A/N: Hey everyone! Glad you're enjoying it so far. Just a helpful hint - reviews fuel my writing fire ;-)

Couple of things. Based on a couple reviews, I'm not sure I made my point clear - this will be a multi-chapter. So think of it as "to be continued" until told otherwise.

For the purposes of this story, Jason grew up in the same house as Spencer and Melissa.

Ian never dated Melissa, and was instead the same age as Spencer and Toby. You'll understand why I chose him soon.

Remember the name of the actor who played Ian. Just refresh your memories real quick.

Flashbacks are in italics, and separated by page breaks.

I think that's it. If you have any other questions, let me know.

Onward!

SWEET CHILD OF MINE

CHAPTER 3

He hardly slept at all that night. Nothing sufficed to relax him as he tossed and turned until the wee hours of morning, hiding his face beneath the pillow as the sunlight began to peek in through the gap in his curtains.

He couldn't get the image of her onstage out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. It was like being told to specifically not think of something, and subsequently being incapable of thinking about anything else.

Even Patches, his trusty Yorkshire Terrier, had peered at him from his perch on the pillow beside Toby, looking rather troubled that his master hadn't slept.

Emily had texted him when she left the club, expressing that she wanted to know he got home safely. In all honesty, he probably should have taken that cab after all. He hadn't really been in the proper shape to cart himself home. But nonetheless – he had made it unscathed. Relatively, that is.

He had responded very briefly for the lone purpose of preventing her from worrying. Nothing more, nothing less. She knew him well enough – and she knew it was wise to leave it alone until he felt it was the right time to talk about it.

It was almost eight thirty by the time he realized he would not be sleeping any time soon. He put on a pot of coffee and fed Patches, wandering around the apartment in desperate search of a distraction. He had tried the television, which failed to keep his attention. He had attempted to pick up a book, but the words on the pages kept blurring together as his mind wandered elsewhere. In the end, he consented to skimming through his high school yearbooks. It was precisely the opposite of what he was supposed to be doing, but he was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that nothing else was going to get accomplished.

He studied her senior photo for a while, remembering the day she had them taken. She had gotten into a fight with Ian and was on the phone with Toby for nearly an hour before her appointment. She had been terrified that all the crying she had done was going to ruin her makeup – but her fears were unfounded when the pictures turned out more beautiful than she had anticipated. He remembered not being surprised in the slightest. She had always been unfailingly photogenic.

It had all happened so long ago that it felt like a dream. He could hardly remember what it felt like to dial her number by heart, talking way past his phone curfew on a nightly basis.

She had been one of the most important people in his life for so long. She had done more to soothe his soul than anybody else he had ever known. And he owed it to her to return the favor.

By ten o'clock, he was on the doorstep of the loft above the coffee shop. He had taken a few minutes to gather his courage, pacing back and forth on the landing to catch his breath. And then at long last, he raised a fist to knock firmly three times.

It took only a few short seconds for someone to answer the door. It was not, however, the person he had been expecting to see. Instead of Spencer, it was a man – strongly built with blond hair that California's finest surfers would envy. The man regarded him, perplexed at his arrival, before breaking into a smile.

"Toby. Long time, no see."

He returned the gesture, though it felt half-hearted. "Hey, Jason…I'm sorry to bother you – I didn't know anyone else lived here."

Spencer's half-brother had always been kind to him – a quality he hoped was still applicable.

"No, it's fine," he declared dismissively, stepping aside to allow room for entrance. "C'mon in."

Toby crossed the threshold, his eyes immediately doing a onceover of the loft. It was nicer than he had anticipated it would be, but its size gave him pause. It was nowhere near big enough to accommodate two grown adults.

Jason was already whisking his way into the kitchen, brandishing a coffee pot. "Caffeine?"

Toby hadn't realized how much he needed it until asked. "Yeah. That'd be great."

"I'll pour you a mug. Have a seat."

Toby quietly did as he was told, perching himself on the edge of the couch in front of him. He saw now that there were pictures of the Hastings-DiLaurentis family donning the walls, several of which struck him as familiar. There were only two that he did not recognize, each featuring Spencer's older sister, Melissa, and a small, dark-haired child.

"Is Spencer home?" Toby inquired at last, wishing there was a more tactful way to ask the question. He hated to be rude.

Jason came to sit next to him, passing a cup in his direction. Toby gratefully sipped at its bitter contents.

"She ran downstairs for coffee – hates the stuff I make." He laughed quietly to himself. "She should be back in a few minutes."

There was a brief pause in which Toby wondered if Jason had any idea about Spencer's nightlife. Surely it would have been disastrous to bring it up, either way. He opted to keep quiet.

"How have things been?" Jason asked cheerfully, propping his feet onto the coffee table.

Toby wished he was in a clearer state of mind to have this discussion. He had always liked Jason, and under any other circumstances, would have been eager to catch up – but instead, he felt only half-engaged.

"Good. Just working a lot, going to school," he quipped at last. "What's new with you?"

"A little of this…little of that," Jason replied cryptically. He smiled over his ceramic mug. "Odd jobs here and there. Babysitting. Nothing special."

Babysitting. The thought struck Toby as being odd; Jason may have been kind, but he never would have pegged him as the nannying type.

The sound of a bed creaking in the back startled him in slight, and he became suddenly aware that a third person was hiding away. He had a sickening feeling that he knew precisely who it was.

Memories of high school were soon inundating him involuntarily.

He had come by one morning to pick up the chemistry book he'd left at her house. As usual, neither of her parents were home, and Jason and Melissa were God-knows-where. Spencer had answered the door in a silk bathrobe, looking particularly harried at his arrival.

"What are you doing here?" she asked brashly, tightening the rope around the middle of her frame.

"Oh – I uh – I forgot my book last night," he answered uncertainly, trying to peek around her. "Can I come in?"

"No," she said quickly. Too quickly. "I mean – where is it? I'll grab it for you."

"Is this what you're looking for?" a new voice inquired. Ian was stepping into the doorframe with the aforementioned book in hand, donned only in a pair of boxers. He appeared cool and collected, as though the sight of him in his underwear were the most normal thing in the world. Toby suspected that Ian had done it on purpose, to set him off.

It had worked. He balked at the view, peering side-eyed at Spencer. "Yeah. Thanks." He quietly took the book, trying to will himself to walk away. But he couldn't – he was frozen in place.

Spencer was looking between the two of them sheepishly, a blush rising in her cheeks. She quietly excused herself from Ian, stepping onto the porch to join Toby and shutting the door behind her.

He studied her for a moment as she looked shamefully at her feet. He felt as though he were about to burst out of his own skin.

"You're sleeping with him?" he demanded incredulously, setting his book aside on the decorative 'welcome' bench. He hadn't meant for it to sound so accusatory – it had just kind of happened.

She raised her eyes to his for a second, then looked away once more. "No. I mean – yes. I mean – it's only happened a couple of times…"

He crossed his arms irritably. "Why?"

She scoffed slightly, as if the answer was obvious. "Because I love him."

"Well he doesn't love you," he spat, then instantly regretted it. Her mocha-colored eyes were glaring at him, indignant.

"You sleep with all kinds of girls, and you don't love them either," she insisted. "Why is it any different?"

"Because it is!" he hissed, taking her by the shoulders and craning his neck to meet her eyes. "You're better than that."

She pulled out of his hold, folding her arms protectively over her stomach, as if it was all that held her together. "Somehow I doubt that," she muttered.

They sat in silence for a moment, before he opted to speak again.

"You deserve better," he repeated quietly.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, throwing her hands out in frustration. "Why can't you just be happy for me, Toby?"

The answer was simple. "Because I'm your best friend. And I'm going to tell you when you're making a fool of yourself."

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. She shook her head at him in disappointed disgust, yanking the door open and disappearing back into the house.

He wondered if she was still seeing him. The thought made him shudder.

As if on cue, the door to the loft swung open, revealing Spencer in a button-down blouse and a pair of yoga pants. Again, the visual of her from the night before in considerably less was infiltrating his mind, and he fought tooth and nail to push it away again.

She stood frozen in the doorway as her eyes met his, a distant sort of panic evident on her face.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Spencer," Jason chastised quietly.

"I was worried about you," Toby answered simply. He still wasn't sure how much Jason knew, and thought it best to avoid the specifics.

"I'm fine," she grumbled, slamming the door behind her. She dumped her purse onto a nearby counter. He wasn't sure what she had in there, but it made a pretty decent slamming noise – probably the result she was going for. "How did you even find me?"

He chuckled a bit, though it came out sounding fake. "You told me where you live. Remember?"

Annoyed realization seemed to dawn upon her face, and she swore under her breath.

"I'm uh…I'm going to take a walk," Jason decided, standing and making his way to the door. Spencer grabbed him by the arm and muttered something to him, to which he shook his head and continued on his way. "I'll catch you later, Toby."

"Yeah," Toby agreed. "Later."

The lock clicked quietly behind him, and the silence set in. She was still standing in the kitchen, busying herself with the unnecessary task of wiping down the nearest countertop with a sponge from the sink. He watched her for a while, waiting for the bottom to drop out.

And it did. Of course it did. She hated awkward pauses, and would do anything to avoid them. Including talking about something she didn't want to.

She spun around to face him, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms. "All right. Fine. What do you want to know?"

He shook his head, as if to indicate that he hadn't a clue where to start.

"C'mon, Toby," she began peevishly, stomping into the living room to confront him. "You came to check up on me. Like you've always had a bad habit of doing."

This ignited something fiery within him, and he released a guttural sound of frustration. "I only ever tried to be your friend, Spencer."

She made a barking noise in the back of her throat, as if choking on a bitter laugh. "All right then," she conceded sarcastically, plopping down on the couch next to him. "Fine. I'll bite. Let's pretend we're still friends – what does my friend want this time?"

She knew how to annoy him better than anyone he knew, and always had. He was clenching his teeth to keep from blowing up at her.

"What were you doing there last night?" he asked, hoping to shelve all the bullshit for a minute.

"My job."

"Does Jason know?"

"Hell no," she spat. "He thinks I work there as a waitress."

"Why?" he began, staring into the depths of her eyes. "Why do you do it?"

"Because," she said quietly, much of her fight disappearing in that instant. She looked at him as though perplexed that he couldn't understand. "I have to."

"Why?" he repeated.

"Because it pays more than anything else I've ever had. And I'm trying to save up money to pay for college."

Part of that made sense. But there was a gaping hole in her story.

"And you can't do that anywhere else?"

She sighed impatiently, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It wouldn't be enough. I wouldn't have enough to pay for school and take care of – " She paused, as though thinking better of going any further. "It just isn't practical."

"None of this is practical," he said quietly. She gave him a pointed look, but did not deny it.

They sat in silence for a few moments. She cleared her throat purposefully, wringing her hands together, as though preparing to say or ask something that was very difficult to get out.

"Did you…I mean…were you there when…?"

"No," he declared loudly. "No. I left when I saw you."

Something akin to relief seemed to flood over her face. The quiet befell them once more. Another creak in the back room reminded him of the other thing he had wanted to ask.

"Are you still seeing Ian?"

She regarded him for a moment, the expression in her eyes dark. The topic appeared to anesthetize her in some bizarre way.

"It's…complicated."

He was about to ask her to elaborate, when all semblance of thought suddenly escaped him. Someone else had entered the room.

And it was not Ian.

"Mommy?" the little boy whimpered, approaching her sheepishly as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Who's that?"

His heart stopped immediately. However, despite the fact that the world had stopped spinning for him in that instant, Spencer continued on as though nothing abnormal had happened.

"He's a friend," she explained quietly, reaching out to brush some of the dark hair out of his eyes. Toby now recognized him as the child from the pictures. "Go lay back down, baby. I'll be there in a minute."

He obeyed, but not before eyeing Toby surreptitiously one last time.

She exhaled heavily, as though merely waiting for him to bombard her with demands for answers.

"Ian?" he whispered. She hesitated, but after a beat nodded in confirmation.

A lot of things were falling into place at once. Her dropping out of Yale. Jason babysitting.

Things being "complicated" with Ian.

"Can I ask you something?" he ventured. She nodded resolutely. "The pictures…of him and Melissa…" He trailed off, gesturing to the frames on the entertainment stand in front of him.

She leaned back on the couch and toyed with the sleeve on her store-bought coffee cup, making it a point to avoid his eyes. "My parents told people for a long time that Ryan was Melissa's son. She was married, and stable…it would have been much less of an embarrassment."

He knew her parents, and as much as he hated to admit it, it all made sense. Spencer's pregnancy would have been the talk of the town – by pawning the indiscretion off on Melissa, the situation would seem far more normal to outsiders.

"They wanted her to officially adopt him. I told them no."

"And Ian?" he pressed, praying that he was not overstepping a boundary. He knew he was pushing his luck.

Something seemed to occur within her. She had broken from her trance and was standing up, sighing purposefully to signal her return to reality.

"I don't really feel like talking anymore," she explained quietly. "I think it's time for you to leave."

He wanted nothing more than to argue with her – insist that she needed him right now. Demand the rest of the answers he so desperately craved. But he could see that she was clearly tired, in more ways than one. And he didn't want to push her.

So he stood, allowing her to lead him toward the door. He paused in the middle of opening it, glancing back at her.

"Can I call you?" he breathed.

She seemed to think this over for a minute, before shrugging noncommittally. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

She probably couldn't have stopped him, anyway. After giving her his business card yesterday, she had texted him almost immediately so that he'd have her number, too.

But it felt nice to have her permission.

"Bye," she murmured, shutting the door behind him.

He stood on the landing for a moment, trying to collect himself. He couldn't remember ever feeling this confused and disoriented. It was an entirely new emotion.

He trudged back to his car, parallel-parked sloppily in front of the coffee shop. When at last he forced himself to put the truck in gear and drive home, he found that he felt no better – maybe even worse – than he had the night before.

[TO BE CONTINUED]