A/N - I love Toby, and I don't think his character was explored deeply enough in the show. This is a short story examining some of what he struggles with internally.
Minor spoilers, if you haven't reached season 8.
Content warning: depressive thoughts
I Wish I Was
Toby stumbled into the posh home theater, gripping the doorframe to steady himself as the room seemed to spin slowly around him. He would have sworn this was the way to the kitchen… Mr. Robert California's house was huge, more like a small mansion, certainly more luxurious (and more expensive) than anything Toby could hope to own. He had lost track of how many rooms there were halfway through the tour, a little after Robert had handed out bottles of wine from his private rack. What had Oscar said his was again? Something Spanish red, fancy-fancy, Toby couldn't remember. All he knew was it tasted like velvet, like sex in liquid form.
At least, that's what Robert had said in the pool room, sitting on a lounge chair wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. After he, Gabe, and Ryan's unprompted skinny dip, the tour group gathered around with the remaining members of the pool party and finished off most of the wine. Oscar had fallen asleep in the midst of murmuring something in Spanish, presumably thanking their host for the wine. Jim had slipped away at some point, Meredith was snoring upright in a chair, and the others were in various stages of leaving or finding a more comfortable place to sleep. When Robert brought up his erotic cinema once again, Toby had decided it was time to skip out before things got weird. Gabe and Ryan seemed intent on one-upping each other for the CEO's approval, and Toby was frankly scared to see how far they would go.
So, he stumbled away from the pool room, trying to find the kitchen where he could get a nice glass of water, a peaceful place where he could sober up before attempting to drive home. Somewhere along the way, he'd taken a wrong turn and ended up in exactly the wrong place. The hallway light illuminated the first row of theater seats, and glinted darkly off the big screen. Unwarranted images of Robert watching adult films, naked in the darkened room, infiltrated Toby's mind, and he recoiled, gagging.
He pressed on down the hallway. Did the hall seem to be twisting underneath his feet as he walked? … Maybe he'd had more to drink than he'd thought. Of course, twisty floors could be a feature of rich people's houses. Toby wouldn't know.
He stopped underneath one of the stained glass light fixtures set at regular intervals along the walls. A weird feeling threatened to overwhelm him, a sort of looming emptiness, and he slid down the wall to the floor. What was he doing? Drunk at this weird party where nobody liked him. At least Michael wasn't around to harass him, but that didn't make the loneliness any lighter. It was like a heavy pelt wrapped around his shoulders, stifling, suffocating. He missed his daughter, but she was at that age where she didn't want anything to do with her parents. She often preferred to stay with his ex-wife, though he'd never admit how much that hurt. Sasha was just a kid still, selfish and moody, as they're supposed to be. Someday she'd realize how much Toby cared about her.
The rich colors of the CEO's house seemed to grow muted and dull as Toby reflected on his failures. What was he doing with his life? He worked a job he hated, where no one really liked him. He had a failed marriage and a kid who preferred mom. There was his books…but who would ever read them anyway? What was the point of it all? He felt washed out, miserable. At some point in his life, he had taken a wrong turn, and ended up here, drunk in the hallway of his CEO's mansion.
Pathetic. Useless. Stupid.
Loneliness wasn't being alone, it was being surrounded by people but unable to connect. It was reaching out, but finding nothing to grab hold of. It was seeing everyone around him smiling, laughing, living their potential, while he felt broken and used up. It was hiding what he really felt because letting them see would be worse.
Fake. Idiot. Loser.
Why couldn't he have won over Pam? He should have tried harder, been nicer, let her know he was interested. But that ship had sailed long ago. He missed his chance. No, not missed it, watched as it flew over his head and he did nothing to grab it. Maybe it wouldn't have worked, but he hadn't even tried! He was too shy, too afraid of being rejected, of being laughed at. Pam was pretty and young, and he was tired and worn out. She deserved Jim, and Toby truly was happy that they were happy, but a big part of him longed for his own happiness. He wanted someone to love, someone to build a life with.
It was difficult meeting new people. He knew he wasn't very impressive; it was hard for him to open up when first meeting someone. He knew that made him look dull and boring, he saw how people's eyes slid past him in favor of someone more interesting. He hated it. But that didn't mean he could just change who he was. Just snap, and suddenly be the life of the party, with all the best anecdotes and the wittiest repartee. No, he was private, soft-spoken, a good listener but poor talker. He didn't really want to change himself just to be liked, but the problem was he didn't much like himself the way he was either.
How can anyone love you when you don't love yourself?
Simple tasks seemed monumental at times. Do the dishes, go to work, pay the bills, mow the lawn, make food. It was hard to work up the energy sometimes. No, not sometimes, often. He kept his house clean, but it was like Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the hill everyday. Some days it was easier to stay in bed and just not eat. At least then there was no mess to clean.
The floor was starting to feel more and more comfortable. Sleep was an escape; being awake was the hard part. Night was the time Toby dreaded most, when sleep eluded him and he stared up at the ceiling fan, ruminating. He couldn't outrun his thoughts in the quiet of the night. The moon was a spotlight, scaring up his darkest demons and setting them upon him, wild and free. Night was always too quiet, too soothing, like the promise of a sweet kiss. There was nothing to distract him at night. The darkness descended, upon the Earth and upon his mind.
Nobody loves you. Failure.
Give up.
The hallway lights switched off, probably one of those energy-saving devices. Or maybe they'd been motion activated? Toby hadn't noticed, and couldn't bring himself to care. At least, if he couldn't see at all, his vision wouldn't be blurry. He laid down on the soft carpet, his drunk body melting into the floor like it was the softest bed in the Ritz. Sleep was easiest when the wolves' howling had finally exhausted him. If he could sleep through his death, that'd be much easier than facing it.
His phone buzzed, but he was already asleep.
"Hey dad, let's go get lunch tmrw! I want to tell you what happened at school this week!"
He would see it when he woke up.