Happy does not have this under control. That much is clear.
Nothing gets done. Not even close.
She puts it off, thinking she'll be able to muster the energy for it later, but later never comes and her work sits collecting dust on the workbench that the others leave untouched as a shrine to her laziness. Her laundry hasn't been done in weeks. The same would probably be said about her dishes but she barely eats and definitely doesn't cook.
She feels a flicker of pride when she manages to keep herself on her feet long enough to shower.
Not good, not good, not good.
What is happening to her?
Her sense of urgency is just…gone. She skips missions. It starts with just the one, but that makes the second time seem like not such a big deal. When she feigns a debilitating migraine and stays back from a job in the Sudan, the rest of the team is confused, sure, but they don't push the issue.
But they are…understandably concerned the third time it happens. And the fourth. And that time that she offs an imaginary aunt that they (rightfully) doubt the existence of.
Around the time of stomach-pain-that-may-or-may-not-be-appendicitis-but-turns-out-not-to-be number three, Walter orders a medical exam. Which he can do because he has something to do with the process of her getting paid for the job she no longer does.
It was only a matter of time. Cabe's hand is on her forehead so often, she's surprised she doesn't have a tan line there.
"This is stupid."
Toby smiles and undoes the blood pressure cuff from around her arm. "You know I like to take your side. Because Happy Quinn, your side is usually the one to be on. And, let's face it, you do have lovely sides."
Gently he taps on her shoulder to get her to lay back on their makeshift exam table…couch. It's a couch.
"But?" she prompts, scowling and poking him back when he prods at her stomach.
"But, this time, I have to give Walt a modicum of credit. You're not your fine self lately and he doesn't know how to serve up concern without a side dish of grade A jack-assery."
It's probably at least half true. She can't think of any other reason he would be lurking awkwardly behind a stack of boxes, staring at her like she has a cryptograph tattooed on her face. Does he think he's hiding? Oh god, he thinks he's hiding. That's pathetic. Sad and pathetic.
Says the girl that didn't leave her bed for three days the last time they were on a mission (without her).
Happy heaves a sigh.
"You don't really think you're going to find anything do you?"
She doesn't dare let herself hope that he does. Some kind of life-sucking tick that she could pluck off and get back to business. Too good to be true.
"With the medical supplies I bought at the drug store on the way here?" He shrugs. "Probably not. But that's as far as I'm ethically willing to take this."
"The code of ethics covers impromptu garage exams of the women you're sleeping with?"
Toby's unfazed, grinning at her as he shoves his supplies back into the plastic grocery bag they came in. He digs in the bottom of the bag and unearths a lollipop, unwrapping it and taking a good lick before offering it to her.
Gross.
She takes it anyway.
"First of all, that's woman. Singular. And more than sleeeeeping," Toby sing-songs.
Happy rolls her eyes.
"What are you going to say to Walter?" she asks quietly, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head against the arm of the couch. She'd normally be more self-conscious about making herself look so vulnerable in front of her coworkers, but screw it. She's put up with a lot today.
Meaning, she managed to make it in to work.
She shakes her head. Lets that thought slide down the walls of the fishbowl and off of her mind.
Whatever. It felt like a lot.
Sighing, Toby sinks down next to her and rests his arm on her folded legs. "That depends a lot on what you think I should tell him."
Something sharp catches in her throat. When her chest starts to hurt, she realizes it's her breath and sucks in a deep pull of oxygen to overcompensate.
Shit.
"You should tell him I'm fine," she murmurs, turning her head so it's muffled in the fabric of the couch. "Because…I'm fine."
Liar.
But the Doc doesn't call her on it. Does he know?
Seems like with all that psycho-babbling he does, he should at least be able to tell that his girlfriend stalled out and broke down on the side of the freakin' metaphorical road…
As badly as she wants to keep this from him, it doesn't feel like she's hiding it that well.
Still. Toby's none the wiser.
"Alright-y then." He groans as he stands and tugs gently at her hand, waiting for her to pull back before he disengages. "I'll go tell Walter that you're in tip-top shape. If that's still what you want?"
She nods and sits up further on the couch, pulling the lollipop out of her mouth to examine the remnants of cracked sugar still clinging to the stick.
Toby gives her a two-finger salute and starts to walk off. "Oh and Happy?"
"Hm?"
"This is not how I imagined us playing doctor."
It may not seem like it. But this is her best. This is Happy trying her best and it frustrates the hell out of her because her worst used to be so much better than this best.
Her job was her life.
But she can't do her job anymore.
And damn it, she doesn't know why.
She tries. She really does.
She gets up one morning and decides to be normal. Makes herself get out of bed. Makes her eyes open wider when they want to flutter shut. Makes her neck support her head even though it feels like a deflated tire, heavy and limp.
Sitting at her workbench, talking to her team. It should be normal.
But it isn't.
When her skin starts to crawl around noon, she excuses herself and sobs in her empty apartment, on and off for hours on end.
It's not going to get better.
It's never going to get better.
Paige is concerned. Sly is confused. The Doc…the Doc is weirdly respectful, not pushy, and un-Doc-like about the whole thing.
Cabe drags her to the shooting range. Thinks she needs to get something out of her system. (Really, it feels like she needs to get something into her system.) Maybe sometime in the past, she would have enjoyed it. But this time, she just wants to go home.
But it's Walter that decides enough is enough.
He waits for one of the rare days she makes it into the garage and subtly dismisses the others, though she's sure they don't go far. Toby lingers by her side, like he's not sure what his responsibility is to her in this situation. Happy nods for him to go ahead and seats herself on the couch, rubbing her hands over her thighs.
May as well get this over with.
Maybe she's about to be fired. It should upset her, but since nothing does lately, it just comes as a relief.
Walter drags a chair across from her. Right across from her, which is unusual because it means he has to look her straight in the eye and direct eye contact has not historically been his favorite activity.
"Happy…"
He swallows and looks at the floor before taking a deep breath and starting again.
"There is a… a very high probability that if you tell me what's going on with you I won't understand it," he says softly. "But I'd like to try."
His voice is weak. Strained and pleading. Like he thinks she's in some kind of real danger or real pain and he wants to make it stop for her.
This is worse than being fired.
She's hurting them.
And she's so tired.
"I think…" Happy breaths, deep, but it doesn't feel like she's getting any air. "I think...that I should go work with my dad. At the garage."
Walter startles. "You're quitting?"
Shrugging, Happy looks at anything but him. For some reason, she can't force herself to say the word 'quit'. "Um…yeah. I guess. Can't do both."
(Can't even do one.)
He looks desperate now, going as far as to place a hesitant hand on her arm. "Happy, talk to me."
She can't. What could she possibly say to make this better?
I'm sorry I'm so lazy?
I'm sorry I let you down?
I'm sorry that I'm so useless?
Instead, "I should go."
"Happy!"
She doesn't look back.
Why should she?
It's not like she can care.
Paige is at her door. She doesn't answer, but forgets to turn the ringer off on her phone and the tone can surely be heard from the hall when Paige calls it. She should let her in, but she can't. This place is a mess. She'll clean it tomorrow.
She goes to the garage to see her dad but doesn't ask for a job. She's pretty certain she doesn't want it anyway.
"Dad?"
He turns away from his project at the sound of her voice. "Happy!"
She'll never get over the way that he lights up when he sees her. If he really knew her, he wouldn't.
When he hugs her, she rests her heavy head on his shoulder and the relief is so visceral that she nearly sinks to the floor. "Can I just sit here for a while?"
"Yeah, kid. Of course."
She stays there, propped up on a stack of old tires, until sitting up becomes too much effort and she goes home to bed.
Months ago, the team (minus Walter, who abhors the theatre) encourages Ralph to try out for the school play.
He is granted the part of 'plant number five', a role that takes on new life when he promptly develops it further into 'Polyscias fruticose number five'.
They help him practice, and Ralph is excited by the challenge of conveying 'thriving in low light' and 'propagating by air layering' while standing still.
Happy misses the play.
She goes to Toby's apartment because he expects her to, and if she doesn't show up, she's afraid that he'll come over to her wreck of an apartment.
It's not that she wants to break up with him. But it doesn't feel like she wants to stay together with him like she should.
She doesn't want anything like she should.
Happy lets herself and, when it's evident that he's going to be late because he's doing their job with their team, naps on the couch. (She didn't get much sleep the night before. Or any of the nights before that.)
When Toby gets home, she blinks blearily awake but doesn't pick her head up from the throw pillow. The Doc grabs himself a beer from the kitchen before he sits next to her on the couch, gently lifting her legs to slide under them.
"How was work?"
Wincing, Happy shrugs. She never got around to telling him that she didn't ask her dad for a job.
"Fine."
She doesn't dare ask about the team. Doesn't want to find out that they're suffering without her or doing better than they ever have without broken, tired Happy to hold them back.
"Did you eat?"
She shook her head. She'd been putting it off. Didn't want to get dressed and go out and deal with the world long enough to get a freaking sandwich.
Shit, has she had anything to drink today?
Downplaying the urgency, Happy untangles herself from Toby and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. It hurts going down.
Toby sprawls out in her place, taking up the whole couch so if she wants to lay down again, she'll have to do it on top of him. "Wanna go out on the town?"
Her reluctance must show on her face, and he picks up on it and softens. "I can go get something and bring it back?"
She agrees, not because she's hungry but because she doesn't want him to think something is wrong.
When he's gone, she moves to his bed for a time, hoping that if she calls it a 'movie marathon' instead of 'not having enough energy to make it to the table', they might eat in bed.
Toby's bringing dinner. They'll eat in bed. Then go to sleep.
Happy has nothing to dread. Doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to do. For that night.
Then the fire alarm goes off.
Probably it's precautionary. And nothing's really wrong. A false alarm.
Probably she's not in any danger.
But even if she is, Happy can't find it in herself to care enough to move.
Move.
Work was great. She had her dad. She had a family. She had Toby.
Move.
But she's not happy, she can't be happy. If this isn't making her happy, what possibly could? What could possibly make her feel good if none of this does?
Move.
She's so tired. How is she supposed to get up when she's so tired?
Move. Get up. Do something.
Toby gets home and they in eat in silence.
They go to bed and lay there until it's so dark that she doesn't have to see his face when she says, "I think…I think something's really wrong. With me, I mean."
He stills behind her and pulls her closer. His whole body relaxes and until it does, she hadn't even realized it had been tense.
"I know," he whispers into her hair. "I know, but I'm so glad you said it out loud. I'm so glad you told me."
What?
She rolls over to face and doesn't see what she expects to see (disgust, anger, indifference) in his face.
Instead-
"You're gonna be just fine, Happy Quinn," Toby promises. "You're gonna fix this. I really believe that. You are going to get better, and I'm going to help."
