Good morning friends! I hope we're all doing well and all that. Remember that time I said I wanted to write these two idiots but I didn't have any ideas? Well, I found some ideas lol. I don't know what's been going on lately, but for some reason 6x02 really sparked something in me, so I wrote this. Oh but I watched 6x03 and that just made me angry. Don't get me started on how angry I am- you'll get an earful. Regardless, I edited the shit out of this, re-wrote entire chunks and added an entirely new ending. And that's how this was born. It's terrible. It's probably actual shit and it shouldn't have left Microsoft Word. But I needed to get it out there to clear my head. Ya feel? Cool.
Song in the description and title are from "Make You Feel My Love," originally by Bob Dylan but made popular lately by Adele. I know there's a lot of speculation about what is or isn't happening after the time jump and who is or isn't together. Let me be the first to say I think the time jump is a terrible idea; I think there's a way for it to be good, for them to do it right, but as we all know, these writers have a terrible track record lately and I sincerely do not believe they can pull it off. We'll just have to wait and see. So don't lose hope yet, friends. Hopefully, there's a silver lining (which, ironically, is one of the messages in this one-shot). Okay, have I rambled long enough? Thanks for reading, if you do. You I know I love all of you precious blueberries. :)
Wild and Free
It feels like this- like walking underwater, like her limbs are sandbags and her eyelids the heaviest of weights, but there's no one there to spot her. It feels like amnesia; like she arrives but doesn't remember how she got there, like she offers answers to questions she hasn't heard yet. It feels like puppetry, like a marionette, like her body is there, but her mind is detached and there's someone above her, tugging at her strings. It feels like she's watching as a different version of herself tries and fails to cope with what's been happening, tries and fails to catch their would-be killer, tries and fails to forget the dollhouse of the damned, while her actual being is floating just above, shouting, unheard, at the top of her lungs. It feels like the times she was using, except all the more cruel and unusual because back then, she was doing this to her body and now, her body's doing this to her. It feels like this. Exhaustion feels like this.
The first night, she's still in the hospital, and when she awakens it's only once- when Toby visits, still in uniform, fatigue in his own eyes, and she's under some intense medication, but just his soothing scent is enough to rouse her. She's hardly awake through their conversation, fluid, still mostly dreaming, but she remembers the determination in his eyes and the warmth of his body against hers and his presence at her bedside until she lost herself to sleep once more. And it was nice, sleep was, and it was long. The second night, she's back home, and her mother's robbed her of the goods and she lies awake, wide-eyed and hyper aware, jolting at every tiny sound. She conjugates French verbs and recites passages of Dostoyevsky in the original Russian and lists her locker combinations all the way back to sixth grade. She doesn't sleep, not a single second. The third night, her mother seems to notice her unparalleled exhaustion and just as Spencer's considering popping the tiny sleep aid into her mouth, her mother brings pillows and blankets into the living room and they watch four movies on pay-per-view. Her mother falls asleep just minutes into the third one. Spencer reads all the credits and considers picking a fifth.
The fourth night is a Wednesday and her mother always works late on Wednesdays. Spencer's sitting cross-legged on her bed, all the lights in her house illuminated, and poring Google for how long one can survive without sleep (it's eleven days and she's a third of the way there). Out of the corner of her eye, that orange plastic container with the childproof cap is judging her, enticing her, calling for her. It's sitting there, right at her bedside, with someone else's name, but all of her regret and shame. It would be so easy; just one small gulp of water and then eight or nine hours of bliss, free of torment and anguish. She can't take it anymore; she shuts her laptop, pops the cap- and then freezes. She can't do it. She thinks of her mother, of her tortured eyes and pitying glances and I can't go through this with you again. She thinks of Dean, of her weekend at rehab and her days of feel-good therapy that had actually made her feel better about herself despite the terrible things she's done. She thinks of Toby, of how calmly he'd reacted when he'd found out the last time and Promise me you will call me if you get the urge to take pills again. So she doesn't. She dumps the container into a drawer, turns off the light and crawls under the covers.
She's awake. She's always awake, now.
A moment later, her phone buzzes at her bedside and she sits up instantly, her spine rigid, because if it was Andrew who held them captive, if it was Andrew who was their ever elusive torturer, if he was in fact imprisoned, then who could be texting her now? Her fingers are shaking when she reaches for her phone, still buzzing in her hands, and she can't stop seeing it, not now, not ever. The grungy, dark basement, the bars on the windows, the slab of cool metal that her meal would be delivered on. Meal, singular. She'd be lucky if she got food at all and water? Forget about it. The piercing alarm that cut right through her, but she almost welcomed it, because when she wasn't listening to that, she was forced, instead, to listen as her best friends screamed and screamed as though their bodies were on fire. She can't close her eyes without seeing the switchboard and hearing the tinny, mechanic voice- Choose one or all will suffer. But it isn't Andrew; it isn't Charles trying to reach her. It's Toby and she tries to calm her nerves and set her voice even before she answers. Like always, she fails.
"Hello?"
"Hey. I haven't spoken to you at all today. Are you okay?"
Choose one or all will suffer. She can barely hear him over the sound of her inner torment. "Um… Yeah."
"I thought you might be sleeping but I had to call."
Please enter and follow the lighted pathway. "I don't… I'm not sleeping."
"At all? And it's Wednesday; your Mom's not home yet, right? Do you want me to come over?"
We need to start the game. Four chimes means it's game time. "I um… I… No, you have to work tomorrow and… I… I-I'm fine."
"I'll be there in ten."
It feels like years and it feels like seconds, but he's knocking on her door and she's anxiously awaiting him, wishing he couldn't read her like an open book and simultaneously grateful for it. He gently shuts the door behind him and pulls her into an embrace, which she welcomes with all her soul. They've always been very physical, but ever since she'd crawled from that underground bunker, Toby's been nearly incapable of keeping his hands off of her. He's partly making up for lost time, she's sure, because they'd been separated for a month and he hadn't known if she was dead or alive. But it's also partly out of determination to prove to her that his devotion to her had never waned, that their love hadn't ever faltered; in the aftermath of their latest fallout, they hadn't had much time to discuss her kissing two other guys while they were still technically together. She knows he knows anyway; she knows he blames himself. And she hates herself endlessly for it.
They pull back and he looks at her with so much love and so much concern, but before he can ask the question, she asks one of her own. "Why aren't you at work?"
"Well, contrary to popular belief, I don't spend every waking second there," Toby tells her and she frowns. "Actually… Tanner sent me home."
"Why?"
He steps away from her, further into the house, and doesn't look at her when he admits, "She's reviewing and reconsidering my involvement with this case. Apparently, she wasn't pleased with the way I handled Andrew's arrest."
"What are you talking about?" Spencer asks, following him into the living room as they both sink onto the couch. "I know you said you wanted to take him apart but you didn't actually…"
She trails off when she sees the look on his face. She wants to be surprised but honestly, she isn't. Sighing, Spencer says, "Oh, Toby…"
He shakes his head, insisting, "He deserved it."
"You could lose your job for that," Spencer chastises. "If he ever decided to press charges against you-"
"And make me out to be the bad guy?" Toby glances at her, eyes unflinching. "After everything he did?"
"Everything he allegedly did," Spencer corrects him. "You said yourself things don't add up."
It's his turn to heave a sigh. "No. They really don't."
"I know Andrew better than you do," Spencer tells him. "He wouldn't do this. I'm sure of it."
Toby frowns. "There's a lot of evidence stacked up against him, Spencer-"
"Yeah, and there was a lot against Ezra and Melissa and Alison… and you, at one point," Spencer shoots back. "-A made it all up. All of it. Who's to say he or she or… this bitch isn't doing the same thing to Andrew?"
Her boyfriend remains silent beside her and she can tell he's going to ask before he actually does. "The other night… When we found you guys…"
She tenses, sits a bit straighter, and feels colder, somehow, like suddenly an ocean of distance has grown between them. "What about it?"
"You were going to tell me something," Toby points out. "You said you had a name, but I told you about Andrew and you seemed surprised. We didn't find the same thing, did we?"
Who is Charles DiLaurentis? Spencer closes her eyes and wishes it away, but she can't stop seeing the building blocks arranging themselves in that taunting manner; you think you know, but you really have no idea. "Um, no. No, we didn't."
"So what's the name?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Spencer shakes her head. "Can we just not talk about it?"
A warm hand on her knee forces her eyes open again and she meets his soft eyes, his warm, reassuring smile. "Of course. It's okay. But… You didn't answer my question from the other day, either. Why don't you want to talk about it?"
She looks at him for a long time. He looks back. After a while, it becomes too much and she has to glance away or she'll crack- and she can't crack, not now, not ever. The only sound is the soft ticking of the grandfather clock down the hall and just when she thinks she'll die under the pressure, Toby lets her off the hook. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and says, "So about this not sleeping thing…"
Spencer smiles and she's honestly not sure how she can still do that, not after all that's happened. "I can't. I just can't. My Mom… She told the doctors-"
"I know," Toby nods. "I tried to get her to reconsider but she had none of that."
She softens a bit. "You did?"
"Yeah," He affirms. "I don't know what you went through down there, Spencer, but I know the doctors deemed it bad enough to prescribe you some pretty heavy anti-anxiety medication. I know your Mom's worried about your addiction tendencies but… I tried to get her to come up with some kind of alternative, talk to the doctor or something but… Yeah. She wouldn't."
"Thanks," She says softly and hopes he hears the deep gratitude she's too exhausted to express. "For trying, at least."
"Anything to try and make this easier for you, Spence," Toby tells her. "Have you slept at all since you've been home?"
She shakes her head a bit and Toby glances at the kitchen, hopeful, but Spencer says, "Before you get any ideas, I've tried it all. Long bath, lavender lotion, warm milk, chamomile tea, boring movies… Nothing works."
"Well… I guess we'll have to think of something, won't we?" He grins at her and somehow, she grins too.
He stands, offers her his hand and she takes it wordlessly, following him upstairs towards the haunted house that used to be her room. Right at the threshold, she hesitates- Welcome! Wilkommen! Bienvenidos! Please follow the lighted pathway- and then comes to a dead stop. She cannot go forward. Toby glances at her, confused and concerned, and she shakes her head, unable to speak. He says, softly, simply, "It's just your room."
She stares at the floor, at her hazy wallpaper, at their intertwined hands. "It's more than that, now."
He's quiet a moment before asking, "I don't have to tell you that you're scaring me, do I?"
She shakes her head, murmuring, "I've heard it before."
He doesn't get another word in; she tugs on his hand and forces herself into her bedroom- her bedroom, her actual bedroom. She has to keep telling herself that. They both come to a stop before her bed and suddenly, there's tension a mile thick. Spencer honestly can't even remember the last time they shared a bed and she feels precipitously self-conscious, like somehow, in the emptiness between them the past few weeks, everything had changed. She isn't sure what to do, at first; should they talk it through and make sure they're still on the same page? Should they fall into bed as normal, as though no time has passed? They end up doing the latter. After mere moments of avoiding each other's gaze, Spencer pulls off her sweatshirt, climbs into her bed and reaches for him and there's no more hesitation.
He leans back against the headboard and she leans against him. He pulls the comforter up around them and there is silence. After a beat, he says, "Spencer… I don't know what happened to you down there and if you're not ready to tell me, then you're not ready. It's okay. I'm not going to force you to talk about anything."
She drapes an arm across his stomach and feels mostly at peace, hating herself for ever placing a single doubt in him. "Thank you."
"But," He continues. "You haven't told me why, either. And that makes me think that whatever went on in there…"
"You don't want to know," Spencer insists. "Honestly. I'm just sparing you."
"Sparing me?" He wonders. "Sparing me what? I mean, come on, Spence, communication has been hard for us, but we've been talking about things, lately, and-"
"No. No we used to talk about things," Spencer corrects him. "And it was nice for awhile. But you… I'm so proud of you for what you've been doing. You're really helping us; you are. But there are things you can't know about, remember? Things I can't tell you now that you're a cop and so… I'm sparing you. I'm sparing us."
She watches the disappointment creep onto his face, the frustration of his past words coming back to haunt him, and then watches as determination sets in instead. "Then don't tell me as a cop. Tell me as your boyfriend. Tell me as someone who loves you very much and cares about you immensely and who almost lost his sanity when you were missing for an entire month."
She smiles, but there's more sadness in it than mirth. "I thought you weren't going to force me to talk."
"I'm not," Toby says. "I'm not asking you to relay every detail. I'm not asking you to tell me a thing. I just want you to know that you can."
"I appreciate that," Spencer says quietly. "And I'm sorry."
"No, Spence," Toby sighs, clearly frustrated with himself. "I'm sorry."
Whatever awkward tension there is between them is gone minutes later when the sound of locks clicking out of place and the backdoor opening resonates from downstairs. Keys are thrown on the kitchen counter, there's an opening and shutting of a cabinet and then soft footsteps on the stairwell. Spencer side-glances the clock on her bedside table- 12:26- and momentarily panics when Toby tenses and moves to sit up almost instantly. "Don't go. Please."
Toby falters a bit. "Your Mom's home."
"She won't check up on me. She never does," Spencer insists and the sound of a bedroom door clicking shut at the end of the hallway confirms this theory a second later. "Please."
"Okay," He assures her. "Okay."
More silence ensues and what was once mildly uncomfortable is now actually kind of nice. He's trailing his fingers through her hair and there are crickets in the night air outside and if this were any other night, she'd be asleep in minutes. But it's not; it's tonight. And the circumstances are far too harrowing for her mind to rest. So instead, she inhales a deep breath and confesses, "I can't stop thinking about it, Toby. I really can't. And I'll never be able to sleep because… Every time I close my eyes, that's what I see."
"I hate that," Toby admits a bit later and when Spencer lifts her head to meet his eyes, there's unimaginable pain in his. "I hate what he's done to you. And I can't promise that things will get better. They probably won't; not for a while. But I'm going to do everything I can to help you. We're going to get through this together."
She loses herself in the sincerity of his baby blues, but can't help asking, "How?"
"I'll just have to figure out a way to take your mind off of it," Toby says and she scoffs.
"How are you going to do that?"
"I'll come up with something," He tells her and at the disbelieving look she throws him, he adds, "I'm pretty persistent."
"Yeah," She can agree whole-heartedly. "That you are."
And in a moment, he asks her, "Where do you think the best place is in Rosewood to get pizza?"
She eyes him strangely. "Pizza?"
"Yeah. I like pizza," He shrugs. "So do you. What do you think?"
"Um…" She pauses to think. "Definitely not Cusato's. I'm pretty sure last time we went there a piece of pepperoni crawled away."
"The crust is always cold and the sauce tastes like ketchup," Toby adds. "I agree."
"I guess Genaro's," Spencer finally decides. "Their breadsticks are solid, too."
"Yeah, you're probably right," He says. "While I was in London, though, I stopped by this place- Pizza Express. It sounds like a fast food place, but it definitely isn't. It was really posh."
She smirks. "Posh?"
"Yes," He grins at her. "The pizza was so good. Probably best I've had. It's on my list of London must-dos, right up there with Big Ben and Buckingham Palace. We'll go there if we ever make it to London."
"Why am I not surprised that food is on your must-do list?" Spencer teases. "You're such a guy."
"When you try it, you'll understand," He tells her and she rolls her eyes just a bit. "No creepy crawly pepperoni and no ketchup soup sauce."
"I don't understand this conversation," Spencer says. "But I'll just go with it."
"Good," He says and then asks, "Where did you get this comforter from? It's really warm."
"I don't remember," Spencer shrugs. "I picked it out when I was like ten. I wanted a blue one. My mother was not a fan."
"Of blue?"
"Of letting me have my own choice," Spencer says. "Everything needed her approval. This was the only one she didn't hate."
"Do you hate it?"
"I don't mind it one way or another," She tells him. "But it's okay. It's nicer than yours."
"Oh, we're coming to this again." Toby frowns and Spencer nods.
"It has a legitimate hole in it," Spencer points out. "It keeps getting thinner and I'm pretty sure that chocolate sauce stain never came out."
"It didn't," Toby agrees. "But it really doesn't matter. It functions as a blanket and that's all I need."
"But we can get you a new one," Spencer says. "They're not that expensive. It's an important investment! You need to sleep soundly… and warmly."
"I'm barely home to sleep anyway," Toby shrugs. "It's fine."
"Me not sleeping is life's greatest tragedy," Spencer points out. "But if you're not sleeping-"
"I'll sleep much more soundly when I know that you are as well," Toby admits. "You know it and I know it."
She bites her lip. He's got her there. "I guess you're right."
He twists a moment later to catch a glimpse of the clock- 1:19- and Spencer asks, "What time do you have to be at work?"
"I'm on desk tomorrow. I don't have to be in until 8:15," He assures her. "Plenty of time to get some shut-eye. Or not. Either way; I'm used to it."
"You are?"
"Do you think I slept a single second while you were missing?" He asks. "Not a chance. I was worried sick. I was going out of my mind."
"I'm sorry," Spencer sighs. "I can't imagine what you went through. You and my parents."
"What we went through is hardly a quarter as bad as what you guys did," Toby assures her, tracing invisible patterns on her shoulder. "Don't take on our pain on top of yours. You'll drown."
She says nothing. She knows it's true. He kisses the top of her head and asks, "Are you trying to go to school tomorrow?"
"Supposedly," Spencer murmurs. "I do and don't want to go back. It's very conflicting."
"Don't go unless you're ready," Toby says. "No one's forcing you."
"I know," Spencer says. "It's just… I don't want to deal with it, but also… I can't stay at home another day. I can't take the silence. It's suffocating."
He seems to understand. He then wonders, "This might be a strange time to ask, but have you thought about where you might want to go in the fall? College-wise?"
"Not even a little bit," Spencer tells him honestly. "I don't know where I want to go. I don't know what I want to do."
"That's okay," Toby assures her. "I was just curious."
"So am I," She says and asks, "Have you given any thought about whether or not you might want to come with me?"
"Spencer, I would love to come with you," Toby says and her heart relaxes a little bit. "There's nothing keeping me here. I just don't want to hold you back. I don't want to ever be in your way."
"You wouldn't be. You wouldn't," She's immediately shaking her head. "I want you to be there with me. I can't imagine doing this without you."
He holds her a little tighter and promises, "We'll make it work."
Her Toby- ever the optimist. She has absolutely no idea how prom and graduation and moving out of her childhood home are going to go and all of these things are approaching her at rapid speed. But she has Toby; she needs Toby and she'll never say it out loud, especially to his face, but she doesn't need to. He knows. It's inherent; it's in everything that she does. And he has always been a calming, equalizing, stabilizing force in her life, someone she can depend on, someone she maybe depends on too much. She knows it's true; it's the reason they've had the problems they've had. And it's her issue; it isn't his. She knows this and she's working on it. But for now, she's going to lean on him and take the comfort, the solace, the reassurance that he provides and surround herself with his endless love.
It's almost three a.m. and she's starting to get delirious. Toby yawns and Spencer asks, "You know what would be really weird?"
"What?"
"A horror movie where all the lights in the house are operated by the Clapper," She muses. "Remember the Clapper?"
"Clap on, clap off," Toby smirks. "Of course."
"So, you'd be running for your life aggressively clapping the lights on and off with a psychopath," Spencer says. "How hilarious of a movie would that be?"
"It wouldn't really be horror, then," Toby chuckles. "I mean, it would be funny-scary. Kind of like the Scream series, almost."
"Scream is more of a thriller than a horror series," Spencer comments. "But still great movies."
"Where is this random thought coming from?" Toby has to know. "Kind of out of the blue, wouldn't you say?"
"This is what I've been doing with myself instead of sleeping," Spencer says. "I'm really glad I can share it with someone now."
"What else have you thought about?"
"Let's see," She thinks a moment. "I've been thinking about how annoying it is when you think someone's calling you but then you look around in all directions and no one's there. Like you literally just look like an idiot because you swore someone called you but no one actually did."
"Or," Toby suggests. "It's someone calling you from a past life. Or you're actually in some kind of coma and what you thought you heard was actually someone trying to wake you."
Spencer stares at him a moment and then frowns. "Why would you say that? That's awful!"
"It's just like another timeline," Toby shrugs. "Haven't you ever thought of what your life would be like in other timelines?"
"Like what?"
"Like if you were an only child or if you never met Alison or if –A never terrorized you," Toby says. "Or if we never met."
"I'm not even going to go there," Spencer shakes her head. "The other three sound great but no way in hell do I want to think about never meeting you."
By 3:45, they're struck with even more strange thoughts. Toby asks, "Are moustaches just eyebrows for your mouth?"
"Mouth brows," Spencer chuckles. "Yeah, pretty much."
"It's almost 4 a.m."
"Yeah."
She gasps and says, "What if we're all Sims?"
"Like from the computer game?"
"Yeah!" She exclaims. "Or better yet, what if we're all characters in a book? And every time we forget what we're doing, it's the author backspacing?"
"Stop the presses," Toby says. "This is a scientific breakthrough."
Around 4:30, conversation falls short. Toby's fading fast but he reaches for his phone and Spencer wonders, "What are you doing?"
"I'm barely awake," He admits. "But I know how you feel about silence. I'm going to put on some music."
He taps some keys on his phone, pulls up Pandora and soon, soothing tunes are crooning into the early morning. Spencer sighs complacently and says, "Hey, if you fall asleep and I don't- wait, when, not if- just know that I really, really appreciate this. You're the only one who's actually tried to help me with this and somehow, you really did take my mind off of it, if only for a little while. And I'm really grateful."
"You're welcome," He yawns again. "I honestly just want you to have some peace for once. You deserve it, babe."
He's asleep moments later and the horizon is turning pink and the music is soft and low. Her eyes are drooping and for once, she isn't thinking about the torture and the torment that's plagued her mind for weeks. She's thinking of him and all things good. She doesn't know why she ever doubted it; she has the best boyfriend in the world. She sits a little straighter, balances herself on his chest and trails a hand down the lines of his perfect face. Make You Feel My Love is resonating sweetly from his phone and she thinks there couldn't be a more perfect song; it's how they are and it's how they always have been. She cranes her neck just the tiniest bit and presses a feather-light kiss upon his lips, unable to resist and unwilling to wake him.
"I love you," She whispers, ghosting his mouth with her own once more. "I hope you know that. I know I've been terrible and I know I haven't shown it well lately… But I do. I love you."
She snuggles into him and settles in to watch the sunrise.
He curses himself for dozing off. His eyes fly open and Pandora's playing You Are My Sunshine and his hold on Spencer has loosened just a bit. He wraps his arms more firmly around her, just out of reflex. Craning his neck, he notes it's 6:37 and he's slept maybe an hour, maybe less, but either way, he's disappointed in himself, because he'd promised her he was in this for the long haul. It's really brightening up now; the sun is just beginning to rise and splay its rays across her bedroom floor, but he's warm from her down comforter and the arm across his stomach that feels a bit heavier than it had before. In fact, her body is quite limp; could that mean…?
Toby chances a glance at her face and his heart does a complete backflip. She's asleep; somehow, some combination of music and mindless musings and his presence had calmed her enough, her mind felt she was secure enough, that she could surrender to sleep. She looks as peaceful as he's ever seen her and he thanks his stars that her agony hadn't touched her, at least up until this very moment. He has no idea what she went through; part of him doesn't want to know, because there's a monster in the back of his mind painting horrific pictures of the kinds of torture that she and her friends might experience. The fact that she refuses to talk about it is all but confirming this and it doesn't sit well with him. But either way, he loves her with ever fiber of his being and if this experience has done anything, it's only solidified his protectiveness.
A moment later, he hears footsteps in the hallway and thinks nothing of it. Just Veronica, getting ready to go to work. That is, until Spencer's bedroom door opens just a crack and she pokes her head in the tiniest bit. She doesn't seem to balk when she spots Toby in her daughter's bed; regardless, Toby is immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry… I'll go. I just… I didn't want to wake her."
Veronica's eyes widen as she asks, "Is she asleep?"
Toby glances at his girlfriend to be sure this is still a fact. "Yeah, she is."
Her face softens. "You don't have to go."
Now, it's his turn for his eyes to widen. "Really?"
"I should've known," Veronica says. "She doesn't need movies or milk or tea. I don't know why I didn't think of this."
Toby says nothing. She adds, "Did she tell you anything? About what happened?"
"No," He says softly. "She isn't ready."
She purses her lips, frustrated. Toby holds Spencer a little closer in response. He understands, even if her parents do not. Veronica nods after a while and says, "Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, okay? Make yourself at home. Tell Spencer I'm off at five and I'm coming straight home."
"Will do," He affirms. "Thank you, Mrs. Hastings."
"No, honey," Veronica smiles sadly. "Thank you."
And then she's gone. He hears footsteps, keys in a door and then the soft purr of an engine outside and he knows they're alone again. Alone is how he prefers it and it's how Spencer did, too, but he's not really sure how to read her, these days. Things between them are different now; damaged, but not destroyed, a little broken, but not beyond repair. Nothing's changed; he still loves her with a ferocity that scares even him and he'd easily lay down his life. And yet, everything has; something had caused a hairline fracture between them and lately he feels like he's grasping at straws and coming up empty. He doesn't know why, but he isn't going to lose her. Not again; his heart couldn't possibly take a second time.
"I love you, Spencer," He murmurs and allows himself a moment of weakness. "I love you and I'm going to try and do everything I can to make this easier on you."
And just as Jason Mraz is belting out the chorus to I Won't Give Up, Spencer begins to stir restlessly beside him. Toby's half-awake, torn between needing to get up and head home to ready himself for work and wanting to stay beside her and allow himself a few more moments of bliss. However, bliss is hardly the word for what Spencer's experiencing; she's shaking, thrashing, crying, but try as he might, Toby cannot seem to wake her. She's lost in her terror and he can do nothing but watch. After a moment, she cries out in anguish, "No! Don't do that! I pressed it… I chose one… No! No!"
Toby sits a little straighter, puzzled and lost. "Spencer… Spence, wake up. Wake up- you're dreaming."
"No," She sobs. "No, please! Please!"
"Spencer," He pleads again. "Come back to me. It's just a dream… You're okay."
It's as if his words have shocked her back to life; her eyes fly open and scan the room, overflowing with tears as she sits straight up and claws at the covers like her skin is on fire. "I have to get out of here."
"Get out of where?"
"I have to go. I have to get out. I can't- I have to go. There's got to be a way out. There's got to be-"
"Spencer, you're not in that place anymore," He assures her. "You're safe."
"He's watching," She says instead. "He's always watching. I don't care but don't make me choose again!"
Toby reaches for her, cages her face in between his hands, locks her gaze with his. There's a fire in her eyes that dims when they meet the icy blue of his own. "You're home. You're safe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."
She seems to understand, muttering, "I'm home."
"You're home," He agrees, nodding slowly. "It was just a dream."
"No," She shakes her head. "No, it was a nightmare."
He remains mostly quiet and drops his hands from the sides of her face. She glances down, furiously wipes at her cheeks and says quietly, "I'm sorry."
"No," He disagrees. "No, don't be."
Silence ensues and Toby tries to lighten the mood, saying, "At least you got some sleep. A couple of hours, at the most."
"Yeah," She deadpans. "And look what I was rewarded with."
His watch beeps with the new hour and somehow, it's seven o'clock and the whole night's passed without him knowing it. He laments, "I have to go to work."
"I know," She says sadly and moves away from him, pushing back the sheets and blankets and stretching when she stands. He watches her, follows suit, and pulls on the rest of his clothing. Before he can get a word in, she shrugs and says, "I guess I should get ready for school."
"You're going to go?"
"Why not?" She muses. "It'll keep my mind off of things."
Toby nods and asks, "Do you want me to come back tonight?"
"Thanks, but you don't have to keep doing this," Spencer says. "I appreciated it; I really did. And it worked, for a little while, anyway. But I can't be dependent on you for sleep. I mean, you're not always going to be there. You can't be."
He knows it as well as she does, but still feels the sting. "So what'll you do?"
Toby watches her pause and for some reason, he has a flash of her tired eyes and pale skin and an orange, plastic container; I wish you could've told me what was really going on instead of me finding out this way. Spencer shrugs and says, "I'll think of something."
She says it like she already has. Toby nods and pulls her into an embrace and she melts instantly. He breathes her in, presses a kiss to the side of her head and when they pull away, her lips. "Have a good day, okay? Don't work yourself too hard."
"You either," She warns. "I know you want to put an end to this, but it's not worth it if it kills you in the process."
She's got him there. He promises, "I'll call you later. I promise."
Spencer nods and they part ways; she for her bathroom, he for the back door. The entire drive home, his entire readying process, and the whole way to work, he can't shake the previous night from his mind. It isn't the first time he'd seen her have a nightmare; years' worth of mental anguish had rendered that feat an unfortunately likely occurrence. But he'd never seen one so raw and so distressing before. Spencer had been in actual pain and she'd bawled about someone watching and choosing something… It hadn't made sense; it still doesn't. He's not sure what she's talking about and he's not sure if this had been a routine nightmare; more likely than not, it had been her cruel mind taking her back to times she'd care not to remember. And so, as Toby makes his way into the precinct that morning, he sits behind the desk and listens to Andrew's statement over and over and reads through the mountains of evidence and tries desperately to find a link, somewhere. He doesn't know what Spencer went through. He doesn't know who did this to her.
But he'll fight like hell until he figures it out.
She awakens disoriented and groggy, as if she'd risen from the dead, and she's sure she could still sleep for hours and hours if that harsh banging from downstairs hadn't disturbed her. The tiny capsules are littered on her bedside table and are both judging her and calling to her, enticing her to slip a few more and just forget the world. She doesn't. Instead, she sits, rubs at her eyes and adjusts the cozy shirt of Toby's she'd been wearing; the neckline's wearing thin and keeps slipping off her shoulder. Making her way downstairs, Spencer stretches a little, yawns, and finds it's the middle of the day and the banging has not ceased. It's coming from her back door and she can vaguely make out a police uniform, which would have terrified her if her boyfriend wasn't a cop. Deep down, she knows it still kind of does.
She opens the door for him and he immediately engulfs her, much to her surprise. "Thank God. You weren't at school and you weren't answering your phone."
"I needed a mental health day," Spencer offers. "I'm sorry. I forgot we were going to have lunch."
"It's alright," He shrugs. "You just scared me, that's all."
She nods and says nothing more. As usual these days, there's an underlying tension between them and she doesn't know how to resolve it. She doesn't know where it came from and she doesn't know where to even begin addressing it. There's something different about them, these days; something off and she's not sure what it is. She knows she loves him with all her heart and she knows, even on her darkest, most stubborn days, that he feels the very same. But for the first time, she's getting the feeling that it just might not be enough to sustain them anymore and that thought alone terrifies the living shit out of her. For some reason, and she just can't seem to shake it, it suddenly feels inevitable that she's going to lose him.
Her hands drop his and she backtracks until she's hit the couch, which she sinks into wordlessly. He seems puzzled, but follows, and neither of them speaks a word, at first. Then, after a beat, Toby says, "Lorenzo's going to dinner tonight with Alison. I thought you said you were going to talk to her?"
"I did talk to her," Spencer admits quietly. "She likes him. I can't tell her who she can and can't date."
"No, but I thought you were going to talk her out of it," He says. "Or at least see what her real intentions are."
"Why? Why would I do that?" Spencer asks in frustration. "I'm not going to do that just because you don't want her to be happy."
"It's not that I don't want her to be happy," Toby disagrees. "I don't want Lorenzo to get hurt. He's a good guy. He doesn't deserve it. I know how she is."
"No, you know how she was," Spencer corrects. "Ever since she's been back, she's just done a complete 180 and she seems really genuine and… I feel bad for her."
Toby scoffs. "She doesn't deserve your sympathy."
"Well she's got it," Spencer frowns. "I'm sorry. She thinks she's nothing but a problem; nothing but an obstacle in everyone's lives. She thinks everyone hates her and that she doesn't deserve nice things or love because of what she's done. And she thinks… She thinks Lorenzo will never like her because of the things you must've told him because you hate her."
"I don't hate her," Toby tells her. "I don't hate anyone. But I hate what she's done; to you, to your friends, to all of us. And I didn't tell him anything about her. If he wants to make acquaintances with her-"
"Then that's his business, not yours," She argues. "If and when she reverts back to the real Ali, then you can play the 'I told you so' card until you're blue in the face. But just… Leave it alone, for now."
He stares at her before shaking his head, asking, "Who are you? Really? Because a couple of months ago, you were the one claiming you couldn't believe the genuine, 'I'm sorry' act that Alison was pulling. Your exact words; you didn't have the details, you didn't know what happened to her and you couldn't believe her, even though you wanted to. And now? What happened?"
"I saw a side of Alison that I didn't think was there," Spencer says. "I saw remorse. I saw regret. And I believed it. So either she's a better actress then I ever imagined, or she's being truthful. And I want to believe the latter."
They're quiet again and Spencer says, "I'm not asking you to like her and I'm not asking you to forgive her. She doesn't deserve your forgiveness, honestly. Not after everything she did to you… Everything she let happen. She was a horrible person back then but I think… I think she's really trying to keep that in the past; turn over a new leaf. People can change, you know."
"I know," He says. "But I don't trust her as far as I can throw her. I know that people can change… But I don't think she is one of those people."
Spencer wonders, "I thought you were the optimistic one?"
Toby sighs. "Getting more cynical by the minute."
This comment physically pains her and she moves away from him, stung. He looks at her as though he doesn't know what could possibly be wrong, but the reasons should be obvious. Toby is the most genuine, most honorable, most loving and forgiving human being she's ever known and she's corrupting him. She's ruining him. And if he really is growing colder, darker, then it's only because she's the cause of it. It's because of her. And before she can stop herself, she finds herself saying, "I think you should leave."
His eyes widen and he asks, incredulous, "What?"
"I think you should leave," She repeats, her voice hollow. "Me, Rosewood, all of this. You should just go. Get your things and just… get out of here."
"What are you talking about?" Toby implores gently. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay and we're going to figure this out together, like I promised we would."
She shakes her head and there are tears stinging the back of her eyes. "I can't keep doing this to you. I'm dragging you through hell. Making you do things that you hate… Turning you into someone that you aren't…"
"Spencer, you're really starting to scare me. And I don't know what you're referring to," Toby says. "Getting a little cynical? It's okay; maybe I'm finally wising up to the way the world works. Becoming a cop? I just wanted to protect you and-"
"Everyone's always trying to protect me," Spencer hisses venomously. "My parents, my sister, you…. And look what it does instead. My parents don't even speak to each other anymore and they're on the divorce path. My sister is halfway across the world with an almost-murder under her belt. And you… You became one of the very people who ruined your life for years because of me. Not for me, because of me. Because if I wasn't at the center of this creepy stalker horror story, you would've been able to live your life as normal. And you would think that maybe all of this pain and heartache might be worth what you're all going through if I ended up protected at the end of all of this. But I'm not! I'm not protected and I never will be and you and my parents and my sister can all break your backs and put your necks on the line for me but none of it will ever come to fruition, because there will always be a way to get to me! Always! –A made sure of that. You all try and you all fail and it isn't worth it!"
"It isn't worth it?" Toby questions. "It isn't? So we should just sit back and watch you get killed because it isn't worth it to try? Guess what, Spencer? Your life matters to me. And to your parents and to your sister. We're not trying to protect you to make ourselves feel better. It is for you, because if we lost you… Look, I'm not going to speak for them. But I would rather do everything I could and know that I put an effort forward than lose you without even bothering to try."
"But I hate it," Spencer confesses. "I hate it because it always goes too far. I don't want you to feel this obligation towards me. And I don't want it to be our downfall."
Toby grows a little pale at this notion and asks, "What are you saying?"
"I am not the same person I was when I went in there," Spencer tells him and knows she doesn't have to spell it out for him to know she's referring to the dollhouse. "When I was down there, all I could think about was you and my parents and how much I wanted to go home, how much I wanted to get out. And when I did… Yours was the first face I saw and I can't tell you how grateful I was for that. But at the same time, I couldn't help but feel different about this; about us. And I still feel that way. Because it doesn't matter if I tell you every single thing that happened down there. It doesn't matter if you relived it with me. You'll still never really understand; hell, I don't even understand. And it's just going to be this wedge between us for however long we're going to be together."
Toby's absolutely silent, but still watching her like a hawk, and Spencer feels sick. She sniffles and says, "I love you so much. That's never changed; that's one of the only things that got me through. But I'm not the same person I was; -A killed that person. And I guess I'm just… I'm scared. I'm scared that one day, you're going to resent that. I'm scared that one day you're going to see the person I am now and realize that you can't love that person… That I'm a mess and you won't want to be with me anymore. And I'll understand; I really will. But it's going to hurt so much and so I think… I think it'll just be easier for both of us if you just leave now."
Her breathing's uneven; it's fast and short and reminds her of that time she found his doppelganger in the woods. She can't look at him any longer, not after seeing the anguish on his face, and for a moment, she almost thinks he's going to take her advice. If he were smart, he would, after all. But there's been a long silence between them and at the end, he reaches for her face and swipes the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks; she honestly hadn't been aware she'd been crying. His voice is soft and low and soothing, as it always is when he's dealing with her heartbreak, as he says, "Spencer? That's a load of shit."
She can't help it; she laughs the tiniest bit. Her emotions are all over the place and she hadn't been expecting that to come out of his mouth. "What?"
"How could you ever think that I could ever resent you?" Toby asks her. "I'm not criticizing you; I'm genuinely curious."
"I just…" She struggles to find words, now, as though her previous confession had bankrupted her. "I just thought…"
"You thought wrong," Toby insists. "Newsflash, babe- neither one of us is the same person we were when we first fell in love, and you don't resent me, do you?"
"No," Spencer shakes her head, adamant. "No, of course not."
"Okay then," Toby nods. "Look, I don't doubt that what you went through was life-changing and not in the good way. And like I said, I will never, ever force you to tell me what happened. But if and when you do feel comfortable enough to tell me, I will do everything in my power to try and help you deal with it. It's going to stick with you forever; that comes with the territory. But it'll get better in time; everything does. I know you feel like everything is awful right now and that you can't see a silver lining or a happy ending, but it's still there. Just because you can't see it from where you're standing now, doesn't mean it isn't there."
Spencer allows his words to surround her like a comforting quilt before asking, "I thought you said you were getting a little cynical?"
"Must've just been a fleeting thing," Toby tells her. "I'm not leaving you, Spencer. You can't make me and neither can anyone else."
She nods slowly, but still looks doubtful, so he adds, "Do you remember what I told you? The night I lost my house?"
Spencer replies immediately; she'd never forget. "That I'm never alone. Not even for a second."
Toby nods. "Still true. It will always be true."
Her eyes flood with tears again and when he glances questioningly at her, she shakes her head. "That's what he wanted. –A. He wanted us to feel alone… It's why he isolated us. Tortured us. Made us feel like… Like…We're nothing."
"Well, you aren't and you never will be," Toby insists. "Spencer, I know how unhappy you are right now. I understand. I know that there isn't anything that I could possibly say to make it better. But I just hope you know that this sadness, this emptiness… It isn't going to last. You've just got to have a little faith. That's not in your nature, I know, but just… Just try."
She reaches forward and wraps both of her arms around him in an embrace. They remain like this for a while and she murmurs, "I honestly don't know what I'd do without you."
He kisses her neck and replies, "The feeling's mutual, I promise."
And suddenly, though there's a sea of grief and torture and horror to be dealt with between them, that tension she's noticed since the moment she saw him nights and nights ago is relinquished. She feels at home again, at peace, and it's almost like what it was before. She knows she's different now, but what's more important is now he knows it too, and she'll never understand how accepting he is of her flaws, how forgiving he is of all her transgressions, or how understanding he is that she's not going to be able to be all she was before. She'll never understand how Toby can be this person, this wonderful, wonderful person, especially after all of the terrible things he's gone through in his own life, but perhaps he has these qualities because of that. Maybe what he's gone through has helped shape him into a better person and if it worked for him, maybe it might work for her. She'll never understand how or why life gave him to her, the best person she knows, but that's one thing she's never going to question.
They adore each other. They complete each other. And they'll follow each other to the ends of the Earth.