Paige said at the end of 3.03 that five days have passed since Walter's ordeal. This little fic takes place during those missing days. (I typed this up on my phone while at work so apologies if I missed a spelling mistake.)

They let him come home the day after the launch, and she insists on spending the night. He says he's fine, he'll manage, but she insists. "You've had severe stress to your brain," she reminds him. "You may forget to take your meds or eat. I'm not leaving you alone."

He looks at her for long enough that Tim raises his eyebrows as he and the others leave. Paige barely notices. She's too busy searching his face. Does he remember what they talked about? He's certainly looking at her differently than he used to, though she's always felt a bit special under his gaze. He nods, okay, and her neck is already protesting the punishment it'll endure as the upstairs couch tries to sleep someone of her height.

He's exhausted, and she's almost relieved when he takes his pill and passes out. She's tired too, and to try and figure out what he remembers tonight would make her brain ache as much as her neck will in the morning.

She lays on the couch, her arm already tingling from lack of circulation, and focuses on the soft sound she can hear Walter, not far away, make as he breaths. It's not a snore, but it's something to that effect. And it's calming, because breathing wasn't something he's been taking for granted recently and getting a constant reassurance that he's doing it easily now makes the night on the couch worth every minute.

Perhaps even if she was in a nice bed, she wouldn't be able to sleep. She certainly didn't last night, thinking about the previous day. One can't lie in hallucinations. They're speaking and acting from a subconscious place and nothing can be faked. Walter O'Brien said that he loves her while hypoxic and minutes from death and she knows that means he really does.

The look he gave her earlier tells her that this is something his conscious mind knows too.

But does he remember telling her? Does he remember that she said it back the moment she remembered how to speak? She can't tell by his look. And the doctors said he probably remembered nothing.

She doesn't ask him on the second day. He's sore. He's frustrated that he can't work, and whenever she asks him what he wants to eat he frowns, furrowing his brow as if he doesn't understand the question. It concerns her, but when she tells him so, he smiles and shakes his head, jokingly asking her if she thinks he doesn't know what food is.

She stays one more night. Tim tells her that Ralph is at Sylvester's instead of his place, because the two geniuses had already planned to hang out. Paige doesn't remember either of them telling her about those plans. She suspects they weren't as decided in advance as Ralph has Tim believing. She doesn't care.

"Thank you," Walter says as she helps redress his bandage. He keeps his shirt on, unbuttoning it from the bottom, just enough. He's remarkably self conscious about showing skin. She doesn't remember him being that way before, at least not like this. "If you're not comfortable, I can let you do it yourself," she offers.

"I don't think that'd be very efficient," he points out.

She wants to lean forward and kiss his forehead before she goes to the couch, but decides against it. They don't do that. They touch each other with their hands, but a forehead kiss would be a deviation. So she places her hand on his arm, on the inside of his elbow, and squeezes it gently. "Good night, Walter."

The way he smiles at her makes her heart rate increase. She chides it silently.

The third day after the launch, she retrieves her son from Sylvester's and the two of them bid Walter goodnight. Ralph hugs him, gently and quietly, and Paige's stomach flutters pleasantly. She hasn't gotten to see the two of them interact much since the party after Ralph won his lawsuit. She supposes that's partly her fault.

"He's feeling better, Mom," Ralph says as they drive home. "You said he wasn't complaining about the doctors after they left. But he told me about them."

Paige nods. Until today, each time they left, Walter was falling asleep immediately, the mental tests exhausting for him. He's stronger, clearly so, than he was three days ago. But he still hasn't said anything, or given any sign of whether or not he had memories of that day anywhere in his mind. He likes open communication. If he remembered, he'd had said something by now.

But, she thinks, whether he remembers telling her or not...he still loves her. And now that she knows it, she can see it. She can see it in his eyes and in his smile and she can hear it when he talks to her in that low voice. She thinks back on the way he's acted the past few weeks, ever since she confronted him about sabotaging Tahoe.

Ralph yelps a warning as she almost runs a red light, and she slams on the breaks. The car screeches to a halt just over the stop line.

She can't believe that she's known he loves her for almost four days now and she's only just connecting it all back to Tahoe.

"Mom?"

"Oh my God," is her only response, talking more to herself than Ralph.

The following day is parent teacher conferences, but Paige has already told them she can't make it in the evening because she has to be at work. The teachers know she's a government employee and they love Ralph. They arrange for her to come in during their free periods.

She doesn't get to the garage until late afternoon and busies herself with paperwork. She's behind. She has let herself get behind. By the time she catches up, it's late, and Walter - gosh, she's barely seen him all day and she hates that - is slowly climbing the stairs.

She follows him, insisting on getting him his glass or water and on tucking the sheets in around him. "You look a lot better," she comments.

He smiles sleepily. "What day is it?"

She blinks in alarm and he chuckles. "I'm kidding."

"Don't scare me like that," she says, and it comes out affectionate rather than playfully stern as she intended.

He chuckles, closing his eyes. Her heart sinks slightly. She's been thinking, all day, in between beaming at Ralph's educators as they sung his praise, about talking to Walter. She misses talking to him. She's never kept track - that'd be more something Toby would do - but she's always felt like they easily talk to each other more than anyone else. Or at least, they used to.

But he's asleep already, so any hope she has of trying to figure out if he remembers anything - any hopes she has of gathering the courage to just ask him, point blank - are dashed for the night.

She reaches for one of his hands, curling their fingers together, and squeezes gently. He squeezes back, which surprises her and makes her wonder if he's still awake but no, he's making those soft, quiet sounds that she's come to love so much in only a few days. He's asleep. She sighs, then slowly begins to ease her hand out of his.

She's met with resistance. Not a lot. But although he'd stopped squeezing her hand when she's stopped like pressure on his, now that she's moved to part them he's tightened his grip enough for her to notice. And she stops, staring at his face, because this time it doesn't take her three days to experience something and tie it back to past events.

She slowly withdraws her hand, then lifts his by the wrist, letting it rest on his stomach. She stands, bending and kissing him gently on the forehead. She wishes even more that he was awake. She doesn't want to wait until tomorrow to finally breach the subject that's been agonizing her since Monday.

He might not actively remember his time in orbit, she thinks as she drives home, but those memories are in there somewhere.