Inspired by the song 'Face to Face' by Siouxsie and the Banshees (listen to it while you read, if you want). Set at the end of 3x16, after Spencer finds Toby in her kitchen. R&R. You know the drill. This is a completed one-shot and will not be continued. Enjoy.

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One more kiss before we die
face to face and dream of flying.
Who are you? Who am I?
Wind in wings, two angels falling.

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"Is this what you're looking for?"

The words fall from her mouth, tumbling to the floor and landing at his feet, a barrier between them. And yet it's not the distance or the distrust that hurt the most; the words unsaid are what make this moment so heartbreaking. Is this why you've been using me? Has everything been a lie? Did you even love me at all?

He turns slowly, and a flash of lightning illuminates his face. It's so brief she can't read his expression, can't gauge his intentions, but a shudder of fear jolts through her anyway. She stiffens, but she doesn't step back. If he's the enemy, she can't let herself show weakness.

She waits silently, a single tear trickling down her cheek, and thinks for a fleeting moment of the dinner she'd prepared, the flowers and the wine and the cute little cards sitting on the table in his apartment. How perfect tonight was going to be.

He walks towards her, sidestepping her words and never taking his eyes off her face. She trembles, but she doesn't show it. He reaches her, coming to a stop before her, but he doesn't beg for forgiveness, doesn't fall at her feet and confess his love. Instead he just says her name, and in doing so ignites a spark of rage in her. Her hand flies out, aiming for his face, but he catches it in mid-air.

A sharp intake of breath is all that shows her fear. He holds her, his eyes intent and his features almost unrecognizable. She is completely at his mercy. The brief spark of anger has disappeared, leaving only coldness in its wake. Even if he tries to hurt her, even if he has a knife or a gun stashed under that damn hoodie, she doesn't know if she'll be able to defend herself.

The storm rages on outside, but it's nothing compared to the chaos in her heart as she stares into those endless blue eyes. She'd always thought they were like oceans, and now she's drowning in them. She's forgotten how to breathe, how to think, how to even be. And then he pulls her in and his lips meet hers, and she's too startled to stop him.

Her hand falls to her side, and then she finds it snaking up his arm, coming to rest on his cheek. He's so warm, so familiar, and yet he's not the man she thought she loved. If he were, he would never have betrayed her like this. If he were even half as good as she'd considered him to be, he would at least offer an explanation, an apology, something, but all he does is kiss her more passionately. He's the enemy, so why can't she pull away?

She finds herself letting him lead her to the stairs, and then he takes her hand and they're padding softly up to her room, and all she can think is, For all I know he's trying to kill me, while all she can do is mutely follow him. The door closes behind them and they make their way to the bed, barely pausing for breath.

As she sits down and he leans in again, her senses kick in. "Toby," she says, trying to push him away. This can't happen. It's over. She needs to get him to leave.

He cuts her off. "I love you, Spencer," he says, and something in the way he says those words melts her resolve. He lowers his voice to nothing more than a fervent murmur, intertwining his fingers with hers. "I love you."

She can't quite say it back – could she ever love anyone who had hurt her so terribly? – but she also can't tell him to leave. Just one more kiss, she thinks, just one more, and she closes her eyes and lets him lower her to the bed, feels his fingers work at her buttons, and tries to remind herself that he would never hurt her, that if he'd wanted to he could have killed her by now.

But perhaps this is the most exquisite form of torture, something devised to not only hurt her but shatter her completely. If it is, it's certainly working. She isn't helpless – she tries to tell herself that she could stop him at any time – but she can't resist, and lets herself succumb to his touch, lets him plant kisses down her neck, unwilling to fight against such a pleasurable demise. She can see the stars out the window, twinkling and shining and as cold as her own heart feels right now, and she focuses on them as he does something so different to what she imagines he came here to do.

He tastes sweet, and she shivers when he touches her. She's always half-expecting him to reveal himself, to press his hands against her throat and leave her breathless in a way she'd never thought him capable of, but then he shrugs out of his black hoodie and it falls to the floor, and she thinks about how symbolic that is. In that moment he's not her enemy, he's just Toby, innocent and loyal and hers, and she wants him more than she's ever wanted anything.

She lies back and enjoys the feel of him, the closeness, the knowledge that even if her world is falling apart, this intimacy is still here. She knows it's not enough, but for now she pretends it is. She feels layers fall away, but every new expression of his makes her pause, as she tries to find familiarity in this new disguise, searching for some semblance of the man she thought she loved.

She can feel his hand pressed against her heart, which is straining against her chest, wanting to be free, to be away from this demon who claims to be her lover. And yet she wants to be his, wants to let him take her, wants this moment to last forever. For just a second she lets herself pretend this will end in a happily ever after, but with a night that started with betrayal, a happy ending is impossible. She knows the night will end the same way it started, and she thinks about how poetic it is, to be destroyed by the very thing you love the most.

He's stealing her breath and her heart, the tender criminal he is, and she could never try to stop him or ask for them back. She can feel his hand on her heart, his lips against hers, and she gives herself over to the feelings of bittersweet ecstasy, divine tragedy, blissful misery. She knows how this will end, but what else can she do?

When it's over he gives her a gentle smile, slides back into his clothes, and disappears with a whispered promise that they'll talk about this soon. She smiles through her tears – why is she crying? She had her last kiss, is that not enough? – and watches him go. Then she pulls out her phone and dials.

"I know who's helping Mona."

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