This is my first fanfic. The Listener is a great show, Craig Olejnik is amazing (yum ^^), and I am desperately trying to avoid researching an English paper. So, what better way to entertain myself? This is just my take on what would have happened if Toby had worked a little too hard to keep his secret. I hope you all enjoy reading, and reviews are greatly appreciated!

I do not own The Listener...

Toby dreamed often – too often for his own liking. He probably dreamed no more or less than the average person; the problem lay in the nature of the dreams. They pained him, taxed him to the point where sleep was no longer rest. They came on slowly, methodically, as if making their appearance too soon after sunset would defeat their purpose. In the end, Toby was never left with more than a cold sweat or, occasionally, a single image to remember them by. He had learned over the years to protect himself by never allowing sleep to claim him for more than five hours in a single night. It was only recently that those five had dwindled down to two.

"…not listening, are you?" Oz questioned from behind the wheel.

"What?"

"You zoned out on me again."

"Sorry, Oz. I was just…thinking," Toby shrugged.

"Don't you do enough of that? I mean come on, every time I look over you're all," he stopped abruptly to widen his eyes in an exaggerated stare.

Toby laughed it off and gestured to his friend to watch the road. Oz looked like he was going to say something else, but changed his mind and turned his eyes dejectedly back to the blacktop.

'I just don't get it. He never tells me anything anymore.'

Toby tried not to wince at his friend's unspoken frustration. The truth was he was having an exceptionally hard time "tuning out" lately. The slow expulsion of breath and clenching of his fists that had proven effective for years was barely doing a thing to calm the storm inside his head. "You watch the game last night?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood. If Oz' thoughts were going to find a way into his head, he would rather they not be so…heavy.

"Nah, I hit the hay early – we've got a double today, you know."

"Yeah." Silence fell between them like a thick curtain. At least, it was silence for Oz. They had pulled to a stop at an especially crowded intersection, and Toby was willing the light to change. The guy in the crosswalk was deciding whether or not to spit out his gum, the woman two cars back was thinking about her terrier's separation anxiety, and the kid in the truck to the right was hoping he wouldn't be caught driving without a license. Within a few seconds, though, Toby could no longer distinguish between the voices. There were just too many, and they were getting louder. It took every ounce of control he had not to bury his head between his knees and shout. He involuntarily clutched at his seat. His body tensed and his eyes screwed shut. He tried to open them, but his brain was in crisis-mode. It was as if his mind reasoned that a decrease in visual input would somehow ease the pain. His heart rate was skyrocketing. He desperately tried to breathe normally, but his heart's frantic pace caused his body to scream for more oxygen. He gripped the upholstery tighter. He began to gasp, sucking air like the man with the collapsed lung he and Oz had just taken in. He could feel himself falling away.

A strong grip on his arm snapped him back and, instantly, the intruding thoughts vanished, leaving only the concerned voice of Oz. "Toby, man! Hey, you with me?"

Toby blinked lazily and tried to get his bearings. He was still feeling the intensity of the attack, and thrown off by the sudden quiet. He jerked his head back when Oz made use of his pen light to check his pupils. "Ah! Oz, stop, stop," he insisted, putting up his hands defensively, "I'm fine."

"The hell you are!" Oz cried, throwing himself against the back of his seat in exasperation. His concern was suddenly laced with anger. "You – you come to work every day lookin' like you haven't slept in weeks, you can barely lift the gurney, and now you're having seizures!"

"Oz, it wasn't a seizure – you know better than that."

"Then tell me, Toby, what the hell was it?"

"It was nothing, just a headache. Now, can we please get back on the road and do our jobs?"

"Fine, you know what? It's your life, man, but if you want us to stay partners, you've gotta get yourself checked out. I can't keep wondering if I'm gonna have to load you into the rig when we're on-call."

***

The pair was halfway through their second shift and had responded to what must have been a record number of calls. Most had been minor – brief fainting spells, mild concussions, and deceptively superficial lacerations – and resolved quickly. Toby was beyond exhausted, but grateful that no more uninvited secrets had found their way past his barriers. Though he hated to admit it, he was especially relieved at the lack of such from Oz. While they worked, the two only spoke out of necessity, neither willing to break the pall of tension their earlier confrontation had cast between them.

Things had been quiet for some time. Despite the veritable beating his body had taken throughout the day, Toby was beginning to get restless. He pondered opening up to catch a stray thought, just to give his mind something to chew on, but instantly chastised himself. He needed to talk to his friend. That and he couldn't trust his "gift" not render him senseless again the moment he gave it the chance. He pulled out of a slouch and cleared his throat. He looked over at Oz, whose thumb and forefinger were perched over his pursed lips as he drove, as if to emphasize his current aversion to verbal exchange. As far as he was concerned, the ball was in Toby's court. He had spent too many days lately ducking under the net to retrieve it and hit it again. His eyes darted for a spilt second in Toby's general direction, which Toby figured was as good an invitation as he was going to get.

"Oz?"

'What now? Doesn't he get that he can't keep me in the dark like he does Liv? For God's sake, I'm his best friend!'

Damn it! Toby nearly shouted. He took another cleansing breath, hoping to fortify his wall against his friend's sudden surge of emotion.

"Come on, Oz, say something."

"I already did. You need a repeat?" His sarcasm would have been laughable if not for the hurt in his voice.

Toby sighed loudly in resignation. "Alright, look," he paused, unsure of how to continue. "I – I'm remembering things."

"Things?" he questioned tentatively, "What kinds of things?"

"That's just it, I don't know." When Toby didn't continue, he expected to be prodded further. However, Oz knew his friend's past was a touchy subject, so he waited patiently. Toby let the helplessness he felt creep into his tone. "I can't piece it together – any of it. It's all just fragments." It was true, strange images he could only assume were bits of his distant past had been finding their way into his dreams of late. He wasn't about to volunteer any information about his…talents to his friend. He couldn't deal with that right now. Besides, he reasoned, lying by omission wasn't exactly lying…