***AUTHOR'S NOTE*** This is set after the events of the episode, THRESHOLD OF PAIN.

The candles flickered softly as he stepped into the bathtub, toes curling from the heat. The stereo on the sink played a an old jazz tune at a low volume. He lowered himself down into the water, arms splaying on the edges, head propped back against the tile wall.

"Oh, yeah..."

His seamed face split into a grin and he picked up the bottle of bubble bath from the little ledge, sniffing at the aromatic contents.

"Who says bubble baths are for chicks?"

Water sloshed as Walter moved to replace the bubble bath in the corner of the tub. The cap slid off and plunked into the water. Walter's raspy chuckle echoed through the dark bathroom, and he submerged his hand to feel along the bottom.

"If I weren't alone right now," he joked to an audience of one. "There. Found ya."

He brought the cap to the surface, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, turning it over to empty it of water. The grin faded from his face.

His hand was shaking.

Again.

"Jesus," he grated.

The cap rebounded off the striped wallpaper with a sharp crack.

He had almost killed Nikita today because he hadn't made time to readjust the sights on the rifles for the Black March mission. She hadn't blamed him, but that didn't make him feel any better.

Worse, actually.

And, of all people, he had confessed to Michael.

"Yeesh. You are getting old and senile," Walter told himself, sinking lower into the warm water. He clasped his shaking hands together and brought them up to his chin.

The doctor at Medlab had told him too much. Far too much.

"With increasing age, the body basically deteriorates," the kid had said, scratching at his peach fuzz. "Now, for the rheumatism, we can use aspirin or salicylates to relieve some of the swelling, stiffness, and joint pain. But it only works while you take it. Let's hope you don't get Alzheimer's, too."

Very funny. Ha ha, Walter thought. Bedside manner straight out of A Clockwork Orange. He'd dedicated his whole life to Section, and this... this is what he got...

Rip my pride out and stomp a merry god damn jig on it, why don't you?

But it was true. He was slowing down. He couldn't do as much. Didn't remember everything.

He used to growl at operatives who would check their gear in front of him. He remembered how Chuck would do it on purpose, right at his counter.

"Show some respect," he would say. "At least go around the corner before you do that so I'm not devastated by your lack of faith."

He felt confident saying that because he knew his job, inside and out. Backwards and forwards. With a cherry on top.

But now...now he felt almost obligated to make operatives perform a pre-mission check of their gear instead of trusting in fate and his shaking hands. It was too important, what they did was too important, for him to be slipping.

Walter slid completely under the water and held his breath, feeling the change of pressure in his eardrums. His bandanna began to slide and he reached up to pull it off. He sat up then, exploding out of the water, eyes stinging from the Musk aromatherapy he'd added.

It was strange that Michael was the only one who understood.

The kid was still in his prime, but he'd always been able to see the big picture. The big picture, and the little picture, and what everybody else thought of the picture. Except for maybe Madeline...

He was pretty sure Michael knew that if he managed to stay alive, someday he would be in the same boat with Walter. A leaky boat with dry rot, and a captain with a few screws loose. Cap'n Wally, at yer service.

Stranger still that Michael had tried to...to comfort him. Exonerate him from blame. The kid had forgiven him for putting Nikita in danger. Like he had forgiven so many things...like the way he'd treated Michael after the Shays mission.

An old fool like him should have seen that Michael was burning up from the inside out with despair and shame and guilt.

Where Michael was concerned, Walter should have known better. He'd known the kid before the blank stare.

Even so, forgive and forget was not the Section way. Revenge, grudges, punishment...that was more like it. Even if he had never bought into the Section ideology...

Hey, somebody had to be the James Dean of Section One.

Walter shook his head, droplets scattering from the ends of his gray hair. Just thinking about it all left a bitter tang in his mouth like a cheap cigar. And cast an even more bitter pall on his mood.

He still had plenty of vitality left. That mocha-skinned beauty of a tech had been giving him the eye just the other day.

Yeah, she'd definitely help him forget...

And maybe someday he'd forgive himself for getting old.

Walter splashed out of the tub and hit the drain, wrapping himself in his tie-dyed robe.

But not today.

THE END

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