A/N: Months ago, I had an anon reviewer ask me to write a story where Spencer and Toby discuss the events of season 3B. I delayed and delayed this request, mostly because there was still a tiny part of me that believed it might happen on the show, and that would be infinitely better. But I can't ignore it anymore. It's sad, because part of me feels like I'm doing the writers' job and I'm convinced that if they put their minds to it, they could do it a lot better than I could. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like this is going to happen.

This story will be three chapters, and caused me more trouble than anything I've ever written before. There were a lot of times when I seriously doubted it would ever get posted, but respect for these characters always kept me pushing through.

I dedicate this story to everyone who's ever felt frustrated or sad or betrayed that we never got any details of what went through Toby's mind while he broke Spencer's heart as well as all of ours'. Here is my version. Hope you enjoy.

Lights Will Guide You Home

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

I will try to fix you

- Coldplay

March 2012

Through the closed curtains shone a gorgeous mix of orange, red and yellow, and it was only then that Toby realized how long he had been wide-awake and staring at the ceiling. He couldn't say what had awoken him before when it was still pitch back, both in his bedroom and outside, but he supposed it was just one of the inexplicable things where he couldn't get back to sleep no matter what he tried. And so, when he noticed the sun slowly but surely rising in the east, he figured he might as well get an early morning run in.

Having spent a year in reform school and later a few weeks on house arrest, this kind of freedom was not something he took for granted. He felt unparalleled adrenaline course through his veins as he pulled on his running shoes, eager for the fresh morning air and to see the town when all its monsters were still tucked in bed.

He pushed his front door open, testing his elasticity on the balls of his feet for a moment before pushing in his earphones and heading down the stairs to the road. He was just thinking about how nice it felt not to see a car in sight when a large silver-colored SUV appeared from around the corner. Toby had barely taken two steps, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he realized the vehicle belonged to his girlfriend, Spencer Hastings.

Instinct tugged him towards it, and she must have spotted him too because she pulled over and was opening her window as he made the final approach.

"Hey," he greeted her, torn between feeling happy to see her and wondering what the hell she was doing driving to his place at five in the morning.

"Hi," she replied, offering him a smile but it didn't escape him that it was shaky at best.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, feeling his shoulders sag.

She quickly shook her head. "Nothing. You going for a run?"

"That was the plan," he affirmed with a nod. "I woke up like an hour ago and couldn't fall back asleep."

She nodded back at him and forced another smile. "Go on, then. We still on for lunch today?"

He wasn't fooled. "Spencer–"

"Go," she repeated gently, leaning in through the open window to place a kiss against his lips.

For a moment, he could have been fooled that she didn't have a care in the world. Her mouth felt warm and solid against his, and it eased the unrest inside him a little. He might have been convinced that everything was exactly as it should be if not for the seemingly insignificant proceedings that happened next.

She didn't pull away and smile at him like he thought she would when the kiss ended. Instead, she stayed close, her lips trailing across his face to press another kiss against his cheekbone, and then upwards for one more to his forehead. This time he could feel the tremors behind each contact, and he knew. He knew something wasn't right.

Instinctively, he pulled the car door open and reached for her. Only now did he notice that all she had on was the greyish-white T-shirt if his that she sometimes slept in, paired with booty shorts and flip-flops on her feet. And sure enough, once his hands touched her he was momentarily distracted from her carefully composed demeanor.

"Oh jeez, you're freezing," he blurted out. "Come inside, I'll make you some tea."

She protested a little, but let him help her out of the car and ultimately didn't even put up a fight when he took the keys from her and locked the vehicle behind them. He pulled her close as they walked up the stairs to the loft, trying to transfer some of his warmth into her, and couldn't stop himself from pressing a quick kiss against her dark, silky hair.

He settled her on the couch, draping his massive quilt around her and attempting to rub some of the shakes out of her body before announcing softly that he was going to boil water for tea. He kept an eye on her from the kitchen, less than thrilled with the way she simply stared out in front of her emotionlessly.

Spencer was the most amazing person he knew. Every day they spent together she found something to do that completely blew him away. She was both book smart and street smart, she had a bizarre sense of humor that he immediately connected with, and underneath a few layers of darkness and cynicism she was probably the most caring human being he had ever met.

Despite all this, or maybe because of it, he knew she could also be a handful. Her parents had labeled her "the difficult child" a long time ago, and while he despised that they openly shared this opinion with her nearly every time there was an argument, a part of him did understand where they were coming from.

She could be quick to lash out, especially when something had her stressed. She also had a knack for jumping to conclusions, which Toby always tried very hard not to do. But what was by far her most frustrating personality trait – at least to Toby – was her tendency to pretend everything was fine when it quite obviously was not.

He knew it wasn't her fault. It was something so engrained into her that it came as easily as breathing and sleeping and eating. It was the way her family operated, and she had learned early on that it was abide by these rules or choke under the pressure.

Toby felt his heart ache a little as he watched her from the kitchen. He wanted to push until she spilled her guts, but he knew that would only make things worse and that in the end it was nothing but selfish on his part. She needed to feel safe before she would open up. He could never be upset with her for that.

And so when he handed her a mug of hot tea – spiced with lemon and honey, the way she liked it – he didn't bombard her with questions. He didn't try to force anything out of her. He simply tugged the quilt more tightly around her shoulders and eased her against his chest without a word.

Minutes passed in silence. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty. The only movement in the room was his hand rhythmically running up and down her back, and her bringing the mug to her lips every once in a while. He waited for her to start talking, like she nearly always did when he held her long enough. It was taking more time than usual, but he wasn't someone who was easily discouraged. He would wait. He would wait his entire life for her.

When she finally shifted quite noticeably against him, he tried to catch a glimpse of her face but was soon distracted by the sensation of her pushing the mug back into his hand. Before he knew what happening she had draped one arm over his shoulder and buried her face in his shirt as she let out a deep, almost animalistic sob.

The hair on the back of his neck arose but before he had the time to consciously react, another sob followed. Horror overwhelmed him, and again the instinct to interrogate her flared up – now worse than ever. He literally wanted to shake her until the words spilled from her mouth and he could do something to fix whatever had her in such a state. Fear paralyzed him as he watched how sobs now wracked her entire body. Did someone hurt her? Did someone come into her room and…?

Toby swallowed down the bile in his throat. Still acting on instinct, he tightened his hold on her and bent over to place the half-empty mug on the coffee table. He took a deep breath and leaned back against the arm of the couch, pulling her all the way against him.

He had seen her cry before, of course. Life was too hard on her and he was too close to have eluded her tears. But he'd never seen her cry like this before. Her sobs seemed to start in the very pit of her stomach, almost like gasps, ascending through her frail little body to finally be flung from her mouth with the most horrible, heart-wrenching resonance. It was the most awful, most pitiful sound he had ever heard in his life.

He had no idea how long it took her to calm down. It could have been five minutes; it could have been an hour. To him, time stood still as he watched her fall apart. He rubbed her back and stroked her hair and whispered things against her that were meant to be soothing but he couldn't be sure because the connection between his brain and his mouth seemed to be severed. And when she gradually fell silent, he was almost surprised to find out that dread had numbed most of his curiosity. He had so desperately wanted to know what made her cry like that, but now that she was still it was as if he was afraid to find out.

She lifted her head from his chest and slowly sat up, wiping her nose on her shirt clad shoulder. Not quite meeting his gaze, she opened and closed her mouth a few times as if she didn't even know where to start. Her eyes were bloodshot and even the skin on her face was reddish from crying. It made his own vision blur but he held his tears back, telling himself that it was the last thing she needed right now.

"I had a bad dream…" she finally croaked, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or even more concerned. Part of him nearly sagged in relief that the cause of her tears wasn't that she was physically hurt, but the other part worried incessantly that a single nightmare could cause this kind of a reaction from her.

"About -A?" he prodded as gently as he could, but she shook her head.

"About you," she clarified quietly, and his heart dropped into his stomach. She looked away as she continued, as if staring at him would tear her apart. "Sometimes I have dreams of finding you in that forest…" She blinked a few times. "And I wake up and I know it's not real – I know that but I still…" She shrugged powerlessly and shook her head, still avoiding his gaze. "So I drive out here, and when I see your truck in the driveway I feel better."

An eerie silence fell upon them when the impact of her confession hit him. The implication that this had been an ongoing thing left him with a bitter taste in his mouth, not to mention the despair that washed over him at the mere idea that she hadn't told him about it.

"Why didn't you come in?" he questioned helplessly. "Or why didn't you just call me from your bed if you wanted to make sure I…?"

She lowered her eyes, and he couldn't finish his sentence. Then she shrugged, mumbling something about not wanting to wake him.

He didn't buy it. Not completely anyway. He realized it was probably part of the reason, but the biggest part was that she simply hadn't wanted him to know because it wasn't rational.

He knew she had always battled with the balance between rationality and angst. She was a highly logical person but she also had severe anxiety issues, and the combination of these two traits was a disaster to her mental health. He could only imagine how exhausting it had to be to constantly have to put your own demons to bed; knowing deep down that they weren't real, but being incapable of permanently getting rid of them nonetheless.

"I never had a meltdown like this," she added quickly, as if that would make it more acceptable that he hadn't known this was going on. "I would just drive back home and get back in bed like nothing happened. But now, I…" She hesitated; then apparently decided she didn't want to come clean because she shook her head. "Nothing."

"What?" he insisted, reaching for her hands, holding them in his own like they were precious jewels.

He watched her swallow and noticed how a hint of her earlier tears seemed to return. She cleared her throat. "When you were holding me before, I… I let myself wonder what my life would look like if you really had died that night. I never dared to do that before. Every time my mind went there I'd push it away because I told myself it didn't matter…"

By the time her words had sunk into him, he realized he was squeezing her fingers tightly – too tightly. He made a conscious effort to loosen his grip, running his thumbs over her knuckles as if the subtle movement would distract him from the turmoil her confession had brought with it.

"Spencer," he mustered, disquieted by how strangled his voice sounded. "I'm so sorry."

Her face remained impassive but she slowly pulled her hands from his grasp, and when she lifted her eyes to his it knocked the wind out of him because he didn't think he'd ever seen so much pain before.

"How could you?" She shook her head slowly, a haunting sense of disbelief etched across her flawless features. "How could you just let me believe you were dead?"

She had asked him this question before – not that long ago though it seemed like a lifetime – but unlike to last time, he heard no anger in her voice. Just agony. So much agony that it sent jabs of physical pain searing through his stomach.

How could he even begin to explain something he himself still didn't fully comprehend?

"I went back and forth on it," he choked out. "All the time. Don't you ever think I'd made peace with it. But I was scared, Spencer. Terrified. For your life, not mine. It was…" He took a deep breath and tried to get himself under control, knowing she had every right to his explanations. "When I was trying to convince Mona that I wanted in on the A-team, that I hated you, that I wanted to hurt you… she would tell me, all the time, that if I was screwing with her it would be you who paid for it. Not me. And I… I knew by then that I'd made a horrible mistake but I was in too deep to turn back, and I kept thinking if I could just get to the bottom of it, it would mean something. All the lying and hiding and risking your life wouldn't be for nothing."

"That doesn't explain why you stood by and watched me lose my mind because I thought you were gone forever!" she cried bitterly, a lone tear making its way down her pale cheek. "It didn't even matter that I didn't know if you loved me or not. I could have lived with not knowing. It ate me up inside, but I would have survived. But I can't live in a world where you don't exist, Toby. Not then, and not now."

He nodded quickly, almost not wanting her to continue, and feeling like there was nothing he could add because unfortunately, he knew exactly what she was talking about. A dark phantom choked the life out of him whenever he thought about something happening to her. It made him crazy, and it led him to do impulsive, reckless, dangerous things.

"I considered breaking you out of there," he said quietly. "I showed up at the gates of Radley twice in the week you were there, in the middle of the night, ready to bust you out. But by then I couldn't imagine you not hating me. And I would look at those gates, at those high, sturdy walls… and I would realize you were safe in there. No one could get to you, and…" His voice cracked. "No one had a reason to want to hurt you because you were already broken."

There it was. The ugly truth. And as usual, her analytical brain hit the nail on the head.

"So you would rather see me safe but miserable, than happy but at risk?"

He didn't answer, because he knew that there was nothing he could say to make it sound less awful without being a hypocrite. There was a time when he would have vehemently denied this, truly believing that there was nothing in this world more important to him than her happiness. But when he looked at his past actions, he had no choice but to conclude that that was just not true. It was never a deliberate or even a conscious decision, but it was as if he instinctively put her safety above everything else, whether he meant to or not. Whenever he feared for her physical wellbeing, it was as if he developed a tunnel vision and everything else simply blended into the background.

It was something he was deeply ashamed of, and the only thing that brought him the tiniest bit of solace on the matter was that she was guilty of the same sins. In the past, her decisions had demonstrated how she, too, would rather see him safe than happy. She might not have taken it as far as he did, but deep down in the core of their existence they were the same.

"I know I screwed up," he murmured, struggling with his words. "What I did was unforgivable, and I wouldn't have blamed you if you never wanted to see me again. But you have to believe me when I tell you that everything I did, I did because I love you more than I can stand sometimes. I know it doesn't look that way, but you were always on my mind and every move I made I thought of you first."

She nodded, and he realized she had no trouble believing it.

"Can I ask you something?" she queried simply, and he immediately gave her his full attention – not that she didn't already have it before.

She took a deep breath. "What would you have done if I never found out you were alive?" Her eyes found his in an almost accusatory look. "Would you have revealed yourself, ever? Or would you have just disappeared after it was all over, because you thought there was no way I wouldn't turn you away?"

He looked at her, painfully. He wished he could tell her with one hundred percent certainty that he would have fought for her, fought to explain, fought to prove himself and the sincerity of his feelings for her. But the truth was that he just didn't know. The truth was that it was only too easy to imagine that by that point he would have hated himself with enough passion to be convinced that she was better off without him. Better off thinking he was dead and gone, giving her a fighting chance to rebuild her life with someone with whom she didn't share such a torturous past.

She saw his indecision, and didn't force him to answer. She spoke instead.

"If you ever doubt how much I love you," she said, her voice quiet but steady, "if it ever becomes a question in your mind, even for a second, you remember this. You remember how I want you even after this."

A lump arose in his throat, and he could only nod as his eyes welled up. And then, she did the unexpected. She moved forward, crawling into his lap leaning her frame into his as her hands reached up to hold his head and her face tilted into his neck. His arms went around her on their own accord, pulling her as far into him as their bodies would allow, and as he breathed her in it crossed his mind that this was what it must feel like to taste a first sip of water after days in the desert.

August 2012

Every morning when Spencer woke up, there was still one instant, one second where she forgot. One second when dread would well up inside her as she wondered what the day would bring, wondered if all her loved ones would still be all right – more or less – when the sun disappeared again. But then, it would hit her that their nightmare was finally over. The culprit had been caught and the threats had stopped, permanently this time. Her friends, family and boyfriend had made it through alive. As had she.

She'd had what was without a doubt the best summer of her life. Last year would have come close if not for the weight of Maya's death and Emily's crushing absence, but this year was pure bliss. She'd taken a few college courses, but said no to an internship at her father's law firm, much to his dismay. She went on a road trip with the girls and camping with Toby, and was even convinced into going on a five-day vacation to Mexico with her mother (which she dreaded at first, but afterwards she was willing to admit it went over better than she'd thought). The days she'd been home she'd hung out at the Brew and by the pool with Toby or the girls, watched movies and devoured books she'd wanted to read since forever. It was as if they were all trying to make up for the two years where every form of relaxation had been snatched from them in the form of one hooded figure.

But now, it was all coming to an end. A new chapter of their lives awaited them, and while Spencer couldn't deny the relief of finally being able to leave Rosewood and start over somewhere away from her family and the reputation associated with the Hastings last name, she hadn't expected to feel this level of nostalgia.

Emily was set to fly out to California tomorrow, and not only was she the first out of their foursome to leave, she was also the only one not staying on the East Coast. It was heartbreaking for Spencer to watch her go knowing she would probably be seeing a lot less of dark-skinned friend than of the other two, simply because of the distance. And so it was Hanna who came up with the idea of throwing Emily a surprise going away party at the Hastings' lake house.

Paige had been instructed to keep Emily busy all day; Hanna and Aria were currently out shopping for food and drinks while Spencer got the house ready with Toby's help.

Being willing to admit that his artistic abilities by far surpassed hers, she'd put him in charge of making a gigantic banner that said Bon Voyage Emily. He'd already written out the words in clear red paint, and was now sitting on the floor in the middle of an abundance of pictures Spencer had tossed his way to tape to the banner.

She had been tempted to sift through them with him, simply to get lost in all the good times she and the girls shared together despite the overwhelming calamity, but they were short on time and Spencer was still carrying all her nana's good china to the attic to avoid it being smashed to pieces by a bunch of rowdy, careless teenagers.

When the last load was out of sight she decided that her next task would be setting out the numerous paper cups she'd bought for the occasion. However, when her eyes landed on her boyfriend, still slaving away over the banner in the den, her feet halted at the bottom of the stairs.

He was staring down at one photo, his face grave and slightly red around his eyes. When he sniffled, his right hand reaching upwards to rub one finger under his nose, she took a few steps towards him.

"Toby?"

His eyes lifted to meet hers and she felt inexplicably alarmed when she saw they were moist. Her feet automatically moved faster and he reached for her once she was close enough, gently pulling her down into his lap and closing both arms around her in a tight, grounding embrace.

"Baby," she whispered against him as her fingers crawled into his hair. "What's wrong?"

It occurred to her that he wasn't holding her in a way that suggested he wanted comfort. He was holding her like he wanted to give it. He swayed her softly from side to side, almost like he was rocking an infant to sleep, his hand slowly running up and down her back and eventually into her waves in a soothing gesture.

She felt concerned and confused but latched on firmly anyway, intuitively knowing that despite his reassuring actions he was deeply upset and close to tears from what she had seen before.

"It's okay," she murmured, though what exactly she was attempting to quiet down she still had to idea.

When he finally drew back, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, and she saw that he was still holding the photo between his fingers. Shooting him a questioning look, her own hand went to bring the picture closer, feeling more than ready to know what could possibly be on it that prompted this level of distress.

At first glance, she saw nothing that was even the slightest bit disturbing. It was a nice captured moment of her and the girls, taken outside the Brew on a sunny day, though by whom she couldn't recall. But when she looked closer, she felt her stomach churn in a most dissatisfying way.

In the picture, she was displayed off to the side next to a grinning Aria, and she was the only one of the four who wasn't looking straight into the camera. She looked deathly pale, her hair appeared as if it hadn't been brushed in days, and she was wearing loose-fitting, somber clothes that seemed representative of someone who simply couldn't be bothered to care. The absolute worst part was her eyes. They looked dead, empty, numb – yet there was so much hidden suffering visible that it completely discredited the half-assed, tightlipped smile that was splayed on her mouth. The three beaming girls next to her seemed oblivious to it, but she had a look about her that was as if she had seen war.

And she knew. She didn't know how he knew, but she knew beyond a shred of doubt that this picture stemmed back to the darkest period of her life, when she had believed that the person she loved, trusted and relied on beyond anything or anyone in the world, had been playing her all along.

Her stomach rolled again, and the calmness with which she placed the picture on the floor and broke away from him was in complete contrast to the turmoil raging through her mind. He didn't follow her as she walked away, but his voice did.

"Spencer…"

It sounded hoarse and pained, and it steered her into a hesitant halt despite her instinct to keep going until the throb in her chest went away. Slowly, she turned to face him.

He was still sitting where she'd left him: on the floor, amidst a bunch of pictures and a very attractive looking banner. He looked heartbroken.

It was horrifying and infuriating and utterly unfair that mere minutes ago, she'd been thinking that her life was finally as it should be, she was finally content, she was finally safe… and then she remembered how her gentle, tenderhearted boyfriend had made some very poor decisions that ultimately landed her in a mental hospital, and everything hurt all over.

She wondered if that pain would ever go away. If it would ever stop sneaking up on her, even when she was happiest, instantly making her throat tighten and her knees tremble. If it would ever stop making Toby look like he wanted to die right there on the spot.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I wish I could go back, change everything. Save you before you needed to be saved." He looked down, still looking tormented. "I know I can't. I know I need to take responsibility. I didn't do anything then and I need to accept that I can't do anything now."

"You can," she heard herself saying, feeling every bit as surprised as he looked that the words out of her mouth were actually forming intelligible sentences. "You can do something."

Instantly, he was on his feet, looking at her with imploring eyes. "What?"

She swallowed, and gave a helpless little shrug. "Hold me," she said simply. "Hold me, every day, for the rest of our lives until one of us croaks. It's the only way you'll ever fix me."

He was moving towards her before she'd even stopped speaking, and her eyes automatically fell shut as she felt herself being enveloped by his strong, sturdy, familiar body.

It was hard to believe that malevolence even existed when he held her like this. And it was impossible to imagine feeling angry or annoyed with him, even for a second. Her arms reached out to wrap around him and her nose tilted towards his skin, trying to commit this feeling of peacefulness to memory for whenever he wasn't within arm's length.

"I will, I promise," he breathed against her skin.

And it was those words that cleared her path towards what would undoubtedly be a long and strenuous recovery.