Author's note: This AU is set sometime during Season 3, after Walter screws up big time in Tahoe, Tim goes back to the SEALS, and Happy and Toby are trying to cope with her being married.

I've been sitting on this story for several months, wondering if I should wait until I finish "Aftershocks" or until Season 3 starts airing or both. I've decided I'm going to go ahead and start posting. I probably won't update as regularly as I do "Aftershocks", but I'll try.

Disclaimer: This story is an amateur, not-for-profit publication produced solely for the enjoyment of other Scorpion fans and is not intended to infringe upon any rights of K/O Paper Products, Blackjack Productions, Perfect Storm Entertainment, SB Films, CBS Television Studios, or anyone else.

ROCK YOU LIKE A CYCLONE

CHAPTER ONE

"Where's Happy?" asked Paige as Toby strolled into the garage a few minutes after nine in the morning. "I need her to finish her report of our last case. I need you to finish yours, too."

"She's not here?" The shrink glanced around.

"No. You guys didn't ride to work together?"

"Not today. You do know we're not joined at the hip, right?"

"So she still won't tell you who she's married to?" asked Sylvester, who was performing his morning desk cleaning ritual.

"No," Toby said, adjusting his hat. "I'm beginning to wonder if the guy even exists."

"What was that?"

Toby spun around as Happy walked through the door. "Nothing, sweetie pie."

"Bull. He exists," she said. "Call me sweetie pie one more time and you might not." She walked over to her work bench, tossing her bag aside before picking up a hammer and started beating on a piece of metal.

"I thought everything was good between you two," said Paige, flinching at a particularly loud clang.

"Some days are better than others," he said. "Today is one of the others." He glanced up at the liaison. "At least we're working on our problems, unlike you and. . ."

"Yes, well, okay, get your report back to me as soon as possible," she said in a rush before pivoting and going back over to her desk.

Toby flapped his arms and made chicken noises in her direction, which she tried to ignore. Walter came down the stairs then, stopping about half way down.

"What's with all the racket?" he called out over the din. The garage instantly quieted as both Toby and Happy quit what they were doing. "That's better." Walter then made his way to Paige's desk.

"Why are we still getting invoices from the Treasury Department?" he asked, handing her several pieces of paper. "I thought I said to get Homeland to take care of it?"

"And Homeland says it's the Treasury's problem," Paige said, snatching the papers from him. "I don't know why it matters who's to blame, the money's coming out of the same place."

"Yeah, my pocket," sneered Toby.

"Did you ever pay all your back taxes?" Sly asked. The psychiatrist glared the younger man, who wisely went back to his cleaning.

"Well, it needs to be taken care of." Walter ran his hand through his hair. "It's been four months."

"I'll figure it out," she said with a sigh.

"Well, whatever it is, you'd better figure it out fast," announced Cabe as he strode into the garage, accompanied by another man. "This is Agent Fitzsimmons from ATF. He needs our help finding out who's sending large shipments of guns out of the country."

The team gathered around to hear what the man had to say. "We had two operatives posing as roadies for Zhalo, a Russian band that's been touring the US. In every city they've stopped, dozens of guns are being purchased using fake names," Fitzsimmons said. "We still don't know if it's just one person using multiple identities or several people associated with the band in on the transactions."

"What happened to the agents who were undercover?" asked Paige.

"They got busted for drugs in Dallas, along with one of the band's backup singers," said the agent. "We suspect their cover was blown and the drugs were planted on them to get rid of them. The girl wasn't one of ours, we think she was just unlucky."

"So whoever is doing this is drawing the line at murder," Toby pointed out. "Or else the agents were addicts already. What?" he added when everyone stared at him. "Just stating all the possibilities."

"Most of the entourage is from the Russian republic of Samatov," Cabe said. "There's been rumblings there of breaking away from Russia. We think these arms are going to there to start a rebellion."

"Your agents didn't learn anything?" asked Walter, crossing his arms over his chest. Fitzsimmons shook his head. "Why do you think we'll succeed where they failed? We're geniuses, not spies."

"They didn't fit in," said the ATF agent. "Older, ex-military, they stood out like sore thumbs. I told my supervisor they weren't the right type. . . He's finally taking my advice."

"Yeah, we appreciate you think we're cool and all," Happy said with a smirk. "But Walter's right. We're not spies."

"We need people who can fit in and who have the tech skills to catch whoever's behind this." Fitzsimmons glanced around the room. "You guys fill the bill."

Cabe stepped forward then. "Walter and Happy, you two have already been hired to replaced the two agents. And since there's an opening for a backup singer. . ."

Everyone looked at Paige. "Oh, no," she said, and Walter could hear a hint of panic in her voice. "No. I don't sing anymore. . ."

"You sang that duet with Walter in Bahari," Toby argued. "And we all know who carried the tune on that little bit of distraction." He smiled smugly at Walter, who rolled his eyes at the shrink's insult.

"You do have a lovely voice," said Sylvester.

"That's beside the point." She wrapped her arms around her waist. "I don't sing in public."

"We need someone inside the band itself, we didn't have that before," said Fitzsimmons. "A roadie can only hang out where they don't belong for so long before it becomes suspicious. This might be the only way to break this case."

"What about Ralph?" she asked. "Who's going to take care of my son while I'm gone for who knows how long? I just can't abandon him. . ."

"We can take care of him," Sly volunteered. "Me and Toby."

"Oh, God." Paige buried her face in her hands. Walter saw she was shaking. He wanted so badly to put his arms around her and tell her everything would be all right. But he'd blown any chance of doing that by his behavior in Tahoe.

"Doesn't he have that science day camp next week?" he said, hoping to make her feel better. "He probably won't even notice you're gone."

Paige let out a small cry. "Not helping, 197," Toby said.

"I'll help keep an eye on him too," Cabe said. "The band is in Phoenix right now, preparing for a show tomorrow night. After that, they're on to San Diego and then Los Angeles for a concert a week from today. Maybe we'll have it all wrapped up by then."

"If Paige doesn't want to go, I can take her place," said Toby.

"Doing what exactly?" Walter had a good idea why the psychiatrist wanted to come along. Toby and Happy might be together, but even with his low EQ he could tell they were struggling. Her refusal to say anything about her marriage made the already tense situation between them even worse.

"I could profile everyone. Narrow down the possible gun smuggler or smugglers."

"All the backup singers are female, I don't think you qualify," said the ATF agent as he scrutinized the shrink. "Can you play an instrument?"

"Does my armpit count?"

"No, it does not." growled Cabe. "How are your hacking skills?"

"Fair to middling."

"We'd be better off sending Sylvester," said the Homeland agent. "And no offense, kid, but. . ."

"None taken. I realize I'm not cool enough." The human calculator pushed up his glasses. "Unlike some people." He shot Toby a look.

"Fine, I'll do it," said Paige grudgingly. "When do we leave? I'd like to see my son before we go."

"Flight leaves this afternoon for Phoenix at four. Plenty of time to pack and say your goodbyes." Cabe turned to Walter and Happy. "You two can study up on what your duties will entail. Happy, you're going to be working with pyrotechnics and Walter, you're a sound technician."

"Cool." Happy smiled, no doubt excited at the prospect of playing with fireworks.

Fitzsimmons handed a thumb drive to Paige. "This has all the band's songs on it. You can familiarize yourself with them so you can be prepared for your audition tonight."

"Audition? I have to audition?" Walter watched as her face paled.

"Yes, but it will just be a formality. We're going to rig it so you're the clear favorite."

"Oh, God." Paige sat down in the nearest chair. Audition. The word alone made her want to throw up. It had been so long. . .not since she found out she was pregnant with Ralph. She'd tried out for a few bands, the spots always going to other girls with bigger breasts or who had exchanged their bodies for the opportunity to sing.

"You don't have to do this." She glanced up sharply at the softly spoken words. Walter was standing next to her, his body taut, as if he was getting ready to flee. "Not if it makes you uncomfortable."

Looking around, she noticed the team had split up into groups. Cabe and Agent Fitzsimmons were speaking with Sylvester. Toby and Happy were having an earnest conversation near her work bench. She got to her feet.

"You heard what he said, they need someone inside the band." Paige shook her head. "I hate the idea of another war, of innocent women and children being killed for someone else's ideals. If I can help stop that. . .despite how uncomfortable I may feel, I will. For the greater good."

"The greater good," he echoed. Frowning, he added, "Still. . ."

Paige sighed. "Walter, if you don't want me to go on this case with you, just say it." She stared at him. "I don't want there to be any misunderstanding between us."

Walter flinched at her harsh tone. He deserved it though. He'd been such an idiot in Tahoe, rushing all the way there in the middle of the night, only to serve up a lame excuse when he saw her and Tim kissing as they stood on the balcony of their hotel room. The words he'd been practicing to say to her had just blistered on his tongue like acid.

"I want you on this case," he said. "I just don't want you to feel obligated."

"I don't." She stepped closer. "Look, I need to go tell Ralph and pack for the both of us. I'll be back before we need to leave for the airport."

"Okay." He moved back, allowing her to pass in front of him. The scent of lavender assailed his senses and he had to close his eyes.

"She gonna be okay with this?" Cabe's voice shook him from his thoughts.

"She says she is." Walter shrugged.

"Well, I hope so," said the Homeland agent. He clapped Walter on the shoulder. "She'll come around, son."

"I don't know what you mean."

The older man laughed. "Yes, you do. Now that Tim's out of the picture. . ."

"He's been out of the picture for two months."

"And you haven't done anything to put yourself back in," said Cabe. "Listen, I shouldn't be telling you this, but he told me he knew she wasn't serious about him. He always had the feeling she went out with him because of you and that girl. . ."

"Linda."

"Yeah, her. That was never serious either, was it?"

"No." It had been a disaster from start to finish, destroying any trust Paige ever had in him. In his effort not to lose her, he'd done exactly that. He'd been such a moron.

"Maybe you should use this opportunity to make a move," suggested the agent. "Away from the prying eyes of certain team members." He nodded his head toward Toby.

"Maybe." Walter ran his hand through his hair.

"Just don't blow it this time. Between you and Paige, and Toby and Happy," Cabe said, "I don't know who's more miserable. And it's making the rest of us miserable."

With that, he went back to speak with the ATF agent. Walter frowned. Cabe was right. He was miserable. They all were. But he didn't know if he could win back Paige's trust anymore than Happy could earn back Toby's.

With a sigh, he walked back over to his desk, flipping on his computer to see just what a sound technician for a Russian rock band needed to know.

ooooo

Author's note: The name of the band Zhalo is pronounced shzal-la. At least that's what it sounds like to me on Google Translate. And I want to thank my daughter for coming up with the name. I think she picked a good one.