A/N: So is it just me or is Spoby being even more angsty than usual? As awful as it is to see them like this, I do think it's painfully realistic for their characters and I'm actually impressed with something the writers are doing for the first time in a while. Another bonus? It provides great possibility for fanfiction (life is all about looking at things with a positive attitude, haha). This takes place two/three weeks after 5x17. The way they left things at the end of the episode, combined with the fact that Toby's not going to be in 5x18 and 5x19, got me thinking. I really wanted to keep it as realistic as possible for what's to come, like maybe this could be an actual unaired interaction between them from the episodes Toby isn't in. So if you're looking for a story where everything gets resolved, I apologize but this isn't it.

To the anon that wanted me to write a post 5x15 story: I never got around to that, I'm sorry, but hopefully this one makes up for it. If not, check out Scars by AnthroQueen. Actually, scratch that – check that shit out anyway. I promise you won't be sorry.

To the anon with all the questions about A Beautiful Mind: see author's note down below. :)

On Thin Ice

Sleep was a thing of the past.

This wasn't entirely true, of course. But sleep where she woke up fit and well rested was a thing of the past. Whether it be nightmares or general restlessness it seemed she was up half the night no matter what she tried, and every morning she would leave her house feeling like she'd been hit with a Mack truck, her muscles aching and her eyes itchy. To make matters worse, she'd had to cut way back on her caffeine intake since her return from rehab months ago, as per her doctor's orders. She just felt so worn out, all the time, and Spencer honestly didn't know how much more of this she could handle. At this point she would pay big money just for one night where her eyes closed when it was dark and didn't open again until the sun was shining through her bedroom window.

Apparently tonight wasn't going to be that night. She woke up around 2 a.m., barely two hours after she'd gone to bed, and she was groggy for a split second before she caught whiff of something familiar. It was a scent that calmed and soothed her, a scent that she had come to recognize anywhere.

Toby, she thought, her body instinctively turning to search out his, wanting to curl into him, wanting his warmth and his softness and his sanctuary.

She found nothing, and when she opened her eyes tiredly she saw that her bed was empty. It was only then that she remembered wrapping one of his shirts around her pillow before falling asleep, and her throat closed at the realization that this was the origin of the smell infiltrating her nostrils. Tears of bitter disappointment were making their way down her cheeks before she was even conscious of them.

For someone who could recite every locker combination they'd ever had, it wasn't hard to remember that it had been eighteen hours since he last texted her. A day and a half since they spoke on the phone. Four days since she'd seen him, two weeks since their bodies had loved each other last and nearly four since they slept together in the same bed.

She supposed it would make more sense to worry about the reasons behind them clearly avoiding each other, but right now there was no room for that. Right now, all she felt was the sharp sting of his absence; how it left her chilled and unsteady, and how she searched for the overwhelming power of his love in other people only to feel alone every time.

Her phone was in her hands before she knew it, and she could barely make out the letters she typed through her tears.

Please come over. I miss you.

Toby had told her once that he'd been a pretty sound sleeper until he met her, but that now he slept with both his ears on alert out of fear that he would miss some call for help from her in the middle of the night. It had made her feel guilt-ridden and ashamed, but when he saw her face he'd tried to make her feel better by jokingly assuring her this would come in handy when they had kids someday.

Sure enough, her phone was ringing within seconds of having sent the text.

"Spencer… are you okay?"

It was always the first question he asked her these days, and she knew he meant in the physical sense. Emotionally, neither of them had been okay in a while.

She struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat, and he repeated, "Spence?"

"I'm okay," she croaked. "Just… please come. Please."

He was silent for a moment and she grew terrified of another excuse. It was late; he was tired; he was working on something important.

But then he put her out of her misery. "Okay. Be there in five."

She found she couldn't stay in bed while she waited for him, and instead made her way down the stairs, settling on the couch in the dark and throwing a blanket over her lap. She stared out in front of her, wondering how it was even possible that they had gone from being so close that sometimes it felt like they were one person, to not being on the same page about anything – and this in such a short amount of time.

She thought back to when he'd first returned from London, and how she had been afraid that a small part of him might resent her for everything she'd put him through. That he would look at her differently, that he would be reminded that no matter how they put it he was dealing with a recovering drug addict and she would always be a loose canon.

He hadn't done any of that. He had been so wonderful about the whole thing. He had given her everything she needed from him, and it had allowed her to finally open the last of her doors and let him in on every one of her ugly secrets. This hadn't driven him away either, nor had the looming threat of her going to prison for murder, and for months and months they were thick as thieves.

She was clever enough to realize now that things between them probably wouldn't have been so fine and dandy if they'd actually discussed their expectancies from him joining the police force. It was extremely unfortunate that they came to the conclusion that they were on opposing sides of the battlefield only after he started working as an officer of the law.

She knew now that it had never been his objective to use his position to help her and her friends out of the messes they got themselves into. His intentions had always been much more drastic, but also much more pure. He wanted to fight the war for them. He wanted them to go back to being teenagers who worried about college and prom while he chased evil from the inside, all on his own.

It was ridiculous that she hadn't seen this coming given everything she knew about him, but wasn't it just as baffling that he, too, had been taken by surprise by her standpoint? Had he honestly expected her to just sit back while he did all the dirty work and she went back to the mundane, superficial life she'd led before this mess ever started?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a short, soft knock at the door, and she jumped even though she knew who it was. The tears that had stopped when their phone call ended now returned with a vengeance when she saw him behind the glass. Her hands flew to unlock the door and she stepped back to let him in – back, back, back until there was at least five feet between them.

He stepped inside and as they regarded each other it made her wonder, when had things become so awkward between them? He was wearing pajama bottoms and a hoodie that he hadn't zipped up, revealing his bare chest; but for once that wasn't the part of him that she was looking at. He had this despaired look in his brilliant eyes that tore her to shreds, but he didn't come closer and she could only conclude that this was because she was sending out vibes that made it unclear to him whether or not she wanted him to.

Reflexively, she lifted her arms, just a little, but it was enough stimulate him into taking action. He reached her in just a few quick strides, engulfing her, embracing her, wrapping her up in a cocoon of love and warmth that only he could provide. Her noiseless tears were replaced by one deep, defeated sob before they fell silent again, and she clung to him, pushed against him still trying to get closer until he reached behind her legs and lifted her up so she could coil both her arms and her legs around him. He squeezed her so tightly to him for a moment, so intimately with his nose buried in her neck, in a way that made her think that, maybe, he missed her every bit as much as she missed him.

He walked them over to the burlap sack couch, sitting down so it was between his legs, still holding her in front of him. He pulled back slightly so his forehead rested against hers, his hands gently taking her tears with them as he smoothed her hair away from her face. He didn't ask for the reason behind her lack of composure, which was a good thing, Spencer supposed, because she wouldn't know where to start. Instead, he acted like he already knew, and she struggled to remind herself that he probably did. Toby had this uncanny ability to figure out when she needed to rant about a problem and when she just wanted the wordless solace of his presence.

He kept doing this – weaving his fingers through her hair with his forehead still leaning against hers – until her breathing evened out, her tears halted and her body temperature went back down to normal. Even then they sat there like this for a while, until his hands softly rubbed her sweatpants-covered thighs and he asked, "You want to move to the couch?"

She nodded. He went first, settling down before reaching for her and tucking her into his side. His hands grabbed the blanket she'd used before and draped it over the both of them. They still didn't speak, and Spencer thought this was probably for the best. Lately they hadn't been able to hold a conversation without it either turning into an argument or them tiptoeing around each other in their desperation to avoid one. She didn't want either of those things right now. She wanted to be raw and honest, and in this moment the best way to do that is let their actions speak for themselves.

She could tell by the way he held her close, by the tenderness laced in the kisses he placed on her forehead and in her hair, that he hated their current predicament as much as she did. If she had any doubts before, he took them away with each contact his lips made with her. Her heart ached when she took a moment to realize how hard things were for him right now. Not only was he constantly at odds with her, there was also the fact that her friends – their friends – weren't exactly being easy on him either. Hanna and Caleb were barely speaking to him, and Emily was so weary of having to choose sides that she, too, wasn't reaching out to him much. It seemed this boy was once again alone in the world.

It was ironic – he was on the opposite side of the law this time, but nevertheless, he still ended up screwed.

And yet, deep down, he remained an optimist. She knew the only reason he still put on that uniform every morning was that he stayed convinced he could make a difference for her. If she was honest with herself she knew she was about ready for him to throw in the towel, go back to being her sweet, oblivious carpenter and attempt to reassemble the broken shards that was their relationship. But he never spoke of doing that, and she could only conclude that he must still believe.

He had done this before, she knew, and after all these months she finally understood. She finally understood how it was possible for him to just stand by and watch her go through hell presuming that he was out to hurt her. Even after that harrowing night in the woods he still hadn't given in.

It was because he still believed he could turn the situation around. He still had what she had ditched around the time she grew out of diapers. Hope.

She only realized her eyes had fallen shut when she felt herself being lifted up with strong arms and carried up the stairs like a child. He put her to bed, drawing the covers over her securely, and it was only when he ran a hand over her hair and pressed a long kiss to her temple that a sense of panic settled over.

"No," she said urgently, blindly grappling for his hand. "No, don't go."

She saw conflict in his clear blue eyes. "Spencer… your mom…"

"She's here," she admitted before adding quickly, "but she leaves for work before I even get up and she never checks in. Please, Toby. Please don't leave me right now."

She saw another flicker of hesitation in him before he nodded and requested that she scoot over.

Sagging with relief, she did as he asked, making room for him as she slid over to her side of the bed. He peeled of his hoodie and removed his pajama bottoms, and she too discarded her sweatpants, wanting to feel as much of his bare skin on hers as possible. When he finally crawled in with her she found she couldn't just settle into their customary sleeping position where he spooned her from behind. Even after he'd quieted her down on the couch she still felt too deprived of him, so she turned around his arms, pushing her face into that soft spot where his neck met his shoulder, relishing in the way his arms pulled her closer.

Again, they didn't speak, not even to say goodnight. But they held each other tightly, and Spencer already dreaded the moment when dawn would come to take him away.

This was not his bed, he thought while his brain fought consciousness for just a little bit longer. It was Spencer's. Memories of what happened last night came back to him like a flood, and his hand reached across the mattress for her. It was only when he found nothing that he realized it was no use – he'd known the second he was awake that she wasn't there.

It was around the same moment he grew aware of water running, and it occurred to him that she was taking a shower. He sat up with a groan that would have made Spencer laugh once upon a time – she always said it was the stereotypical sound produced by an alpha male – and connected his feet with the cold, relentless floor.

Cautiously, he entered the bathroom, though why he felt this way he couldn't say. It wasn't as if they'd never used the bathroom together before, but a small part of him wondered if she would be less welcoming in the harsh glare of daylight. Toby could only see the silhouette of her naked form behind the unclear glass of the shower stall, and he tapped the door lightly to let her know he was there.

"Hey," he tried carefully, yawning as he stretched his tired muscles. "You sleep okay?"

He thought he could make out her nodding and then she answered neutrally, "Uh huh."

She didn't say any more, and Toby figured it was hard to converse above the noise of the shower running anyway. Again, his insecurities flared up as he pondered if she was glad for it. If getting up before him was her way of shutting him out after her plight last night.

He reached for his toothbrush by sink, and this miniscule procedure soothed him more than he would have admitted out loud. There was something strangely comforting about knowing she still kept an extra toothbrush for him here in her own personal bathroom, even if he hadn't been around to use it much. It was unsettling that he now drew strength from a toothbrush resting by her sink when only a few weeks ago it had been from a hug or a kiss or a smile, but Toby tried not to dwell on it. He had to keep reminding himself that they had been through worse and that maybe, a couple years from now when they were happily away from Rosewood and its monsters, they would laugh about how for a second there they had feared it would come between them.

He was rinsing his mouth when she stepped out of the shower stall, wrapping a towel around her thin, graceful body. He watched her like a hawk, feeling his chest tighten when he noticed she was avoiding his gaze. She seemed a hardened version of the broken girl from last night, but as she got closer and he got a better look at the guarded gleam in her eye he realized with a sudden rush that she wasn't icing him out because she didn't want him there.

She was icing him out because she was embarrassed.

"Hey." He cupped her cheek as she passed him, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. "Good morning."

She softened a little, almost unnoticeably. "Morning."

Neither of them moved for a moment, and they didn't take their eyes off each other. Then he leaned in, almost asking for permission, which she gave by tilting her chin towards him. Their lips met, nimbly at first, delicately, attentively. He felt his whole body come alive as her hands slowly slid around his bare torso, reclaiming what had been hers all along. Fire built up inside his gut and he struggled to get it under control, telling himself that she wasn't in the right frame of mind for that and he would never cross the line of trying to talk her into it when she was this vulnerable.

But then she dropped the towel from her body, making it very clear what she wanted. She pushed him back towards the bed, not giving him time to think about whether or not it was a good idea, and before he knew it his boxers were gone and he was naked too. It had been a while, and given the stress and the hardship they'd been under their physical re-acquaintance should have been desperate and angsty… but it wasn't. It was soft and slow and tender, like they had all the time in the world. There was not even a hint of the explosiveness that had plagued their disagreements, and in its place was an unparalleled intimacy that took his breath away. He felt her hands roaming all over his skin while they kissed incessantly, and he realized his were doing the same to hers, as if they were both trying to imprint in their memories what they already knew by heart.

She let out a tiny gasp as he entered her, then closed her eyes and pushed her pelvis up to meet his. They found an effortless rhythm, letting their bodies speak for themselves, both hopelessly savoring the moment because they had no way of knowing when they would feel emotionally connected enough to do this again. He felt her clutch his head to her as he coated her throat with warm, openmouthed kisses, and while they continued to move together as one he hoped she knew he wasn't just making love to her. He was worshipping her. He was worshipping her, and everything she was, and everything she meant to him.

They came apart in complete silence, and even then he couldn't bring himself to move away. They lay there huddled together in her big bed, taking up maybe one fifth of the space, waiting for their heartbeats to slow down to normal. His eyes closed in pleasure at the sensation of her fingers sifting through his hair with more care than he would have thought she could muster under the bleak circumstances, but she didn't linger like she usually did. He couldn't tell if it was because she couldn't or because she didn't want to for whatever reason, but after only a few minutes she sat up and murmured, "I have to get ready for school."

He knew what that entailed, and as he studied her Toby had a hard time understanding why someone who woke up looking like that had to spend time styling her hair and getting her makeup to look perfect.

He grasped her elbow before she left the bed. "Let me make you breakfast. Do your thing–" he nodded towards the bathroom "– and when you come downstairs we'll have breakfast together."

She bit her lip and nodded wordlessly, and Toby wasn't sure why he felt so relieved.

The next twenty minutes were spent trying to turn whatever he could find in de fridge into a somewhat presentable breakfast. It wasn't much, and it made him worry. Was she eating? Were her mother and her friends making sure she had a decent meal once in a while? He hoped they were. He hoped they were paying attention not only to her feistiness and her talent for solving problems, but also to her tendency to put everyone else's needs before her own.

He desperately wanted to make her something sweet and sugared – pancakes or cinnamon rolls or something. But he couldn't find the all the necessary ingredients and told himself he wouldn't have enough time to pull it off anyway. Instead, he made toast, scrambled some eggs and cut up every last piece of fruit he could find. At the last minute he found some toaster waffles in the back of one of many cupboards, and was generously pouring maple syrup over them by the time Spencer strolled into the kitchen looking drop dead gorgeous and completely disengaged from the girl who had cried in his arms just a few hours ago.

He set a stacked plate down in front of her, along with her one cup of coffee a day, which she had in the mornings. Or she used to have in the mornings. Toby looked at her apprehensively now, suddenly irrationally afraid that something in her routine had changed and he didn't know about it.

She just gave him a small smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he responded with a sigh, and took his own seat.

They didn't talk about last night. They didn't talk about his job, or her friends, or -A. They didn't talk about any of their recent blowouts. They were very careful to avoid any topics that could potentially turn their first meal together in a while into destruction. But they talked. They talked, and he even got her to smile once or twice.

"You want a ride to school?" he offered as they cleared away the last of the dishes.

But she shook her head. "It's okay. You won't be off work by the time I'm done, so… it's probably better if I just take my car."

He heard what she said, and it pained him. While he was working as a carpenter remodeling the loft he lived in, he had pretty much been able to choose the hours he worked. He'd been able to plan his whole life around her: driving her to and from school so they would have an extra five minutes together, meeting her for lunch at a moment's notice, always available to take her calls and text her back. It had motivated him in his labor knowing she was at school, or at field hockey practice or with her friends. It had encouraged him to work harder, so that when he was with her she always had his full attention.

Their lives didn't work that way anymore, and if he looked at it objectively he supposed this would have taken a toll on them even without all the extra complications. He was only now starting to realize how much they had never thought to discuss.

"Thank you for coming last night," she mumbled, so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. The fact that she thought she had to thank him made him feel like crying.

"Of course," was all he could muster but the devil inside him wondered, was he being a hypocrite for pretending to both of them that all she had to do was ask? How many times had she made it clear that she needed him, and he had hid away like a coward because he knew he was unable to provide the answers she so desperately wanted?

How and when had it become such a heart-wrenching dilemma to have to choose between being true to her and being true to himself?

They eyed each other now, both clearly conflicted on how they would leave things, and suddenly the awkwardness was back. A sharp pain jabbed at his chest, and he wished with all his might that he could assure her everything would be okay. He wanted nothing more than to make her that promise, but he was already lying so much these days – to his boss, to his friends, even to her – that he couldn't do it now. Not about something that had the potential to destroy them both.

He couldn't pledge that he would call her either, because he could never be sure he wouldn't be dodging her messages in just a few hours in the event that everything went to shit again and he was caught in the crossfire. He knew she loathed when he did that, and by extension he loathed himself for it. But if the alternative was fighting with her and devastating her and making her cry, it often felt like the more humane option. He wished he could make her understand that this wasn't the same thing as ignoring someone.

And so, he gave her the only truth he had left in him. The only thing he never doubted when everything else was so uncertain. He looked right at her and said softly, "I love you."

He thought he saw tears building up behind her eyes but she stayed strong and replied simply, "I know."

He nodded, accepting, because this was unambiguously known between them and he had no doubt that it went both ways. Of all the troubles they'd faced in the span of their passionate, consuming, tumultuous time together, not loving each other enough was never one of them.

Toby stepped forward, and she allowed him to wrap her up one last time. He scooped up the ends of her freshly washed hair and brought them to his nose, closing her eyes as he tried to commit her scent to memory. He tried to forget that the next time he saw her everything between them could be different. She might be raving mad at him, or disappointed, or she might have that look of betrayal on her face that made him feel like a small part of him was dying.

He stayed with her for as long as he could stand it. Then he placed a mournful kiss on her forehead and stumbled away without looking back, out the door, across the yard and into his truck.

He made it three blocks before the tears clouding his vision forced him to pull over.

A/N: Thank you so much for the interest! I have no idea why but it makes me insanely happy when people ask questions about my stories. So you asked about Spencer's "difficult days" in A Beautiful Mind, and the way I see it is that she definitely is not completely out of it. It's not like her altered state in the beginning of Come Back To Me. She knows what's happening around her – she just has very little interest in being a part of it. She feels hunger, but probably wouldn't do anything about it if Toby wasn't there to encourage her to eat. I imagine him making her favorite foods and just being patient and not forcing her even if she only takes a few bites. As for showering, she gets anxious when she's apart from him so I think they would shower together? It wouldn't be anything sexual, but more like a comfort thing. He'd hold her under the warm water and try to make her feel safe and loved. And yeah, I think she'd would wake up after a good night's sleep to a new day, and things don't seem quite as bad anymore and she can go back to her usual routine.