a/n: hello. So in Hollow Ghost Hearts I said that I'm torn between two fics? Well, guess what, this is the second fic! I'm not doing both. And i'm honestly leaning more towards this one ~ I have it more outlined and planned and stuff? But yeah... like I did with Hollow Ghost Hearts, I just want to see how you feel... (thanks so so so much to all those who reviewed to Hollow Ghost Hearts btw!)

This story will have chapters where it is just the past, and some present time chapters that have flash backs! It's very dark. I'm awful. But this chapter is really fluffy for the most part...

Anyways. Let's see if I will continue! I'm still unsure...so no promises? (But i think i'm more likely to continue this one)

As for What If The Storm Ends? As of right now, that's on hold. I suck. lol.

Chapter One

October 21, 2013

The warm sun haze seeps through the curtains, illuminating their room in a mellow, golden hue. They lie together in bed, both facing each other with yearning stares and falling eyelids. Monday mornings are always torture in this way. It is the first grossing sip of workweek ahead of them. They try to delay it most days, but the forever chirping alarm clock reminds them that their time is limited. Time is always limited.

Her husband presses the snooze button on the annoying alarm clock, smiling lazily at her afterwards. She attempts at a look of disapproval, but it comes out soft and lazy, looking like a pout in the end. "I should shower," she states tiredly. It's the first thing that either of them has said. They always say more with their eyes in the morning than they do their lips. Their voices are still asleep for the first few minutes of every morning. They are too tired to produce any coherent sentences. They understand each other much better without words between them in this early of the day.

"I could come with you," he offers in a low, husky whisper. His hand curls around her waist, dipping into her t-shirt that's really his anyways. His fingers play against her skin like a pianist would play a piano. Gentle, soft, caring. "I could help you reach all the hard-to-reach places," he tempts her, a lusting glint taking charge in his blue orbs as his hand pushes her shirt up more, meeting more of her skin with his touch.

"There's no time for shower sex," she states, an amused smiling parking on her lips.

"You would go there."

She grins harder, amusedly shaking her head before trapping one of his legs in between her own. She moves closer to him, her hands coiling around his neck. She is completely clinging to him, her whole entire body finding ways to attach their limbs. She tenderly smiles at him after a long moment, "I have an idea."

"What would that be?"

"We both call in sick."

A bemused grin alters his entire face, crinkles form at his eyes; his eyes grow wide with enthusiasm—more eager for the day. "Really?" he puts forth, a skeptical beat in his words.

"Really." Her voice challenges him.

"That is completely uncharacteristic of you. Should I be worried?"

She smiles widely at him, adjusting her hold on him so that her hands are tousling his already bed headed mop of honey locks. She places a longing kiss on his lips, not really caring that both of them have yet to have brushed their teeth. When she looks at him afterwards, she is no longer smiling. Her lips align in a straight line, quivering almost, close to forming a frown. "I miss you," she whispers, her copper eyes gazing at him wistfully.

He frowns at her. "I know. We need to spend time together, but you know we both have responsibilities, Spencer."

She sighs a little, moving her hands downward to caress his cheeks. She never sees her husband anymore. It's not his fault, or hers. Their days at work are never ending. They come home at around eight, and by then, both of them just want to collapse into bed. They have the weekends off, but Toby has been spending those days at the construction sites. They're running low on money, and have been living pay check to pay check for the past four months. It's getting really tight.

But yesterday they finally were able to spend some time together. Some real time. It was perfect. They didn't even have to do anything for it to be perfect, just having him with her made it perfect. And after she got a taste of it, she needs more. The serving size is never enough.

She knows that her request is impractical at best, but she just has some weird, overpowering desperation for him. It almost feels like a necessity. Like he is a nutrient or vitamin she needs in order to live a healthy life. She is completely dehydrated from his love, and she needs to be nourished again. She needs more time to retain him.

Their friends, Hanna and Caleb have done it before. That's where she got the idea, actually. Her friends are much more spontaneous than Spencer, of course. They do things like this all the time. But Spencer should be allowed to have her one spontaneous moment in her life. She should be able to have that. And she wants to use that spontaneous moment on Toby.

"Please," she nearly begs.

There is a neediness in her dark eyes—a wretched, glooming, sad gaze, which he could never say no to. "Okay, fine," he nods. "I'll play hooky with you, Spencer Hastings. You have corrupted me."

Her grin grows wild. She has to bite her lip to restrain it from reaching her ears. "Really?" she beams at him.

"I would do anything for you."

She giggles, touching the indent in his chin that matches her own. An ecstatic energy plummets through her, waking her senses and mind. She doesn't need her daily cup of coffee to wake up right now. "I really, really love you," she professes, meeting his steady blues.

He smiles. "And I very much love you, too."

They make their separate calls to their work places, both filling guilty for a second, but laughing about it a second after the call drops.

Toby works at an architecture firm. It's pretty big, so most of his hard, beautiful work just ends up going in the trash. They've been talking about Toby becoming an independent architect for some time now. His boss is always ripping off his work, and getting away with it. Toby deserves more. But Toby's reluctant to do it—especially with money tight right now. Spencer knows that it is probably best to wait until they are stable, but she just hates to see all her husband's hard work get conned off by some dick, uncreative narcissist.

Spencer on the other hand loves her boss. She doesn't love the hours so much. But her boss is great, unlike Toby's. She works for a graphic advertising company for wine and other alcoholic drinks. You know the labels on those alcoholic beverages? Yeah, she makes those. She had went to school for graphic design, and still she isn't completely heart set on designing anything particular, but she's happy where she is. She enjoys it, and that's all that truly matters.

After making their calls, they brush their teeth and Spencer makes their bed (something she can't possibly put off—even on a rebellious day like today.) Toby then proceeds to remind her of the shower that they have more than enough time for now. His strong arms encircle her from behind, his lips teasing her neckline as his words flutter out, "help me reach the hard-to-reach places?" he whispers in her ear.

She smirks, feeling the heat rise in her flushed cheeks. She turns around in his hold, pressing her mouth to his in an instant. Her hands grip at the ends off his shirt, pulling it off him quickly with his help. She kisses him with urgency—devouring him, and blending his taste with hers.

The whole thing is done with elegancy, with a certain passion and care that she has had never met with anyone else but Toby. It never feels wrong with Toby. She never feels guilty afterwards, or dirty like she has before with other men. She has never had that feeling with Toby. It's always felt right with him. It's always been more with him, never fucking or hooking up or anything else you would refer to it as. It's always been pure with him. It's always been a beautiful, incredible, lustful vow between the two; a profession of God honest love; proof that they're meant to be.

After a couple rounds of wet, slippery, overly satisfactory love making, the couple sets sail to make pancakes together. They had skipped breakfast that morning—gotten too wound up with each other to hear the obnoxious tumbling and turning of their demanding stomachs. But eventually their stomachs had broken through the soundproof bear cage of their moaning and groaning, and once they heard it, there was no avoiding it.

They had decided to make pancakes due to the fact that they haven't actually had a hot breakfast in probably over six months. Cereal is great and all, but sometimes it just can't hit the spot like a good ol' hotcake can.

Spencer is the one who does mostly everything. She's always been the better cook between the two, which is not surprising in the least to her husband. She's brilliant in absolutely everything.

Toby is a good assistant though. He grabs her ingredients quickly and efficiently, making sure it is all there for his chef master wife.

He sneaks in a package of chocolate chips, smiling timidly at her like a child. She guffaws at him, shaking her head. "Stop looking at me like that. There's no need for it. You really think I need convincing of chocolate?" she deadpans. "Do you know me at all?" she teases, stirring the batter, absent mindedly.

He chuckles, placing a chaste kiss on her cheek, which she instantly leans into.

"I could do this every day," he starts. "I wish this was every day life. I wish we could do this more often."

"Play hooky?" she raises an eyebrow at him, slightly smirking. She jokes, but she knows what he is talking about.

"Be together." He states, his finger tickles against her wrist, mindlessly. "I thought getting married meant that you got to see the person all the time."

"Me too," she offers thoughtful expression. "Maybe my parents can sue whoever put these ideas in our heads."

Her parents are lawyers. Always very aggressive about everything and anything. They blame the world for all their issues because, well, the Hastings could never be the problematic ones in the situation. They are perfect. How could they ever do anything wrong? They are the kind of people, to put it simply, who treat the service at restaurants like slaves.

Toby chuckles at his wife's sardonic comment. "Maybe. Or maybe they can just sue my boss for being such a jackass?" he prompts.

"I'll talk to them about it."

He laughs again, his calloused fingers moving up her forearm. "Can I help at all? I feel entirely useless."

"Wanna make coffee?" she looks at him hopefully, a huge smile placing out on her face.

"Of course. We both know how you can get with your caffeine withdrawals, anyway," his fingers continue to make trails against her arm.

She amusedly scoffs, using the top of her spoon to point him in the chest, "just go make the damn coffee."

He snickers to himself before brewing up a pot.

Soon they are sitting at their small, circular table, pancakes on their plates, and coffee stains on their lips. Spencer is already on her second cup, which prompts a pointed stare from Toby.

"Come on, you know I have to have at least two cups of coffee a day," she says in reply.

He just shakes his head at this, snickering.

The day goes by quickly—too quick. Quicker than either of them prefer.

After breakfast, which was really brunch, Toby does the dishes. ("You made breakfast. It's the least I can do.") Spencer obliges, and goes off to pick out a movie for them to watch. There has been so many movies they have wanted to see, but never got the chance to. But yet, as she goes through the movies on the subscription channels (HBO, STARZ, CINNEMAX, etc.) she can't find anything. Toby's always better at this than she is. He has a knack for movie picking, so instead of going forth with her search on Netflix, she just waits for him.

He gives her a bemused smile when she tells him her reasoning for not picking out a movie.

"You're better at it than me!" she claims as he stumbles down next to her, his arm rounding her shoulders instantly. She leans into him easily.

Chuckles escape him, "what a grand skill to have."

She rolls her eyes slightly, "just pick out a god damn movie, Toby."

He laughs, falling into his wife's demands. Eventually he decides on Captain Philips, which is entirely captivating and entertaining, only further proving that Toby is spectacular at picking out movies.

"What would I do without my movie-pro husband?" she teases a little while after the movie. They basically just end up lounging on the couch, snuggled into each other, Toby playing with Spencer's hair, and Spencer tracing the patterns on his palm.

He chuckles, kissing the top of her head. "I guess you could use Rotten Tomatoes, or something. There are actually a lot of substitutes."

She giggles, "I don't trust their opinion as well as I trust yours."

"Well, good thing that I'm not going anywhere then," he nuzzles his nose against hers, making her grin widen. "Even if you are just using me as your own personal movie consultant, I'll be here for the rest of my days."

She meets his lips for a tender kiss. "You better," she murmurs after. She leans back into him, tucking her head into the burrow of his neck. His fingers once again toy with the ends of her waves. "Are you sure this is how you want to spend the rest of the afternoon—just lounging around on the couch?" he inquires softly.

She waits a second before answering. "It's perfect."

He smiles.

"I'm not boring you, am I?" she suddenly implores. But she is not too worried. Not worried enough to twist her head around and look at him.

"I'm never bored with you."

Her cheeks flush. He always knows exactly what to say. "You're very smooth, you know that, right?" she glances back at him.

He slyly grins before kissing her lips. "You make it easy."

"Again!" she laughs a little.

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Want me to stop?" he deems.

"No," a plentiful smile unfolds on her lips. "Don't you dare."

He places a butterfly kiss on her nose, "If that's what you want."

She giggles a little before leaning against him again, engulfing his touch.

She falls asleep easily in his arms, whereas most places she is filled with frantic restlessness to find the correct, comfortable position. It's not like that when she is in his arms. In his arms, she is immediately soothed. She is calm. She doesn't need to quiet her mind, or deduct her dark thoughts. None of it is necessary when she is in his embrace. It is just a subconscious thing. It's a flip of the switch in her mind.

She wakes up a little while later, a tiny bit groggy at first. But she quickly remembers the events leading up to the midday nap. She stares at her sleeping husband, sudden warmth running through her. Against her better judgment, she tousles her fingers through his bed ridden hair.

His eyes flutter open a moment later, a lazy smile smoothing out on his face at the sight of her. "Hey."

"Hey," she murmurs back, smiling. "Sorry. That was completely selfish of me. I just couldn't resist."

He grins, shaking his head, making her hand fall. "It's okay. What time is it anyway?"

"Almost 5."

"Mmmm," he leans back against the cushions, further. "What do you say we do?" he inquires.

"I was thinking, we could start a game of scrabble and call for Chinese takeout after I beat you," she smirks, her honeyed voice light and teasing.

"Oh," he purrs, raising an eyebrow. "Really? You really think you can beat me?"

"I have before."

"Yeah, on a 12 to 1 ratio," he smirks.

She narrows her eyes on him. "Fine. You're really so confident you can beat me?" she tempts. "Let's make this more interesting. Whoever wins has to pick up the Chinese."

"So, basically you'll be picking up the Chinese then?"

She glowers at him again, making him guffaw. She tries to think of a comeback. Something witty and intellectual, but her mind always busts around him. It doesn't work with its regular, high speed brain waves. Her usually beta waves slack down to alpha, succumbing her whole body in a certain way of relaxation. It's a blessing and a curse.

Before she can think of anything to say, he is pressing his lips against hers. Pulling her bottom lip into his mouth and grabbing a hold of her ponytail. She completely forgets about his teasing, pushing herself into him, and cupping his face. He is always surprising her with spontaneous kisses like this. They'll be in the middle of conversation-like so-and then suddenly, they aren't, and Toby's lips are on hers. She can't complain. She loves these unexpected kisses. They are always a good surprise. There isn't a lot of good surprises in the world.

He pulls away, "I'll go get the game," he caresses her cheek with his pointer and middle finger. "You get refreshments?" he suggests.

"Really? You're trusting me with refreshments?" she smirks.

He cocks his head to the side, his blue eyes filling with light as he recalls what happens every time she is in charge of drinks. She always makes coffee. No matter what the time. Even if it is 10PM. "Spencer, no. Do not make coffee. I trust you. You can do this," he encourages jokingly.

She giggles. "Fine, fine. I'll surprise you."

He steps off the couch in search for the game, while Spencer departs to the kitchen.

Toby comes back with the game and Spencer with tea. He approves her choice, giving her boyish grin, before unpacking the game and setting it up. She helps him, sitting cross-legged across from him on the rugged floor. Soon the game begins along with playful heckling and pointed stares. Toby uses words like, "Banana," "Snowman," and "Bookshelf," while Spencer puts forth, "Muskox," "Iodate," and "Argonaut." For most of the game, they keep at a steady pace with each other. But then Spencer wipes the board with "Zygotes," using all her letters, already receiving the fifty point bingo bonus, then landing her Z on "triple word score", and another letter on "triple word score."

Once the last tile is placed on the board, the game ends, and Spencer is declared victor. She smirks at her husband, her copper eyes shining with pride. "Whose the scrabble champion now?" she teases.

He smirks, "still me. It was one game. You were just lucky."

She scoffs, "luck doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Fine," he sighs, tilting his head to the side. "I wan't be a poor sport. Good job. You won fair and square," he concedes.

The corners of her lips rise up as she beams at him. "Thank you. But that doesn't change the fact that you have to go pick up the Chinese," she reminds him.

He chuckles a little, beginning to scrap up the game pieces. "Don't worry. I don't break my promises."

She smiles, helping him put the game away. "I know," she states, catching his stare. "That's why I love you."

His grin is profound as he continues to put the pieces away. "And here I've always thought it was because of my skillful scrabble tactics."

She giggles. "That too," she offers. "Do you know that you were the first person to beat me since I was ten? Yeah. It was honestly a really big turn on, I'm not even joking."

He guffaws, shaking his head. "I always thought that you were pissed off."

"I was — it was both. It was very conflicting for me," she confesses.

He laughs again. "I think that new piece of information is only going to motivate me to continue claiming victor."

She giggles, her face going alight with affection.

He admires her, pushing the scrabble box out of the way, and moving towards her. "You have such a beautiful smile," he admires quietly, framing the side of her dace with his hand.

She sucks on her bottom lip, her mocha eyes gazing at him with jubilation. A slight pink covers her cheeks. "Thanks," the word barely makes it past her lips.

He nuzzles his nose against hers, both of their grins vibrant and elate. She lets her head tumble into his neck, her arms wrapping around him. In this place, in his arms, she's home.

"Mmmm, I should order the Chinese food," she mumbles into him. "I'm starving."

"All right," he rubs circles on her back, kissing the sides of her head. He pulls away, kissing the top of her nose, making her giggle. "You know my order, right?"

She nods, "spicy chicken lo mien?"

He smiles. "Of course you."

"You order it every time," she claims. "If I didn't know it, there would be something seriously wrong with me."

He laughs a little at this. He's always laughing in her presence. With her, everything's hilarious. "I guess I do order it a lot..." he admits sheepishly.

"You do," she agrees with a nod. "At this point it would be unorthodox if you got anything else."

Another chuckle. "Do you think I should try something else?" his fingers mindlessly run down her arms.

"No. You don't want to upset the balance of the universe," she advises in a teasing tone.

"We kind of already did today by playing hooky," he bargains.

"That's true," she settles, a feigned pondering look taking over her features. "But by ordering something else, you will only further unbalance the stream of things."

"You're right. I don't want to piss off the universe by getting another Chinese order. Holy Christ knows what'd happen if I did that..."

She guffaws, biting her lip slightly like she always does when she didn't mean to laugh. She shakes her head, her grin still wide. "So, seriously, spicy chicken lo mien or pissing off the universe? What do you want?"

"I think I'll just get the lo mien, to be safe," he smirks.

"To be safe," she mocks the words in a murmur, laughing a little before pressing her mouth to his.

She didn't intend for the kiss to be so deep and passionate, but that's what it ends up being. She tugs her lips away from his at one point, only to be coated with slobbery, pleasurable kisses on her neck. "I need to call the Chinese..." she whimpers, giggling.

"Okay," he mumbles back.

She shakes her head to herself, amused as he continues to lather her neck with kisses. "You're going to have to stop..." she puts forth.

He makes a little whimper, groaning noise before looking up at her with those giant, blue orbs of his.

"I can't make a call while you're doing...that."

"Why not?" his smirk is faint, and azure eyes slightly teasing. He is messing with her.

"Y — you know why." She stammers on her words under the gaze he gives her. "Don't... I'm serious." a loose smile expands on her ivory face.

He chuckles, his hands finding hers, and interlocking. "Fine. I will keep to myself."

"Five minutes," she tells him. "That's all. Less, probably."

Then she makes the call, and by the end of it, Toby is plunging forward, his lips attaching to hers. She smiles into his mouth, almost laughing, but eventually getting lost in the lust and adoration. The Chinese place had told her the order would be ready in forty five to fifty minutes for pick up. It takes ten minutes to get there. They are cutting short on time. If they are going to do this, it is going to have to be quick.

Both of them are completely aware of that though. Clothes are off in a jiffy, spread around them sloppily. They devour each other, touching everywhere, but only for a few seconds-needing to feel everything, but not having enough time to do it.

How ironic.

She's wearing his shirt, leaning against the door as he shrugs on his leather jacket. She's always liked the leather jacket on him. It's always made him look somehow sexier than he already is. Adding that to the stubble that currently resides on his face, makes him completely irresistible. She licks her lips a little as she watches him with lust filled eyes.

"Spence?"

Her eyes click to meet his. He's chuckling softly. He catches her a lot in these types of situations. He always has. She's never been good at hiding her gawking.

"Sorry," she sighs a little, pressing her hands to his chest, falling into him a little. "You're just so dreamy!" she says the words in a high pitch voice, her eyes widening a little. She's joking, but she's not. She laughs about it. He does too.

He brings his hand up, running his hair through her curls. "As is my wife."

She grins. And if suddenly remembering the time at the growl of her stomach, she nudges him a little. "You should go! It will get cold. And it's never as good as it is after being reheated."

"Right," he responds before pecking her on the lips. "I will see you in twenty five, or so minutes."

"I'll be waiting..." her voice trails.

He squeezes her hand before making his exit out the door. She watches him travel down the porch, and down the stone path before walking over to his truck. He looks over his shoulder, smiles, and waves at her before getting in his truck and leaving.

If only she knew then to say a more heartfelt goodbye.

She sets the table, loads up the dishwasher, and makes a pot of tea. When Toby still isn't home, she decides to turn on the TV to pass time. Her stomach is growling ferociously. The box of Wheat Thins they have in their kitchen is practically begging her to come and take a handful. But she stays strong. Toby will be home soon. She's always had good self control.

When the clock tells her that it's been thirty five minutes, she decides to call him. Usually he's back by now. There's probably traffic, or something. Or maybe the Chinese place messed up the order—they've done that many times, too many to count.

It rings and rings and rings, and then goes to voice mail.

Hey baby, it's me... um, I'm just wondering where you are. Well, to put that more accurately, my stomach is wondering where you are. Maybe you left your phone in the truck. Just text or call me when you get this.

She waits another ten minutes before calling again. The same exact thing happens one again.

Hey. I'm probably just being paranoid, as always. I'm just calling to make sure everything is okay.

The voice mails become more frantic as time passes.

It's been about an hour, and I am probably being crazy, but I'm worried. Call me back when you get this. Love you.

You've been gone for an hour and a half now. I've been defeated. I'm eating Wheat Thins. (Humor is a defense mechanism for the brunette.) Please, please answer. I'm really getting worried, and I think I have a right. I think I'm going to call the Chinese place. See what's happening... Love you.

The Chinese place tells her he never came in to pick it up.

Toby, I'm getting really, really worried. They said you never picked the order up? Where are you? What's going on? I love you.

Two hours have passed. I don't know what to do. This is just...really weird. Please pick up. Please. Please. Be safe. Please. I love you.

She has no idea what to do—what to think. She's always been prone to overreact these kinds of things. She always thinks the worst. She's always battling paranoia. But this feels...different. She feels unhinged. She feels uneasy. She feels sick. She's not even hungry anymore.

Where is her husband?

She doesn't know if he's safe, or if he's...

She shakes the thought.

Maybe his truck broke down, and he's walking home, and has no signal. There's a lot of woods by their houses. Sometimes it's hard to get signal.

But even then...he would be home by now. Two and half hours. That's how long he's been gone. He could have walked back from the Chinese place by now, if he even got that far. He could be home by now.

It doesn't make sense.

Maybe he is at an auto shop. She knows there is one by the Chinese place.

She keeps waiting for him to call her back. To hear her phone ring, and for it to be Toby. But nothing like that happens. She is just left with silence. Left with herself, in his shirt, worrying and brewing over where he could possibly be. If he's safe. If he's hurt. If he's...

No she won't. He's okay. He has to be.

It's been three hours. I don't know... I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I'm thinking about calling the police... I'm just—you're really, really scaring me right now. Please call me back. Please, Toby. I love you. So much.

For some reasons the voice mails keep her sane.

They are more frequent as time passes. Less time fills the gaps. Soon she is crying into her phone, begging that he pick up, pleading that he come home.

She eventually calls someone else.

"I don't know what to do," she sobs into the phone, letting the receiver of the call in on what's happening.

"I'll be there in a second. Just... stay put. I love you."

"Love you, too."

Soon the receiver of the call is at her house, wrapping her in their arms around her.

They sit at the kitchen table. The guest's hands covering Spencer's as she recounts the endless voice mails she had left.

"I think it's time to call the police," her friend advises, putting on a encouraging, small smile. "They'll fix this. They'll know what to do."

Spencer nods weakly. She knows when she calls the police, this will be real. She won't just be over exaggerating, or feeling paranoid. This will be real. Whatever has happened — it's enough to call the cops.

She picks up the phone hesitantly, sucking in a breath of courage. "Thanks for being here, Han. I really, really appreciate it," she tells her best friend before pressing the send button.

"Of course," she squeezes the hand she still has covered.

Spencer presses the green send button on her phone to make the call to the police.

I think my husband is missing.