WWW.MY-SUBS.COM ﻿1
(wind whooshing)
SYLVESTER: Walter? Walter, can you hear me? Walter?
(screams)
Sly, what's happening?
You're 5.5 miles above the ocean,
falling at roughly 53 meters per second
without a parachute!
Okay, this is where a plan would be useful.
Please tell me you have one!
MALE VOICE (recorded): Deep breaths.
Feel all stress leave your body.
Inhale through the feet.
Exhale from the crown.
A biological impossibility.
Doesn't mean it literally. It's a metaphor.
Makes him sound like an idiot. That's a simile.
Cleanse your mind of all thought.
(scoffs) Impossible.
The brain is constantly thinking,
even during sleep.
In fact, a 2013 study found
neural activity in deep-coma subjects.
(exhales)
You both said you would give this a chance.
We are here for relaxation.
Sorry. Sorry.
And we will find serenity, even if it kills us.
(electrical crackling)
MALE VOICE: Scan your body
for all pockets of negativity, and release it.
What's going on?
Oh, welding solar panels.
I thought we could go a little green, save a little green.
No, with the Dali-Lame-a's.
Oh, Walt is tense about Paige dating Tim,
Toby's tense about... Your secret husband?
Yeah, and it all stresses Sly out big time,
so hence the hokum.
Don't knock meditation.
Even the marines are using it these days.
Why don't you pull up a mat, then?
MALE VOICE: Inhale white light.
(inhales deeply)
Pass.
Hold for three seconds.
Exhale black smoke.
Three seconds? That was barely 2.38 seconds.
Thought we were supposed to relax.
You're right, uh... I'm going to reset it.
Okay... (door opens)
Tim, there is no way.
No, I'm telling you, I think that she is.
Son of a bee sting.
PAIGE: Guys, settle this for us.
Tim swears the “where's the beef” lady
is the same woman as
the “I've fallen, and I can't get up” lady.
Thank goodness.
I was worried it might be about something trivial.
If I'm wrong, I gotta buy dinner, so...
No, if you're wrong, you have to cook dinner,
including your blueberry crumble.
This guy can bake. It's like heaven in a pie tin.
Well, I have a project to work on.
(humming a tune)
This is your urgent project?
Actually, yes, it's... It's our garage floor plan.
Triple-A.
I assume this has nothing to do with your car insurance.
It's my “Active Avoidance Algorithm.”
I track the typical daily movements of Paige,
indicated here with a “P.” I assumed.
And Tim. “I”?
Interloper. Oh.
Anyway, areas where they typically interact
have exclamation points,
and the numbers denote duration.
So, for example, at 2:00 p.m.,
Paige and Timothy congregate in the kitchen
for coffee and banal banter
for about eight minutes and 36 seconds.
Now, from my desk, I would have an unobstructed view,
and that kind of irks me.
- Kind of? - Anyway...
But thanks to Triple-A,
I know to be here, at the monitor tree,
where I occupy myself with work
until they're separated.
Now, this map identifies 36 such hot spots.
Hmm. You know, some world-class behaviorists,
like me, might say this will drive you crazy
if it hasn't already. Oh, you're one to talk.
You're avoiding the Happy situation.
Just because I've stopped hounding her
does not mean I'm avoiding it.
Check this out.
What is this?
That's a dossier of all my suspects.
Any one of these bozos could be Happy's mystery spouse.
Hold on.
Ray?
He was in our lives, then he left.
Maybe he's commitment-phobic.
The point is, where you're avoiding your problems,
I'm meeting mine head-on, Walt.
You got the Triple-A, I'm doing the Triple-H.
Hunting Happy's husband. PAIGE: Hey, guys.
Um... hi.
Am I interrupting something? BOTH: Nope.
Okay, uh, Richard Elia's downstairs.
I think he has a job for us.
Cool. Cool.
Okay.
My company has our first manned space launch
in three days.
Make a few orbits, then splash down.
Routine stuff, bit it's make or break for us.
We have to meet this deadline,
or we lose our next round of funding,
and NASA gives our contracts to Space X or Virgin Galactic.
What do you need from Scorpion?
Well, recognize this?
That's Walter's throttle design.
After you so generously open-sourced
your rocket research,
my guys adapted some of your best thinking to our bird.
Walt's throttle's revolutionary. That's what I thought,
but it doesn't work. SYLVESTER: I can assure you
we have empirical evidence that it does.
I know that your private beach launch
last Christmas was successful,
but when we scaled it up to a much larger rocket,
we found some instability issues.
Take a look.
Hey, I know you guys saved Elia's daughter
from a cartel last year,
but didn't Walter also wreck his Ferrari
and burn his building to the ground?
Uh, well, the Ferrari was one of nine,
so I'm pretty sure he didn't miss it.
And, um, the building wasn't our fault.
Oh.
Although Walter did hit Elia over the head
with his laptop that day. Really?
(whispering): I don't put everything in the case summaries.
These numbers can't be right.
You dumb engineers screwed up.
I'd be happy if you could prove them wrong.
Walter, time is of the essence,
and I'm more than willing to pay a premium.
SYLVESTER: Fuel levels are looking good.
You're go for testing, guys.
HAPPY: No way the problem's your throttle.
I bet it's their valve system.
Well, we'll soon find out.
So this contract you're competing for, what is it?
Giving rides to NASA until they get their own
manned program back up and running?
It's like “Space Uber”"
Our sights are set a little higher.
Private companies like ours are the future
of space exploration.
See, we intend to take the next
giant leap for mankind.
Put a man on Mars. Or a woman.
A whole colony, actually. And Walter's throttle
could play a big part.
That's why I saw the news van outside.
A little PR for your company's ego?
A little PR never hurt anybody, Toby.
Besides, Scorpion should get some good press
if Walter can get everything going.
He'll fix it. He always does.
WALTER: Diagnostics complete.
Checking the results.
HAPPY: Told you.
Elia, your engineers' redundant valve system
is destroying
Walt's throttle ratio.
Our experts advised us to put that in
to protect against standard instability
below 60% of thrust.
WALTER: There won't be the instability,
and I can prove it; just let me undo what you did
and run some tests.
I'll head to Mission Control, pick up the proper valves.
ELIA: Looks like you guys are gonna be here for a while.
I'll have my assistant order lunch.
Is Greek okay?
Anything's fine. Thank you.
As long as it has an “A” rating from the Board of Health.
Understood.
You sure you're okay with Greek food?
Might make you emotional. Oh, shut up.
We rented an indie Greek film last night,
and I might have cried.
Yeah, she tried to hide it.
PAIGE: It was romantic. I can't help it.
True love always makes me cry.
It was one tear.
It was sweet, like you.
Yeah, right.
FEMALE COMPUTER VOICE: Intercom off.
Take that. (mutters)
You're such a man, Tim.
(muttering)
Sly, what does the radar look like?
On it.
Oh, boy, big storm coming in.
HAPPY: Rockets are giant lightning rods.
We better get Walt out of that tin can.
Hey, Walt, you hear that weather report?
SLY: Hello? Walter?
You copy, kid?
Walter!
Ah, the Triple-A.
What-what does that mean?
That means he took his comm out.
What about the capsule's radio?
Must have turned that off, too.
Happy, it'd probably be prudent
for you to go back there and get him out
until this storm clears.
Roger that.
(thunder rumbling)
(thunder crashing)
(electrical crackling and sizzling)
(alarm blaring)
Oh, boy, oh, boy oh, boy!
ELIA: What's happening? The engines fired,
and I can't shut 'em down.
Lightning must have struck the connections.
Did Walter do it on his end?
SYLVESTER: Not likely.
The fact that they are firing proves
that the lightning struck the open circuit
that Walter was working on.
The whole thing got fried.
That sucker is gonna launch.
Guys, that sucker's gonna launch.
Oh, man, this sucker's gonna launch.
There's an escape slide if he can exit the hatch,
cross the gantry and get into the bunker.
Wait, does Walter have time for that?
SYLVESTER: Math is not in his favor.
He needs to make a decision.
FEMALE COMPUTER VOICE: T-minus 25 seconds to launch.
He's shutting the hatch.
'Cause if it launches without it sealed, he's dead.
He's gotta strap in. When that thing goes up,
inertia will pin him down,
make him feel three times his weight.
FEMALE COMPUTER VOICE: T-minus 15 seconds.
T-minus ten seconds.
Nine, eight, seven...
T-minus five, four...
FEMALE COMPUTER VOICE: Three, two,
one...
(tires squeal)
Not good.
♪ Scorpion 3x03 ♪ It Isn't the Fall That Kills You Original Air Date o
== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man
(alarm blaring)
CABE: We gotta raise Walter on the radio.
He has got bigger problems than communications
if he wants to survive the next few minutes.
What problems? Problem number one:
systems control.
The telemetry of the rocket is a mess.
The lightning strike scrambled the computers.
Lightning struck Apollo 12 during launch.
Control came back on when the astronauts
switched to auxiliary and the computers rebooted.
Does Walter know about that?
I sure as hell hope so.
(alarm blaring)
(strained grunting)
(computer buzzing and trilling)
TOBY: And if he gets the computers restarted,
then he can deal with
problem number two, atmospheric pressure.
If he doesn't pressurize the cabin
as the capsule gets higher, his blood will literally boil.
How much time does he have? Less than a minute.
Button's in the copilot panel, three seats in that capsule.
Let's hope Walter jumped in the right one.
(alarm blaring)
(grunts)
Can he breathe up there? Oxygen is involved
in pressurizing the cabin so the systems are connected.
If Walter can get to that button in time,
he'll have plenty of fresh air.
If not...
Do you have an abort button? Yes.
And if we abort,
Walter's capsule separates from the rocket,
parachutes deploy from there, and he just...
Falls back to earth safe and sound.
Yes.
Then just do it already! We can't until Walt
gets the computers back up.
That brings us to problem number three.
What's problem number three?
The abort window's closing.
That's problem three.
He has to abort before the rocket goes into space,
and he can't do that until the rocket's computers reboot.
(panting): I have to abort.
Come on! Come on!
(groans)
(grunting)
(beeping)
(electronic whirring and trilling)
Walter's computer's back on. I'm hitting abort!
Come on, come on!
(beeping)
Oh, no. Oh, no.
I can't abort. I can't abort!
Guys, guys! Don't press the button.
(grunts)
(beeping)
No, no, no, no!
No!
(yells) What the hell?
Lightning fried the parachute package.
If we abort the capsule without a chute, we kill Walter.
(beep) (relieved sigh, then chuckles)
Good work, guys.
Okay, I'm getting data from the medical sensors in the seats.
Walter's still alive,
so we got that going for us, which is nice.
What happens now, he just keeps traveling
into outer space forever?
No, the rocket was designed to blast the capsule
into a low-earth orbit and then stop.
Which means?
It means Walter is reaching space right now.
And the capsule is detaching as we speak.
But the rocket was only fueled two thirds to capacity
for the test, which is not enough
to maintain a stable orbit.
So the capsule is in a decaying orbit
and will crash to the earth
in 26 hours.
And he'll die because the capsule has no parachutes.
That's about the size of it.
Problem number four, get Walter home.
How? His ride's busted. It's not like he can hitchhike.
HAPPY: Not necessarily.
The International Space Station's escape pod
could pick up Walt.
Sly? Pulling it up now.
Won't work. ISS is on the other side of the Earth.
Check out the DOR log.
There's a Russian ISS
resupply rocket launching in a week.
And our capsule conforms to International Docking Standards.
We convince them to move up their timeline,
dock with Walter and bring him back home.
(in Russian accent): Hey, Vladimir, on way home,
please pick up vodka, borscht and 150-pound Irishman?
(normal voice): Are you kidding? These are Russians.
Why would they change their schedule to help Uncle Sam?
'Cause then we'd owe 'em one.
You take Paige,
go to the Russian Consulate.
Throw Homeland's weight around, and see what you can get done.
Copy that. Keep us posted. Absolutely.
Speaking of keeping us posted,
that takes me to problem number five, communication.
Take a look at the damage done to the rocket.
When the rocket ripped from the tower
during blastoff, a piece of debris
must have fallen into the communication array.
We cannot talk to Walter.
What about Walter's comms?
(sighing): Okay.
Anyone hear me? Oh...
Of course you can't. HAPPY: Comms are a no go.
The capsule has radiation shielding,
which blocks the signal.
Well, then, what about an Air Force AWACS plane?
A big communications bird like that could more than make up
for the rocket's communications array.
And then they could relay a signal
from the sky back down to you guys.
My corporate jet's hangared here, but it doesn't
have the kind of broadcast equipment you'd need.
HAPPY: I know how we can get it.
Okay, Cabe, I need a hand.
I need your plane gassed up and pilot-ready in five minutes.
A story on advancements in private sector rocketry
has become a cautionary tale
as an unscheduled blastoff
may have launched a civilian into space.
We have been prevented entry into mission control
or an audience with... (tires screech)
Very subtle, Happy.
(speaking Russian)
My government would be happy to help.
However, in addition to funding
and technology from Mr. Elia to help move up our launch,
we require one thing.
Which is what?
Credit.
When this mission is over, we want your president
to make a statement telling the world how
Russian space program
saved an American Homeland agent.
Yeah, I'm not sure that's gonna happen...
Done.
We need to consult with Cabe first...
Agent Cabe Gallo gave me permission to act on his behalf.
Sir, you a have a deal. Excellent.
I will leave you to make the necessary arrangements.
(clears throat)
What was that?
We can't just agree that the U.S. is gonna kowtow to Russia.
And we both know that Cabe
didn't authorize you to do anything.
That's right.
So I'm on the hook, not you.
I'd do it for any member of the team.
Now, make the arrangements.
That was Tim.
Looks like I'm gonna have to make
an uncomfortable call to the White House.
Well, I am ready here.
Okay, guys. Give it a shot.
Okay, connecting to you now.
HAPPY: Signal's hot.
Relaying now. Ok, Toby,
give it a try. Walter? Walter, do you copy?
Guys... Guys, I hear you.
Can you hear me? We got him.
Yes, Walter, hello. We can hear you.
I'm zooming in.
Walter, Mr. Elia is very angry,
and he wants his rocket returned
right now, young man.
I'm gonna return it, just probably not in one piece.
My parachute is shot,
and my orbit is decaying.
I assume you all know that already.
I figure I've got 25 hours before I crash.
Any ideas?
Yeah, you're gonna bum a ride.
A Russian spacecraft will be coming
to pick you up in plenty of time.
TOBY: So sit back, relax,
and enjoy your flight.
I could play you my meditation app.
No, thanks, um... (clanging)
TOBY: Hey, Walt, don't forget to pick me up one of those
“My friend got launched into space,
and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” T-shirts.
(clanging) Do you guys hear that?
Hear what? (clanging continues)
(clanging)
A clang from the hold.
No, don't copy any clanging.
The hold's empty.
(banging)
I beg to differ.
Why is he opening the hold? There's no sound coming from it.
This could be why.
Oxygen tanks must have taken a hit during launch.
O2 levels are dangerously low.
That doesn't make any sense.
Warning sensors should've gone off.
Well, not if they were damaged, too.
Oh, man, that clanging only exists in his head.
This is bad.
How bad?
If he's having false sound perceptions,
that means he's already suffering from hypoxia,
which means that Cabe won't have to make
that uncomfortable call to the White House,
'cause Walter doesn't have a day anymore.
If we don't get him oxygen, he's dead in 32 minutes!
So how do we know if things are gonna be getting worse?
He'll have full-blown hallucinations.
Oh, hello.
Let me help you out.
Hello, Walter. I've missed you.
Guys, why didn't you tell me
that Paige was in the cargo hold?
I think things just got worse.
And that would be problem number six.
Hey, Walter... pal...
I need you to sit down, conserve oxygen
and stop talking to people who aren't there.
His O2 levels are dropping at an alarming rate.
He has less than 28 minutes!
Why doesn't he respond? He can hear.
Sensory cells on his corti are converting vibrations
into neural messages, which are carried to his brain.
So, yes, technically he hears you,
but he doesn't hear you.
Simply put, Walt's taken a vacation from reality.
PAIGE: Oh, wow.
Oh, the view is so beautiful from here.
It's breathtaking.
I hadn't noticed it.
I'm focused on something much more lovely.
That is so sweet. Mm.
And poetic.
I remember everything you taught me.
My days of not being able to put it into practice are over.
I can restrain myself
when I hear something factually inaccurate.
I can engage in small talk, no matter how insipid.
I can remember to compliment someone
when I observe something about their appearance.
For example, you look absolutely stunning in that outfit.
We really shouldn't be listening to this.
He doesn't know what he's saying.
He's sick. Da, da, da.
What he's saying is making me sick.
Making me sick, too.
Thank you. Mm.
It's what I wore when we first kissed.
But you know that because...
you think about that kiss all the time.
What I wore, my perfume.
How my lips felt.
It's all burned into your memory.
I have the data stored, yes.
Now, I know you think you know my limitations--
what I am capable of,
or more accurately, incapable of.
But...
I can still surprise you.
Really?
Prove it.
(soul music playing)
♪ Yes, it is ♪
♪ Me in love with you ♪
♪ You, you, you, you, you, you, you ♪
♪ It's so nice ♪ ♪ It's got to be nice ♪
Oh, my.
You look stunning in that dress.
It's what I wore when you and I danced
at that art fund-raiser two years ago.
I never forgot how you looked in it.
It's a Halston.
It should be called a Galaxy.
Because it contains a heavenly body.
♪ Now that was the birth ♪
♪ Of our love ♪
♪ And since then... ♪
Walter...
♪ You're the sweetest thing... ♪
(air rushing) (screams)
What was that noise?
Just some space debris.
Come here.
I didn't know you could dance.
Just body movements
and physiology synched to rhythmic patterns.
You know, I am well aware
that with your knowledge of kinesiology and biology,
you could be as strong as Tim if you wanted to be.
If I wanted to waste my time lifting heavy objects
over and over...
But you don't need to do that,
because you're already lugging around a great,
big brain.
♪ Just as long as I'm your man ♪
Oh.
If Walter knew we were seeing this,
he'd choose to remain in space.
You're my whole world.
I'm just a moon that orbits around you.
That's it. Orbiting moon.
That's how we're gonna save O'Brien.
SYLVESTER: Walter is running out of oxygen and time.
You need to break it down quickly.
HAPPY: He said “moon.”
The moon is just a satellite.
Man-made satellites always have a little bit of fuel
left in their booster rockets.
And they use liquid oxygen for fuel.
Okay, satellite information is mostly public information.
I just need to find one that's going to cross paths
with Walt's capsule.
Oh, I found one. Here.
A Norwegian telecommunications company.
I'm a little confused how this is all gonna work.
I'm glad you asked, Cabe.
As Walter gets closer to the satellite,
I will hack said satellite
and use its thrusters to fly it directly
into the capsule's cargo hold.
Walter releases liquid oxygen,
and as it warms, it turns to a gas.
He could breathe it in and get that brain of his working again.
Sounds great, except for the fact that
I've been watching Walter dance by himself
for the last two minutes.
For this to work, he has to be cognizant enough
to release the cargo hold door, to get to the satellite.
Walter!
Walter, I know you can hear me.
Listen to me, son.
It's no use, Cabe. I'm looking at him.
He's talking to invisi-Paige.
You can't get through to him.
Whoa. Oh, she can!
What? What'd I... what'd I do?
Not “what did you do,” but what you are about to do.
You are about to break
the psychotropic grip that hypoxia has on our Boy Wonder.
Why is he dancing?
In layman's terms, he's running out of oxygen and he's loopy.
And the only person he'll talk to is you,
'cause he thinks that you're up there with him.
What? Wh-What is he saying?
Things.
Oh, boy.
Paige, you only have a few minutes, so talk to him
and get him to pull that big blue lever
that opens the exterior hatch
so Sly can guide a satellite inside.
What if I can't do it?
Then he dies. But, Paige,
you know how to talk to us.
That's why you're on this team.
We know you can do this.
Okay, everybody out.
Why? What if you need our help?
This is a private conversation between me and Walter.
Everybody out.
Clock's ticking. Let's go. (claps)
Come on.
You too, Happy. I can hear you over the mics.
HAPPY: Damn it.
(intercom clicks off)
WALTER: I have a surprise for you.
Close your eyes.
Can I open them now?
Yes.
Baked Alaska.
Beats the hell out of blueberry crumble.
Mmm. Oh.
It's perfect.
It's the most scientifically interesting dessert.
Air trapped in small meringue pockets acts as an insulator,
slowing heat transfer.
So the 450-degree oven does not melt the ice cream.
Can you show me how to make it?
In the oven
in back of the garage?
We could bake together
and have fun,
but we'd... we'd have to go home first.
Just us?
Just us, just you and me...
...me, but if you want to go home,
you have to pull the large...
...blue lever near the seat.
That will get you home.
Ah, I see the lever.
You're lying right next to it on the chaise.
Um, that's right. It's right...
...next to me. Yeah.
(breathing shallowly)
Oh,
Wal... Walter.
Are you okay?
Why don't you...
...sit down next to me?
I'm confused. Well, I know.
It's because you're not getting enough oxygen.
No, it's 'cause you picked Tim.
I know I can't be what you need.
I know I can't be emotionally present
the way that you deserve,
but I always thought that...
that eventually, that you want to...
you want to be with me.
And...
that's why it hurts.
Because...
(exhales)
...because I love you.
I love you, too, Walter.
And we-we can be together. You just have to...
...pull that lever, and it'll be just you and me.
And we'll be together...
forever.
I don't see the handle,
I just see your hand.
Well, that's what I meant. Take my hand.
Pull me to you.
Do that, and everything will be okay, Walter.
Now pull me close.
(air rushing)
(sighs)
The hatch is open.
Yes!
That's a good job. You okay?
Yeah.
Great work in there.
Couldn't have been easy.
What'd you have to tell him?
Uh, whatever he needed to hear.
(sighs)
Okay, I am into the Norwegian satellite.
Now I just need to manipulate
the thrusters, and I will be able to
guide it through the external hatch within minutes.
Walter opens the interior hatch and the liquid O2 warms to gas
and he stays alive. I'm not so sure about that.
He can't open the interior hatch if he's passed out.
And if he doesn't open the hatch... He doesn't get the oxygen.
And if he doesn't get the oxygen...
Then Walter dies.
Walter!
Walter, wake the hell up!
Wait, what's going on?
He's unconscious! Let him hear your voice.
Walter!
Walter, it's me. Remember, you promised
to come back to the garage with me!
Walter! It's no use.
He's out.
CABE: All right,
so if he's out cold,
how we gonna get the oxygen to him?
We don't.
But maybe we can get him to the oxygen.
I don't like where this is heading.
And where is this heading?
Happy wants me to use the thrusters
to push the capsule into the atmosphere,
where he'll be surrounded by oxygen.
But Walter's in the capsule. How does he get to the oxygen?
See, that's the part that I don't like.
We remotely blow the hatch.
The change in pressure sucks Walter out
into the sky, where he'll be able to breathe.
We covered this in medical school.
Falling thousands of feet without a parachute,
it's bad for your health. I'll catch him.
Mm, I don't think they make baseball gloves that big.
No, on a SEAL mission, we once did a HALO jump.
One of our guys passed out.
He had a bad mix of stuff in his tank.
I dove after him, I caught him, I pulled his chute.
If I could catch him, I can catch Walter.
Except I am backing the satellite
into the cargo hold right now, as we speak.
There is no time for you
to get into a plane and get all the way up there. Plus,
if I don't push this capsule
into the atmosphere within the next...
180 seconds.
...180 seconds, Walter will suffocate!
CABE: I can do it!
I had jump training in the Corps,
and this plane is already chasing after the capsule.
It's the only hope he's got.
Elia, you got to have emergency chutes on this rig.
Back closet, on the top.
All right.
Timing has to be perfect.
Sly? Do you have any idea
how many variables need to be computed
in order to make Cabe and Walter intersect?
No! But you do. So figure it out!
(muttering): Okay...
Last time you did this?
30 years ago.
Wow. I'm not even 30.
Shut up. SYLVESTER: Okay, Cabe,
I just got your speed and coordinates from your pilot.
Walter's capsule is plummeting through the atmosphere,
so we got to do this now.
How much do you weigh? 200 pounds?
207.
I start a program on Monday.
Okay, that will affect calculations.
All right, Cabe, when I say, “Go,”
you need to leap.
Yeah, I got it, kid.
SYLVESTER: Walter's capsule is burning
through the thermosphere.
Okay, on my count, I'm going to tell Cabe
to leap out of a perfectly good plane
and then eject my friend into the atmosphere
without a parachute.
Don't worry about me, Sly!
You just tell me when!
Cabe, now!
Okay, seconds away from launching Walter, but somebody's
gonna have to push that button because I-I can't do it.
I'll do it. Great.
You volunteered for that job pretty quickly.
(button clicks, beeps)
All right, genius eject in three, two, one.
Now.
(beeps)
Oh, no!
What do you mean, “Oh, no”?!
He's out of the capsule. That's what we wanted.
Despite the power that pulled him out of the capsule,
he was still able to hang onto the lever longer
than somebody should've been able to.
He thought it was my hand.
His subconscious tried to hang onto you.
Given the speed and distance of what we're dealing with,
one second can mess up all of my calculations.
Cabe could miss.
Walter?!
Walter, can you hear me?
Walter!
(shouts)
Sly, what's happening?!
You are 5.5 miles above the ocean,
falling at roughly 53 meters per second without a parachute!
Okay, this is where a plan would be useful.
Please tell me you have one.
Hold, please.
Wh... uh, Sly, what are you doing?!
He is falling likely to his death, and Cabe might miss
catching him midair in a one at a one million shot
because he was hanging onto a lever
that he thought was imaginary Paige!
Would you like me to tell him that?!
No, it's best you not say that.
HAPPY: Maybe we can fix
Cabe's trajectory
by using physics.
Cabe, spread out your arms,
palms out for a second, let wind resistance slow you down.
Hope that was enough!
Hey, Walter. It's Sylvester.
Sly, what the hell?!
I'm sorry you're stressed out,
but you got to do me a favor
and look to your right.
(groans)
You see that little dot coming in hot?
That is Cabe.
When he collides with you,
you need to grab him and hold tight.
This will be a violent collision.
It's like snagging a hard spiral
that's thrown your way.
Okay, just cradle the football.
Don't fight it, or it will bounce off your hands.
I never caught a football!
I think I'm wide on the approach!
Lean in the opposite direction to counteract the variable.
I'm trying!
I can't seem to...
Walter!
(groans)
Cabe!
Walter!
I missed him! Cabe.
Pull your chute.
Guys, please tell me
there's a plan “B.”
Okay. Just got off the horn
with our friend Admiral Pace.
There is a naval sub
on maneuvers in the immediate area.
They've been dispatched to pick up Cabe and...
retrieve Walter.
Retrieve? We're not just gonna let him fall.
Paige, I didn't mean it like that. It's just...
It's just that we're out of options.
We're Scorpion. We're never out of options.
There must've been situations
where people have fallen without a chute and lived.
Exceedingly rare situations.
I'm looping Walter back in.
We need his brain.
Hey, Walter.
It's the gang, but we don't have a plan “B” yet.
Well, now's a good time to think of one!
HAPPY: That's why we're searching
for common factors
in parachute fail survival stories.
I remember a guy in Kansas
hit a plowed field and lived.
I once read a story about a guy who crash-landed
in the Okefenokee Swamp.
PAIGE: Freshly turned over earth,
swampland... they hit something soft.
Walter's about to hit water.
Water's soft. SYLVESTER: No, no, no.
The surface tension of water doesn't allow for compression.
If he hits the water at this speed, it's like cement.
WALTER: The common factor
is aeration. I need bubbles.
He's right-- swampland is naturally aerated,
so is tilled soil. We just need to aerate the water.
I was a platform diver in high school.
Was there a sport you didn't play?
In practice, they softened the water by using a machine
that blew bubbles into the pool.
It helped prevent injuries. That's a pool.
We're talking about the Pacific Ocean.
But Walt will just hit a small area.
Sly can calculate the exact coordinates,
then we'll just need a big explosion
deep underwater that is perfectly timed.
It'll roil the water, break the surface tension
and cocoon Walt's body when he hits.
My odds of survival are low.
Your current odds of survival are zero.
This is our only shot, buddy.
I'm gonna call Admiral Pace at Naval Command.
I'll tell him we'll have coordinates and launch orders
for the rescue sub ASAP. Launch orders?
I'm gonna detonate a torpedo right under Walter.
That will provide
Happy the explosion
that she's looking for.
(exclaiming)
Man the torpedoes. We have direct orders
to fire on Admiral Pace's command.
Aye, aye, Admiral. Fire!
My math has the torpedo
detonating in ten seconds.
TOBY: Walt, feet together, toes pointed,
arms at your side, chin tucked,
and try to relax. Oh, sure, relax. No problem.
Five, four, three,
two, one.
This is XO Calvin of the USS Grandin.
We have retrieved Walter O'Brien.
He is alive.
- Repeat: He is alive. - Yes! (all cheering)
Yes! (exhales)
Yeah! Come on, man!
Come on!
Aah! Scorpion!
BOTH: Scorpion!
Hey. Hey.
You should be resting.
Well, I've been resting for five days.
I'm going stir crazy.
Well, too bad. Now take your pill.
I don't like methylprednisolone.
Uh, it makes me jumpy.
Toby says it keeps inflammation down around your L4.
L5. Whatever. Take it.
So...
how's your head?
It's better. No more headaches.
And, um... the memory loss?
Um, well...
I remember the fall,
the torpedo explosion.
Um... nothing after that
except for waking up at the hospital.
I meant, uh, up in the capsule.
No memory at all of that, of what you were
thinking or experiencing?
No, nothing.
But that makes sense, considering the O2 levels.
TOBY (clears throat): Sorry to interrupt,
but you got a visitor, boss. Mr. Elia.
He's resting. Nonsense.
If I don't move around, I'm gonna lose my mind.
Uh, what were you guys talking about?
Nothing, just chatting.
Excuse me. I can help you
downstairs. He's fine.
Hey.
Yes?
Why are you pressing to see what he remembers?
Uh, I'm worried about his brain.
It's Scorpion's... top asset.
Bullpoop. You want to know if he remembers confessing his love.
Bullpoop. I want to know if he's okay.
Paige, you've moved on to Tim.
Walter is trying to move on from you,
but his subconscious is struggling with it.
You digging up these memories
and messing around with them is going to hurt him
worse than when he hit that water.
Trust me, if he has any recollection
of what went on in that capsule buried away, it will surface.
There will be clues.
And that's mucho bad.
'Cause that means he can't get over you,
which means a big pile of chaos
for all of us.
Especially the guy that can't process emotion.
Uh, I need to... clean these dishes.
(grunts)
Okay.
Oh, my God.
My doctors treating you okay?
Uh, too well.
They visit twice a day to give cognitive evaluations.
Only twice? I told them morning, noon and evening.
You shouldn't feel guilty.
Lightning strikes are unpredictable.
I do feel guilty.
I've been reviewing the footage to try and see
what could've been done to prevent it.
Hm. You find anything interesting?
Yes.
But not with respect to the rocket.
Walter, you had a split second
to decide whether you could
get out of the capsule before it launched
or if your best chance of survival
was to shut the hatch and ride it out.
I calculated the odds and decided
there wasn't time to escape.
Certainly a tough call.
But in the same situation, I would have tried to get out.
Almost anyone would have.
Well, you don't have a 197 IQ.
But I'm low 150s.
And I have some life experience.
Point is, Walter...
I know you and Paige had some kind of a thing once.
And I also couldn't help but notice
that she's gotten close to your newest team member.
Timothy, yeah. What I'm trying to say is
guys who think like you and me--
we avoid what we can't solve,
do almost anything to avoid it, no matter how drastic.
I've been there, during my divorce.
Mm. Walter, guys like you and me--
we need to find something to fill our time constructively,
because next time you try avoidance...
(sighs)
...we might not be able to bring you home.
Okay? Okay.
All right.
Take care, pal.
Okay. You, too.
(Walter grunts)
Hmm. Everyone gone?
Paige is cleaning up,
Sly's at some comic book nerd fest,
Happy's at the junkyard, and I'm busy...
Hunting Happy's husband? Yup.
Still think it's a bad idea. Still don't care what you think.
Fair enough.
(grunts) I am feeling better,
so I'm heading to Emma's for dessert.
Emma's-- isn't that place famous for baked Alaska?
Yeah, ever since I woke up in the hospital,
I can't stop thinking about baked Alaska.
It just keeps rattling around in my head.
Okay, see you later.
(door opens)
Bullpoop. (door closes)
== sync, corrected by elderman == @elder_man