Hello and don't hate me. I am so sorry for that last chapter. Hopefully the rest won't be as terribly tragic? Regardless, your response has been tremendous and your reviews have astounded me. I am so grateful for each and every one of you and your support means the world to me. It's honestly the reason I keep going (that, an an overactive, never-silent muse). Also, side note to one of my precious blueberries of anons, no, that one particular line was not foreshadowing. It's not that I don't think that might be a good storyline, it's just that it feels out of place and a tad unrealistic. And, Spencer's got enough on her plate, let's be real. :P
So as always, I'm leaving you with chapter three and hoping you continue to like the path I'm taking these characters on. It might get a little rough at times but, like I said, it's not going to end as tragically as it began haha. Thank you as always for your incredible feedback and I love you all so much! And as always, that review box/PM box/Tumblr ask box is always open. Lates. :)
Three
The van slips silently through the early morning sunshine and the pavement's still wet from an evening rainfall and tears are still dampening Spencer's cheeks. She wipes them away, leans against the glass window, and watches the blurred lines on the asphalt dance and run together. The sun is shining much too bright and there's some kind of cheery song on the radio, something giddy and bubblegum-pop, and Spencer's not in the mood. It's Lawson behind the wheel and two other agents accompanying him and she wonders if they really feel that she's that dangerous that they need multiple people as backup. Rosewood disappears in the rearview mirror and it feels oddly prophetic and not at all satisfying. She's been looking forward to leaving Rosewood for as long as she can remember and now that she's actually done it, she almost wishes she could return.
Lifting her head off the glass, Spencer asks, "Now what?"
"Now," Lawson tells her. "We're headed to our field office in Philadelphia. We're going to go from there."
She purses her lips. "And what's with the van?"
"It's a formality," The woman sitting beside her says. "It's not to keep you from getting out, Spencer. It's to keep your pursuer from getting in."
"So where are the girls?"
"In the other vans," She answers. "Headed to the same place we are, but you won't see them again."
Spencer stares at her and asks, "And who are you?"
The woman smiles. "Agent Simone. And up there is Agent Reilly. We're going to be the ones getting you started and settled. Agent Lawson has bigger fish to fry; namely, the investigation on your police force."
You can't just become a policeman!
Why not? I thought the uniform was a turn-on.
Spencer closes her eyes and leans back against the seat. It's been maybe twenty minutes and she already misses him desperately. How is she supposed to get through the rest of her life? They exit the highway and weave expertly through city traffic before turning down a side road and pulling up to a huge government building Spencer remembers touring on a fourth grade field trip long ago. They escort her in through the sides, swipe their IDs, enter passwords and it's all very secretive. She yearns to see just a glimpse of one of the girls; a flash of Emily's dark hair or the scent of Hanna's Chanel perfume, but she's met with nothing. There are people in suits, people in uniform, racing about, clutching briefcases and boxes labeled 'confidential' and all sorts of things that make her head spin. In another life, Spencer believes she could've been good at this sort of thing; she's tough, she doesn't take no for an answer, and she'd fight tooth and nail until she solves an impossible case. It won't happen for her, though; she doubts they'll ever take her seriously with her track record.
Simone opens a door down the hall, Lawson hands her a huge Halliburton case bursting at the seams, and then he's gone. Reilly gently ushers Spencer inside and offers her a seat, which she accepts, and coffee and a bagel, which she does not. The agents sink into chairs before her and Reilly clears his throat. "Okay, Spencer. How much do you know about the Witness Protection Program?"
"Not really anything," She shrugs. "You guys don't really want us to know anything about it, do you? Isn't that the point of keeping it so secretive?"
"Precisely," Reilly explains. "Technically, the Program is usually only offered to those who have testified against a known conspirator, trafficker, murderer or terrorist, so we're making a very special case, here. Regardless, it's use is to provide governmental protection from the kind of dangers your attacker is known for and since it's implementation in 1971, no one who has followed the Program's guidelines has ever been killed."
"That's a pretty stellar track record," Spencer comments sardonically and Reilly frowns.
"Maybe I should repeat that last part for you, Spencer," He says. "No one who has followed the Program's guidelines has ever been killed. That being said, if you go out of your way to get yourself into trouble, if you do anything that could call attention to yourself, there isn't much else we can do to protect you. Follow our rules and you'll be safe. Go against us and the consequences could be fatal."
Spencer's quiet; she's expected as much. Simone adds, "We've been following your particular case pretty closely. We understand that you and the other girls haven't exactly acted in the most logical ways in the past. Thus, if, for any reason, we suspect you may be in contact with any one of them or anyone from your past life- family members, friends, significant others- we will be forced to relocate you immediately and you'll have to begin all over again. Do you understand?"
She nods. "I understand."
"Good," Simone smiles. "Now, you are only forced to comply with the Program until your attacker has been brought to justice. Once he's been captured and imprisoned, you'll be freed of the Program and we'll be able to adjust your identity as necessary. You will be in constant contact with the FBI at all times for this reason. Everyone you come into contact with will undergo a background check at our discretion; you'll just provide us with the names and we'll do the rest. Simple."
"Yeah," Spencer scoffs. "Nothing more simple than a complete invasion of privacy."
"Spencer, there is no such thing as privacy," Reilly tells her. "Not anymore. This is how we do things because this is the way it's been proven works best. Do you have any questions on how the program works?"
She thinks a moment. "Yes, actually. So you said I'd be in constant contact with the FBI… That means what, exactly?"
"Well, you'll be on 24-hour surveillance," Reilly explains. "There will be an agent- and he's late, as usual- who will offer you 24-hour protection."
"So he's going to be watching me?"
"Spencer," Simone says. "We get it; you're an adult. You don't need to be babysat. But it's par for the course; it comes with the territory. He's going to be there at all times, just in case."
She sighs and nods. "Okay."
"Okay," Reilly replies. "Now, the fun part."
He opens the Halliburton case and begins to pull out bits and pieces of things Spencer can't make out. There's a baby book, two or three dozen photographs, a birth certificate and a worn-looking baby blanket. There are a couple of yearbooks, a high school diploma, a couple of birthday cards and one half of a friendship necklace. There's a manila folder with a bunch of documents, a paper-clipped stack of newspaper clippings and a couple of blue ribbons. Spencer's wide-eyed as she takes it all in and she asks, breathless, "What is all of this?"
"This," Simone says simply. "Is your life."
And then, she looks a little closer, and realizes it is. The tiny girl in the photographs barely looks like her, but it's enough to be convincing. And there she is, climbing trees, hanging from monkey bars, hugging an Alaskan Husky. She's an angel in a Nativity play and stirring a bowl of cookie dough, flour on her nose, and riding a bicycle with no training wheels. She's buried up to her chin in sand on the beach and covered in mud during a rainstorm and playing tug of war on a school field in red, white and blue. She's got her first date in a prom dress and shaking hands with a school principal in a cap and gown and packing up her bedroom for a college she's apparently been accepted into. And, what's most frightening of all, she's grinning in between two happy people that are supposedly her parents. Spencer looks at this, at all of the things that are supposed to make up a life, and realizes her own, her real life, is wildly inadequate.
She reaches for the birth certificate first and runs her fingers over its creases. "Katherine Wilson?"
"You were known fondly to your friends and family as Katie," Reilly says. "Although, about midway through middle school you decided that was much too childish, and so now, everyone calls you Kate."
Kate; she repeats it over and over until her mind adjusts. Yeah, she can do Kate. There are so many important Kates out there; Middleton, Winslet, Upton, Hudson… she's in great company. Simone adds, "You were born on May 5th 1994 and you were the apple of your parents' eyes; they never had another. Donald's in real estate and Valerie's a kindergarten teacher and they always had time for you; you were a real family-time family. You'd spend weekends apple picking, bike riding and sailing, because your father has a boat and you live on the coast."
Spencer finds her voice. "Where?"
"Casco Bay." Simone adds. "Maine."
"Fishing's a big thing up there," Reilly tells her. "Your father taught you to fish when you were only about three. Same with sailing; you know your way around a boat, that's for sure."
Spencer shakes her head. "I don't, really."
"You better learn."
"This is Michael," Simone says, pointing to a little boy her alter ego is playing with in one of the photos. "He lived next door to you for years and years and you played together everyday. And see this?"
She holds up the prom photo and Spencer nods. "He was her prom date."
"He was your prom date," Simone corrects. "He moved away in eighth grade, but he came back to take you to prom because that was the promise you made to each other when you were still little kids."
Spencer's honestly still in shock. "Where did you get these pictures? Who are these people?"
"We have our ways," Reilly smirks. "Never underestimate the power of the human race and people who are willing to make a quick buck."
"But these aren't pictures from anyone's real life, are they?" Spencer needs to know. "Before I… Before I become this girl, I have to know that she doesn't already exist."
"No, Spencer. No," Reilly almost laughs. "She's fictional. We made this whole story up. It's up to you to bring it to reality."
Simone smiles wryly. "How good of an actress are you?"
"I guess we'll find out," Spencer replies and she reaches for the photos once more, studying her doppelganger's life and becoming a master in the life of Kate Wilson.
"Before we forget, a bit of tragedy struck right after your graduated high school," Reilly says and Simone groans.
"I thought we weren't going that way."
"How else are you going to explain Mary Anne?"
"Does she really need anymore tragedy?"
"I'm just following Lawson's orders!"
"What are you talking about?" Spencer asks, her head spinning.
"Donald and Valerie Wilson, your beloved parents, were killed in a tragic accident," Reilly explains. "You're now living with your grandmother instead."
Spencer glances at the photo of her doppelganger in between two smiling parents and finds herself getting choked up for parents that aren't hers in a life she never had. "Why?"
"You're an orphan and an only child, Spencer. You can't do this alone," Simone explains and hands her a photo of an older woman. "This is Mary Anne McCormick. She's an ex-agent, retired a few years ago, and she's agreed to look after you while you're on your college breaks and such. She, unlike Valerie and Donald, actually exists and we've employed her to help on your behalf. She's fully aware of your situation and this entire case. You can trust her; she won't let you down."
Spencer sighs. "Okay."
"Speaking of college," Reilly adds. "You'll be attending the University of Maine at Augusta in the fall. We're giving you a grant to cover all your tuition, books, and room and board needs. We've already checked the background on all faculty members and on your roommate. You're safe there. We've gotten the green light."
Spencer merely nods. Simone smirks, "We know your academic history, Spencer, and we know you probably expected to go to an Ivy or at least a name Fortune 500 companies would recognize straightaway. Unfortunately, we can't risk it. There will be plenty of time for that in the future, but for now, you'll have to settle with what we give you."
She agrees. "Sure."
"I know that was a lot of information." Reilly tells her and motions towards Simone and the door. "We're going to give you a couple minutes to come to terms with your identity and your new life."
They stand and leave the room and she is honestly so overwhelmed, she doesn't know where to start. Not only did she gain new parents, but then she lost them almost immediately. Not only did she have a sweet, boy-next-door boyfriend, but then she lost him, too, instantly. She's going to school at a university she's never heard of, much less seen, and she's going to have not one FBI agent on her tail, but two. She wonders where the other girls are and if they are completely in over their heads here, too; she wonders if their new back-stories are as tragic as their actual life stories and it's then that she realizes that there's no such thing as a happy family. It's a façade; everyone has secrets, everyone has tragedies, everyone has something to hide.
She can't look at these false family photos anymore and she shoves them aside. Instead, she reaches for the baby book, because she's one hundred percent sure her mother didn't keep one for her or Melissa and her curiosity's going through the roof right now. The inside cover is satiny smooth and holds her birth announcement; Donald and Valerie Wilson are thrilled to announce the birth of their first child; a daughter named Katherine Anne Wilson born on May 5 1994 at 6:28 p.m. and weighing in at 7 lbs. 12 oz. The next page is a deflated Mylar "It's a Girl!" balloon and a copy of her hand and footprints. She turns the pages, wide-eyed, and finds hair clippings from her first haircut, learns her first words were 'ma-ma' and 'no,' and that she broke her ankle falling off of a horse when she was seven. It's an entire childhood full of memories that she has to pretend happened, nearly an entire lifetime of things that never took place, and she's just completely in awe.
There's a knock on the door a moment later and a young man in a suit enters. He's probably in his mid-twenties if she had to guess and he's got strawberry blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. He smiles at her and offers his hand, introducing himself. "Spencer Hastings, right? I'm Agent Samuel Drasin. I'm going to be the one handling your case."
"You mean you're going to be the one watching me," Spencer corrects and Drasin smiles.
"If you want to call it that," He says. "Either way, we're going to be seeing a lot of each other."
She crosses her arms over her chest. "Lucky me."
Drasin states, "I know this is going to be a tough transition. And it doesn't help when you've got people like Lawson and Reilly breathing down your neck. But it really is going to be okay. Eventually, this will be like second nature to you, having me around all the time, and I hope we can be friends, in time. Because that's more of what I want to be- a friend. Not some creep with a badge who background checks all your acquaintances and listens to your phone conversations and goes through your Internet search history."
She can't help it; she cracks a smile. "You have to do that?"
"I wish I didn't, but it's part of the job," Drasin nods. "This isn't my first time, Spencer, but I know it's yours. And I want to make this easier on you."
"Have any of your Program participants ever been hurt?" She asks and he shakes his head.
"Not one," He assures her. "I take my job seriously. You're in good hands, I promise."
She nods slowly and asks, "So… now what?"
"Now," He tells her. "We're going to Maine."
Spencer wonders how, or why, really, they chose Augusta, Maine, of all places to stick her in. She would've expected some sort of giant city where she could get lost in the anonymity and the rush and all that, and no one would ever recognize her. And perhaps Augusta's like that, but she's always pictured it as being a state full of beautiful beaches, lighthouses and seafood restaurants boasting the best lobster in the country. In no time, they're boarding a plane and a familiar sense of dread and panic begin to well in her mind, because this doesn't feel right; none of this feels right. She's leaving behind the only place she's ever known as home for a completely different city in a completely different state. She's leaving behind her dreams of bricks and ivy for a college she's never heard of, and absentee parents for imaginary, deceased ones instead. She's leaving behind Spencer Hastings for Kate Wilson, a girl whose entire history she could rewrite, if she likes, and no one would ever know the difference. And when they touch down in Maine, the irony hits Spencer like a ton of bricks.
In order to escape the danger of her lies, she must now live one.
It's been a week now. No, technically it's been over a week; it's been a week, four days and a few hours. He can't count the minutes or he'll go insane. Well, he's halfway there already; he's lonely and he's distraught and he doesn't really know what to do with himself anymore. He misses her desperately and he has no way of contacting her; the worst part of it all is that he really has no one to commiserate with. Spencer's gone, but Emily and Hanna are too; he supposes he could talk to Caleb, but he hasn't seen him since they lost their girls at the police station, when they were both hurting so deeply and so openly, but trying to hide it from one another. So instead, he's suspended from work, he's got no one to talk to and he's got nowhere to be. He spends most of his time at home, in his loft, shutting out the world as if he's sixteen again. It's not glamorous, but it's all he's got.
Currently, he's still lying in bed and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He rolls over his side to reach for his laptop and places it on his stomach, illuminating the screen. It's a real estate website and he's almost forgotten this is what he'd been doing all last night. Once upon a time, he'd dreamed of leaving Rosewood the day he turned eighteen and could move out of his childhood home, away from his terrible family. Not long after, he started dating Spencer Hastings, and though even she couldn't make the monsters of Rosewood leave him alone, she at least made them bearable and he knew that when he did eventually leave this town, he wanted her by his side. He remembers her panic at his mention of leaving town and the relief in her eyes when he promised her he'd never leave her behind. But now… Well. She's left first. She's gone and he simply has no reason to stay.
Toby's browsing apartments in New York and balking at the prices when he catches a glimpse of the clock. 8:47- his disciplinary hearing is at 9. "Oh shit."
He's out of bed like someone's lit him on fire. Yanking on actual clothing and running his hand through his hair, Toby bolts for the bathroom and shoves his toothbrush in his mouth; Rosewood's a small town and he should still get there on time, but it's going to be tight. He's taking the stairs to the loft two at a time and he trips on the last one and lands knee-first in a puddle. Great. So now he's not only unkempt and late, but it also looks like he's wet himself. The truck stalls a moment as he turns the key and his heart pounds; not now, not ever. He's already lost Spencer; he can't lose their truck, too. It takes its time but eventually, it comes back to life and then he's out of there. He reaches the police station, tries to calm his hair once more and then, with nerves abound, heads into the conference room.
The room is filled with FBI agents and Tanner's in the corner, her face unreadable. The agent who took the girls away is there, at the head of the table, and he nods in greeting. "Officer Cavanaugh. Please, sit."
He does as he's asked, sinking into the nearest empty chair. The agent clears his throat and says, "I'm Agent Lawson and we'll be reviewing your involvement on the force, but as we've met before, I think introductions are hardly necessary. Shall we continue?"
Toby nods slowly. "Yes, sir."
"Agent Bolton," Lawson then says. "If you could give me a rundown of Officer Cavanaugh's record, please."
"Sure," A blonde, bespectacled woman beside him answers. "There isn't much to report, sir. He's only just graduated from the academy and this was his first case. Before, it was just a few minor infractions that he handled."
"Officer Cavanaugh, what made you join the police force?" Lawson wants to know and for a moment, Toby can't find his voice.
Does he tell the truth? A beautiful, brilliant girl whom he loves desperately but ultimately fails to protect? He swallows and answers, "Well I… I knew the records of many of the officers Rosewood had and I… I wanted to maybe change that. I wanted to bring honesty back to the force."
Tanner scoffs from the corner of the room and Lawson glares at her, his head snapping in her direction. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class, Detective?"
"If Officer Cavanaugh would like to bring honesty back to the force, maybe he should start with being honest with himself," Tanner bites back. "He joined to get inside information for his eighteen-year-old girlfriend."
Toby's face grows hot with anger, but, knowing their company, he keeps it mostly in check. "I joined the force so I could protect her. I never told her anything; we were barely talking a while back, thanks to you."
He inhales a deep breath and adds, "The Rosewood police never seemed to have the girls' best interest in heart and things were escalating and they were being attacked… I didn't know what to do, but I was tired of seeing them so… Broken. So hopeless. So I guess… If you're wondering if I always wanted to be a cop, the answer is no. In fact, after my own experiences with the cops in this town, I wanted the exact opposite; I wanted to stay away from them for the rest of my life. But… I did what I did. I don't regret it."
His eyes meet Tanner's as he concludes, "You can't make me regret it."
"Toby," Bolton says and his eyes snap to hers instead, because it's the first time someone's used his first name. Her eyes are soft when she says, "What you've done is really admirable. The girls were very lucky to have someone like you in their lives."
Toby nods. "Thank you."
"I am not questioning your motives," Lawson then states, bringing them all back to the present. "Clearly, Detective Tanner's opinion means nothing to me, or we wouldn't have to investigate her entire force. What I am curious about, Cavanaugh, is where you stand now?"
He wonders, "On what?"
"The force," Lawson says as though it's obvious. "Your partner, Lorenzo Calderon, made it very clear that he wants nothing to do with this case or this town. Is this also how you feel?"
"Oh, I thought…" Toby shakes his head, still processing Lorenzo's leaving the town all together. "I guess I just thought I wouldn't be allowed to continue after my brief suspension. The situation got out of control; it wasn't supposed to go the way it did."
"I'm not interested in the suspension," Lawson shakes his head. "We already discussed it during Officer Calderon's hearing and, as usual, Detective Tanner was putting her eggs in the wrong basket. There are very few officers I'm willing to spare, here, and what we want to know is whether or not you care to be one of them."
Toby thinks for a moment about all of the nonsense he's dealt with since becoming a cop and, truthfully, if he's not doing this for Spencer anymore, then what reason does he have to continue doing something he isn't truly fond of anyway? Her words from their final night together come back to haunt him; please don't try and help them capture him, please stay out of harm's way, please don't get hurt. So maybe he'll give in just this once; he'll get out of Rosewood, go back to carpentry, leave police work to those more vindictive and cunning than himself. Tanner's glaring at him from the corner of the room, but he doesn't care anymore. He knows she never believed he had what it takes to become a cop and perhaps he doesn't, because if he has to be dishonest and corrupt like Garrett and Wilden, then he'll never be the type of police officer she wants.
"No," Toby finds himself saying. "No, I think I'm good."
Lawson nods. "Okay then. You're dismissed."
He thanks the agents for their time, stands and exits the office. On the way out, the entire department's been wiped out and it feels like a ghost town, like the beginning of a zombie apocalypse movie, and he passes by his old desk, by his name placard and the photo of him and Spencer framed by his jar of pens. He grabs them both and leaves everything else behind; nothing else matters. As a last thought, he drops his badge on top of the desk and stares at it, glinting in the low-watt, artificial lighting; I've done a lot to get that. He has; he'll never forget all the horrors and hardship he went through just for that shiny hunk of metal. But it's lost its appeal, now. He shakes his head and heads out of the department, feeling free, and he realizes he has no idea what he's going to do next.
Toby's halfway to his truck when he hears high heels on pavement and someone calling his name. "Officer Cavanaugh! Wait! Toby!"
He turns and Agent Bolton is in front of him in moments. "Did I forget something?"
"No, I did," She tells him. "Look… I can understand if you never want to step foot in that building again. The way Tanner ran things and the way some of your coworkers handled cases… It's the reason people think America's legal system is shit."
"Well, it kind of is," Toby agrees. "What's this about?"
"Lawson has so much on his plate; what with this investigation and relocating the girls and tracking down this sociopath," Bolton explains. "He's put me in charge of putting a team together to finally locate and capture this son of a bitch who's been stalking the girls for years."
Toby nods. "And?"
"And," She sighs. "Well I can understand if you don't want to continue your criminal justice career here in Rosewood; now that the girls are gone, what are you going to deal with? Parking tickets and petty theft? But… Your determination is commendable. And we could really use someone like you on the team."
He hesitates. "I don't know."
"I understand your hesitation," Bolton says. "But I can't think of anyone better to have than someone who knows what we're up against; someone who's seen firsthand what this son of a bitch is capable of."
Toby exhales a deep breath and says, "Look, Agent Bolton-"
"Lydia," She corrects him. "Please."
"Lydia, then," Toby says. "Thank you for your offer. But I really don't think I can dive headfirst into this disaster again."
"Why not?" She wonders curiously. "You've got nothing to lose. Pay's great, you'd be getting out of Rosewood and we could finally get this psycho. Isn't that all you could ask for?"
And, in a perfect world, sure. If he can catch this supposed Charles DiLaurentis and succeed in bringing Spencer home, all while doing so from the comforts of literally anywhere but Rosewood, then yeah, can he sign up twice? He thinks of the promise he made Spencer; please don't try and help them capture him. Surely, she'll understand, right? And then, the demons inside of him laugh, poke fun, because wherever she is, she'll never find out anyway. He still feels like he's betraying her in some way; one way or another, he always goes too far in trying to help and protect her. But, he remembers sardonically, there's no relationship to destroy, this time. This time, it's just her and she may be gone, she may be completely erased from this town, but she isn't erased from his memories. He's still in love with her; it's going to take years and years, it may take a lifetime, for that to fade away.
"Okay," Toby nods. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm in."
She dreams.
During the day, she's Kate Wilson. She plays the part and learns how sail and gets over her fear of dropping live lobster into a boiling pot of scalding water. Mary Anne, her brand new grandmother, teaches her all about Maine, walks her up and down beaches, takes her on tours of lighthouses and she's actually way cooler than either of her actual grandmothers. She helps Spencer come to terms with who she is now, what this situation is going to be. In late August, she moves into her college dorm room and she meets her roommate and they swap childhood stories and Spencer balks at how easily the lies are rolling off her tongue. She picks her classes and loves her professors and learns all types of new things. She finds her favorite subject is psychology and she should be shocked, but after years of being psychologically tortured, she really isn't. She smiles a lot. She parties. She has a good time and everyone likes her. Everyone likes Kate.
But she dreams.
She dreams about the smell of The Brew and porcelain dolls and Scared yet? You should be, bitch. She dreams about blood and electric fences and four chimes means it's game time. Sometimes, her dreams are empty; just Spencer, in a giant white room, the walls bleeding with all the –A texts she's ever received. Sometimes, her dreams are in black and white and she wonders if that's her subconscious trying to remind her that she's not who she says she is, she's a mess, she's an addict, she's still suffering from that festering mental illness. She dreams about the feeling of earthworms in her hands and rainwater mixing with tears on her face and the sound of snapping twigs everywhere she turns. Sometimes the girls are there; sometimes she's alone. But he's there, too; he's always there. Scrabble and that old blue shirt and you're not alone, not even for a second. And then she wakes up and she always is.
She dreams every night and she never gets a reprieve and she's always reminded of who she is and what she left behind. Sometimes, she wakes up screaming and her roommate looks at her through her hazy fog of peaceful sleep as though Spencer's some kind of haunted monster. Sometimes, she wakes up bawling so hard she can't breathe and she has to slip on shoes, walk up and down the entire hallway of her dorm, until she can catch her breath again. She's told her roommate it's just residual pain; the trauma of losing her parents so soon, and the young, naïve girl nods her sympathetic understanding. Spencer remembers a time she was the young, naïve girl. What she wouldn't give to go back to a time that simple.
Ironically, she no longer has a problem sleeping and she doesn't dread falling asleep at night. With her vivid, terrifying dreams, one might think she would. But she lives for them; she lives for the dreams because Kate Wilson, despite a few traumas, is more or less perfect and does not feel. Spencer Hastings is not, and all she does is feel. It's pain, mostly; sadness, fear, dread, anxiety. But sometimes, her subconscious blesses her; sometimes, she dreams only of him. She dreams of his soothing, melodic voice, his comforting, protective arms, those big, beautiful blue eyes. It's like a drug, those dreams, and she can't get a large enough fix. So she goes about her day as Kate but she dreams as Spencer and sometimes, she'll wake screaming, sometimes she'll wake sobbing, and sometime it's a curious mix of both.
But she tolerates the nightmares in exchange for those precious dreams of him. It's all she has.
He can't stop jittering. He feels so out of place, so uncomfortable, but he's not going to mention that to her. It's clear she's invited him here out of concern and perhaps a little guilt and he's going to give her the benefit of the doubt. But still, he feels so awkward. Toby glances around, notes that in the month or so that Spencer's been gone, nothing looks any different in her childhood home. All the photos are still in the same place, all the furniture is still arranged the same way… It really is as though they've just carried on without her. He wonders for a moment what her bedroom looks like and then a dagger passes through his heart. He can't bear the thought of her mother emptying it, but contrastingly, Veronica keeping Spencer's things in all the same places her daughter left them is, somehow, all the more heartbreaking. A familiar scent greets his senses and a moment later, she returns to the living room and hands him a cup of coffee.
"You take yours with milk, right?" She asks sweetly, sitting in a chair before him and when he nods, she grins victoriously. "I knew I remembered correctly."
"Yeah, this is good, thank you," Toby nods and sips at the steaming mug. It's much weaker than the coffee Spencer used to make and for reasons he's stopped counting, this tugs at his heartstrings. "So… How are you, Mrs. Hastings?"
"Coping," She sighs. "As best I can. It's not the same; nothing is."
Toby nods. He knows the feeling. "Are you and Mr. Hastings on better terms? Spencer… She mentioned you guys weren't exactly seeing eye to eye, lately."
Veronica smiles, but it's almost rueful. "We've united again under the circumstances, but it's not what it was. I don't think it ever will be. But… Thank you, Toby. Thank you for asking."
He smiles, sips more coffee. "Sure."
"The reason I invited you over today is, honestly, to see how you were doing," Veronica admits cautiously. "I just wanted to get a sense of where your head's at and… make sure you're okay."
Toby nearly chokes. "Me? I-I'm okay. As okay as I can be, I mean."
"Toby," Veronica says, placing her mug down on the coffee table in between them. "I just want you to know that… If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, Peter and I will be here for you throughout this whole thing, however long it takes."
He tries to keep his jaw from dropping open. "You will?"
"Of course," She nods. "Look, I know how much you love her and I can never repay you for everything you've done for her. But I can at least try."
He shakes his head. "You don't have to. I didn't do anything special. I just-"
"But you did," Veronica disagrees. "You helped her through everything. And now, I want to help you."
He honestly doesn't know what to say. "Thank you."
"I'm not going to pretend I know everything about your home life. Truth is, I probably know nothing," Veronica says. "But Spencer had mentioned you don't get along with your father and I know you lost your mother a long time ago, so if you… If you ever need anything, you come to me, understand?"
Toby finds himself smiling. "Sure. Yeah, thank you. I will."
Veronica smiles, too. "Okay. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"
"No, I'm okay, thank you," He negates, glancing down at his mug.
"I know you're hurting," She adds, standing and retreating to the kitchen. "We all are, but we'll get through this together. After all, it's only a matter of time until they find him, right?"
Toby wishes he shared her optimism and for a moment, he remembers a time when he had. Honestly, he's beginning to believe Spencer's theory more and more; You know how I feel about hope. It breeds eternal misery. He's mildly reeling from Veronica's open door policy and then, it hits him. She'd been absentee; she'd missed out on many of Spencer's major milestones of adolescence and she hadn't been there when her daughter needed her the most. As a mother, she has one job and that's to protect her child and, in technical matters of the term, she's failed. Her child's been taken away; it's no wonder she suddenly wants to parent the first person she sees, but it's too little, too late. Toby sighs, finishes the coffee, and returns to the kitchen, offering to wash it. Veronica shakes her head, takes it from him and places it in the dishwasher. There's something in her eyes, but she's not as easy to read as Spencer. He doesn't know what she's feeling and frankly, he's afraid to find out.
"Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Hastings," Toby says politely and when she looks up at him, her eyes are almost red-rimmed.
"Oh honey," Veronica says. "You can call me Veronica."
He nods again and waves his goodbye and then he's out the door. It doesn't feel right to be here, sitting in her house, drinking coffee in Rosewood, without her. If he's being honest with himself, nothing feels right, anymore. The summer's beginning to wind down, but it's still hot as hell and he needs to get the air conditioning started in his truck unless he wants to suffocate on the ride home. On his way to the Hastings' driveway, he glances over at the abandoned DiLaurentis house and then does a double take, because it's not as abandoned as he once thought. Jason's sitting on the front porch, a bottle of beer in one hand, and a faraway look in his eyes and Toby should be surprised that Kenneth didn't take his son when he left town weeks ago, but he isn't. Nothing really surprises him, anymore.
For some reason, he finds himself walking up the sidewalk and soon, he's on the front porch too, but Jason hasn't so much as acknowledged him. "Jason…"
He takes a swig of beer and nods. "Toby."
"I can't believe you're still here," Toby blurts out and he isn't exactly sure why. "When your father left town, I just thought-"
"Let's stop pretending, now, alright?" Jason says. "We share the same last name, but he's not my father. Never has been, never wanted to be. Of course the real one doesn't want to be either, so for all intents and purposes, I'm fatherless, okay?"
"Okay," Toby says carefully. "I guess, I just thought that since the girls were gone now… I don't know."
"That I wouldn't be here anymore?"
Toby sighs. "Yeah."
"They took them away. Shipped them off to God knows where," Jason states. "And no one told me. I never even got to say goodbye. And she's my sister."
Toby's about to ask when Jason clarifies, "They both are."
Toby sinks onto the step beside him and nods. "Yeah. I know. It sucks."
"You at least got to say goodbye."
"That didn't make it any easier, believe me."
Jason frowns, finishes the bottle and chucks it at the lawn in front of him. "I yelled at her."
Toby asks, "You yelled at who?"
"Spencer," Jason admits painfully. "The last time I talked to her, I yelled at her. I wanted to talk to Charles and then you showed up and so did she and he freaked out and left and… I was so angry. I was pissed; at you, at her, at myself. And I yelled at her. I don't even remember what I said, but I did. And now she's gone; she's off somewhere probably thinking I hate her and…"
"She doesn't think that," Toby assures him. "She's always been really fond of you; she always said you had some kind of connection."
"We did," Jason agrees. "Now she's gone."
Toby frowns, glances downward. "Yeah… Yeah, she is."
"Aw, hell," Jason shakes his head. "I'm sorry. Here I am bitching about my feelings… You were in love with her. You know."
Toby winces at his use of past tense and wonders if his feelings will ever follow in Jason's footsteps. He doesn't know why, but he finds himself asking, "Why are you still here?"
Jason glances at him, meets his eyes. "Where else do I have to go?"
"I'm leaving Rosewood," Toby tells him even though he hasn't actually decided yet. "You can come with me."
Jason somehow looks at him, past him and through him at the same time. Then, he smiles. "Might actually take you up on that. Thanks, man."
Toby nods and stands, heading towards his truck. As an afterthought, Jason calls out, "Toby!"
He turns back. "Yeah?"
"You going to try and find them?"
Toby pauses but admits, "That's the plan."
"Then yeah," Jason agrees. "Count me in."
