Author's note: AU ending to the miserable train wreck of an episode
that was "Wreck the Halls" (3x11). Hope you enjoy reading it as much
as I enjoyed writing it. Working on it got me through some very dark days.
Chapter One
"Eggnog?"
Walter stared down at the red mug covered with white snowflakes Toby had
shoved into his hand. His lip curled in disgust. He disliked eggnog.
Standing there, cup in hand, he watched as his friends departed, leaving
him by himself. When the door banged shut after Cabe, who was the last one
out, Walter felt his fingers tighten on the mug's handle.
He had never celebrated Christmas after he'd fled Ireland. Oh, he'd bought
Megan a present and took her out to dinner every year, but only because she
had expected it. It wasn't until she had come into his life, practically
forcing him to mark the day whether he wanted to or not. And to his surprise,
he'd wanted to put up with all the nonsense of decorating and exchanging gifts
and sharing a meal with the team. All because he knew how much it meant to
her.
But this year. . . This year had been different. Everything had just felt
wrong. Her idea of a tech-free Christmas. Moving the celebration to a remote
mountain cabin instead of at the garage. Tim.
He'd seen the expressions on Tim and Paige's faces as they left the garage
with Ralph in tow. They were going to be intimate, engage in intercourse.
And it was all his fault. He'd lost her forever to another man. A man who
was his opposite in every way. And the thought of her kissing. . .and touching.
. .and letting him. . .
The mug slipped from his grasp, spilling its contents and shattering into
pieces as it hit the floor. Pain tore through him as it grew hard to breathe.
He needed air. He needed to leave, leave the place filled with too many
memories of her. He needed to forget he loved her and come to terms with
the fact she would never love him back. Hurrying across the garage, he pushed
open the door and stepped outside, gulping the cool fresh air.
Realizing he was in no shape to drive, he started walking with no particular
destination in mind. He had no idea of how long or how far he'd gone before
he pulled up short when his senses were assaulted by loud music and flickering
lights.
He was standing outside a bar. Walter stared at it for several moments,
debating his options: going back to a deserted garage or spending the next
few hours with inebriated strangers.
He stepped inside.
The interior of the establishment was noisy and crowded. Multi-colored lights
flashed and loud unpleasant music filled the room, causing Walter to be a
little overwhelmed, and a little surprised there were so many people there
on Christmas Eve. It was an atmosphere he didn't enjoy, one he usually avoided
at all costs. But tonight, the peace and solitude of the garage seemed much
more daunting.
Wending his way through the tables and clusters of men and women, he reached
the counter and sat down on the first available barstool he spotted. The man
behind the bar glanced his way before grunting, "What'll you have?"
"I'll have a beer," said Walter.
"What kind?"
"Whatever," he replied as he had no idea of what to even ask for. He'd only
ever had one beer in his life, when he'd been a teenager. . . "Wait," he said
as the bartender turned away. "Do you have Guinness?"
"Yeah." The man reached under the counter and pulled up a brown bottle,
then plunked it down in front of him as he popped its cap. Walter took out
his wallet before placing a twenty onto the bar. "You wanna start a tab?"
the other man asked.
"Uh, sure."
Walter picked up his drink, and took a sip. It still had the same bitter
root beer-ish taste he remembered. Shrugging, he took a bigger swallow. Twisting
around, Walter surveyed the crowd. Men and women were socially interacting
with an ease he'd never been able to accomplish.
He was on his second bottle when he glanced down the length of the bar.
On the other end, a woman sat with her back to him. A woman with long honey
brown hair.
Paige. What was she doing there? Draining his drink, he indicated
to the bartender he wanted another. He hopped down from the barstool and walked
toward her before stopping about a foot away. Taking a swig of his ale then
a deep breath, he reached out and touched her on the shoulder.
The woman stiffened before spinning around. It wasn't her. Her eyes
were blue instead of hazel. Her face, while symmetrically just as pleasing,
was more rounded. And her lips were wrong.
He didn't know why he thought she would be there. Toby could no doubt explain
in tormenting detail he was suffering from some kind of delusional disorder.
"I-I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Thought you w-were someone else."
She glanced at him appraisingly. "It's okay," she said, smiling as him as
she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Don't go," she added, putting her
hand on his arm as he started to move away. "Are you here by yourself?"
"Yes." She was flirting with him, he recognized the signs now, thanks to
her. "Um, I-I'm W-Walter."
"Hi, Walter," she said, lowering her gaze. "I'm Courtney." She patted the
empty stool beside hers. "Wanna sit down?"
"Okay." He noticed she was drinking something clear with two green olives
on a toothpick she aimlessly stirred in her glass. Her short black dress clung
to her body and highlighted her long legs. Inhaling deeply, he finished his
beer, setting it down on the bar, and raised his hand for another.
"So, are y-you here by yourself, too?" he inquired, reaching for the full
bottle the bartender sent his way.
Courtney sipped her drink before answering. "No, I'm here with my friend.
She's over there dancing." She pointed to a woman with short black hair wearing
a red dress being twirled around by a tall man with a beard.
Walter wondered if he should ask her to dance, he couldn't tell if she was
expecting him to or not. He didn't dance, in fact had never danced until the
art gala he'd attended with her. Memories of holding her, touching
her, looking into her eyes. . . His chest hurt just thinking about it.
To clear his mind, he grabbed a napkin, pulling a pen from his pocket before
writing a series of numbers; 16, 06, 68, 88, _, 98. "What's the missing number?"
he asked.
"Oh, God, I hate math," she said. He frowned, most of the women he'd shown
this to were at least curious.
"I-It's not really math. Just logic."
"Who wants to be logical?" It's Christmas Eve. We should be having fun."
She placed her empty glass on the counter and gazed up at him.
It took him a minute to realize she wanted him to buy her another drink.
"Uh, sure." He got out another twenty and waved it at the barman. Once he'd
procured her another martini and himself another Guinness, he showed her the
puzzle again.
"You have to flip it over," he explained, filling the blank with an eight
and a seven. "See, it's 87."
"Are you a math teacher or something?" she asked, rolling her eyes
"Er. . .or something." Walter blinked, for an instant she had looked like
her again, whenever she was exasperated with him, which was more often
than he liked lately. Lifting his bottle, he realized it was empty. Damn,
he needed another if he was still dwelling on her.
"Hey, Court, who's this?" The friend came stumbling up to them, the bearded
guy in tow. "He's cute."
"Jen, this is Walter. Walter, this is my BFF, Jen." Courtney eyed the other
woman's partner as Walter wondered what the heck a BFF was.
"Oh, yeah, this is Casey." Jen tugged on the other man's arm. "Shit, I need
a drink." She signaled the bartender. "Hey, you guys should come dance. We're
having a blast."
After another round of alcohol, Courtney slid off her barstool and grabbed
Walter's hand. "Come on," she said, her words slurring a little. "Let's dance."
He allowed himself to be pulled over to the area where other couples gyrated
to the music. Courtney started dancing and he stood still, watching her as
his head buzzed from the noise and all the Guinness he'd consumed . She leaned
in close. "Come on, dance," she murmured into his ear.
Walter glanced around at the people on the floor. Most of the men were just
shuffling their feet while the women swayed their hips and swung their arms
in the air. Hmm, he could do that. The music was harder to decipher, as it
had a monotonous, continuous beat.
His partner didn't seem to care. She kept rubbing herself up against him,
contact of a physical nature he usually had trouble processing. But everything
had slowed down and had grown rather blurry and the woman before him was starting
to look a lot like her. And he didn't mind her body touching
his.
They danced until they got thirsty, then danced some more. Walter had lost
count of how many bottles of Guinness he'd had. At midnight, the tempo of
the music had become more relaxed, and Courtney had put her arms around him,
pressing her breasts against his chest, her hardened nipples boring through
the layers of their clothing. His libido, something he kept under tight control,
had kicked into overdrive.
"You wanna get outta here?" she asked, smiling up at him in a way even he
could read. She wanted intercourse and he would be more than happy to oblige.
He recognized his reptilian brain had taken over, instinct telling him to
mate with this woman.
"Okay."
"Your plash or m-mine?"
"I live. . ." He paused as he hiccuped. ". . j-just a few blocksh from here."
"Shounds good. Letsh go."
Grabbing his arm, she sought out her friend. "Hey, Jen," she shouted, "we're
leavin'."
Jen lifted her head from her partner's chest as they slow danced, then let
it fall back down. "Whatever."
After they stumbled outside, Courtney dug around in her purse before pulling
out her phone. "Gettin' ush an Uber. I don't think I can walk." She giggled
as she dialed and made arrangements for a ride.
While they waited, she turned to him and snaked her arms around his neck.
"I really, really like you Walter," she announced before rising up and kissing
him on the mouth.
She tasted like her martinis had smelled. It wasn't unpleasant and he found
himself tangling his tongue with hers. The beep of a horn startled them and
they broke apart like guilty schoolchildren. Walter helped her into the car
and gave the driver the address to the garage.
Of all the presents to forget to bring from the garage, it had to be the
one Ralph wanted the most. He'd dropped enough unsubtle hints about it. Leaving
her laptop open and displaying the camera attachment he wanted for his telescope.
Mentioning every time he used said scope how cool it would be if he had a
camera attached to it. Writing it down at the top of the list he had made
as a school assignment.
If it wasn't under the tree Christmas morning, she was going to have one
very disappointed son on her hands. And she had disappointed enough people
in the last 24 hours.
Tim had volunteered to retrieve the gift, but she'd turned him down. She
told him it would be easier to go herself, she knew where it was and how it
was wrapped. And if she was being honest with herself, she wanted an excuse
to not sleep with the ex-SEAL.
She'd seen the despair in Walter's eyes when they had left earlier. Tim's
eagerness to sleep with her had been plainly obvious. She'd played along,
pissed at the genius's treatment of the trainee. She had only overheard the
tail end of the argument between them, but Walter's harsh declaration, "You'll
never be a real member of Scorpion" had made her accept the two men could
never work together, not as long as she and Tim were involved.
And ‘being intimate' with Tim had seemed like a good way to get back at
Walter's pettiness. But as she cooled off, she realized she didn't want her
first time with Tim to be because of something Walter had said or done. That
would just be wrong.
Heaving a weary sigh, she got out of her car and let herself into the garage.
Paige noticed right away all the lights were still on but no one was downstairs.
As she stepped further inside, she spotted the broken mug in a puddle of eggnog
near the Christmas tree.
Oh, God, Walter. Was he hurt? Sick? He'd looked pretty despondent
when she'd left. Surely, he wouldn't. . . Oh, God. Her heart pounded
as she ran toward the stairs, calling out his name.