All in all, the whole moving process fell into place much quicker than expected. They decided to move into Toby's apartment, as it was closer to the garage and slightly larger than Happy's. Happy's lease was almost up, anyway, and her landlady agreed to let her leave a month early.

As anyone would have anticipated, the major source of conflict in the move was consolidating two apartments' worth of stuff into one. Some choices were easy – they threw out Toby's tattered sofa in favor of Happy's stylish one; Toby's set of silverware took precedence over Happy's mismatched collection – but other decisions started benign-yet-intense arguments. Someone always backed down eventually, though, and by the time moving day rolled around, Happy's and Toby's apartments were both looking anticipatorily sparse.

It was a particularly humid Tuesday when the whole team came over to help with the move. Cabe, Tim, Walter, and Toby, in an exhausting display of masculinity, insisted on loading all the heavy things into Happy's truck. While they strained to maneuver the bulky furniture through the narrow halls of the building, the rest of the team formed an assembly line of sorts to get the smaller boxes into Cabe's SUV.

About thirty minutes into the loading process, Sylvester and Ralph were called out into the hall to weigh in on whether Happy's armoire would fit in the elevator. No one heard Happy call out that it definitely would – she'd managed to get the bulky wardrobe in there on her own when she moved in.

"Men," Paige said in response to Happy's exasperated sigh.

For some reason, Happy was reminded of that Linwood job from years ago, back before they'd met Paige and Ralph. She saw in her mind the flawless conveyance system she had built in record time, the perfection of it – and the speed with which the contractor, with the name sugar, had degraded all her work into a womanly favor. She was, not for the first time, grateful that her team was no longer all-male.

"Imagine what they'd accomplish if they stopped thinking with their pride."

Paige laughed.

The women walked out of the apartment together, each holding a box. They passed the men huddled by the elevator, talking animatedly about torque, and took the stairs down toward the parking lot.

"Paige, you lived with Drew for a while, right?" Happy said when they reached the car.

"Yeah, for a few years, before we split up. Why?"

Happy pursed her lips. "Did you ever get… sick of each other?"

Paige almost chuckled at the thought. No, he was never home long enough for me to get sick of him. But she held back her story of romantic frustration; she understood where Happy's question was coming from.

"It's hard, living with someone you care about. There are times when you get in each other's hair and under each other's feet and just want to escape for a while, you know?"

Happy nodded without speaking.

"But it's also great. You'll fall into this routine. You get to eat breakfast together every morning. You get to go to bed every night and know that they'll be there next to you when you wake up. You see each other when you're sick and tired and messy, and there's something really cool about that kind of openness."

Happy didn't looked convinced, so Paige reached out and squeezed her hand.

"And if you get sick of all of Toby's jokes, my couch is always open."

The mechanic smiled.

Paige waited a minute to see if Happy would reply; when she didn't, the older woman said, "What are the odds they fit that armoire into the elevator?"

Happy laughed. "I'm going with slim to none."

It was a few hours before they were all at Toby's apartment, surrounded by the boxes they'd unloaded from the cars. Toby and Happy turned down Paige's offer to help them put everything away – they'd worked out a very specific plan for whose stuff went where, and it was easier just not to explain it – but everyone stuck around for pizza.

The team crammed themselves around a folding table in the living room. Cabe gave a sappy toast that made Happy and Walter groan, but Toby noticed his girlfriend's eyes shining with laughter.

The conversation wove from the team's latest case to a new project for Elia to Ralph's robotics homework. When talk landed on partial derivatives, Paige jumped in to change the subject; she got lost once you passed high school math.

"Hey guys, I learned some interesting trivia about Walter the other day."

All eyes went to Walter, who looked mystified. Paige smiled at him.

"Did you guys know Walter can juggle anything?"

"Not anything," the genius quickly qualified.

"You said, and I quote, 'power tools, lit torches, beach balls, things like that'. That counts as 'anything' in my book."

"Lit torches?" Toby tried to picture his friend tossing fire up into the air.

"It's just math. Projectile motion – basic physics." Walter shrugged.

"Remember when you tried to throw that bean bag?" Happy raised her eyebrows.

"I told you, I didn't account for the moment of inertia of the beans."

"Well, alright, let's see it," Cabe said, sipping on his soda.

"What?"

"Give us a demonstration."

"I saw some oranges in the kitchen-"

"Nope," Happy cut in. She went over to one of the boxes by the hallway, opened it, and pulled out two hammers and a wrench. "Use these."

Toby was immediately pleased. Here was his girlfriend – his stoic, no-nonsense girlfriend, a woman who got so wrapped up in projects that she often needed coaxing just to take a break to eat – participating in what could only be described as shenanigans. He loved it.

Walter, on the other hand, was shaking his head adamantly.

"Wait, wait, hold up." Toby walked over to stand next to Happy. "Walt, I've known you for four years. How come you never let on that you knew how to juggle?"

"It's not exactly the kind of thing that comes up in everyday conversation."

"Are you kidding? I talk all the time. There have definitely been opportunities to mention this."

"Name one."

Happy put a hand on Toby's chest, as if that would keep him from talking.

"Nuh-uh," she said. "You're just trying to change the subject, Walt."

"Alright, Walter, you're gonna juggle for us, end of story." Toby took one of the hammers from Happy and waved it around. "These are harmless, see? No fire to be found. The worst these'll give you is a broken toe."

"Or a fractured cranium. Plus, if I overshot the throw, I could tear a hole through your ceiling."

"What, suddenly you're not so sure of your calculations, Mr. One-Ninety-Seven?" Toby goaded.

"Come on, you have to do it now." Happy had a devilish grin on her face.

Toby was ready to break out every psychological trick in the Harvard-subsidized book to get Walter to juggle for him, but then he caught sight of Sylvester, huddled over his pizza timidly, not participating in the conversation.

"Hey Sly," he said quietly. "Come with me for a minute, yeah?"

The mathematician followed him into the kitchen silently. The rest of the team, so excited by the prospect of their leader juggling hammers, barely noticed their exit.

"Are you okay, buddy?"

Sylvester nodded. "Of course."

"You seem a little… down."

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine, really. Just maybe a little bit tired."

Worry was starting to creep up on Sylvester's face. Toby plucked an apple from the fruit bowl and turned it over in his hand, trying to calm his friend with nonchalance.

"Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with the mission from last week?"

Sylvester watched Toby fiddle with the apple as he replied, "What do you mean?"

"Well, the water tower calculations…"

On the morning following Happy's not-death, as soon as Happy and Toby arrived at the garage, Sylvester had come up and apologized for his miscalculations. Happy – riding on the high of new plans with her boyfriend – had almost forgotten about the events of the day before, and she simply smiled at Sylvester and said it was fine. Then they went immediately into the moving announcement, which had prompted Paige to insist that they all go out for brunch to celebrate, and Sylvester's remorse was lost in the merriment. But Toby had seen him shying away from the rest of the team for the past week.

"Toby, I don't know how I messed those up. I've run over it a hundred times in my head and the calculations were sound, I swear. I mean, obviously they weren't sound – but I have no idea why."

Toby realized Sylvester has misread the situation; the younger man was prepared for a fight.

"Sly, I'm sure your calculations were fine."

"But the tower fell."

"Look, you had to guess on some pretty integral variables, pardon the pun. Plus, I know for a fact Happy had a huge breakfast that morning – have you ever seen her put back pancakes? The human bodyweight can easily fluctuate five to seven pounds, depending on food and water intake. For all we know, Happy weighed a hundred twenty pounds that day."

Sylvester bit his lip.

"She could have died, Toby."

"Trust me, Sly, I know. I love that woman more than anything else on this planet, you know that? I'd defend her to my death, if she weren't so intimidating herself. But I'm standing here right now telling you that you did nothing wrong. Happy knew that climbing that tower might not be safe. If you had said it would only hold a hundred pounds, you think she still would've gone up?"

Sly was still staring intently at the apple, but his head shifted in the smallest of nods.

"Look, Sly, I want to tell you that I'm sorry."

This made the mathematician look up in surprise. "You're sorry?"

"Yeah. I jumped down your throat when that water tower came down, and that wasn't right of me, for all the reasons I just said. I was scared and sad and angry and I put all that on you. I'm sorry."

Sylvester look of confusion slowly faded to resignation. With a disposition like his, he'd remember that altercation for a long time – the look of absolute fury in Toby's eyes, the feeling of rough hands grasping his shirt. But the apology helped abate the guilt inside of him, if only a little.

Toby clapped him on the back.

"How about we go watch One-Ninety-Seven drop some wrenches, huh, bud?"

Sylvester smiled. "Sounds good to me."