AN: Hey! Sorry for the longass wait, but here is the chapter! I don't have much to say so all I'll bore you with, if you even read author's notes (do you? How many people really do? What's the point, really?), is my gratitude for all my loyal reads and reviewers. Your support on here and especially all those sweet comments I receive in my inbox on Tumblr (SpobyFanfictionArchive and main blog, SparkleBubbleBlonde), mean the world to me. Nothing is more rewarding or motivating. Thank you so much!

Read and review!

P.S I edited this chapter and reposted it once. I may do it again, because I'll never be satisfied with my work lmao.


"How exactly did you get all of my crap in the bed of your truck?" Spencer asked, still mildly amazed that he'd managed such a thing without her noticing.

Not that she had really been her usual zealously observant self as of late, but she still couldn't quite see where he'd found the time for a task like that while being by her bedside, twenty-four-seven.

"The girls helped. Jason and Caleb helped. Even Ezra helped. Sort of," Toby amended, visibly fighting the urge to roll his eyes, some sort of recollection causing him slightly aggravated amusement.

She stared at him for a minute, brow furrowed, debating if she was curious enough to waste her breath on Ezra Fitz or not. "What'd Ezra do?"

Truth be told, after the conversation the day prior between Emily, Hanna and her, she'd sort of just assumed someone guilted Aria into showing up at the hospital for her release and, like she did many times before, no matter how uncomfortable it was for all parties involved, she'd dragged Ezra along for the ride.

"Ezra didn't do anything, actually," the cop chuckled now, turning the wheel sharply around a corner. At her faintly confused smile, he amended, "I'm more laughing about Caleb."

"Huh?"

Toby shrugged, nonchalant, but his mouth still held a smirk. "It's really not that important."

"Tell me," she insisted. "I could use trivial right about now."

She'd left the hospital, still recovering from tears, avoiding her friends' worried glances and reassuring pats on the shoulder and back. Aria even went as far as to hug her while they walked to the car, despite the fact that Spencer remained unresponsive.

She realized, no matter how unfounded it may be, that being vulnerable in front of too many people-actually nearly anyone-left her feeling humiliated and exposed. It gave her an overly hot feeling in her chest and made her vision blur.

There was really only one person who'd ever made her feel unashamed by her own vulnerability. He did it by showing her his own, unafraid and unabashed. His trust in her, with his own delicate and entirely untainted heart, gave her the confidence to show him her's in return.

As she'd left the hospital, her mother had watched, still completely and disturbingly devastated by her own child's life, falling apart before everyone's eyes.

Her father had been out of sight. He wasn't there to wish her goodbye or see her leave or even know that she was gone.

His position on her release was always abundantly clear. Peter Hastings had never faltered from his stance, that she had no business outside the four white pallid walls of her assigned room and that anyone who believed otherwise was a complete and utter fool. But for some reason, she was still unprepared for his absence as she'd walked out of the building. Stupidly, like the hopeful little girl she scarcely remembered being, she'd searched for him all the way to Toby's truck, only to be disillusioned once again.

She didn't say a word, accepting the fact of her father's physical abandonment, as she got in the car, pretending it didn't make her heart ache and even drive out a slightly angry edge in her. She said goodbye to her friends, climbed into the truck and then noticed in the rearview window all her stuff had been packed in and strapped down in the bed. She didn't say a word about her dad, all the way out of the hospital parking lot.

She didn't have to.

Toby had taken her hand and kissed it, gently, without taking his eyes off the road. "He just doesn't know how to do the right thing," the twenty four year old had whispered.

"It's not half as funny as I'm making it seem," Toby cautioned, bringing her back to the present.

"I can't know unless you share."

"When we were packing up your stuff, I originally said I wanted all of it to come with us. I wanted to make this as easy as I could for you. But then Ezra started saying it wasn't going to fit and Hanna said taking two trips would be stupid and Emily and Aria started to try and narrow it down and Jason thought he should just trail us to the motel and bring the rest and then, Caleb decided to take charge, because for some God forsaken reason, he thought he knew what things you needed better than the rest of us because he used to live in the barn with you-"

"Wait, what?" Spencer exclaimed. "That's-"

"Ridiculous? Yeah, that's what I thought. But with all the tension going around lately, I held my tongue and walked away. Then Alison started telling Caleb he had pissed me off and Hanna heard Ali and she and Caleb got into an argument."

The brunette stared at him for a long moment, waiting for the punch line. "You're cracking up because Hanna and Caleb got into a fight?" She concluded, bewildered.

"A small tiff," he corrected.

"Well, that's not very nice of you," her rebuke was contrasted with her wry smile.

"Oh please, they were fine at the hospital. I think they made out in the parking lot after we drove away."

"What did I do to you?" She exclaimed, laughing, shaking her head. "You're smirking at our friends' misfortune!"

"Our friends broke your heart, did they not?"

And then she got it. No further explanation was needed, as she realized Toby's rapid disdain for Caleb Rivers had nothing to do with anything but the brunette in the seat next to him.

Strangely enough, Spencer didn't even remember until his words that Caleb had broken her heart. Hanna and Caleb, that is, and their betrayal.

Partially because the circumstances she was surrounded by now, forced the cheating to pale in comparison, and partially because the man in the seat next to her had mended every fracture to her heart in the blink of an eye.

"Well, I really hope Hanna isn't mad at me," Spencer noted, the idea forcing the smile clean off her face.

"Why would she be?"

"I don't know. Because I'm the topic of their fight?"

"I already told you, babe. Their fight was an argument and it probably ended in make-up sex."

"You really want to imagine Hanna and Caleb having make-up sex?"

"That's disgusting."

"Getting all hot and heavy in the backseat-"

"Spence," he groaned.

"Well, you said it!" She laughed, staring out the window at the pavement flying by them as they sped down a back road. The brunette sighed, sobering up rapidly. "I just really don't want her to be angry with me for her and Caleb's issues."

"It would be stupid for her to get mad at you though," the cop reasoned, turning his eyes away from the road to glance at her. Without thinking, she gave him a pointed look and raised an eyebrow, fighting a smirk. Toby instantly erupted into laughter again. "I'm telling her you said that."

"I said nothing!"

"You called her stupid!"

"No," she reasoned lightly. "I just implied she wasn't always the brightest."

"Solid refute, Spence."

"She gets on your nerves," the brunette stated, knowingly. "I see the way you get frustrated with her."

"I like Hanna! I do, I just. . . don't understand her. I'm not used to her type of personality. You and her are complete polar opposites," he pointed out.

"That's what makes us so close."

"Yeah, but it also makes me really confused when she starts talking. I have no idea how to respond to her or what she's trying to tell me sometimes."

"I know what you mean," she rubbed his arm, thinking of the double date with Hanna and Caleb, an entire lifetime ago. Thinking of before prom when Hanna tried to see if Toby knew what Caleb was up to and instead only left Toby perplexed and baffled. "We are really different. Hanna's sort of dramatic and likes to exaggerate a lot." Out of the corner of his eye, Toby peered over at her. She didn't comment on it until a quiet snort escaped. "Excuse you?"

"I said nothing," he repeated.

"I am not over dramatic and I don't exaggerate, thank you very much."

"Okay."

"I don't," she maintained. Before he could say anything else, the scenery changed from the lackluster back roads and suddenly, they were pulling into a parking lot.

"We can't get into a room for another hour so I figured-"

Before he even finished his sentence, Spencer was flinging her door open and stumbling out. "Oh, thank god. My health has been rapidly declining with all the hospital food I've had to consume."

A smirk formed on the cop's face. "Oh yeah, babe, you don't exaggerate at all."


"We need to talk," Spencer started, setting her menu down in front of her.

"I told you, whatever you want to eat, order it. I don't care if you order three prime ribs and the lobster-"

"That's actually what I wanted to talk about."

"The lobster?"

"Toby," she shut her eyes, her demeanor swiftly changing.

He sensed her mood change instantly and put his menu down now too, reaching for her hand. "What's going on," he asked gently.

She focused her eyes on the table cloth, grinding her lower lip between her teeth. "How are we going to manage to pay for anything?" She softly inquired.

Toby squeezed her hand tighter, his expression relieved it wasn't something of greater concern. "Money is the very last thing you need to think about."

Her answer was stubborn and it rolled off her tongue instantly. "You know, that's not me. That's never been me," she stated. "I'm not just going to sit around and suck your bank account dry, while you do everything."

"I know that, Spence, but with everything going," he paused to choose his words carefully. "With everything you've got on your plate, I don't want you to worry about finances right now. I can handle them."

The brunette shook her head, wracking her brain for the right words. She looked past him, out the window into the mutely lit night outside. "I just want us to be equals," she admitted quietly, almost defeated.

"We are equals!" He immediately countered, adamantly. "We've always been equals-"

"I don't feel equal, not contributing anything, and forcing you to pay for both of us. Besides," she argued, her eyes growing glassy. "You were suspended from your job for saving me. I'm the reason we have no money-"

"Sweetheart, I have money saved up," he corrected evenly.

"You mean the money from the settlement? For your blown-up house? Really, Toby? You want to spend the money that you got from losing your entire childhood, just to pay for me, because you're out of a job and I am physically not allowed to work?"

Toby gave her a look. "I'm paying for myself too, not just you. And I told you, I have this under control. I promise, you don't have to worry. Trust me."

"I trust you," she gave his hand another squeeze, lacing their fingers together. "But I don't feel right not pulling my weight."

"Spencer, you pull your weight in everything. Hell, you pull practically everyone else's weight too. Don't act like you're a freeloader, living off me because you're lazy."

"But that's what this feels likes," she exclaimed. "It doesn't feel right to-"

"To what? Have someone else take care of you? Not have to worry about everything for everyone? Not being four people's backbone?" Spencer sighed, adverting her eyes once again. "Money has never been one of our problems, Spence," the cop declared calmly. "Of all of our issues, that was never one of them. No matter who paid for what."

"I guess," she finally conceded dimly, using her plastic straw to swish her ice water around.

Toby studied her face a minute. "Did you feel any different," he started, his tone lightning up a little, "when it was reversed? When you supported me?"

She met his eyes, a small smile fought its way across her mouth, remorse lifting off her noticeably. He had her there. "You breaking your leg doesn't feel like the same thing," she disagreed but the fight was out of her voice.

"Um, I recall relying on you and your mom for an entire six weeks."

"Oh please," she rolled her eyes. "My mother? She was rarely home, and even then, she was more focused on my impending court case than the fact that her eighteen year old daughter's boyfriend was sleeping in the house. I'm pretty sure you guys spent more time together in the hospital recently than in those six weeks. I'm not even entirely sure she knew you were staying there."

"Still," he countered nonetheless. "I couldn't afford my rent that month, I couldn't pay for any of my utilities or my doctor bills. You took care of it all. You paid for everything I ate in those six weeks, you drove me around without complaint, you paid for my wheelchair and my crutches. Did you feel like I was freeloading off you?"

"No," she answered simply. The look of guilt was gone and now in its place was the slightly disgruntled expression she naturally got every time she lost a debate. "Alright, fine, you win," she allowed. "I see your point."

He laughed, satisfied with how this disagreement ended. "Not to mention how many times you helped me shower for those six weeks," he smirked at her again and received a napkin spewed across the table, aimed at his face. His laugh only grew as he caught the cloth, keeping one eyebrow raised at her as he folded it gently. "Just consider this payment for when I had a broken leg."

The brunette rolled her eyes again. "I don't want to be indebted to each other, Tobes."

"Then let's not," he suggested easily. "Let's not complicate it. We're equals and equals pay for each other's shit."

She sighed dramatically but it was clear he'd already won. "Alright, fine. If you say so."


"How many times can my friends text me in an hour?"

"I'm just glad you left your phone in the car while we ate," Toby remarked from the driver's seat. "I don't like having to split our attention between each other and our cell phones."

She continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I mean, twenty four texts collectively from the girls, in the hour we were eating. Twenty four! I almost wish my mom hasn't given me my phone back before I left. Now I'm responsible for keeping the girls updated."

"You can tell them to text me again instead," Toby offered.

"Again? You and them were texting a lot?"

"Only while you slept. They wanted to know every last detail of how you were doing and they couldn't visit you, so," he shrugged, offhandedly.

"Well they must think I'm going to die every two seconds because they won't stop asking if I'm still alright."

Her boyfriend pondered something for a moment. "Hey, speaking of your. . .friends," her head snapped away from the small screen to glance at him, his tone setting off her anxiety deep in her stomach. "Jason has been texting me. He's still relying on me for updates on how you're doing. I told him Veronica gave you your phone back but he said you weren't too fond of him at the moment."

Spencer pursed her lips, unsure how to react to that. The idea that Jason, like the girls, had demanded step by step updates on her condition made her feel the slightest bit of regret for her prior resentment towards the blonde. "My relationship with Jason is. . . really, really complicated. Complicated at best."

"I know," he validated immediately. "But you worked so hard for so long to build a relationship with him. You wanted him to care. Maybe don't push him away so much. I don't want you to look back and regret it one day."

She shut her eyes, processing his words. Toby was one of the only opinions-if not the only opinion-that she truly valued. If he was suggesting giving Jason a break, maybe she needed to take it to heart.

After all, Toby was the person she relied on to be her conscious when she was too out of it to know right from wrong. He was the person she looked to for judgment calls and that she trusted implicitly to call her out if she was dead wrong. As unhealthy as that might be to trust someone so implicitly, without reservations, without conditions, without fear.

He turned the wheel sharply, driving into the motel parking lot. "Aw, Tobes, look," she pointed straight ahead of them. "It's our space."

"Our space?" He searched where she pointed. "I think you need glasses too, babe. We stayed in room two one five our first night."

"Not the room!" She corrected, her voice raising an octave. "I'm talking about there! That's our parking space."

He stared at her for a moment. "We have assigned parking?"

"Toby!" She scolded as comprehension struck his face.

A smile spread across his mouth. "Do you really remember the parking space where we had our first kiss?"

"Of course!" She affirmed immediately, her eyes growing wider. Looking almost insulted, she asked, "wait, you don't?"

"I was sort of busy making sure I kissed you right. I didn't have time to pull out Google Earth to landmark it."

"But it was our first!"

"And it was magical. Even if I can't find the exact space it happened in."

She was still scoffing while opening her door and stumbling out of the passenger's side. "Babe, wait," Toby called, chasing her now. "I don't want a repeat of the restaurant."

"Nothing happened," she persisted.

He gave her a pointed look. "You almost face planted on the way to our table."

She sighed as he wrapped an arm around her, walking them both into the motel room. "Just like old times," she murmured cheekily as Toby guided her to the bed to lay down. "Can you believe my dad actually thought I would refuse to stay here?"

Toby smiled faintly, his attention now elsewhere. His hand swept all bangs off her forehead, examining her face again. "How dizzy are you?" He asked smoothly.

Her expression sobered. "Honestly? Pretty shaky." She stared at the ceiling, pondering something. "Do you think we could just. . .stop my pain medications. .. altogether?"

The cop stared at her blankly. "You want to stop all your pain medications?" He repeated, completely mystified at the suggestion.

She nodded, hating the fact that she even had to ask permission. Not just in regards to Toby and not just right now. The fact that she had to ask anyone for permission to do anything irritated her to no avail.

It was a hard pill to swallow to realize that she had been abducted, she had been beaten and she had lost her memory of all events surrounding the crime. She had a concussion, she had an undiagnosed, unexplainable form of memory loss that confused her doctors, more than likely a reaction to trauma.

Someone did this to her. And yet, she felt like it was her that was being punished for the entire affair.

"I hate being unable to walk on my own without looking like a drunk," she finally elaborated quietly.

He seemed to read her mind, understand her aggravation, her frustrations, her underlying irritation, because it took him next to no time to agree. "Spence, if you don't want the prescriptions," he shrugged slowly. "I'm not going to force it on you. You're not in the hospital anymore. I'm not your doctor. This is your choice."

After being scolded repeatedly, essentially treated like a child again and conditioned to hearing 'no' and being told what she could and couldn't do, her boyfriend's words were a shock.

On nothing other than complete impulse, she leaned up, still completely unbalanced, and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips, throwing her arms around his neck. "Babe," he whispered breathlessly as they pulled apart. "Just promise to tell me if you need them again, alright? I don't want you to be in excessive pain," he brushed her hair back, his eyes unsure of his decision despite how confident he felt. Confident that it was her decision, confident that he had no right to belittle her from her own desire, confident that she, herself, knew how she felt better than he could ever infer.

It didn't feel right for him to take away her freewill. When he'd signed all the papers and talked to the doctors, he'd agreed that if she started showing signs of mental deterioration, he'd bring her back in. If she stopped speaking or curled up in a ball and wouldn't come out for days on end, if she grew violent with others, outside of her panic attack episodes-the doctors didn't even know what to label them. If he couldn't bring her back to reality. If she refused to eat or get out of bed. If she started clawing at herself. Any sign of something detrimental to her physical or mental well-being, he had to bring her back in for an evaluation.

He didn't agree however to forcing down her throat drugs that she didn't want, that made her lightheaded and rendered her unable to perform her any task on her own. The painkillers they gave were strong. Knock you flat on your back strong.

Which only added to his mountain of anxiety. He knew it was obvious to her he was on edge-a disadvantage to knowing each other inside and out-but he chose to keep to himself the thought that there had to be a reason behind them prescribing her such heavy mediation. They wouldn't just hand them out to any patient with bruises and scrapes and cuts.

"I love you," she murmured, lying back again. The words made his heart, still, to this day, skip a beat. "But I'm just a little beat up. The very worst injury I have is the stitches in my forehead. And I don't even remember I have them until someone stares or I catch my reflection. Alright, this is nothing I can't handle." The cop said nothing, just gave her what he hoped was a small, supportive smile and a slight nod.

Segueing to a new topic, one that didn't require words, Spencer gripped Toby's collar, dragging his upper body over her, fusing their lips together again.

He kissed her back, almost as passionately as he had in the hospital shower, but when she reached for the hem of his shirt, he pulled away, moving his lips to her nose, forehead and hairline before sitting up.

"Toby!" She exclaimed, heaving herself up too.

"What?" He queried innocently.

"Come on," she insisted breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck and molding their lips together one more time. Her tongue effortlessly slipped into his mouth, twisting itself with his and she felt a peacefulness, a sense of serenity, a deep tranquil and love and euphoria, all spread across her body, building from deep inside the pit of her stomach and rapidly exploding through her like fireworks.

Until he pulled back, once again.

"Why are you stopping," she complained the second her mouth was free, not even caring how much she sounded like a petulant child.

"Because," he whispered, his eyes pained. He stared at her with so much love and desire and longing and ache.

"Because why?"

"Because this isn't right," he explained, still trying to catch his breath. "You said yourself that you want us to be on equal ground. I don't feel like we are right now."

"What the hell, Toby?"

"You can't even walk! Hell, I went with you to the bathroom to make sure you didn't fall-"

"So? There's tons of couples who don't think that's weird," she argued, her brows furrowing, heartbreakingly perplexed. It was entirely impossible for her not to take this personal. He'd never rejected her before, not when she wasn't inside a hospital room.

If they were on good terms, if their relationship wasn't being ripped apart by -A or the Rosewood Police Force or even their families, he had always been ready to go at it, in a second's notice. From the night in the motel room when they were both assuming the alias of –A, to when he proclaimed that he'd choose her over his job in a heartbeat, to the day she came home from the dollhouse, he'd always been ready to go the second she was.

They were so much a physical couple. Their love was bone deep, and they had a way of communicating that no one else understood. They had a level of reverence for the other that compared to no one and they had done things for each other that were unthinkable to many.

But they rarely talked things through. The little things. The small details. So much of their communication was done through bodily gestures, like taking the other's hand, rubbing each other's arms, cuddling, hugging, kissing. And lack thereof.

Him rejecting her advances felt so much more grave and hurtful to her than any other form of refusal.

He noticed instantly too. He saw the look in her eyes, the look he couldn't bear seeing, the look that killed him to know he put there, even with the best of intentions. "Spence," he sighed, taking her hand. "We can't. Not right now."

"Why not?" She asked simply, not comprehending, a desperate gleam in her eyes.

"Because you can't even walk a straight line. It would feel like I was," he cut himself off, breaking eye contact. He couldn't look her in the eye, see how his rebuff hurt her, no matter his reasons. He couldn't watch her as he said no, when all he wanted was to take her in his arms and give into their physical desires.

He'd never been able to deny her anything.

"Maybe Jenna," the name forced her to tense and she didn't know why. It was like her brain had a reaction that she didn't know the cause of. Like her mind was keeping another secret from her. "Maybe my past with her has made me more than guarded about consent but. . . I just really can't do this with you until there isn't a chance in hell you're a hundred percent present," he explained, his eyes still on the wall behind her.

She nodded, already moved on from the conversation. Her demeanor had drastically changed with the mention of Jenna's name and, the dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach, the ache in her chest, the hot feeling in her head, the nausea feeling in her throat, the air being squeezed out of her lungs, all over it topped with her unstable balance, left her heaving and stumbling as she struggled off the bed.

"Spencer?" Toby's eyes snapped to her faltering figure, alarm coloring his tone, their previous conversation abruptly forgotten. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer him, couldn't even manage to speak, as she rushed gracelessly through the doorway to the bathroom and threw herself at the counter.

She took one breath, two breaths, three breaths, four. All to no relief. Nothing helped. Nothing cured whatever in the world was happening to her.

She made an animalistic noise as her stomach churned. "Spencer," Toby called again, frantic. He was rushing through the threshold just as his girlfriend lunged for the toilet, the contents of her stomach, everything she just ate, working its way back up in rapid succession.

"Oh my god, baby," Toby gasped, instantly crouching down over her, pulling her hair back.

The second she was done, she threw herself into his arms. "Toby, what the. . ." she involuntarily burst into tears, more disturbed than she could even articulate by what just happened.

She didn't understand why she wasn't just not improving, but instead getting more and more unhinged? Why were new, random names becoming triggers for her? Why was she beginning to get violently ill, even without the flashbacks? Why did she feel like piece by piece, she was crumbling apart?

Toby felt his own limbs shaking for the first time and realized how fucking petrified he was. There was no one else here but him now. Whatever happened to her, no matter how ugly this illness-because that's what this was; an illness-became, he had to pull her back. He was the only one who could help her.

But he also knew that he was the only person who'd ever been able to mend her when she fell apart at the seams. They could be in a room full of a hundred and he'd still be the only one who could ever give her the solace necessary.

No one understood them, like they did each other. No one knew their unspoken language, of gestures and touches and silent glances.

She was still heaving loudly as he wet down a motel supplied washcloth and carefully wiped her mouth with trembling hands. "What the-" she choked out again, nearly retching on her own sobs. She furiously squeezed her eyes shut to stop her brutally unrelenting tears.

Toby forced himself to take a deep breath, sitting down next to her on the cold, rigid tile floor. Without saying a word, he guided her head into his lap, pushing his fingers through her hair, in a slow, soothing motion.

"What's happening to me?" She whimpered into his lap, her cries growing louder and louder, until they were they only thing he could hear.


When she'd cried and cried and cried herself out, until her throat felt pricked with needles and the skin, the bruised and cut up skin, on her face was tender and raw, Toby had lifted her to his chest and carried her back out to the bedroom.

He sat with her on the edge of the bed, squeezing her to him tight enough to elicit pain in her ribs, for nearly two hours.

Unlike the hospital, when she calmed down, she didn't apologize and she didn't hide herself in him either.

She pulled away slightly, her head no longer burrowed in the crook of his neck, and used both hands to wipe her face. The medication was still in effect and she felt no discomfort as she scrubbed the lacerations on her face in effort to remove evidence of her tears.

The first thing she said was hoarse and broken and almost too vulnerable for even her to believe. "What's going to happen to me?" She asked, looking at Toby with absolute, infinite trust.

"Nothing," he promised, rubbing her back gently. "Nothing."

"You don't know that," she disagreed, her voice barely audible.

"Yes, I do," he pledged. "Because I will do whatever it takes for you to get through this. Whatever we have to do, we'll do."

His words, just like at the hospital, all the promises he'd made, all the vows he'd swore by, brought a lifeless smile to her face.

"I don't know how you're so confident," she murmured. "But I'm really glad you're here. Still."

The cop felt his eyes grow misty. "I'm really glad I'm here too."


After she was calm, after she climbed off his lap and, using a fresh washcloth, scrubbed her face feverishly, Toby ran her a bath, hoping to ease the overflowing, never yielding tension built up inside her.

It was obvious to anyone with vision, even someone not privy to the recent events, that she was barely there. That with every new occurrence, a piece of her was fading away.

It was out of her control. She couldn't contain it and she couldn't slow it down.

For the first time, Toby wondered if he shouldn't have heeded her parents' warning and kept her in the hospital.

He'd never admit it to her, never want to say something that could potentially hurt her to know.

He didn't want her to think she was a burden to him, especially when it was just the opposite. She was the light of his life. She was the reason the world still, after everything that'd happened and all the people he'd loved that he'd lost, spun around for him. Spencer was, in every way possible, his angel.

But he didn't know if he could live with himself if something happened to her, because he was wrong. Because he'd made a drastic mistake. Because he forced a bad judgment call, because he couldn't deny her anything.

The cop sat on the queen size bed, flipping the channels of the television, not even looking to see what was playing. His usual calm demeanor, his easy going nature that balanced Spencer out, was evaporating and in its place was a life sucking anxiety that screamed at him for ever taking her out of the hospital.

Hours passed until she returned, exiting the bathroom unsteadily in the clothes she was wearing before. "Spencer," Toby breathed but he didn't add anything else.

Wordlessly, she situated herself in his arms, anchored to him. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, her brows furrowed once again. "I'm sorry I keep screwing up."

"You're not," he exclaimed. "You are not screwing up. There's nothing wrong-"

"Toby, please," she cut off. "Don't deny it. It only makes it worse."

He shut his eyes, leaning his head against her's for a long moment. "You're not at fault for anything that's happening."

For some reason, he was surprised she responded. "Doesn't really matter though, does it?" She asked rhetorically. "Because in the end, the results always the same. No matter who's at fault, I'm still the one who's mentally deteriorating. I'm still the one who's poisoning your life-"

"Spencer, you are my life," he disputed. "You're everything to me. And yeah, this isn't a picnic for anyone but that doesn't mean it's your fault."

She sighed deeply but went quiet, turning towards the television set in front of them.

"What're you watching?"

He quickly pressed the guide button and started searching for something she'd like. Her responsiveness was improving again, she was finally there with him, present and anything he could do to keep it that way, he'd do without reservations.

"Freaky Foodies is on," he noted, selecting the program he'd once complained was disgusting and ridiculous.

That got a reaction out of her. "You hate this show."

"You love this show."

"You said it was nauseating and redundant."

"You said it was pure brilliance."

"You said it was offensive."

"We were watching an episode where someone named Tony Kavanaugh was eating pillows. Of course I was offended. You were asking if I wanted bamboo memory foam for dinner."

The memory, the stupid, inane story, made her giggle in spite of herself.

As the episode carried on, with her full attention on the screen, Spencer repositioned herself several times in order to get comfortable.

"Do you want a massage?" He asked, almost hopeful. The cop wanted something he could do to help her, help her mend, raise her spirits.

She nodded, not as animated as she was when they'd checked in, but better than she was an hour ago.

She slid off his lap and laid flat on her stomach next to him on the bed, her eyes still trained on the program.

"Please tell me they're not about to eat the entire package of erasers," Toby muttered, lifting up her shirt.

"It can't be that bad for them, actually," she claimed, sighing in pleasure as the cop's fingers rubbed her pressure points.

His palm began to kneed her lower back, right at her waistline. "What do you mean?"

"Students eat the erasers off their pencils all the time. It's a seriously common nervous habit. Last I checked, there's no correlation between students who chew their erasers and student deaths, so I'm guessing it's one of the safer habits to have," she elaborated offhandedly.

It was the most she'd said-and the most Spencer thing she could say-in hours. The tiniest bit of relief spread through his veins and, on a whim, he ducked his head down to plant open mouth kisses on her back.

"Ah!" She squealed cacophonously, followed by a loud cackle and he grinned against her skin. Elation replaced a portion of his apprehension and he sighed out in relief.

And then, like she had so many times before, the brunette took him by complete surprise.

She pushed herself up, off her stomach, using the strength of her weak arms and swiftly removed every article of clothing on her body.

The twenty-four year old cop's eyes grew large, unsure what she was doing, until she laid back down on her stomach, as if nothing had changed.

"Could you keep massaging, babe?" She asked sweetly, her demeanor changing ever so slightly. "My whole body hurts."

He hesitated, unsure where this came from but more terrified of forcing her to retreat back into her shell. "Yeah," he agreed, trying to appear completely natural.

As he began to rub down her body, he found himself unable to focus on anything else but her. The sordid TV show was a loss to him now. An elephant could have climbed out of the screen and into the motel room to trample both of them and he wouldn't have noticed anything but her.

He massaged all the way, head to toe, down her body once, twice, three times, before the episode ended and the credits rolled across the screen.

As the program changed, so did his girlfriend. Instead of lying there, passively and seemingly oblivious, she, without warning, pushed him back so that he wasn't leaning over her anymore and flung herself into his lap, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and shoving her mouth on his.

He saw exactly where this was going, although it was truly no surprise. He knew it was just a matter of time since she'd stripped down.

He didn't reject her advances. The very last thing he wanted in the world was to hurt her when she was at like this. Desperate and confused and frustrated and vulnerable.

But he also refused to do anything to her that, in anyone's book, could be considered taking advantage of.

Just like hours prior, when she reached for the hem of his shirt, he, as sweetly and tenderly as possible, leaned back. "Spence," he whispered, searching for the right words to stop her.

He didn't need them as she was already interrupting him. "Don't say no," she demanded, clenching her teeth. "I need this."

"I want to," he murmured tenderly. "I want to but-"

"Please, no buts," she pushed, her voice gaining a hysterical edge.

"Babe-"

"This grounds me, Toby," she elucidated, imploring him to understand . "Especially right now. I need this, please."

"You don't know," he disagreed sensitively. "We haven't had sex in three years. You don't know if it would help or if you'd regret it afterwards. And I couldn't live with myself, knowing that I-"

"How are you not even tempted?" She bellowed, her tone biting. "I'm literally naked, sitting on top you and you aren't even tempted right now."

"I'm tempted, Spencer," he corrected, his voice growing louder in volume too. "I want to do this just as much as you do right now. I don't know how you think this is at all easy."

"Then, just give in. Please," she murmured again, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his cheek, then down his jaw line.

Without warning, he lifted her swiftly and effortlessly, flipping her on her back, one hand supporting her as she landed against the mattress, preventing any further pain.

He hovered over her body with his, pulling her legs around his waist. His lips found her's again, hungrily and urgently and their tongues fused together. Spencer's hands began to unbuckle his belt as he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking on the skin there gently. She moaned as he moved even lower, moving his lips down her chest and to her stomach.

And then, he stopped.

Pulling away, he moved to the edge of the bed, waiting for her to follow suit.

She held unwavering, unbreakable eye contact with him, chocolate meeting the sky, both of them still catching their breath.

"I'm always tempted with you, Spence. Even when you're fully dressed and even when we're not together. I will always want you," he swore. She shut her eyes at his somber words, knowing where this was headed. It wasn't a surprise. She'd always known this would be the ultimate outcome, his intentions were too pure to taint. Her boyfriend was utterly incorruptible. "But I'm not going to put my own needs above you. It doesn't matter how much I wish we could, right here and right now. It just isn't right."

He felt his chest ache as he watched her swallow hard, tears leaking out the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, her voice nothing more than a rasp. Humiliation colored her tone as she frantically wiped the liquid salt off her face. "I'm so stupid."

"No," he disputed softly, shaking his head rapidly, so much love in his expression, so much pain and understanding and compassion. "I get it, Spence. I get it."

And he did. Sex was always something they did to express their love. It always had healed their open wounds or their gut wrenching panic. Making love was about more than just the act of sex to them. It was a way to physically express their implicit trust in one another, to find comfort in each other, to feel the other's skin against theirs, to feel like they were the only two people that existed and the rest of the world disappeared into abyss for a few short minutes. They always expressed their love with physical gestures. It was obvious why Spencer would be craving it now.

"I'm so embarrassed," she admitted, saltwater still coursing down her face and Toby was shaking his head before she was even finished.

He tugged her closer, pressing his lips to her shoulder and down her arm. "No," he whispered into her skin. "I love you so much, Spencer, that sometimes it scares me. Actually, that's a lie. It scares me all the time." She sniffled, running her hand under her nose. "And I wish we could do this right now. I wish that more than anything. The last thing I want is for you to be hurt or embarrassed or upset-"

"I shouldn't have pushed this," she lamented, scrubbing her face again. "I just thought it would help. I just want to be normal again."

The cop shut his eyes at her words, as they pierced themselves deep in his gut. "There is not a single thing wrong with you, baby. I swear it."

"Please, forgive me," she cried. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Spence, you didn't do anything wrong-"

"I forced myself on you. I wouldn't take no for an answer. Just like," she swallowed the name down before it could penetrate its way into her brain, drag her down like before, cause another bout of illness.

Fuck her up any further.

"Sweetheart," Toby murmured, holding her eyes in his. "You're nothing like her. I never even thought about that for it second. There is absolutely no comparison."

She nodded, still crying, one step away from harsh sobbing and the cop caught her off-guard as he tugged on the collar of his white t-shirt, stripping it off and then gently pulling it over her head.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely, as he smoothed the cotton fabric down. "For everything."