Author's Note: Dear Guest,

Thank you so much for the review and kind words. Yes, it is sad - but aren't tragedies just delicious? Also, I would say this is after season 1, but disregarding season 2, if that makes sense. Toby and Happy are more than friends, but less than together. Hope you like this next installment and please let me know your thoughts! 3

Happy's Lament

Chapter Two

"The Benzodiazapine Blues"

As Toby left the Garage for supplies, Happy grabbed a laptop and set to work hacking into the security camera feed from her building. It was an old piece of junk from the eighties, but Happy had fixed it herself on more than one occasion for her landlord so it should have been a piece of cake - except that she felt like she was working underwater. Happy rubbed her eyes, frustrated, and tried to focus through the thick fog cloaking her world. Finally she managed to pull up the videos from last night. She fast-forwarded until she recognized herself, and hit play. Happy watched the blurry, black and white image of herself come downstairs, keys in hand, alone. That was at seven forty-five yesterday evening. Her heart started racing as she clicked through, searching for her return. She almost missed it - almost. There she was, at just past nine, coming through the door. With someone.

A tall, lanky figure wearing a hoodie to hide his face. Happy watched herself lean on him, her footsteps clumsy, her head lolling around...none of it was familiar. It was like watching someone else, and for a moment she let herself hope that it was. Was that her jacket? Was that her dark hair, her biker boots stumbling up the stairs?

Happy felt sick. There was no use lying to herself. Of course that was her...the question was, who was with her? She zoomed in closer, the pixelated image getting blurrier. He could be anybody. Happy slammed the laptop shut suddenly, her breath catching in her chest. She was gonna puke - she started to get up but fell, her shaking knees colliding with the hard cement floor. Immediately Walter was there, sliding his arms under hers and hauling her to her feet. "I'm fine," she mumbled as he half-carried her over to the sofa.

"You don't look fine," Paige said, coming over. Sylvester was hovering, worried, behind Walter. "You really don't," he confirmed.

"Your pupils are dilated," Walter muttered, his deft fingers probing her skull, "did you hit your head?"

He was too close, too big. Happy could feel his cool breath on her lips as he manhandled her head, looking for the source of her illness. It made her skin crawl. "Don't touch me!" She snapped, bile rising in her throat. She shoved Walter away and leaned over, spitting sour acid onto the floor. He steadied her carefully and stepped away, allowing her to hang her head between her knees, trembling fingers knitting together at the back of her cranium. She could feel eyes on her, studying her, examining her. She just wanted them all to go away. Stop looking at me, she wanted to scream. Just leave me alone.

"Here," Paige said softly, handing her a box of tissues from Sylvester's desk. "I'll get you some water."

"I said you looked sick," Sylvester worried, "Have you been using the antibacterial hand sanitizer I gave you?"

Paige returned with a bottle of water. "Give her some room, guys. Here, Happy, drink some water."

Happy raised the bottle to her lips and took a careful swig. Even that slight movement exhausted her. She just wanted to lay down, be still...disappear. The Garage door opened then, the grating noise making her jump, and Toby paused as he took in the scene before him.

"What did I miss?" He asked slowly. Happy straightened up, trying to take a breath through the lump in her throat. Her chest was tight, constricting, a cold sweat on her skin. "Nothing," she said, "Can we do this?"

"What's happening right now?" Sylvester asked as Happy got to her feet, "All of this is very suspicious."

Happy turned, using all the strength she could muster, and said, "Look I know this team likes to get all up in each other's business, but this time I need you to bug out. And Walter, I need your loft for twenty minutes."

Walter nodded silently, eyes searching her face. She kept it a cool, guarded mask. "Thank you," she said, and turned on her heel, marching up the stairs on shaking legs.

"Doin' okay there, Happy?"

Happy lifted her arm from where it rested over her eyes, her gaze focusing on the light on Walter's ceiling. She laid on her back on Walter's bed, knees up and toes curling against the edge of the mattress, a towel thrown over her lower half. "Yeah," she managed. It was strange; what was happening now wasn't actual what was making her uncomfortable, but the memory of the last time she was in this position. It was like she was living in an overlay; reality and memory, colliding. When she closed her eyes she couldn't distinguish what was current and what was past.

"This might go faster if you talk to me," Toby said, his tone calm and rational, soft as the touch of his hands. She had always liked Toby's hands, though she would never admit it to anyone.

"I'd rather not, Doc."

Toby was quiet. Happy squinted her eyes as she felt pressure, her fingers curling into fists. "Sorry," Toby murmured, "Almost done."

Happy never thought the first time Toby touched her would be so...clinical. She always thought maybe it would happen on the rooftop, under the stars. Maybe a few cold beers and a telescope between them. Not in Walter's bed with a chilly piece of plastic hitting her cervix.

"Where did you get this stuff, anyway?" She asked, feeling a little guilty about snapping at him. He was doing her an enormous favor, after all. She knew he didn't want to.

"I know a guy who stocks the Planned Parenthood a few miles from here," Toby answered simply, "Nice guy. Bad poker face."

Happy might have smirked in any other situation. Instead she quipped, "Who knew your stupid gambling addiction would come in handy."

Toby straightened up then, slipping his gloves off. "All done," he said softly. Happy sat up, rubbing the back of her neck.

"So?" She inquired, though she really didn't want him to answer. Not yet.

"I want to take some blood," Toby muttered, not meeting her eyes. He took her arm gently and tied it off above her elbow, tapping the sensitive flesh of her forearm to see the veins. She watched him instead of the needle, studying his face. He was good at hiding his thoughts - but not that good. Not with her.

"How bad is it, Doc?"

"Well," Toby sighed, "It's not good. There's some bruising and a small tear, which will heal itself in a few days." He finally looked at her. She nodded slowly, methodically.

"Okay. Thanks."

Toby continued, holding her gaze; "I think you have a concussion, as well. Probably from that Texas-sized bump on your noggin."

"Is that why I feel like I have the world's worst hangover?"

"Maybe. I also think you may have been drugged...is there a weird taste in your mouth? Kind of bitter?"

Happy nodded, watching him frown. "You may have been given Rohypnol, it's a drug formed from Benzodiazapine, a serious tranquilizer. Just twenty mils will put a linebacker out for hours."

"I know what Roofies is," Happy grumbled, "How long til it wears off?"

"It should have already worn off by now, if you were given it last night. I suspect that coupled with your concussion is why you've got the spins. Just rest for a while, drink lots of water. You'll be fine...physically."

Happy rolled her eyes, recognizing that look on his face. She was about to be shrinked. "Save it, Doc. I can handle this. Just let me know when you get the blood test results back."

She slid off the bed and reached for her trousers, pulling them on quickly. She felt irrationally exposed with him standing there - an odd feeling, considering where his hands had been not even five minutes ago. "Happy," Toby put his hands on his hips, "You need to talk to someone. And maybe...go to the police. Maybe Cabe can - "

"No!" Happy turned on him, glaring as threateningly as she could manage, "No police, no Cabe. I can handle this myself."

She made that mistake before. This time, she was taking matters into her own hands. She was going to get her own justice...she needed to.