"How does that feel?"

Happy had to resist the primal urge to giggle; Jessica was pressing down on the soft skin right above her hip bone, apparently trying to gauge muscle growth or something like that, but it felt no more professional than when Toby got the urge to tickle her awake in the morning.

"Fine."

"No soreness there?"

"No, not since a few weeks after I got my cast off."

Jessica smiled. "Well, that's good."

It had been nearly eight months since her accident. She'd started off going to physical therapy every day, then three times a week, then once a week. Recently, Jessica had started dangling in front of her the idea of stopping PT altogether, with little mentions of how far she had come and how well she was healing at every session.

A month after she got her cast removed, she had started running again. At first Toby had insisted on coming with her, to make sure she didn't hurt herself. Before the accident, Happy could have easily outpaced her does-digging-through-the-bed-covers-to-find-the-remote-count-as-exercise? boyfriend, but the weeks on bedrest had softened her leg muscles and weakened her lungs. For the first few days, she could barely keep up with Toby; her previously-semi-weekly five-k turned into a single, torturous mile. Soon, though, she got back her cardio endurance and started forcing Toby to work harder and harder to match her speed, until he decided that she didn't need a chaperone. Now, her muscles were almost back to their pre-crash definition.

Her scars had started to fade as well; the one on her leg was now nothing more than a stubby pink line. She couldn't see the one on her back, not without a mirror and a yoga-esque contortion exercise, but occasionally, when they lay together at night, Toby would slip his hand under her shirt and run his thumb gently over the mark on her left shoulder blade. A punctured lung is rarely life-threatening, or so he had told her. But some of her other injuries had tested the reaches of modern medicine - and, ironically, those were the injuries that didn't leave marks. So when Toby rubbed her scar, she thought of those injuries, the ones that might have killed her, in a different hospital, under the knife of a less-skilled surgeon. It was his way of reminding her to be careful, she thought; he was wordlessly saying to remember the proximity to death to which she had come before. He was telling her to watch that she did not get that close again.

"Well, Happy," Jessica was saying. She picked up the clipboard she always brought to their sessions and scribbled something down. "I think I'm gonna go ahead and say that you don't need to come to PT anymore."

Happy's eyes widened. She'd taken Jessica's hints about stopping sessions as little treats, something to chew on but not take seriously, the same way she took Toby's claims that he was going to buy a car that actually had air conditioning sometime soon.

"Really?"

Jessica smiled. "Really, truly." She handed Happy a slip of paper. "Just take this out to the front desk and you're all set."

She started turning towards the door, but then stopped and stuck her hand out.

"It's been a pleasure, Happy. Really. You're one hell of a patient."

Happy shook her hand, unable to think of a response other than "thank you", and then watched her walk out the door that led into the back room of the office. She felt an odd sense of nostalgia as she paid her final bill with the secretary; an era of her life was ending. It wasn't a pleasant era, or one she'd planned on going through, but she still felt a hint of sadness as she walked to her car.

Traffic was mercifully light on her way home, despite the fact that it was midday on a Saturday, and she walked through the front door to their apartment less than twenty minutes after leaving the PT office. Toby was in the living room, skimming through an article he was supposed to be peer reviewing.

"Hey," he said cheerfully when he saw her. "How did PT go?"

"Fine. It was - it was my last session."

Toby's eyes lit up. "Really? That's great!" He set the article down on their coffee table and twisted so that he was facing her. "Want to celebrate? We could go to that sushi place you like."

"No, I…" Happy ran her hand through her hair, trying to collect her thoughts, which had started going in a million directions. "I kind of just want to be alone right now."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "Alone mood?"

Happy nodded, not meeting his eye; even now, after months of them working with her periodic desire to be left alone, after finding a rhythm that had helped her cope with living with someone - helped her enjoy living with someone - she was still off-put by what had become their code-word for I want to be left alone.

"Got it." Toby jumped up and walked into the bedroom. Happy knew he'd appear a minute later, armed with his satchel and car keys, ready to head over to Sylvester's apartment for a few hours while she decompressed. She wandered aimlessly into the hall, waiting for him to be gone.

There was a new frame up on their hallway wall, next to the pictures Toby had hung up of them and the team as soon as they moved it. It took Happy's frazzled brain a second to recognize the drawing: her sketch of an engine Toby had found a few months prior.

"Hey Toby?" she called.

"Yeah, Hap?" He came out of their bedroom, satchel in tow.

"You hung up my picture?"

"Yeah." He walked over and stood beside her. "It was in a box in our closet for a while. I decided it needed to be showcased a little bit more."

"I never hang up the stuff I draw."

"I know." He shrugged. "I can take it down if you want. I just like looking at it, is all. It reminds me of you."

Happy was silent for a moment, staring at the large piece of paper. The hall light hit it directly, causing a slight glare across the glass of the frame.

"I'll be at Sly's if you need me," Toby said. He kissed her temple, and then slipped passed her. Happy called a mindless goodbye just as he shut the front door behind him.

She put a hand to her forehead. Something about the gesture - keeping her picture, framing it, hanging it in their apartment - was moving. It was mixing with her unexpected post-PT nostalgia, and she felt herself hanging on the verge of tears.

She shook her head. I'm not going to cry because Toby hung up a drawing. To clear her mind, she walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Then she went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa, ready to watch some mindless television.

"Sly, my favorite mathematician!"

"Hey Toby." Sylvester moved aside so the psychiatrist could come into his apartment. "Did Happy kick you out again?"

Toby wrinkled his nose. "She doesn't 'kick me out', Sly; she just likes to have some time to herself."

Sylvester held his hands up in front of himself innocently. "Hey, I'm not complaining. We have to finish our Monopoly game, after all."

Toby smiled. They had been working on the game for weeks; they'd go for a few hours at a time, normally when Happy asked to have the apartment to herself. Sylvester was nearly unbeatable - he always kept a whiteboard next to him for his impeccable calculations - but Toby, who had been playing Monopoly since he was six, had a tried-and-true strategy. They'd played before, but always gave up eventually, after numerous, probably-against-the-rules deals landed them in a never-ending cycle of riches to near-bankruptcy. Now, though, Paige and Walter had placed bets on who would win, so they were obligated to keep going.

Sylvester brought the Monopoly board out from the chest of drawers in his hallway. He began placing all the pieces back where they had been from memory.

"Happy's done with PT," Toby said. "Today was her last session."

"Hey, that's great," Sylvester replied, carefully placing a hotel on Atlantic Avenue. "Does this mean she's totally recovered?"

"She'll probably go back to the doctor's in a few weeks, just to make sure all her organs are still healing correctly, but yeah, she's pretty much good-as-new."

"Oh, I'm so glad. Watching her recover…" Sylvester shook his head. "Seeing her on crutches reminded me a lot of Megan, you know?"

Toby cocked his head. He hadn't thought of the connection before. "Yeah?"

Sylvester nodded. "Yeah."

It occurred to Toby that they were approaching the two-year anniversary of Megan's death. On her birthday, they always had a small party, where Paige would cook Megan's favorite casserole and Walter and Sly would tell stories about her until everyone's eyes glazed over with love and sleepiness. But the first anniversary of her death had passed without mention, and no one had said anything thus far about the second.

"How are you doing, Sly?" Toby asked gently.

"Oh, you know. It's hard sometimes. I'll see a brunette woman from across the street, and I'll be so sure it's her, and then when I realize it's not…" He shrugged. "I've been looking through a lot of our old pictures lately. And I'm trying to just be thankful, you know? To just be thankful for the time we had together. But it's hard not to be sad."

Toby nodded. "You know, it's okay to be sad. You lost someone you love. You don't have to pretend that it's all okay. And if you ever want to talk about how it's not okay, I'm always here to listen."

Sylvester smiled slightly. "Thanks, Toby. But I'm okay. Really. I just want to beat you at this Monopoly game already."

Toby grinned. "Don't get too cocky, buddy. Hand me the dice. It was my turn, wasn't it?"