But. . .he knew what he needed to do.
"Do you have a piece of paper?" he asked. He watched as she dug through
her purse with a confused expression. She handed him a supermarket receipt.
"Is that okay?"
"Perfect." Taking his pen from his pocket, he wrote down the address of
the garage, its phone number, his cell number, and although he would still
need to clear it with Cabe, the salary and benefits she would receive if
she joined Team Scorpion.
"I know this is going to sound w-weird," he said. "But I'd like to offer
you a job." He slide the receipt back over to her.
She picked it up, read it, then touched her hand to her throat. "Are you
sure? I'm not a genius. What would I even do?"
"Our work requires, uh, interaction with people. It's not our strength,"
he said. "You want to know how to connect with your son, I can translate him
for you."
"That still doesn't explain what I would do."
"You can translate the world for us." He averted his eyes again. "I. . .I'm
not good with women. P-People in general really. I don't w-what to say, to
do. . . But you. . . I can talk to you. And you. . . Well, you're still talking
to me. . ."
"Ralph, he doesn't usually talk to anyone but me."
"He recognizes one of his own." He lifted his head to face her again. "So,
what do you say? Will you come work for me, for Scorpion?"
Paige stared at him, then down at the receipt, then at her son. "What do
you think, Ralph? Should we do it."
The boy nodded, a huge smile on his face. "Yes."
Walter slid out of the booth then. "Uh, w-would you like to get out of here?
T-There's a deli a couple blocks from here. Kovelski's. W-We could get something
to eat. You and Ralph. If-If you want to. . ."
"I'd like that, Walter." Paige stood up, grabbing her purse. "Thank you."
Unsure of what to say, he held out his hand, intending to shake hers to
seal their deal. But instead, she entwined her fingers with his, sending
sensations he'd never experienced before to shoot through his body. Meeting
her eyes, he could tell she felt it too.
He was more positive than ever he had done the right thing. Paige Dineen,
and her son, were going to change his life. . .for the better. . .and forever.