Toby had seemed odd all day.

Happy first noticed it when Paige had said she needed to "get on top of Walter" to make sure he finished his reports on time, and she braced herself for Toby to point out the innuendo. Only, he didn't. He just sat at his desk, staring blankly at a book. At first, Happy had just thought he was lost in whatever medical world the journal had taken him to, but, after another few glances over to him, she realized his eyes weren't moving; he wasn't actually reading.

Then, a few hours later, Walter had bragged about being unbeatable at Scrabble. Toby, rather than jumping down his throat with some unbearably-intellectual psychoanalysis and a challenge to play a game, just ignored him. It was the only time Happy had even seen Toby miss a chance to call Walter an egomaniac.

Now, the garage was empty. Toby had left early, claiming he wasn't feeling well, and was going to meet Happy at home. Happy stared at a phone number on her computer screen, unable to find the strength to dial it. A voice inside her head - birthed by years of not having a family, of looking after herself - was saying that this felt too much like prying, like sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

Her eyes fell on the picture on her desk of her and Toby. Paige took it a week after Toby quit gambling, before Happy's car accident; he was wrapping her in an enthusiastic hug. She was half-heartedly pushing him away, but smiling at the camera.

She picked up her phone and dialed the number.

"Hello?"

"Christine?"

"Yes – who is this?"

"This – this is Happy, Toby's girlfriend."

"Oh, hi, Happy. Is everything alright?"

"I… I'm worried about Toby."

She heard what sounded like a sigh on the other end of the line.

"You know what, Happy? So am I."

Happy clenched the steering wheel with worry. Christine hadn't told her many details - sponsor/sponsee confidentiality prohibited that - but the woman had said enough to confirm Happy's fears that something was almost definitely wrong with Toby. As soon as she hung up the phone, she'd jumped in her car and started over to their apartment.

When she pulled into the parking lot, she saw a light on in the window that led to their living room, which she took as good sign. He probably wasn't at a casino, at least.

It took her two minutes to get to their front door.

"Toby?" she called as she went in.

There was no one in the living room, but Toby's car keys were on the kitchen counter. She went down the hall and glanced into their bedroom - no one in the unmade bed.

There was a small sliver of light underneath the bathroom door. She walked over and knocked. There was no response, but she heard something inside. She pressed her ear to the door and registered the sound of whimpering reverberating through the wood.

"Toby?" she repeated, and the whimpering got slightly louder.

Her lock-picking kit was at the garage, but for a lock like this she didn't really need it. She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and had the door open in seconds.

Inside, Toby was on the floor, back against the far wall, pressed up against the side of the bathtub. She rushed to him, kneeled beside him, and grasped his hands.

"Toby? Toby, what's wrong?"

He looked at her, eyes red and puffy from crying. "Happy, I was so close."

"What?"

"I was so close."

"Close to what? What are you talking about?"

"Nick - he called me, and I was so close to saying yes."

"Nick? Who's Nick? Toby, I don't understand." She put her hand on his cheek, which was damp and sticky with tears.

He began to sob, and she pulled his head to her chest. She was never good as this, at being comforting, but she tried to think back to how he held her that night when he got back from France. She stroked his back and whispered softly in his ear, hoping it helped.

After ten minutes or so, Toby recovered enough to get the story out, through gasping sobs.

"Nick runs a… poker game. He called me this… morning. He had some rich guys coming… to his game and he wanted me to… come, too. He has one running… right now. And I almost said yes, Happy. I almost said yes."

Her heart sank. Toby didn't talk about his addiction to her much. Sometimes she'd see fragments, little scraps of pain in passing, revealing his daily effort to not gamble. But, for the most part, it was easy to forget how hard it this was for him. It was easy to think of his addiction as something that was decidedly in the past, something they didn't have to deal with anymore. Not the kind of thing that would render her boyfriend a crying mess on the bathroom floor at eleven at night.

"But you didn't say yes, did you?"

He shook his head pitifully. "I locked myself in here to stop myself from going."

Happy hugged him tightly. She was beyond in-over-her-head here, but she tried to imagine what Christine might say if she were there. She had no idea what the standard GA response to a recovering-addict-almost-went-to-a-poker-game kind of situation was, but she decided guessing was better than saying nothing at all.

"Toby, that's really good."

He looked up at her with enough sadness to break her heart. "Good? Happy, you don't understand. I almost went. To a poker game."

Words weren't her thing, but she could tell he needed to hear her talk, hear her explain why he didn't need to kill himself over an almost-relapse. She took a deep breath.

"You almost went but you didn't. Every time you say no, it gets a little easier to say no the next time." She'd never heard that before, but it sounded vaguely like something Christine would say. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do: you didn't gamble."

Toby shakes his head. "No, no, you don't understand."

"I understand that you are sitting here right now instead of at some back-alley poker table."

They went back and forth like that for a while, Toby trying to convince Happy that he had done some terrible wrong and Happy denying it. When they both got too tired to talk anymore, Happy hoisted him up and walked him across the hall, and he collapsed in their bed. She found just enough energy to go over to their dresser and grab two pairs of sweatpants and two shirts for her and him to change into. Then she crawled under the covers next to him. He curled up beside her, still sniffling slightly.

She shifted so that she could wrap her arm around him. She found herself unconsciously grasping onto his shirt tightly, as if trying to hold him there, keep him from leaving her.