Well, ladies and gentlemen, here it is. I've been breaking my head over this story for weeks now and maybe I'm ready for it to see daylight or maybe I'm just sick of nitpicking it, but here it is. Let me remind you that I took massive creative liberties with this thing. I've seen maybe 10% of 6B, probably not even that much. I can count on one hand the amount of scenes I actually watched and I haven't seen a full episode, so believe me, some details are most likely going to be wrong. But you've got to bend the rules a little to make things work sometimes. So, here we are.
I watched the Spoby scenes from 6x20 and then my brain wouldn't shut off. I brainstormed for a week straight and wrote notes down on my phone at odd hours of the night. I ended up writing over 36,000 words. That's insane. But I ended up breaking it up into three different parts and all three will be posted at some point today, because I don't want to keep you hanging and they all go together. Just know that this is most likely one of the most difficult things I've ever written and it's easily one of the things I've worked hardest on.
I own nothing, of course, and this is just where my brain went post-6B. I'm sorry if it's terrible. I'm sorry if you hate it. You can tell me either way. Thank you for supporting me by reading, regardless, and if you choose to review, thank you for that, also. You know I love you all. This story would be here anyway because my muse never shuts the hell up, BUT you guys certainly make it easier. This was very therapeutic. This made me feel light years better once I got it off my chest. I really needed this. And... well... I'm going to stop rambling here. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!
Part One
So I wait for you like
a lonely house,
till you will see me again
and live in me.
Till then my windows ache.
- Pablo Neruda
I.
She's late.
She's never been late a week in her life and she's already stressing over her papers and her exams and whether or not she's going to continue onto graduate school and she doesn't need this right now. She used to have nightmares of porcelain dolls with cracked faces and teeth and bones and skulls caked with dirt and scared yet, you should be, bitch, but now, there's a baby, a screaming, crying, flailing baby, with diapers and bottles and strollers, and parents who are falling apart at the seams. She tells Toby in an ungraceful rant, in the midst of a fight, and all his thoughts die upon his lips and his face grows pale. She's nauseous at the mere thought and she doesn't know why this feels just like the movies; we were so careful, Toby recites in perfect form, and they were, they always have been, and she has no idea how this is happening or why this is happening to them. All in all, she goes through the motions, pees on the stick, waits three minutes. She doesn't have control of her life even now that she does.
He's sitting across the room, stirring coffee. Counterclockwise three times, clockwise three times, counterclockwise three times, clockwise twice, counterclockwise three times, clockwise once. He's counting down, but he's making her even more nervous and she needs him to stop. Instead, he begins to plan their future and with every step, she feels the walls close in on her, the water rise over her head, the thin veil of her successful career slip completely out of reach. And the thing is… Living with Toby is what she's always wanted. Waking up with their limbs pretzeled around one another, curling up on the couch and letting their wanderlust carry them on journeys around the world, staying up long into the night with the excuse of studying but the reality of wanting to be the first face he sees when he gets off work… It all seems like a dream. But the dream is not to be; the dream is instead interjected with an infant and an ocean of regret and resentment in between them. They do not move in together. They break up instead.
The timer hits zero, her phone jingles harshly into the tension and he stays even though they're both crying and broken and have made up their minds. She slides off the bed, runs a hand through her hair and tries to pull herself together. She fails. On the bathroom sink, the test rests innocently, eagerly displaying her results, and she marches toward it to the beat of an unknown execution drum. Her heart is in her throat and she feels as though she's going to vomit, either way. It's smooth and slender and displaying one single, deep blue line. Negative. A sigh of relief escapes her lips and she still finds herself bursting into a fresh set of tears, her sobs echoing off the tile, as Toby knocks twice and enters, sitting down beside her. The coffee's long since abandoned but she still sees it when she looks at his shaking hands (counterclockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise) and he doesn't touch her, doesn't reach for her, and she wishes he would.
I'll move in, he tells her and she's instantly confused. I'll transfer. I'll pick up odd carpentry jobs. I'll go back to school; take some classes online. We can get an apartment near campus. I'll take the baby so you can study. We'll both support you if you do want to go to grad school. I'll get a degree. I'll get a better job. We'll survive. We'll be all right.
And then it hits her- he's reading her reaction all wrong.
Through tears, she shakes her head, tells him it's negative, tells him it was a false alarm, tells him it's done.
They're done.
And the look on his face is what really pushes her over the edge, because he's relieved, yes, but there's something else there, something else that she doesn't feel, something else she hadn't seen in her own face upon receiving the news. There's a bit of disappointment there, right behind the bluest blue of Toby's eyes, that completely unravels her. A small, tiny, almost nonexistent part of him wanted this. And suddenly, it all comes spiraling down and she can't stop picturing Toby crafting a crib from his bare hands, Toby holding her hand through the birth of their child, Toby cutting the umbilical cord and cradling their newborn for the very first time. He's there to read the child bedtime stories, to care for him when he's sick and hold her when she's sad. And it's absolutely shredding her heart because this child had never existed, had never had the chance to come to be, and yet, Toby had already loved it. He had already planned for it and been prepared to drop everything in order to put the child first.
Why hadn't she?
And her heart skips a beat when she looks at Toby, then, or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's deep down; her gut, her uterus, her soul. This is the difference between him and her. This is the root of all their problems. This is the reason they'd broken up, right here, right now. He had been able to do something that the mere thought of doing made her want to crawl under the covers and hide for days.
What is wrong with her?
One day, she'd looked at their relationship and their differences were a mere droplet of water. Today, she looks at them and that water has turned into the Pacific Ocean. He kisses her forehead when he leaves and tells her this doesn't change anything, that he still cares deeply for her, that she can call him and text him whenever she needs to. She nods. She doesn't.
Her stomach hurts all throughout her midterm the next morning and she can't concentrate. She excuses herself to use the restroom and there it is, her period. The logical side of her brain is telling her that this happens to everyone, that stress is a common reason for a late cycle, that pregnancy isn't always the reason for a missed period. But the other side of her brain, the one she'd been brought up not to use, is lancing salt into her wounds because of fucking course this would happen; her body knows better than her mind that she isn't fit to be a mother. Without warning, she begins to cry and she wonders how long she'll be like this, how long it'll take until she can be everything Toby was to herself. She imagines it'll likely last the rest of her life, that the damage of losing someone like him will carry into adulthood and she'll become one of those cynical, man-hating, relationship-phobes who's afraid to get close to someone and have them peel back her layers to reveal the mess she is inside. But even if you do, she reminds herself instantly, her conscience bold and ostentatious, You can't blame Toby for this.
You did this to yourself.
She returns to her exam three minutes before her professor calls for pencils down. In two weeks, when he emails them the results, she fails. She pretends to care.
II.
He's concentrating.
Throwing himself into his work is how he'd gotten through the heartbreak in the first place. He'd taken a page out of her book and reached deep within himself to find the motivation to pursue a higher education. It took him years to complete which should have only occupied a handful of semesters, but he'd had to adjust his schedule to fit that of a police officer by day and night, carpenter on the side. Slowly, he'd begun to mend. Slowly, he'd built a new life for himself and his name had become less of something the people in Rosewood avoided and more of something they sought out whenever they needed help. And slowly, he found himself opening up to the idea of moving on, and before he'd even realized it, he had. And here they are now, thick as thieves, and she makes him so incredibly happy and their relationship is smooth sailing and uncomplicated and he's going to marry her. They're going to live in a beautiful house, they're going to make beautiful babies, they're going to live a beautiful life, happily ever after. He works when he can on the biggest surprise of all, the most difficult and frustrating and hopefully, eventually, rewarding task he's ever taken on and he tears at his hair and swears under his breath because it needs to be perfect. And it's now, on a day like this one, that his world gets flipped on its axis.
It's been four long years, but still, nothing breaks his concentration quite like Spencer Hastings.
He hadn't heard her approach; hell, if you ask him, it seems almost as if she'd appeared out of thin air, as if she'd been here all along. But he senses eyes on his back and the moment he turns around, everything comes rushing back to him, pushing past the barrier he'd spent so long building up. He's seen her a few times since their gut-wrenching separation, but only in passing and they haven't spoken, save for a few birthday wishes and random hellos, here and there. She looks delightfully the same; she's still dressed as perfectly polished and poised as ever, her eyes still sparkle in the glistening sunlight, her smile's just as wide as he imagines his is upon the sight of her. Her hair's a bit different and those worry lines that had been a permanent feature on her face have disappeared, but otherwise, the demanding toll of the nation's capital had not changed her. He tears off his gloves and safety goggles, crosses the ocean of distance between them and pulls her in for a hug. All is well.
There's a moment of silence between them following the acknowledgment of her arrival and he has so many questions, each begging to be asked before their counterparts, but somehow, they never make it past his lips. Feeling overwhelmingly deprived of her company, he has the sudden, desperate urge to take out to lunch, sit her down, and have her relay every last excruciating detail of her life from the moment he left her dorm room four years ago. He'd promised her that very day that he would always be there for her, that he'd always be reachable for moral and emotional support. Call me whenever you need to, he'd said in that twenty-year-old naïve tone of his and they were both crying. Call me and I swear I'll answer. It doesn't matter that we're not… I'll always answer. She hadn't. Eventually, he stopped expecting her to. And upon the morning of his departure, he'd asked her, rather desperately at the time, not to be strangers, and then one day he woke up and realized that's exactly what they were.
"Wow," Spencer says a moment later and he snaps from his daydreaming to realize she's poring over his blueprints. She, too, must've wanted to relieve the insufferable tension. "This is really impressive."
"I, uh," He shrugs and he's never been good at taking compliments, least of all from her. "I just wanted to see if I could do it."
"How's it going?"
"It's harder than I thought. I curse a lot. It's very therapeutic," He replies and wonders if she'll stay in Rosewood a while, if honesty will be their new thing. "How's Washington?"
"Um… I curse a lot," She nods and it makes him grin. "It's very therapeutic."
If he's being honest with her, then he has to be honest with himself as well- she's the whole reason this house is leaving the blueprint stage. She'd once confessed to him about three months, or so, into her college career, that university is the hardest thing she'd ever done. It fascinated him. To him, she was gliding through school without a care in the world, acing her tests, joining extracurricular activities, interning with campaign managers and basically taking Washington D.C. by storm. He'd never suspected, not once, that she was struggling, and he wonders, now, if this is when he started to lose her. But she'd gone out there, she hadn't given up, and she'd persevered and it's one of the most inspiring things he'd ever seen. If Spencer could do it, if Spencer could change the course of her life, then he could too. He could do anything he wanted as long as he never gave up; she'd taught him that. And this house isn't the hardest thing he's ever done- he's already lived through worse- so that's got to count for something.
Something changes in her eyes, then, when he mentions Caleb. She grows a bit jittery, almost nervous, and he has no idea what that means. Once upon a time, he'd known every nervous tick, every sidelong glance, every tilt of her head and he knew a hundred and one ways to right every wrong. He'd prided himself with that. But this Spencer… Well. He doesn't know her at all. And it seems strange, to him, that when he'd talked to Caleb, his meeting with Spencer in D.C. had sounded like a one time thing, an accidental collision of old acquaintances in one of the largest cities in the country. But Spencer speaks as though the two of them are close friends and he finds it quite ironic that when their rocky little circle of friends imploded, she and Caleb were the only two left standing. He can't say he's disappointed, though; Caleb is one of his closest friends and if she hadn't felt comfortable enough opening up to him in times of struggle… Well, at least she'd had someone.
He tries to mend the awkwardness with a joke- we're the brotherhood of ex-boyfriends, we've got to stick together- and only succeeds in making things even more difficult. He should've known.
Her smile fades and her eyes fall to her feet. He never thought, looking back, that this would ever happen to them; that the day would come where he wouldn't remember how to make her laugh or how to cheer her up or what to say, in general. He isn't surprised to know she's back because of Alison and Charlotte; hell, if anything, he's placated, because unlike the two of them, some things never change. It's bittersweet to hear her talk about her three best friends, because he knows they'd lost touch, too, over the passing years and he wouldn't have expected this, either. They'd been close for so long, they'd been through so much, and then, they were nothing. He'll add it to the list of all the things that just aren't right, just aren't fair, under the circumstances. And this conversation is good, it's something, but it's small talk and all the questions he'd wanted to ask her still haven't made their way to the surface. So he does what his subconscious is telling him not to do- he asks her to dinner. A light ignites behind the warmest amber of her eyes as she hastily agrees and he tries to ignore the burgeoning excitement in his stomach.
He smiles. She smiles, too. And then she's gone.
Or, so he thinks. "Toby?"
He turns back and the look on her face is inquisitive and familiar. It's the most he's recognized her all afternoon. "Who are you building the house for?"
Defensively, he shrugs, "What makes you think I'm building it for somebody?"
"Because I know you," Her voice comes to him like a whisper, a combination of their turbulent past, their empty present, their unknown future.
And, not for the first time, Spencer Hastings leaves him inexplicably impressed, because while he hadn't been able to place a finger on her thoughts, she was already reading his like Braille.
III.
They're heading for deeper waters. They're past the point of no return.
He makes her feel happy like she hasn't felt in years. One moment, Spencer looked at Caleb and there was nothing and the next, there was something. She feels like a schoolgirl having a crush on someone she knows she probably shouldn't and her conscience is there, screaming at the top of its lungs, Hanna Marin is your best friend. It's hard to ignore but somehow, she does it. She finds it easier to focus on how he makes her feel rather than what he doesn't. He makes her feel wanted. He makes her feel carefree. He makes her feel numb, but in a good way, a way where nothing can touch her; not pain or stress or heartache. He makes her feel alive with the possibility of a new beginning even though she's back where it all started, living the everyday déjà vu. She knows it's wrong on so many levels; she knows, deep down, she's only hurting everyone she's ever cared about in the process. But he makes her feel like none of this matters.
However-
The campaign manager is speaking German or Polish or gibberish; he isn't, but he may as well be, because Spencer can't understand a word he's saying the moment she spots Toby out of the corner of her eye.
He's holding an engagement ring. She knows he knows she saw it.
It feels like being stabbed repeatedly in the chest. It feels like being hit by a freight train. It feels like blowing her brains out. It feels like she's slowly dying and only he is getting the happy ending and she should've seen this coming, really, because Toby was only ever going to get a happy ending so long as he's not with her. And everything comes racing back to her the moment she sees that ring and she cannot stop it. I love you so much I wanted to say that first pretending not to love you was the hardest thing I've ever done if we had a real baby what would it look like I'm picturing a newborn with a six-pack I do know how to make flan why am I not surprised mind if I stay here for a while everything I've done was so I could protect you I was tired of not being able to protect the one person in this world who matters most to me you are my once upon a time do me a favor if you ever get the urge to run away again call me first okay you're taking me with you and we're never coming back I wrote it about you-
And it hurts. It hurts so much. And Caleb's never made her feel like this.
She doesn't know if this is a good sign or a bad one.
IV.
He knows.
The moment Caleb approaches him, the hesitant look in his eyes gives him away. It all makes sense, now; the way his usually social best friend suddenly avoids him, the strange, jittery way Spencer had reacted to his bringing Caleb up in conversation, and everything in between. So maybe he's a masochist, maybe he needs to hear it out loud, maybe he's so used to the pain that when it isn't out in the open, he needs to instigate it, but he makes Caleb say it. And the thing is, he's wholly and irrevocably happy and in love with Yvonne. He's lucky he found her; she's bubbly and driven and smart as a whip and their relationship is what's keeping him going, these days. He's moved on. He's given himself over completely to another person and another wonderful person, so he's okay. Really. This combined with the part of him that needs to hear it from his friend's mouth is what eventually prompts him to shake an answer out of Caleb.
"It's Spencer."
"Oh," Toby finds himself saying because he'd known all along and still, it aches. "How does she feel about it?"
"I think the same."
"Well if it's what you both want, then it's not complicated."
But inside, he's screaming. He tries not to. He tries to put his friend and his ex-girlfriend's happiness above all else. They're moving on just like you did, he tells himself over and over until Caleb leaves him behind. If they're happy, you're happy. And he is, really. Why wouldn't he be happy? This is what he contemplates the rest of the afternoon. What reason would there be for him to wish ill on two of the people he cares most about? His brain kicks into overdrive and all of a sudden, explodes with reasons. These reasons continue to pile on, long after he's left, long into his dinner with Yvonne, long after they've gone to sleep. He lies awake, trying desperately not to think of Spencer and Caleb, and even more so, Spencer and Caleb together, and he begs his mind for a break. The question remains- why wouldn't he be happy? He's my best friend, he pleads with himself before slipping into a restless sleep.
Somewhere, deep down, his conscience shouts back, Exactly.
V.
They're engaged.
They're engaged and they're coming her way.
She begins to practice her opening statements, congratulations and well wishes under her breath, but she can't find a way to phrase them without sounding completely pretentious and sarcastic. Instead, she pastes on a smile and sticks a hand out in greeting before her friendly gesture is bypassed and Yvonne collects her in a hug. It takes Spencer by surprise but it placates her just a bit; she knows how introverted and sensitive and softhearted Toby can be and she's glad he's marrying a hugger. She's excitable and seems genuinely interested in meeting her and Spencer's only slightly on edge when she mentions how much Toby's told her; she may need to shake that information out of her a little later. But in these early interactions with Yvonne, Spencer notices two things- she's completely impressed by how put together, intelligent and likeable Yvonne is, and she sees absolutely nothing in Yvonne that she can compare to herself.
Oh, and a third thing- her left ring finger is entirely bare.
(And a fourth thing- it's absolutely killing her to see how fondly Toby's looking at her and a fifth thing- those little inside jokes used to be their inside jokes and a sixth thing- Toby doesn't like Rosewood, either, and she wonders how much Yvonne knows about what's happened to him here and a seventh thing- she's definitely a crazy ex-girlfriend stalker if they've ever seen one and an eighth thing- this is much, much harder than she'd ever thought)
"It's a small town," Toby shrugs a moment later. "We're going to run into each other."
"So you didn't propose?" Spencer asks and she doesn't know why. He clearly hadn't and really, was it any of her business why not?
"Officer Toby?" Yvonne calls sweetly. "Could you help me out with this?"
And he does. He walks away from her and she's left standing in the middle of the street, their unfinished conversation lingering in the air around her.
Yvonne calls out a goodbye and Spencer grins back, unable to hate her despite the fact that a part of her had really, really wanted to.
VI.
Somehow, she ends up back here again.
She isn't surprised; she's always been an addict and one shot of Toby being back in her life hadn't been enough to satiate her.
He looks less than thrilled that she's paying him a visit and, honestly, she doesn't know why he would be. She tries a joke on for size but she should have learned from when he did it that they're not quite there yet. "So you're pulling a Toby?"
"Spence, we're not an us anymore," He tells her simply. "You don't get to weigh in on my life."
It hurts more than it probably should and they're both with different people and she knows this. But she immediately gets defensive. "I just thought that we'd found a way to be friends."
"Honestly?" He shrugs. "It was a lot easier being your friend when you lived in D.C."
And there it is, the inevitable truth she'd been hesitant to acknowledge. She is the very reason he hadn't proposed to Yvonne and she's been back a handful of weeks and she's already ruining things for him. It angers her and maybe she takes this out on the wrong person. "Toby, you know that I can't go anywhere right now, okay? The cops are asking us a hundred questions and I am really helping my mom with this campaign."
Toby sighs. "I get it, Spence."
Just like that, all the guilt and irritation and frustration she'd expressed melt away. Spence. It's been so long since she's heard that come from his mouth and it brings a grin to her own. She feels seventeen again and if this truck were their truck, she's sure any minute now they'd jump in, drive to the lookout point and kiss under the stars, promising to love each other through anything. It makes her sappy and sad and nostalgic. "Why is it so easy to fall back into old habits?"
"They're hard to give up," Toby tells her honestly and his eyes have never been so blue and pure. "That's what makes them habits."
Throughout their relationship, he'd praised her brilliance, he'd been impressed by her intelligence, he'd joked about how there was seemingly nothing she didn't know how to do. He'd always believed her to be the genius, but Spencer disagrees, and in this moment, she knows it's true.
Toby Cavanaugh is far wiser than she could ever hope to be.
VII.
It's not strange.
Honestly, he'd been expecting it to be; seeing your current girlfriend have a running conversation with your ex-girlfriend just always seemed like something he hadn't wanted to be a part of and it is the very situation that fuels many a competitive, domineering scene in television and movies, but Yvonne and Spencer are professionals. He watches from afar as Yvonne's face lights up at something Spencer's said and the two share in laughter before being pulled apart for separate activities. Yvonne's eyes seek his out and she grins at him, seeking to pacify him with an unspoken message of, See? And you were worried. It's all good. Toby nods and grins back. But it's Spencer who approaches him a moment later, a somewhat impressed, somewhat complacent look upon her face and when he shoots her a questioning glance, the truth comes out of her.
"I like her."
This, he wasn't expecting. It isn't that he thinks Spencer's petty, but he knows she's difficult to impress. "She's one of a kind."
"I'll stay out of your way, okay?" Spencer proposes. "I promise."
And that's when he feels it. This conversation is beginning to suffocate him, as is the mere idea of her staying put in Rosewood forever. Because he physically had to fight the urge to tell her staying out of his way wouldn't be necessary, that they could figure this out, that they could actually give this whole 'friends' thing a try. This is a conversation they should have never had to have; he should have proposed to Yvonne when he had the chance and not let leftover, cast aside feelings that he hadn't thought of in years get the best of him. It's because she's here, in Rosewood, standing in front of him with that look upon her face, and in desperation, he asks if she'll be returning to D.C. She nods her answer; they want her back as soon as they know the fate of her mother's election. This answer should appease him but it only brings him more uneasiness. He needs her gone if he ever wants to have his life back again. But does he really want her to go?
Do either of them really want to hear the answer to that question?
Toby pushes those thoughts from his head and heads over to Yvonne with a smile on his face. It wasn't strange.
But it is now.
VIII.
He's livid.
He's white-knuckling the steering wheel as he drives to the Hastings' house, easily doing fifteen over the speed limit and blowing through stop signs. Toby isn't sure he's ever been this angry; his heart's pounding against the cage of his chest, his blood's racing with adrenaline through his veins, he's sure he'd have a coronary if the thought of hearing the truth from the horse's mouth wasn't keeping him alive. He pounds on the back door and Spencer answers, the truth all over her face, and for just a second, his anger turns into disappointment. He rants endlessly about all the things he can't express to anyone else, how he was sure he knew the kind of person Caleb was, and he can tell that Spencer doesn't know what to believe, but she's trying desperately to calm him down. He fights to keep his voice even, but the thought of Yvonne being exposed to that kind of pain boils his blood. She's innocent; he'd expect this to happen to himself or to Caleb or any of the girls, but not her. She's never done anything wrong. And he can't get Spencer to see that no matter how hard he tries.
And then he sees him. He's fucking fuming.
There's a half second's pause in which Toby's expecting Caleb to come up with an excuse and when he doesn't, Toby's hands are at his neck.
"I want to hear it from you!" He shouts and can barely register Spencer clawing at his body to attempt to pry them apart. "I want to hear it from your mouth why you did this!"
"Toby, stop!" Spencer shouts and pushes her way in between them. "Caleb, tell him!"
Caleb shrugs, unfazed, and this is what gets Toby, what pushes him over the edge. "I did what I had to do."
His fist collides with Caleb's face before he can even register what he's doing. Caleb crumples to the floor, blood bursting from his nose as Spencer's eyes widen and she exclaims in surprise. Toby regrets nothing. He wishes he did; he wishes he were still that person who believed violence is never the answer, but that person's long gone. His hand stings and he glances at both of them with disdain, shaking his head. Neither of the two people on the floor before him are people he recognizes; Caleb, for taking everything away from him, and Spencer, for allowing him to. She glances up at him and she's looking at him like she can't possibly fathom what's just happened. And maybe they're finally on even ground now, because he hasn't recognized her since she's been back and at last, here he is, completely unrecognizable to her.
He ices his hand when he gets home and still, he regrets nothing.
He tries to pretend it had all been about Yvonne.
IX.
He's stirring coffee when Spencer arrives at The Brew and it nearly kills her.
Counterclockwise, counterclockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, clockwise.
He looks like he'd rather run a marathon through the pits of hell than be here with her, but he sits down beside her anyway. Through a painful litany and against all her better judgment, Spencer tells him that Caleb is not to blame, that someone is back calling all of –A's old shots, and that unfortunately for Toby, Yvonne had merely been collateral damage. He looks slightly less irritated, but she doesn't expect there to be any more fishing trips in his and Caleb's future. In the silence that follows, Spencer begs her mouth to speak the words her brain is attempting to force out. She wants to apologize- she feels like she's always apologizing, these days- but for what, she cannot narrow it down. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what happened to her. I'm sorry she got caught up in our mess. I'm sorry for ending things with you when I couldn't take the struggle. I'm sorry I didn't want the baby we almost had when you clearly did. I'm sorry I chose Caleb over you. I'm sorry I never have my shit together long enough to say any of this to your face.
She doesn't get the chance. He asks, "How are you? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm okay," She nods and a lump forms in her throat and betrays her lie. "I just, um… I really couldn't have you thinking that I would ever judge Yvonne for making that choice."
He glances up, meets her eyes, because yeah, they're going there. Toby remains speechless as Spencer adds, "Not after… You and I… almost had to make that choice."
"Yeah," Toby manages to say softly. "I, uh… I gotta go."
Tears form in her eyes and she wishes he'd stay. She knows he can't. "How's Yvonne?"
"She's been amazing. Just really strong. I guess I have a type," He tells her and pretends he doesn't see as the tears fall from her eyes. "Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You too."
She watches him go and only one thought races through her mind:
She and Yvonne have more in common than she'd previously thought.
X.
She cries and it nearly kills him.
"I just, um…" Spencer says and something about her voice lets him know she's on the verge of tears. It physically aches that this is something he recognizes. This has remained unchanged. "I really couldn't have you thinking that I would ever judge Yvonne for making that choice."
Toby frowns and is reminded of instant coffee, ticking time bombs, tears echoing off dorm room walls. "Not after… You and I… almost had to make that choice."
And there they are- two salty, porcelain tears raining down the soft contours of her cheeks. It takes everything in him not to swipe them away, collect her in his arms, remind her that nothing had been her fault. So much is swimming at the forefront of his brain, and he's still so, so mind-numbingly angry with Caleb, but somehow, he can't stay mad at her. Maybe he should; maybe if he did, it would make this entire thing much easier to handle. But there's so much between them and so much left unsaid. He pleads with his mind to let it go, but his thoughts are racing with all the things he'll never tell her. I'm sorry I didn't visit more often. I'm sorry I worked too late most nights to call you back. I'm sorry I didn't assure you enough that I loved you. I'm sorry I didn't make more of a case for having a baby. I'm sorry I didn't prove that we were going to be okay; I'm sorry I only told you. I'm sorry you felt like you were alone when I'd promised you wouldn't be. I'm sorry I couldn't be enough.
If he stays, if he watches her cry any longer, he'll likely lose it, himself. So he tells her, "I gotta go."
And she nods, asks after Yvonne, and he can tell, in her own sorrow, she's being genuine. He wants so desperately to do something, but he can't bring himself to. Instead, Toby insists, "Take care of yourself, okay?"
She nods and he hopes she does. He doesn't trust that Caleb will.
XI.
She tells him she loves him and he doesn't return the sentiment.
He shoots her half a smile, chuckles nervously, and shakes his head instead. Something flickers behind his eyes, like a soft wind teasing the flame of a candle, like he's searching in vain for an exit, like, in panic mode, he hits the big red button. Emergency stop. She lets him off the hook and he flees. She pretends not to notice the sigh of relief, the darting of his eyes, the beads of sweat, cold and nervous, upon his brow. She pretends until she cannot and it sticks with her as she gets dressed, talks with her father, and goes about her day. She's meeting with Toby and Caleb had acted all oddly possessive about it and she's never had that before and she can't say she'd enjoyed it. If he'd felt that strongly about her meeting with her ex, an ex that simultaneously is his best friend, surely he had some feelings for her, right? Still, the way he'd acted upon her confession had brought all the feelings back, all the feelings she'd tried to ignore back when they'd first begun doing… well, whatever it is they're doing. She had, at the time, pushed her conscience aside and focused on how Caleb makes her feel, but now, she can't help but see how he doesn't.
He doesn't make her feel safe. He doesn't make her feel loved. He doesn't make her feel needed. He doesn't make her feel nurtured or important or intelligent. She'd told him she loved him and he'd responded with an empty vacancy she hadn't expected and she wonders why. Why had he reacted this way? Why had she told him she loved him in the first place? Why does she love him at all? It makes her question everything she's done over the past few weeks. She's likely destroyed the future of her friendship with all three of them; Caleb, Hanna and Toby alike. Why had she even gotten herself into this? It upsets her to think this way, but she wonders if the danger, if the knowing feeling that she was doing something wrong, is the whole reason she'd pursued Caleb in the first place. Spencer has always been expected to be straitlaced and perhaps, in a fit of defiance, she'd searched for someone or something that would make her forget this prim and proper version of herself. She wonders if she really loves him or she just loves the idea of him, the danger surrounding their relationship, the aspect that most people, when they looked at the two of them, thought it was wrong. It replays on a loop in her brain; she tells him she loves him and he says nothing. She tells him she loves him and he doesn't repeat it.
She tells him she loves him and knows it's already over.
XII.
She's pretty sure she's drooling and she needs to get her life together.
Toby is sitting beside her, in glasses. Not only is he sitting beside her, in glasses, but he's sitting beside her, in glasses, speaking French. If this were four years ago, she would be on top of him by now. But it isn't. And even though she had told Caleb she loved him (and he hadn't said it back) and had been crushed upon the realization that maybe she and Caleb weren't as great together as she'd previously thought, she knows Toby and Yvonne still are. This is merely just old friends, reconnecting. He hasn't brought up the fact that the last time they spoke, she'd cried beside him and he'd awkwardly pretended not to notice, and she's grateful. Instead, they work out a plan to catch the new threat in the act and Spencer's trying hard to forget he'd called her a good teacher and they're sleuthing just like old times.
When she brings them each a cup of coffee, his hands brush hers and she can almost see the sparks of electricity between them.
She can't concentrate. And four years ago, she wouldn't have been surprised; no one breaks her focus quite like Toby Cavanaugh, after all. But she doesn't know where this is coming from. A month ago, she barely knew him; everything they'd shared in the past had been nothing but a memory. But something about being back here, in Rosewood, fighting the same, tired fight she's been struggling with all her life, is bringing back some of the fonder memories she'd had here, as well. It still makes her uneasy that Toby's been roped into this all over again; it was the last thing she wanted, especially after learning he'd made a real name for himself and had moved on so expertly from her. That porcelain doll from years and years ago comes back to haunt her; keep Toby safe! She wishes, more than anything, that she could.
"… that way, when we're down there, she won't be able to get back in."
This shocks her out of her own misery. "We?"
"Yeah," He says like it's obvious and, knowing him, it probably should've been. "I'm not going to let you do this alone."
She supposes an argument is futile, but she tries anyway. "I don't want to mess things up for you and Yvonne."
She means this with all of her heart and hopes Toby realizes it. He sighs and says, "I don't either, but if you want to find out what's in this room, we're going to do this together."
We're going to do this together.
It aches. But it's a good ache.
XIII.
"It's a favor for a friend."
"So it's not something you're taking care of, it's someone. Would her name be Spencer?"
He already feels incredibly guilty for this and she certainly isn't making it any better. Never in a million years had he expected the words –A is back to come out of Spencer's mouth, but he supposes he should have, given her track record. And whether Yvonne likes it or not, this was every bit as much of his past as it was Spencer's. Sure, he doesn't have to help her, but he knows what happens to any of the girls when they think they can take matters into their own hands and he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to them. It's the truth. It doesn't have anything to do anything else. And he has to believe this himself before he can convince Yvonne to believe it too.
"I don't want to lie to you, Yvonne, so please don't ask me again," Toby begs her and hopes she'll understand.
She doesn't. "Do you hear how that sounds? A month ago we were having conversations about building a future together. And now you can't even answer a simple question."
"I know," Toby replies. "I'm sorry."
And he is, really, because he loves this girl so much and he appreciates the bright ray of sunshine she is on his otherwise very dull life. She'd come to him when he'd least expected it and had helped him move past his heartbreak in a time when he'd desperately needed it. Just weeks ago, they were planning for the future, it's true; the house he'd been keeping secret from her to become their home, the wedding of their dreams after he finally worked up the courage to propose to her, and children they would have that would bear his name and all her features. But now, he can still see everything they'd talked about like a photograph, but it's blurry in the center, fuzzy around the edges. It's no secret she still sees this clear as day, but Toby's not so sure anymore. His own words come back to haunt him; when we're picturing our future together, we're not looking at the same picture anymore.
Before he can make things right, Yvonne stands to leave. "I have to get back to work."
"Yvonne, wait, I-"
"I won't let you turn me into the woman who says pick me, not her," Yvonne vows and it sticks with Toby all night.
Once upon a time, Toby ruined his relationship and lost the love of his life.
Once upon a time, history repeated itself.
XIV.
"I can do it."
"You remember how to use a power saw?"
"I had a good teacher."
She yanks the cord, powers up the saw and shoots him a smile. Toby grins back and watches a while as she makes a clean slice right through the plywood, with perfect form, just as he'd instructed. Something about this small action means everything in the world to him. He can't quite place a finger on it just yet, but she completes her task in record time as he's still staring and hasn't begun his. She glances at him, shoots him a strange sort of smile, and he shrugs; he could write an essay on the millions of feelings he's repressed for Spencer Hastings, but he's sure he doesn't need to. They're probably all over his face. After a beat, there's a clanking sound from down the hall and Spencer nods towards the far wall, a light bouncing. He should have expected this; danger and destruction follow everything they do, after all. He whips his gun from the waistband of his jeans and Spencer's eyes are saucers immediately upon the sight of it.
"Oh my God," She whispers harshly. "You brought your gun?"
"Get behind me," He orders and she does, no questions asked.
She still trusts him with her life and he doesn't quite know how to take this.
XV.
"Can I have your attention please? Quiet down, everyone," Her father announces and the room silences for a moment. "I would like to introduce you to your new state senator, Veronica Hastings!"
The crowd erupts in cheers and applause and her mother has never looked happier. Spencer beams and beside her, Toby offers, "Hey. Congratulations."
"Thank you," Spencer replies sincerely and has to fight the urge to ask him why he's with her and not with Yvonne. Her mother had won, yes, but this only means that Yvonne's had not. "I really cannot thank you enough for all the help you gave me tonight."
But before he can reply, her phone jingles and Aria lets her in on the devastating news and she's out of there before she can blink. She doesn't expect him to follow, but she's glad when he does. Mona's on their tail and if she cared in the least bit, she'd do something about it, but they arrive on scene and there's nothing more to be said. Caleb jumps to his feet when she arrives and she tries very hard not to think of the events that had transpired between them while her subconscious pushes them forward (you told him you loved him, he didn't say it back, he didn't say anything, he walked away). He collects her in a hug for just a moment, not even long enough for her to register it as an embrace, before he's shoving her at arms length away from him, anger and venom in his words.
"Why the hell did you bring her here?" He screams and she just stares at him in suspended shock because A- she has no idea what he's talking about and B- he's never yelled at her before.
"No, no, no," Toby's quick to assure, quick to smooth things over. "We didn't."
"I followed them," Mona rolls her eyes and all's right again.
Except, it isn't, not really. Hanna's gone and they have no idea where she is or who took her and Caleb had screamed at her for no apparent reason. Spencer tries to pull her attention back to the situation at hand, back on her best friend who's missing, back on literally anything else, but she can't. She feels like a child being scolded, she feels like she's been humiliated in front of everyone she knows, she feels like she's been beaten down when she already wasn't in the best place to begin with. She glances at Caleb and he won't even look at her. It hurts. It hurts and she doesn't what she possibly did that could make him so angry with her, but if she had any hope she was going to get that 'I love you' returned, it's gone by the wayside, now. Aria glances at her and glances away, secondhand embarrassment all over her face. Mona does the same. The others try to pretend it hadn't happened. Spencer remains silent, her open wound bleeding with no one to staunch it.
Finally she chances a look at Toby and regrets it when she does.
He's got a mixture of confusion and resentment and sympathy on his face. When she dares to meet his eyes, he conveys, I'm sorry. It's going to be all right.
And maybe it's all in her head, but she also sees, I would never have yelled at you like that.
Maybe she imagines this. Maybe it's in her head.
But that doesn't make it any less true.
