AN: Soooo this is something I wrote months ago, during hiatus. Or rather, I started. I didn't even realize I'd finished it until the other day, lol.
When the show came back, I was too nervous on whether Yvonne would live or die and it sucked all the motive I had to write and then. . . well, we know what happened. . .
Anyways, this is set anywhere between 7x07 and 7x10.
Thank you again to all my loyal readers. You guys mean the absolute world to me. Thank you for understanding when I take 1029492 years and for never holding it against me. I love you all.
He was dead. That was what the loud, invasive, penetrating voice in her head screamed out, over and over again. Until her ears felt like they were bloody and on fire and pulsing so paralyzingly harsh. Until she was sure she would never heard another renaissance for as long as she lived. Until she could no longer feel a single atom of her body, could no longer feel the forest floor underneath her, could no longer feel the chilly night's air freezing her sickeningly pale skin.
The one person in this world, who had taught her how to love, who had taught her she deserved love, that had taught her what love looked like, was lying on the ground before her, still as a portrait, and lifeless as a corpse.
That's all that was left of him now. A corpse. An empty shell of the blue-eyed boy who had been her safe haven, from the violent storms that ripped her life apart at the seams.
Except he didn't love her. He wasn't the person she thought he was, and at the thought, she heard a loud sob expel itself from deep within her core, but she didn't give it permission, she didn't anticipate it, and more than anything, she didn't feel it.
She doubted she'd ever be able to feel anything again. She doubted there was a way to pull all the pieces of her fractured heart and mind sufficiently back together.
Toby, was all she could think. The name, the image, the feeling of him. The way it felt when he wrapped his arms around her, when he kissed her softly, when he laughed at whatever sarcastic, witty remark she had presented him with.
This was it. This was all she ever was. The love he'd shown her, the purity of his soul, the hope he'd unknowingly gave her, somehow had merged into the very lining of her soul and, now, without him, she felt herself fading as well.
Toby, was all she thought. The boy who she had loved recklessly and whole heartedly and without reservations and the way you could only ever love your first love.
How was it possible that person had never really existed?
Or had he? Had he been faking his status as one on the dark side? Had he donned that black hoodie in loyalty to her? Had he loved her as much as he swore? Had she been right in believing in him, believing there was nothing in this world that could prove he had forged his feelings for her, believing that it was impossible to wake up one day and stop loving someone?
Had she gotten him killed?
Toby, was all she could ever bear to process. The name, the smile, the protective words and the bright, water blue eyes.
She could feel her own self slipping away, and instinctually, she clung to the memory of him, the memory of his golden brown hair, his solid chest, his black as night tattoo, his warmth, his smell of sawdust and cinnamon, his altruistic heart that had always pulled her back when she felt lost without an atlas.
She could feel his shirts on her back, his lips on her neck, his eyes boring deep into the pits of her soul. She could feel him brushing her hair back when she was upset, him rubbing her shoulder when she was tense, him tugging her into his arms when she scared. She could no longer feel her own body, but she could feel every essence of his being effortlessly.
Toby, was all she could focus on. His light, his strength, his accomplishments, his forgiveness, his intuition.
She could remember his name long after she'd forgotten her own.
And then she woke up.
She heard a raucous, breathless gasp followed by a strangled sob. She heard someone gag, their throat frantically choking, attempting to hold back bile. She heard the slamming of a glass falling over against the wooden nightstand and she realized in an instant, all those sounds were coming straight from her.
How is it possible that even five years-and ten months, one week and three days-after the fact, that night could still bring her to her knees. Still drive her to the brink of insanity. Still shatter every piece of her heart, identical to the first time she'd lived through it.
Of course, this wasn't the first time she had nightmares about that night. She had suffered from recollections and visions of sitting in the woods, helplessly screaming her heart out, screaming out the name of the supposedly dead boy who she had loved with every fiber of her being, screaming until her voice died and her sanity along with it.
It was the only reason Toby had ever even known about what she went through that night.
After their reconciliation in the Edgewood Motor-Court, after he'd broken down and she had felt her own walls crumble and they'd allowed the love they so blindly believed in to encompass them whole, after that night, Spencer had viciously and adamantly refused to go into depth about finding his dead body.
It had worked, for the most part. For a short time, at least. Toby knew it was a sore subject. He knew her like the back of his hand. He knew every facet of her mind, every nuance and change in her demeanor. He knew she couldn't talk about what had happened to her in those woods. What it had done to her, to believe he was never again coming home.
He knew not to push her, that it could force her to relinquish what little control she had somehow grasped again, that it could irreparably damage her mental health, that it could rip open her still bleeding heart all over again, like having stitches pulled out of a fresh stab wound.
But all that went out the window when he stayed the night and witnessed his girlfriend in unparalleled terror and hysteria. He had seen her frantic tears, her harsh sobs and violent screaming and brutal thrashing and had known then exactly what his actions had put her through.
And, despite the complete envelopment of guilt and self-hatred, he had been ridiculously good at bringing her back to reality, at comforting her storm, at wiping away any traces of anxiety welled up inside her.
He had held her and soothed her and let her cry herself out against his shirt. His arms had created a cage of protection that she had never known from anywhere else and his lips danced over her wet, tear stained face, into her hairline, the crown of her head, the side of her neck, her shoulder, anywhere he could reach. He held her, unflinchingly, until she pulled back and apologized for alarming him.
After the third time it happened, after he had witnessed such an upset in the person he loved most in the world, not once, not twice, but three times, Spencer knew she had to tell him what was happening inside her head that was rupturing both their hearts.
He had been patient and supportive, listening tentatively, stroking her hair and silently rubbing her back as his arm lay, flung across her hip. He never asked her to share more than she was comfortable and never failed to beg for forgiveness, his own eyes always swarm with tears.
The last time she had a nightmare about that night, she was a sophomore in college. They were already falling apart, their relationship breaking up fraction by fraction, their paths splintering off. And yet, when she called him in a frenzy at two in the morning, by every definition bawling her eyes out and scaring the living shit out of both him and her roommate, he hadn't hesitated for a second to drive down. Without a doubt, he broke every speed limit, he had to call in sick to work, he only acquired three hours of sleep, but there was nothing in this world that could stop him from rushing to her, from rocking her back and forth until she could breathe again, from kissing her and furiously trying with every part of him to steal her pain away. Just like every other time before, he had held her until she decided to let go. He had always said that it was his fault she had to suffer from these dreams, that all the other pain and traumas she'd endured had been caused by someone else, but this one was entirely on him and that he would always be there to fix it, as long as she still needed him.
He had been her anchor, her support system, her strength, her safe place to land.
She needed him now. Every inch of her body ached for him desperately, knowing that until she saw him, until she heard his voice, she would never been able to relax, never be able to stop the shaking, stop the tears, stop the anxiety from overtaking her entire being. She'd never be able to truly believe that he was still alive, out there, living, breathing, functioning, until she heard his voice firsthand.
Without thinking twice about it, without truly considering the repercussions for once, she grasped her cell phone, still reeling from the harrowing nightmare and dialed his number from memory.
It rang once, twice, three times, four. Just when she was sure it was about to go to voicemail, she heard a low and exhausted, "Spencer?" on the other end.
She shut her eyes, knowing already this was a bad idea, that she had no business seeking out his comfort when he was engaged to someone else, that this wasn't his problem anymore. She wasn't his problem anymore.
But, before she found the courage to hang up, Toby recognized the familiar raggedness to her breathing. He recognized the similar hour of the night and déjà vu must have hit him like a semi-truck because the next words flew out of his mouth instantaneously. "You had the dream again, didn't you?"
A tattered sob fell out of her mouth without warning. "Yes," she whispered thickly.
"Everything's okay. I'm here, Spencer," he promised and his tone slipped backwards in time three years. He still remembered the exact words she needed to hear, to force her brain into accepting what she had witnessed had been a set up. That she had been lied to, in an attempt to break her apart, like a real life Humpty Dumpty. That the man she had fallen head over heels in love with wasn't the same one that laid on the forest floor, the life stolen from his body.
His voice, his soft tenor, brought her back to reality once again. "I'm alive. You just had a nightmare of someone playing a malicious mind game. I wasn't in the woods that night," he swore, and she could hear him standing up, could make out his footfalls against the ground and it dawned on her he was leaving the room that he shared with Yvonne, so not to wake her.
Remorse filled her entire body, almost as prominent as the embarrassment she felt for calling at this heinous hour a man who had a fiancé. "Toby," she blurted, shutting her eyes at her own stupidity, revving up to tell him how sorry she was for bothering him.
Before she could though, the cop cut her off, his mind on a completely different track. "Is this the first time you've had the nightmare?" He asked, his voice still consumed with concern. "Since we. . . you know. . ."
She swallowed hard, bringing up her hand now to furiously scrub away the tears still left on her face. "Yeah. I don't know what triggered it, but. . ." She sighed, words escaping her as well.
She hated this. She hated how the person she loved more than she even loved herself, the person whose death, even inside a nightmare, still left her more shaken than any dream of being stalked or chased by an ominous black hoodie, the person who had shown her what it meant to love someone unconditionally, was so hard to talk to. She hated how it felt like she was talking to a stranger. A stranger who knew her inside and out, and yet, could barely even utter her name anymore. She hated how awkward they both had become, how they both didn't understand how to not be there for each other and yet, still actively pushed the other away, how neither of them really understood the other person's actions and yet, still knew their heart like the back of their hand.
"I'm really sorry I bothered you with this," she finally offered, about to hang up when he quickly refuted her apology.
"You are not bothering me with this," he insisted, and she could hear his voice beginning to waver. And as if he knew what she was about to do, he added, "Keep talking to me or else I'll show up at the barn to make sure you're okay."
She let out a silent chuckle, her demeanor lifting ever so slightly. "I'm fine now, really," she insisted, working to lighten up her tone. "I just needed. . ." I needed to hear your voice. "I just needed to make sure you were alright."
"I'm alright, Spence," he assured again, and she felt her heart involuntarily flutter at the nickname. "It's you I'm concerned about."
"Toby, really-"
"No, please, hear me out," he pled, and she realized that he had rehearsed this spiel, that he had practiced this in his head before, that this was something that he had given a lot of thought to. "I made a colossal mistake back then. I was trying to save you but I ended up being the reason you got hurt. I caused you so much pain and I. . . I never apologized enough for that. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for that night in the woods, for that night in the kitchen and for everything in between. I should have done something-"
"Toby," she cut off. "You couldn't have done anything and we both know it. It was too dangerous. You made the right decision to back off. Cece might have killed you-or me, for all we know-if you hadn't."
"That doesn't matter," he disagreed contritely. "It doesn't mean that I wasn't at fault for what happened to you. You're still to this day suffering from nightmares on my account, because of my screw up. I should have stepped in before you were institutionalized."
"I'm not angry, Toby," she murmured gently, their roles reversing like so many times before and suddenly she was the one consoling him.
"You should be. You have every right to be," he insisted. "You have every right to hate me."
Her response was quiet and firm and simple, entirely unswayed by his repentance and self-loathing. "But I don't."
She heard him swallow hard on the other end and in her mind, she could see him shaking his head as liquid salt gathered in his eyes. "No," he finally whispered, disagreeing with some part of her words. "No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to make me feel better right now." He cleared his throat, seemingly making an attempt to pull himself together. "Spencer, do not let me off the hook this time. Tell me that what I caused was horrific, that it was my actions alone that brought you to the edge, that I stripped you of your sanity."
"But you didn't," she fought. "You didn't bring me to the edge. I was already there. I had been sitting on the brink of snapping for over a year. You didn't cause my breakdown. Mona and Charlotte did. All you were was a pawn. Same as me. They used you to destroy me, Tobes. You weren't the villain. You were a victim."
"You're saying that I had nothing to do with what happened to you that night?" He challenged softly. "Spencer, I was there with you for a solid three years after that night. I witnessed how much that night changed you. And I know it was because of me."
"Toby," she sighed, shaking her head even though he couldn't see it. "You're right, okay? You were the reason I fell apart that night. . ." She bit her lip, contemplating her next words for a brief moment before letting go and allowing them to spill out of her. "When you died, when I saw you dead in the woods, when I saw you lying there… the truth is, a part of me died with you and… it never really came back alive. I never was the same." She heard him let out a disconsolate sigh, heard him sniffle almost silently, noticeably fighting back tears. "But you didn't do that to me," she reinstated. "They used you. Charlotte and Mona. They were hell bent on destroying me by any means necessary and that's what they did. But you weren't a part of it. So don't let this eat at you. Don't carry around this burden when you were just trying to protect me."
"I just," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I was taking care of Yvonne when we came home from the hospital and I realized that, I didn't do enough for you. All those things you went through and. . . I don't think I was there for you like I should have been."
She didn't know what reaction he expected out of her, what he was really anticipating, but she was pretty sure it wasn't the laugh, the disbelieving chortle, that fell out of her mouth without warning.
Before he couldn't ask what was wrong, why she would laugh at his words, she was already speaking.
"Do you remember the summer after I graduated? You were always there. All those nights when I couldn't fall sleep and you got up and drove all around the county, at three in the morning until I fell asleep in the car. All those times I laid awake and you rubbed my back until you had to go to work. When I gave myself stomach aches and headaches with my anxiety and you stayed up and watched movie after movie with me. Or when I did manage to fall asleep and woke up in a panic. You held me until I could breathe again, even if it made you late to your shift. You were always there for me, Toby. You're the one who was always there. I couldn't have made it through that summer without you. And I know I never thanked you for that-"
"Spencer," he whispered, and she could practically see him shaking his head. "That doesn't count. I didn't do anything special."
"Yes, you did," she implored. "No one has ever done anything for me like that. No one has ever loved me like that."
She heard him swallow hard and knew her words had put a lump in his throat. "I did it because I loved you," he admitted hoarsely. "I would have done anything for you to be okay."
"I know," she assured and her voice was quiet now too, as she felt her eyes well up all over again. This time for completely different reasons. Exhaling loudly, she murmured, "anyways. Thank you for talking to me. I didn't know who to call or what..." she trailed off but he understood what she was getting at.
"Spence. You can always call me. Always. I'll stay up talking to you as long as it takes until the nightmares go away. Even after I'm in Maine."
Her brows furrowed in surprise, though he couldn't see. "Really? You would do that?"
"Of course."
She couldn't contain the tears as they spilled over once again and trickled down her face. "Thank you, Toby," she rasped out. She heard him sniffle on the other line and her chest ached, her desire to be with him, wrapped up in his arms, growing stronger by the second. "I'll let you get back to sleep," she murmured finally.
"Yeah," he mumbled quietly and she could almost hear the tears in his voice.
Just as she was about to hang up, her mouth acted without permission from her brain. "She's really lucky to have you."
His breathing hitched and she wished more than anything then, that things were different, that the universe didn't pull them apart, that the all consuming and completely incapacitating love they had for each other had been enough to sustain them. She wished it were her he was leaving town with, her that had been enough to pull him out of Rosewood once and for all. She wished it were her wearing his ring and sleeping in his arms and for a split second she wished it were her preparing to have his babies and she nearly broke down then, because if she realized that now, if she thought that now, she may never recover. If she had lost him because of what turned out to be a mistake, she would lose her mind entirely.
Once upon a time, losing him had been her undoing. It had been the catalyst for her mental deterioration. It was the worst thing to ever happen, in her mind.
"What do you do, when the worst thing has happened?"
Even when it was just losing their relationship, losing the love that had been her constant for four years straight, losing the one person in her life that taught her she was important and kind and enough, a part of her died. Losing what they had, was like losing a limb to her.
"It was like my...my heart had just stopped."
They may not have seen the same future anymore but the thing that never failed to paralyze her was the fact that when they both pictured their future, they never pictured it without the other. They never pictured a future where they weren't together. Never in either of their minds was this a plausible outcome.
She couldn't imagine her life without him.
Now it was him uttering those words and it was about a different girl. He had managed to love someone else more than he'd ever loved her and that was what stung worst of all.
She would have given anything to hear him say those words about her. Anything to go back in time, back to when she was the only person in this world that mattered to him, back to when he was still her fairy-tale.
He was still her once upon a time but she could never be his happily ever after. She could never measure up and she was the first to admit that.
She'd sat there for so long, drowning in her own thoughts , that she just about forgot he was still there on the other end.
Just when she was about to hang up, his voice rang out, lower and huskier than she'd heard it in years. "Am I still your safe place to land?" he asked and she knew just by the rapidity of his tone that he hated himself for asking, hated himself for wishing for this, wishing to still partially belong to a girl who wasn't his fiancé, wishing that a part of her heart was still his.
Without a second thought, without a moment of hesitation, without a question, she murmured, "Always."