A/N: So, I figured I'd get out this little one-shot drabble that has been in my head before the "big reveal" tomorrow. Ugh. I just know I'm going to cry. Anyway...

There's a hidden message among Mona's nonsensical ramblings. Be on the lookout for it! 3

As always, I love you my darlings.

xoxo

Behind Blue Eyes

No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies

"Behind Blue Eyes" (Limp Bizkit version)

Wherever you go
Whatever you do
I will be right here waiting for you
Whatever it takes
Or how my heart breaks
I will be right here waiting for you

I took for granted, all the times
That I thought would last somehow
I hear the laughter, I taste the tears
But I can't get near you now

"Right Here Waiting For You" (Richard Marx)

It was the darkest night of his life that he could remember, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. The rain had been pouring down for two days straight now without pause, leaving precarious pools of water to collect on the highway that he had just pulled off from. It was as though his windshield wipers had grown exhausted keeping up with such gale forces, and actually appeared to be tiredly slowing down as he drove. Or perhaps it really was just raining so heavily that his father's rusty, outdated sedan didn't have a prayer of fighting it in the first place.

Though the drive was nearly and hour and a half out of Rosewood, he had hardly noticed how long he had been on the road. He had nearly missed his exit, lost in the deepest recesses of his own mind, trying fruitlessly to put the pieces of this complicated puzzle back together. He was finding that he was losing the strength to continue this battle, and was desperate for answers.

It was, after all, the very reason he had come out here.

As he pulled into the familiar driveway and put his truck in park, he took a moment to calm his irrationally beating heart. The cottage that stood in front of him was an echo of years past – years that he had chosen to forget. It represented so many different things now that it was enough to make his head spin. It looked the same as it always had – warm…comforting. Yet there was an impending shadow settling all around it that had nothing to do with the weather. The flowers that lined the path to the porch had all but died during the winter, having fought valiantly with the February frost in futile effort. The old 'welcome' sign that had been hung from the door for as long as he could remember was beginning to fade, the paint having been worn and chipped over the years. There was even a loose shutter lining the window to the attic, flapping around mercilessly in the malevolent winds.

He was gripping the steering wheel so hard that he could feel the blood draining from his knuckles. He hadn't entirely thought through what he was going to say to her, and was now wishing that he had. Part of him wanted to turn around and abandon his mission all together. Pretend to live in blissful ignorance, making a conscious effort to forget all that had happened. Just like he had done when his mother passed away.

The ironic thing, however, was the amount of time he had spent at this house after that very same incident. Mourning silently as he sat in the bay window, attempting to focus on a Hardy Boys mystery to take his mind off the fact that his life was about to change forever. Drinking tea and watching the snow fall into the yard, wishing he had the energy and will to venture outside to construct one of his elaborate snowmen. His mother had always helped him – shown him how to pack snow properly and what everyday items worked best for the features of the face. He could remember her as if she died yesterday, her cheeks rosy from the cold but her eyes as warm as the fire burning in the hearth they had abandoned inside.

He had hated winter ever since she passed.

The memory was a cruel reminder that no matter how painful the outcome, he would have to face what was coming next. The cottage had somehow come to represent this sort of confrontation – whether he liked it or not.

Memories of Elaine Cavanaugh had brought an unexpected tear to his eye, which he impatiently wiped away. He couldn't think about her right now. The situation at hand was hard enough without grieving her passing all over again.

He pushed the door open with more force than he had intended, and it just about blew off in the rush of wind that cascaded across the expansive yard. The rain was aiming directly at his eyes, blurring his vision and perpetuating the stinging that had already been present. He pulled the collar of his coat over his head and began to run up to the front door, splashing through puddles along the way; by the time he reached the porch, he was soaked to the knees.

He took a deep breath to steel himself, then knocked forcefully three times. Thunder rumbled in the distance, imminently closing in on the quiet little rural landscape he had traveled to. He found himself grateful that he was through with driving for an hour or so, and hoped the storm would pass before he journeyed back.

The door swung open, revealing a familiar face that was immediately tainted with an expression of ambivalent surprise. The initial shock passed almost as soon as it had arrived, and she tilted her head to the side in concern.

"Toby," she murmured quietly, tucking a piece of her dark hair behind her ear. "What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

"You knew," he breathed accusatorily, pushing past her none-too-gently to get into the house. If she found his forwardness odd, she did not indicate it. She closed the door quietly behind them, looking rather guilty. In some distant part of his mind, he was grateful for the newfound warmth of the fire burning a few feet away, and mildly comforted by the familiar scent of jasmine in the air. If the occasion for his visit was more congenial, he may have even taken a moment to enjoy it.

"I had a feeling I'd be hearing from you, sooner or later," she stated simply. Her eyes met his as he stared her down, waiting for a more salient response. She did not offer one.

"Sit down," she commanded quietly. "I just made your favorite tea."

The angry, determined side of him wanted to resist. To stand in the foyer and demand answers until he got them. To be back on the road after a brief but succinct explanation, heading back to Rosewood to set things right.

However, there was a part of him that was undeniably exhausted. He was utterly worn out – as his adrenaline began to calm, he was overtaken by fatigue. This was the side that won out in the end, as he trudged irritably to the couch. They were quiet for a moment as she poured his tea, surveying his expression all the while.

"Why didn't you tell me Spencer was coming to see you?" he asked quietly at last, avoiding her eyes. He instead concentrated on staring at his wringing hands in his lap and settling his erratic breathing.

Anne Sullivan shook her head shortly as she placed the cup of steaming tea in front of him. The smell of lemon instantly overtook him, and he found that he had never been so grateful for tea in his life. He took an immediate gulp, morbidly pleased by the way it burned all the way down his throat.

"You know that information is confidential, Toby," she reasoned. She had resumed her seat in the armchair across from him, sipping from her own mug. "I couldn't have told you – even if I wanted to."

"Confidential," Toby growled. "That's just a fancy way of saying 'secret.' And there have been enough of those going around lately without you starting, too."

Anne sighed sympathetically, setting the warm beverage aside on an end table beside the window. The steam instantly began to condense on the glass, thick enough that Toby could have drawn a picture in the moisture – like he had as a kid. Childhood memories of this house began overtaking him in a rush of nostalgia as he recalled looking idly out that very same window, wistfully thinking of his mother.

"What do you know?" she asked at last. Toby was still studying the way that the rain clung to the window in rivulets, cascading like a quiet waterfall. He took a deep breath before responding.

"I know that she's not safe," he murmured. "I know that someone tried to frame her for Alison's murder earlier this year. I know she's hurting – and she's too afraid to ask for help."

Anne leaned over her lap to meet his eyes. He reluctantly looked back, struggling to keep his expression impassive.

"There's a group of people," she began softly. "Extremely emotionally troubled, vengeful people. With personality disorders like I've never seen. Their own ostracized lifestyles have caused them to manipulate Spencer and her friends into social submission for almost a year now."

Toby grunted softly, annoyed. "I'm not a patient of yours," he said, more forcefully than he had intended. "Tell me in layman's terms."

She pursed her lips together in silent apology. "They're harassing her and using her secrets as weapons against her. Setting her up as a person of interest in Alison's murder is only the start of what they've done."

It was as though his entire body went rigid with rage, but for only a moment. He seized control of his emotions almost as instantaneously as they had descended.

"Why would anyone do that?" he asked involuntarily, then felt immediately pathetic for saying it aloud.

Anne only offered a sad shrug in reply, shaking her head gently to indicate that her guess was as good as his.

Toby had begun unknowingly to crack his knuckles against his knees, fighting to keep himself stable. "She doesn't deserve this. None of them do," he said swiftly. "Tell me how to make it stop. I need to know how to make it stop."

She reached forward to take Toby's calloused hands between her own, patting them in careful reassurance. Her touch was cold, but soothing all the same. "It takes a gentle heart to love someone the way that you do," she said quietly. It was almost a whisper. "But it takes a heart of steel to keep someone safe. If you want to help her, you're going to have to learn how to control all of these feelings. The anger. The resentment. You have to put it all aside so that you can think rationally."

Toby looked up from beneath his eyelashes, fighting to ignore the stinging in the corners of his eyes. There was a certain fierceness hidden in the depths of Anne's expression, and he would be lying if he said it didn't frighten him at least a little.

"Then what do I do?"

She took a deep breath to steady the shiver running down her spine. The look of pale determination on his face was sobering. "Whatever it takes." She paused for a moment, as if thinking this through more extensively. "These are dangerous people, Toby. If you want to protect her, you're going to have to become just as dangerous."

It occurred to him only briefly that this suggestion was odd coming from a psychologist's mouth. But the look on her face said it all – she was frightened, too. Of what, exactly, he did not know. And the chill that ran through his body alerted him that it was better not to ask.

He nodded resolutely, feeling as though an icy hand had wrapped itself around his heart. He knew that she was right. He could accomplish nothing from the sidelines. He was just as vulnerable as Spencer was that way, and had been careless enough already. The scaffolding being tampered with was surely no accident – he would have to remain more vigilant from now on.

The best way to keep up with your enemy is to always be one step ahead. The solution was obvious, but that didn't make it any less painful.

He squared his jaw in determination, fighting to control the tremor in his voice. "Tell me everything you know about them, Aunt Anne."

Mona was a crazy bitch.

There were no two ways around it. Whatever settings in her brain that were still reasonably in tact were crumbling more day after day. She literally functioned on psycho.

Toby was realizing this, slowly but surely, as he stared at her across the table in the Radley lounge. They had been mindlessly engaging in a game of Gin Rummy, both avoiding the conversation that they knew was coming.

It was as though she had anticipated his visit. The way in which she casually twirled her hair around her finger as she looked him up and down – surveying him – had been anything but surprise. There was something fiery behind her eyes. A malevolence that Toby could not begin to mitigate in his own head. Instead he stared back at her, hoping to exude some acceptable level of confidence.

She laid her cards on the table before him, her eyes flickering wildly. "Tell me why you're here," she demanded at last.

He felt as though his voice had been caught in his throat, unable to travel past the nervous lump that resided there.

"I know that you've been toying with Ali's friends." His words came out sounding meeker than he was comfortable with.

"They rarely understand everything," she began quietly, her gaze trained somewhere into his soul. "Living off vital emotions."

Her words made positively no sense to him. She had more screws loose than a do-it-yourself Ikea cabinet. He had to struggle not to react to her nonsensical phrase.

It was imperative to approach with caution. Despite the continuously deteriorating rationality of her mind, she was not stupid. Far from it, in fact. Aunt Anne had been right – in some ways, Mona's hyper vigilance had proved to border on genius.

"You're scared of me," she surmised in a horrifyingly level monotone. "You were afraid to come here because you don't want to end up likethem."

Spencer and her friends. He knew what she meant.

"I've had people look down on me for my entire life," he explained, struggling to keep his face neutral. He did his to emulate her apathetic tone, hoping it would come across as effective enough for the time being. "For once, I need to know what it feels like to have all the power."

She studied him carefully, assessing the legitimacy of his candor. It was strange to see her looking so disheveled, with untended bags beneath her eyes and that wild mane framing her face. It was all he could do not to crack beneath her stare. Her presence somehow commanded obedience – he wasn't sure he could have challenged that, even if he had prepped adequately beforehand.

"You're in love with one of them," she accused acidly. "You have nothing useful to offer me."

He panicked at this, watching helplessly as she stood up and began to make her exit. He had come prepared with a last resort – a last ditch effort. He rose to his feet and quickly cut her trajectory short. The look of annoyance in her eyes was second only to a brief appreciation of his audacity.

"I was already planning on breaking up with her," he insisted hastily. He thought quickly on his feet. "She cheated on me with my doctor earlier this year – the doctor I was seeing after I broke my arm in an accident that you set up."

She narrowed her eyes into malevolent slits, as if daring him to continue challenging her.

"I want in," he concluded, holding his breath.

She was continuing to probe him with her gaze, as though analyzing the motive of this request. At last she cocked her head to the side, her lips parting carefully.

"No."

She made to maneuver around him, but he sidestepped her to prevent it. With a sneer, she attempted again, but he followed her actions once more.

He hadn't been sure up until that point whether he would be capable of pulling off this façade – in fact, he had a multitude of doubts surrounding the entire idea from the moment he had set foot in the sanitarium. But now, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He felt ready to take Mona on. To prove to her that he could be just as malicious as she could.

He had to ignore the other feelings. Like his aunt had said – they would only get in the way.

He took a deep internal breath, praying that his next statement would sound as authentic as possible.

"I want that bitch to pay."

She smiled, then. Or something close to a smile. Though the corners of her lips turned up in pleasant surprise, her eyes remained cold and dead.

"It would make things more interesting if you stayed with her," she reasoned at last, pushing past him toward the door. "I'll be in touch."

"If you don't find that key, next time it'll be me trying to run you over."

Panic surged through him at Mona's words. He had nearly screwed everything up. It wasn't the first time, either – Emily had come dangerously close to catching up with him in the woods a few days beforehand. So close, in fact, that he had launched into a full-blown anxiety attack once he had returned to headquarters, collapsing into a chair and fighting to control his pounding heart.

Part of him knew, that somewhere deep in his subconscious, he had acted carelessly on purpose. Had hoped, in some twisted way, that he would get caught. That all of this could be over and he could stop living this horrific double life. Try as he might to control those emotions that Aunt Anne had so carefully warned him about, he found that more often than not, they could not be quelled. He hated the person that he had been required to become. He hated the trails of deceit he left wherever he turned, perpetuating the cycle of secrets beyond recognition.

He had been foolish to think this task would be easy. Stupid to expect that he could handle it. Instead he was left with a web of intricate knots, most of them pulled so tightly that he would never be able to properly unravel them again.

He made his way into the empty house, nearly knocking over a vase of flowers on the table next to the entryway. He found himself suddenly grateful that nobody was home at the Hastings residence tonight – he was in such a frantic state that he'd have drawn all sorts of unnecessary attention to himself.

The kitchen was dark, but he did not dare turn on the light. He was fully aware that Jason DiLaurentis was continuously on the prowl from the window of his own house, looking over Spencer in a way that he felt he had failed to do with Alison. This had actually become increasingly annoying to Toby as he fell further into the world of the A-Team – Jason was so nosy that Toby had to be even more covert in everything that he did.

He pulled open the first drawer he came across, sifting quickly through an endless supply of odd screws and random utensils. It occurred to him only briefly how bizarre it was to find a junk drawer in the house of Hastings.

He moved onto the second one. Instruction manuals for appliances and handwritten recipes.

The third. A collection of seemingly useless keys, likely belonging to various lockboxes and filing cabinets. There were literally dozens – the one he was looking for could have easily been mistaken as one of them.

He pulled the drawer out and dumped it onto the counter, passing through each key individually in careful inspection. Some were labeled, others were not. He could feel his heart beating with increasing rapidity as he searched, beginning to panic that he was running out of time.

And then, the silence settled in a deafening manner. It was as though everything in the world had been turned on mute, and a painful ringing of emptiness filled his ears.

"Is this what you're looking for?"

The raspiness of her voice made his heart break. The blood in his veins stopped instantaneously as he felt a chill descend upon him. He lifted his head in alarm, catching the brief glare of lightning through the opposite window.

Everything stopped as he felt the proverbial bottom drop out. The events of the past year flitted through his brain, much like having his life flash before his eyes. Cherished memories that he had held so dear – glimpses of her smile and the endless love in her eyes.

He remembered the first time he had kissed her outside the motel, giving into his instincts though he feared she would reject him. The first time he realized he loved her, unable to think straight about anything else for weeks at a time. The first time that he had made love to her, vowing to himself from that day forward that he would do anything Mona asked of him, as long as Spencer remained physically unharmed. As long as he could keep a watchful eye on her, no matter how deceptive, to ensure her safety.

In that one cruel, unforgiving moment, he came to the sober realization that he would never again see her laugh. He would never again feel the silky texture of her skin against his, or taste the sinfully sweet flavor of her lips. He stood there, fighting to catch his breath as he realized nothing in his world would ever be the same.

He took a deep breath to calm the clenching of his throat. Nothing – nothing in this world – could have prepared him for this feeling. He thought fleetingly about coming clean. Telling her exactly what was going on. Ensuring her that he loved her, no matter how things looked. It would have been the easy way. The way that he so selfishly wanted.

But he knew that it was not what needed to be done. He had promised to himself that he would keep her safe – and breaking character would only make things worse. When Mona found out, she would be unmerciful. She would unleash a fury so debilitating upon Spencer that she would crack – and it would be all to punish him and his betrayal.

As long as he had Mona's trust, he could conceivably help control what happened to Spencer. Hell, he had succeeded in doing it so far. Mona may have been smart, but Toby had proven himself to be an Oscar-worthy actor. He had manipulated her in ways that had gone right over her head. Had convinced her to change plans and rework strategies.

Had diverted her focus from Spencer.

The last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt her. And in this moment, he came to the painful realization that it couldn't be avoided. No matter what he chose to do.

He could tell her the truth and put her at risk…

…Or, he could break her heart and keep her safe.

He knew it would break them beyond repair. That he would have to watch her grieve over him – would curse himself for putting her through it.

But he also knew that she would move on. She would fall in love again someday, after all of this was over. Someone who could put the pieces of her heart back together that he was about to shatter. Someone who was worthy of the trust she so carefully chose to give.

He knew what had to be done. What was best for her. Even if she hated him for it.

She could not possibly hate him more than he hated himself in this exact moment for what he was about to do. The idea of not living with her would be more than he could bear…but this was no longer about what he needed.

Whatever it takes, his aunt's voice echoed in his head.

He blinked a stray tear away and allowed it to cascade down his cheek and onto the counter.

Goodbye, Spencer, he thought solemnly as he slowly turned to face her.

END