A/N: This is my first fiction story... also might be one of the first own my own pieces that I have written. It is a little sad, I know, jumping into the pool with both feet. I really don't want any bad reviews/ harsh comments.

I started officially writing this in December, most likely when I finally got out of the 'Toby is on the A-team' slump. I still am fighting for them. Spoby was and is (for all you non-believers :P) the strongest, most loving relationship (that I like.) on the show.

This story is mostly bits and pieces all the three seasons kind of jumbled together. if parts of it get confusing or don't make sense, please let me know in the comments, and I will try my best do resolve those problems in future chapters. I am free and open to any suggestions you as reader have, who knows, they are probably genius and deserve a story of their own. But please, please don't be offended if your idea isn't picked. Or offended at all. It is just a fictional story, don't have your Twilight panties stuck up your ass because 'its offensive'. Not being critical, but I want myself and others to have a good reading experience, and not ruined because, "that's not what happened! Bla-bla-bla died, how is he doing this", ordumb stuff about how my grammar sucks or thinking works.

I do not own Pretty Little Liars.

Enjoy!

chapter 1 : afterthoughts

Guilty. That's one of the ways to define Toby Cavanaugh. Emily doesn't think so, but I'm pretty sure he was behind killing Allison. He probably did it because she was the one who made him own up to the Jenna Thing, although it was all on Ali's part… Another thing, she also told me that Jenna actually went all the way with Toby, which is really disgusting because they are practically brother and sister. Also, I never saw it, but Ali was persistent that he would peek at us while the five of us would change in her bedroom, or when she and I were in the locker rooms after field hockey.

Now, I usually see him walking along a path by the woods a lot. Most likely sacrificing squirrels, doing drugs or something like that. When I do see him at school, he's normally clad in dark clothes with a matching black eye. In a way, I kind of feel bad for him; nobody likes him, and most people agree that he killed Ali. I bet the day he turns eighteen, he's heading straight for California, or even Canada, changing his name, only leaving behind the dust from his tracks, that is unless, he's put in jail before then.

One Sunday morning, I was jogging on the sidewalk, when I stopped to run in a little corner store to pick up a small box of popcorn that my family had run out of at home. I was walking out of the shop, about to put my headphones back on, when I saw two people confronting Toby, who was across the street. One of them, a young man not a lot older than I am, took his shoulders and shoved them, while yelling,

"Killer!"

Which made Toby stumble and fall down. The other one, a woman about the same age, took her slush-ee and threw it on him, Glee-style. Still on the ground, he wiped off his face and clenched his jaw. They then walked away chuckling, leaving a pissed Toby behind. He hopped up off of the ground and walked into the alley that was behind him. I followed him carefully, and without him noticing. He was pacing back and forth, muttering,

"I never touched Ali."

"I didn't do anything!" This time a little louder.

Now yelling, "I didn't kill her!"

Toby shouted one last time, and then slammed his fist, into the hard, brick wall. Afterwards he stood there, with his head hung low and slowly sat down, his back leaning on the alley wall, and his legs up to his chest. He then brought his now bloody hand to his face and started softly crying.

I saw and heard everything. I was in complete awe and started to doubt some of my thoughts of him, from what he said. No one would get that angry for being wrongly accused, unless they were truly innocent. I slowly maneuvered my way over to him in the alley, until I was standing right in front of him.

"Um… Toby?" I asked with a small voice.

He stood up, glared at me, and was about to leave when I called out,

"Hey! Toby, Wait!" I pleaded.

"Are you alright? I heard some of the commotion." I lied because I didn't want him to think that I saw everything that happened and didn't try to help him out, although that is exactly what I did, which I kind of regret at this point.

"Why would you care?" He asked, emphasizing the 'you'.

"Well, no one needs a text-book for using common courtesy." I replied with a hint of my signature dry humor.

"It doesn't mean everyone in Rosewood treats me the same as anyone else. Now if you don't mind, I have to go wash that girl's drink off." He added with a fake smile, while motioning his face and drenched shirt with his injured hand.

"Toby!"

"What? Is there something -" he asked, sounding a bit annoyed, looking at the ground around himself. I grabbed his wrist to show him his hand with the bloody knuckles.

"Wow. Didn't see that." he looked at it for a bit trying to figure out how he never noticed his hand pretty much pouring out blood.
And here we go with my stupid maternal instincts:

"We can run by my house to get your hand cleaned up?"
Oh God, what am I doing?

"I don't know if that's a great idea, Spencer. I mean, I don't think your neighbors or parents would appreciate you roaming the streets with a guy like me." Toby said with his eyes at his feet.

"Honestly, I don't really care; you are in need of my medical help."

I actually do care about my reputation, but when he followed my statement with a small, sweet smile, I completely let my mind run abstract, and led him back to my house.

I unlocked the back door of my house, walking in casually, setting the popcorn on the tile island in the kitchen. Toby walked in after I did, just a little slower, still a little hesitant. I have to agree with him, I would be a little uncomfortable too, I mean if he was in my house a few hours ago, I might have been upstairs, hiding with a knife in tow.

"Oh crap."

"What is it?" I asked him.

"My shirt. It's all sticky and I don't have any extra." Toby explained with an extremely innocent look on his face that made me a little weak to my knees.

"You can borrow one of my dad's undershirts while I can wash yours." I explained.

"If it's alright with him -"

"It'll be fine. My parents are gone for the day, and he has so many anyway."

Toby flushed a little and took off his shirt.
Damn.
I knew he could tell I was staring at Admiral Abdominals, because now he was blushing an even darker shade of purple.

"Bathroom?" He mumbled.

"Uhh...upstairs to the left." I managed to get out, an octave or two higher than normal. Toby took his way out of our awkward moment and jogged up the stairs. I turned around, abruptly, to walk over to the couch in the living room, sat down letting out a sharp breath, grinning to myself, still holding his t-shirt.

After he got out of the shower, and got dressed, Toby came down stairs.

"Here, let me do that." I told him as he was fumbling with the first-aid kit I lent him.

"No. I got it. You've already done enough for me." he replied, clearly frustrated and agitated.

"It would be easier with two hands, trust me." I said, teasing him.
I grabbed a spray bottle of anti-bacterial and sprayed it on his hand. He tensed up and I laughed,

"Doesn't hurt now, does it?"

"No… my wrist hurts a little, do you think I might have sprained it?"

"No, but I can make a makeshift splint." I explained while grabbing a few supplies from the kit, wrapping his wrist, and bandaging his knuckles with soft gauze.

"So, Doctor Hastings, when did you become such an expert in the medical field?" Toby asked, teasing me.

"Well, my sister's ex - fiancée is a doctor, and he gave me a few pointers."

Mostly about massaging bursa sacs. (*wink *wink)

"And, playing field hockey and other sports, I've sprained a few things before."

After I finished up his hand and wrist, we just sat and talked. Nothing in particular, but he made me laugh and giggle more than I have done in a long time, and we Hastings don't giggle. For the time that we were talking, I have seen him smile more than I have seen him do, ever. It had been a good hour and a half, when the buzzer from the dryer went off, letting us know his shirt was clean and dry. Toby then changed his shirt and was about to leave when he turned around and said,

"Spencer? I just wanted to say you've probably been one of the nicest people to me in a while, and I really appreciate that. So, thanks."

I was very close to hugging him, but all my brain could muster up was a nice, accepting smile.

"Bye, Spencer." He said, grinning.

"Bye."

After he left, I went up to my room, laid flat on my bed smiling; contemplating on how I actually enjoyed the hour and a half I spent with him. I mean, he's Toby Cavanaugh, right?

ooh! so what do you think? Love it? Hate it? (hopefully that is a no.) Questions, comments, suggestions? please let me know!

have. a. nice. day.

Bye now, lovely!