Chapter Text
“--Because scary things are always silent. Where’s the logic in that?” Sly’s voice was cut off by his scream. The sound coming through Happy’s comm was suddenly thrown into a cacophony of Cabe’s yells, Paige’s gasps, and the shuffling of feet and one sound that her trained ears zeroed in on in a fraction of a second and never forgot: a short yelp, a sickly crack, and a dull thud, in such rapid procession that they could barely be distinguished. And then Walter’s voice, confirming all her worst fears: “Toby!”
And that was all it took. Toby’s neck had snapped on impact. The next few days were a blur for Happy but her memory retained flashes. The sounds of the mission being finished grimly and quickly, the bat medicine being released, and the soft grunts of Cabe as he slowly carried Toby’s body out of the caves. She had vague images a suddenly somber Ralph bringing her water and food and talking grimly about the need for her to sustain herself until the others arrived. The face of the stern USCIS case worker who was surprisingly sympathetic to their grief and left them alone for a few weeks, never laying eyes on the awful Halloween album. Toby’s face so calm in his coffin. So unlike him. So still. So…
“Toby!” This time it was Happy’s own voice that hoarsely yelled the name of the dead as she sat straight up in bed. Happy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had woken from nightmares before but rarely did they bleed into reality enough to make her yell herself awake. Movement on her right made her jump and her body tensed until she remembered that she and Walter still reluctantly shared a bed. It felt pointless now to try to prove their marriage true since Toby was—but they had started the ball rolling and there was no going back; their case worker, Linehan, wasn’t going to give them space to grieve forever. Either they convinced the government that they were happily married or Walter was deported to Ireland and Happy charged with fraud. Happy scooted an inch or two back toward her side of the bed and hoped that Walter had just been shifting in his sleep.
No luck, Walter’s face lifted from his pillow and into a shaft of light. “Happy? Are you okay?”
Looking down at her hands, still clutching at the comforter, Happy realized she was trembling. She swallowed hard. “I’m fine, Walter. Sorry to wake you.”
Even Walter could probably tell she was lying about being fine, but he just nodded and settled back under the covers, turning his back to Happy to give her privacy for which she was extremely grateful. He had seen her cry, he had grieved himself, he had survived her week of extreme anger and the subsequent breakdown, and now there was nothing left to be done now but live anyway. And so Walter had let her. While others walked on eggshells, Happy’s boss had never left her in want of distracting and difficult work. Toby’s things were packed away quickly; Happy’s perfect memory wouldn’t need physical reminders of her pain. Walter gave her space. Gave her time. And had not been afraid to speak Toby’s name like it would unleash floodgates. So when Walter turned away from her shaking figure, it was just another in a long line of evidences proving that he understood what Happy needed more than anyone else did.
Happy glanced over at the clock—it shone 2:16 in the darkness. She could get up and try to lose herself in one of the unfinished projects laying around her work area, or she could lay back down and let her body at least be horizontal a little longer. Either way, her mind would be tortured by thoughts of Toby and her eyes would be bloodshot by morning—there was no getting around that. However, the adrenaline from the nightmare was starting to wear off and her limbs were starting to feel heavier. She could force herself up like so many nights before but, after so many nights of so little sleep, Happy just didn’t have the physical energy to do it again. She scooted back down under the covers and closed her eyes, rebuilding her motorcycle engine in her head to try to keep her mind off her ever-present grief and away from nightmare territory.
She had just finished mentally screwing on the oil cap when a quiet mutter came from the other side of the queen bed. “Hey, Happy?”
“Yeah?”
“Sleep well.”
Happy couldn’t help her wry chuckle. However, it was Walter’s way of trying to give her a little bit of comfort after her nightmare without smothering her. “Thanks, Walt.” She muttered and turned onto her side, placing engine parts with her mind until her deprived body betrayed her into the darkness of slumber.