Big thanks to charmedrocks33 for saying something as earth-shattering as "this could be a future episode of the show." That was a bit of my vision going into this fic & I'm beyond honored :)

Also, SpobyFicStalker, your last two reviews have had me smiling big time. Thank you, lovely.

With a distant grain of troubling self-awareness, Spencer could distinguish that her bleak disposition was nearing precarious heights.

And at the same time, she couldn't bring herself to care. She was on the brink of something huge. It could change everything. It might not change anything at all. Regardless of what had actually happened on that vile September night, Alison was still alive. Right?

But that opened an entirely different can of worms, one that contained more complexity than Spencer had been prepared to delve into prior to Melissa's sordid confession. Ali may have been a mystery in both life and death, but there were certain aspects of her personality that were fairly predictable. When someone pushed, she pushed back. It was how she operated. Retaliation—often in the nastiest existing form—was a big part of that girl's vocabulary. To think that she'd reappeared on more than one occasion, even had one-on-one conversations with Spencer…yet never mentioned this supposedly lethal quarrel? It seemed rather improbable.

In the very next breath, the red-eyed brunette was willing to wager a large piece of her existence on the potential truth in her sister's revelations. There were so many times were she'd called Melissa's words into question. Uncertainty had always inundated their excessively volatile relationship. But for all of the dysfunctional Hastings history in her arsenal of experiences, this somehow invoked a foreign conviction within Spencer, something that authenticated the tale. Snippets of stilted conversations over the last two and half years boomeranged back to her with tormenting keenness. How many times had Melissa desperately begged for Spencer to back off? There had been a countless array of ambiguous appeals, veiled warnings, baffling near-hints. What if…what if…?

Spencer passed the same bulletin board for maybe the nineteenth time since her sister had vacated the Progressive Care Unit, but her feet wouldn't quit. It was her silent expectation that the next loop around Toby's floor would bring her some sort of clarity, some resolution. In actuality, each diligent circuit just left her more dizzied. The occasional splash of an uninhibited tear trickled down her face, but it didn't faze her or anyone else. This wasn't the cheeriest wing of the hospital. What was another grief-stricken girl wandering the halls? They probably saw this every single day.

She marched toward her only obligatory checkpoint and poked her head into Toby's room, grounding herself with the one rope that still tethered her to reality. He was there, sleeping peacefully. He was safe, solid, and incessantly hers. It was a peculiar conundrum. She usually did everything within her command to keep all of her secrets to herself, and yet now that she physically could not confide in him? That was the one thing she wanted to do.

"Coffee." Yes, that was it. Sure, she was muttering to herself, but what did she have to lose? That was it, her ingenious solution.

Her wobbly fingers wrapped around the standard-issue carafe, grasping the handle as if it were a life preserver and pouring the muddy liquid into a dinky Styrofoam cup. Thank God for a somewhat suitable waiting room setup. Coffee would help her center her racing thoughts.

And yet, even that familiar caffeinated friend failed her. Spencer choked and gagged, almost spewing the beverage across the linoleum. The weak sludge was staler than stale, didn't even qualify as lukewarm, and had likely been brewed two centuries ago. It offered her no solace, no enlightenment.

As silly and inconsequential as it should have been, her unwarranted prickle of disappointment was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. She wilted piteously to the floor, not even bothering with the worn row of chairs lining the opposite wall. Every explosive conversation she'd ever had with Ali tunneled through her overworked cerebrum. It wasn't so hard to believe. Surprisingly, the difficulty she was experiencing stemmed more directly from the concept that her psyche could have repressed such a traumatic deed. Drugs or no drugs, how could she spend more than two years—searching like mad for answers—when the truth had been hidden away in her own mind? It was inexcusable.

Glancing down at her lap, Spencer gaped in disgust at the mess she'd made of her throwaway coffee cup. Jagged remnants of mutilated Styrofoam littered her legging-clad thighs. Bits of white particles were jammed beneath her fingernails, unquestionable evidence of her spontaneous tirade. What the hell was going on with her?

"Get it together, Hastings."

Oh, and talking to herself was really a great start. Nothing says sane like a one-sided conversation in public.

After bulldozing two balled fists into her strained eyes, Spencer sucked in a lengthy breath and collected her avalanche of snowy scraps. She needed to talk to someone. This was one secret too overwhelming to keep inside. It would devour her if she let it.

But as she deposited the debris into a nearby waste basket, she couldn't help but liken the shambles of that pathetic cup to the fractured condition of her world. Aria was completely out of the equation. Her personal heartbreak was all too fresh. Hanna would still be with Caleb, another casualty in last night's warfare. They needed some recovery time of their own. That left Emily, the least favorable of her choices. Hey, Em, I may have been the one who got the ball rolling on the whole 'let's murder Alison' thing. Let's logically hash that out together, okay?

Yeah, what a wonderful idea.

Spencer's body automatically carried itself to her version of true north. Even when she wasn't ready to divulge something to Toby, his very presence had the unparalleled ability to pacify her most deranged musings. Perhaps she could channel her more regular levelheaded self if she could put herself in proximity to that one safe place to land. Yes, Toby...coffee may have betrayed her, but he wouldn't. If there had been one speck of silver lining in all of this, it was in him—there was no mistaking his fidelity to her after the calamity they'd faced together. She hadn't known that she could love him any more than before, but their bond had only intensified after withstanding this storm as one. He was her imperishable rock.

A disoriented anticipation transfixed her features as her gaze lit upon him through the small glass portal. There was her dependable guidepost, forever signaling the path home. Spencer pushed through the door like a woman possessed, suddenly needing his touch in the worst way. If Melissa had spoken truthfully, then her friends might not forgive her for this. But Toby? Judging by his ongoing commentary on the pitfalls of Alison DiLaurentis' poisonous personality, his response could potentially include a round of applause.

Her determined route to his bedside came to a crude standstill as glimmer of activity flurried from the darkened corner. To her relief, a long white coat hovered near the IV drip. It was just a doctor. She silently chided herself for being so foolishly jumpy.

"Uh, hi…has something changed? Is he okay?"

The man froze. "Spencer. Visiting hours are almost over on this unit."

"W-Wren. What...I didn't know you were doing a rotation here..."

Something, some trivial stub of a forgotten conversation, pled for her attention. Melissa...had she mentioned him at all? No, she hadn't. There had been no allusion of his involvement.

He shot her a suave smile. "Well, I...I heard that your carpenter was treated last night and I thought I should check in. You know, as a courtesy to you."

"Right. Oh, he's doing just fine. Thanks for your concern. It means a lot." Her words were idiotically clipped, but it was the best she could do. The image of the once-appealing Brit staring in her direction through those black woods on Friday night...it debilitated her into a panicked slush.

And that's what triggered the missing realization. Melissa had mentioned him.

No company is better than bad company.

It hadn't meant anything to Spencer the first time around. They'd squared off in the kitchen, the impact of his wafting cologne alerting Melissa to her sister's furtive rendezvous. Of course she'd dispelled disapproval. He was her ex-fiancé. Spencer hadn't expected anything less.

But now? Melissa had been halfway to the door tonight, but it had been important enough for her to turn around and say it again.

"Is something wrong, Spencer? You look a little manky."

"Um, actually I do feel a little faint." Well that wasn't a lie. "Could you maybe get me some water?"

A glint of aggravation contorted his mouth, but he blinked it away. "Why don't you take a seat out in the hall? The air in here is—"

Whatever he said after that didn't register. A deafening roar erupted in her ears as she caught the sheen of a thin metallic syringe clutched partially behind his back.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!"

She was tearing around the foot of the bed, metaphorical steam pouring out of her as she charged toward him. His brown eyes widened momentarily, then went ice cold. "You weren't supposed to be—"

"Get the hell out!" Spencer thumped his chest with a wild slap while her other hand clawed at his wrist. "Get out now!"

For all of her feral energy, she was still no match for his stronger frame. Her body stumbled against the force of his movements, the back of her head thundering into the plastered wall. Her upper arm pricked with a transitory pain as she arched away from him.

"Sorry, luv. Wrong place, wrong time." His musty breath bore down on her while something indistinct clattered in the background.

"No you can't...no..." Numbness consumed her limbs, obscuring her vision. "No..."

She was floating away, losing a sinister battle for consciousness.

"Toby." His name left her like a destitute prayer.

And then blackness.

The pair of warm brown eyes that greeted his sleepy gaze didn't belong to the girl who'd preoccupied his dreams. Another dark-haired beauty sat next to him instead. "Emily."

She met him with a wry grin. "Not the person you were hoping for, I know."

"That's not true," he fidgeted upward on reluctant elbows. Her eyes soared skyward in reproach. "Okay, yes, I expected Spencer. But you're definitely a welcomed sight, Em."

Her tan hand patted his paler one as she granted him a dazzling smile. "It's so good to hear your voice. Spencer wasn't the only one worried about you."

Toby mulled over her words for a moment, letting them infuse his heart with their earnest message. He didn't have many people in his life. Most days, he was just fine with that. Spencer had filled in so many of the gaps that were deeply lodged into the crevices of his soul, some of which he hadn't even realized existed. Her love had brought him back to the land of the living. She'd recolored his world, restored his smashed pieces and created something new in him.

But Emily had been the first one to break through his thorny shell. For that, he was ceaselessly indebted to her. "Thank you. Seriously, it means a lot more than I know how to say."

"No thanking necessary," she replied contritely. "You've been such a good friend to me, Toby, and no one has ever made Spencer as happy as she is when she's with you. I'm just…I'm sorry that we've exposed you to our nightmare."

"Please don't start in on that. I can only go so many rounds on that particular debate and Spencer has already worn me out on it for this decade and the next."

She threw her hands up with mock chagrin. "Alright, alright! No apologies, no sob stories."

An ecstatic smile painted his whole face. "Oh, thank God. That's the best medicine anyone could give me."

She laughed in return, the sound of it brightening the entire room. "She is the president of the Debate Club. You knew what you were getting yourself into, so don't act like you were deceived."

"Yeah, yeah I did." His mouth bowed with charmed reminiscence. "From the minute I saw her wielding that French book, I was a goner. She doesn't take no for answer."

Emily snickered with a wistful fondness. "That's the Hastings way. Where is she anyway? She told me she planned to be here overnight."

All remaining humor drained rapidly from his features. "What do you mean? I thought…I thought that if you were here…she didn't send you in her place?"

"No. Last I talked to her, she was right here. I was surprised to find you alone, actually."

A quake of worry disrupted her usual reassuring tone, but that was nothing in comparison to the unendurable terror that was ballooning in his chest. "Is Hanna still here with Caleb? Maybe she needed to stretch her legs and went to visit the—"

"He was discharged early this morning. They're not here." Emily was on her feet now, treading heavily across the floor. "She left her bag here, so she couldn't have gotten far, right?"

Toby craned his neck to view the cited duffle. In typical Spencer fashion, the small tote was tucked neatly into the corner for minimal interference. She must have brought it in with her when they'd last talked. He'd admittedly been too doped-up to remember when exactly she'd come in or what she'd had with her. "What time did you talk to her? How long have you been here?"

She prodded at the bag as if her missing friend might be hiding inside of it. "Uh, we texted a few hours ago. I didn't tell her I was coming. I just thought it would be nice to check in on her, make sure she's eating and…you know, the kind of stuff she doesn't do when she gets stressed out. She's better at taking care of everyone else than she's ever been at taking care of herself."

God, was that ever accurate. It did little for his nerves, though. She could be downright reckless when it came to her own welfare. It was one of his girlfriend's worst attributes, the kind of thing that kept him up during the nights that she wasn't cuddled up next to him. "When did you get here?"

Her back went ramrod straight. "Within forty-five minutes …give or take."

"Damn it," both of his hands rose to shield his face. He'd nearly been on his knees pleading for her to go home earlier in the afternoon. She'd resisted his request for as long as she could, repeatedly asserting that wouldn't get any rest apart from him. The idea that she would just up and leave without any notice was unthinkable.

There were still so many loose ends after last night. It had been naïve to let her sit here by herself while he was pitifully incapacitated. Anyone could have waltzed in here and—

"Toby?" Emily's expression was bathed in thickening dread. "Has anything…weird…happened with one of the nurses?"

He scrunched his brow. Her voice had scaled several notches higher and he didn't like it. "No. Why?"

"There's a…a cracked syringe halfway under you bed."

The galloping beat of his heart increased tenfold, expanding up into his throat and blocking his windpipe. It couldn't have been a nurse's mistake. They were too tidy, too methodical. There was no doubt in his churning mind. This was foul play.

"Emily, I need you to do something and you're going to have to trust me on this."

She nodded with zombie-like suspension.

"There's a burner phone in my loft. In my bedroom, the nightstand on the right, second drawer down. It…it will be under a false bottom, but you can lift it up easily if you know it's there. Can you bring that to me?"

"Yeah, yeah…I'll leave now." She fiddled with her jacket, pulling at it in a feverishly as she edged toward the door.

"Good. And Em…" Toby forced his repentant gaze up to hers with a brimming sigh. "Please believe me when I say this. That phone has gone unused since the night at the lodge. I haven't…I promise that I…"

Her solemn eyes didn't blink. "I believe you. Now sit tight and I'll be back right away."

Under any other circumstances, her blind show of faith would have been an extraordinary relief. But as his pulse tripped and his eyes stung, there was no relief at all; only a brick of terror plummeting straight into his gut.