BAH! Off to take six finals. I just wanted to get this up first! I hope you guys enjoy it. I think it's a LITTLE less sad!? IDK! This chapter was supposed to go very differently, but Spencer's memory got a little bit out of control.

Speaking of out of control, YOU GUYS ARE SERIOUSLY INCREDIBLE AND THE BEST. Did I just get 11 reviews!? On the second chapter of a story?! OMG! Can someone fangirl over their readers?! Because I'm about at that point! YOU ALL ARE WONDERFUL! You definitely made my horrible day better.

Speaking of making horrible days better, remember what I said about 6 finals?! HAAA. So horrible. Reviews would make me feel better! Hint, hint.

Chapter 3

Her fingers trembled as she lifted her phone to check the time. 12:01 am. For the past hour she had been checking the time every five minutes or so, dreading the moment the numbers would tick past midnight. That meant it was the day that she had been wishing would never come.

"Happy Anniversary, baby," she whispered into the night.

He couldn't hear her. Or maybe he could. Ever since the funeral it was like she were surrounded by his presence. When she cried in the shower it honestly felt like he was right there with her. When she sprayed his cologne onto his shirt when it started to lose his smell it was as though she could feel his amused disapproval. When she thought about eating something she felt his encouragement. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe it was just because she knew him so well. But no matter what the case was, it didn't change the fact that she felt him with every step that she took.

She wasn't an idiot. She knew the stages of grief. She was a text book example of isolation, and she literally could not find it within herself to care. Maybe she was moving into the depression stage early. All she knew was that she wanted to be alone with her thoughts and memories.

Because if anyone else were in her apartment with her then she would have had to deal with their pity stares. She wasn't pathetic. They would make her eat, but she had no appetite. They would make her get dressed and cleaned up, but then she would have to take Toby's shirt off. They would make her leave the apartment, but all she wanted was to be in the place where she last saw her husband alive. None of that was an option for her, so she ignored every call that she received. Logically, she knew someone would come looking for her eventually, but she would revel in the isolation for as long as she could.

She knew that she should be remembering happy moments. God knows she had her fair share. For every moment saturated by sadness and grief she had ten moments of pure joy and bliss. Her ten years with Toby were the best in her life, and she wouldn't give them up for anything. Despite the grief, sickness, and devastation that characterized their last year together, she was still more than thrilled with the life that she built with Toby. She just wished that it hadn't ended so soon. She wished that he hadn't left her. He was the light in her life, and now she had to learn how to navigate the dark world without him by her side.

But as hard as she tried to remember something good, the only thought that she could conjure was of their last anniversary. He had just been diagnosed, and the disease was quickly ravaging its way through his youthful body. She hadn't known how to handle it then, but she would learn in the months to come.

It was interesting how quickly one could become accustomed to a hospital room. The constant barrage of nurses, the whitewashed walls, the subtle smell of urine floating through the air. When he first arrived she thought that she would never get used to it, but now all of those things were just background.

"Spence!"

His urgent voice pushed through his tattered vocal chords. The one painful syllable was all it took for her to realize what he needed. In one smooth motion she carefully held the plastic bucket below his trembling chin. She rose from the chair just as he began to empty the contents of his stomach into the synthetic container.

She balanced the bucket in one hand. Her body moved to the bed and perched lightly next to him and began to carefully run her hand up and down his back, trailing the path of his spine. She didn't offer up any bullshit words of advice. This sucked. He was living through hell, and nothing that she could say or do would make it any better.

After a few retches the racking of his body finally stopped, and he leaned forward over the bucket, completely exhausted. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She grabbed the Wet Wipes from their strategically placed spot on the night stand and gently pushed on his shoulders, helping him back down. Once he was comfortably against the pillows she took his face into her hands and peered into his eyes. When she was sure that he was paying attention she let go of his face with one of her hands and began to carefully clean his mouth of any vomit residue. "You listen to me, Toby Cavanaugh, because I swear to you I better only have to say this once. You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing. There is no way in the world that you could spin this as your fault."

"I feel like I'm ruining your life," he admitted softly.

If he kept talking like that she was going to cry, and that wasn't an option right now. Maybe after he fell asleep. She looked into his eyes again, remembering from psychology that eye contact was often a key sign of sincerity. She could use all the help she could get. "You are not ruining my life. You're everything, Toby. There's no where else I'd rather be. From that first coffee on I was hooked. You're more addicting than caffeine," she said the last part in a teasing tone. Maybe some humor would cheer him up. The doctors had warned her about possible depression, and if she could help him avoid that she would.

"It's our anniversary-" he trailed off sadly.

"It is. I thought I'd go rent some movies? Maybe get some decent food if you think you can keep it down? If not I'll go hunt down the best soup this town has to offer." It sounded good to her, but she knew he wasn't going to like it. Toby was one for the big, romantic gestures. He was such a girl. He never forgot their anniversary, but she kind of wished he had this year. This was hard enough for him, without some feelings of overwhelming guilt.

"You deserve better than this." The more he talked the sadder his voice got, and she wasn't having that.

"I don't want better. I want you." She stroked his cheek thoughtfully for a moment, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I have a joke!"

"Oh God," he groaned, but her master plan worked. The sadness was gone, and it was replaced by an indulging smile. But she wasn't quite sure why he was groaning. Her jokes were the best.

"This is the best one! I heard it at work the other day," she started to giggle at the thought of the punch line and at the fact that she was sounding exactly like Hanna. Maybe she should invite Hanna over when he was feeling a bit better. No one could stay sad around the bubbly blonde. "What do you call a fake noodle?"

"I don't know, what?" He laughed at her eagerness. Reason number infinity why she loved her husband. He always indulged in her ridiculousness.

"An imPASTA!" She laughed and leaned down to rest her head on the pillows next to him. She usually made it her policy to stay off of the bed. He was hooked up to so many machines that she was more likely to knock something life ruining off than she was to provide comfort. But right now she knew that he needed her, and she wasn't going anywhere.

His free arm automatically wound around her and pulled her closer to him. "I'd kiss you right now, but I probably have nasty puke breath."

"You know," she began with a tired yawn. "I think that's a risk that I'm willing to take." She stretched her torso around and pressed a firm kiss to his slightly parted lips before he had a chance to protest.

"Spence-" he murmured after pulling away. "I love you. And as hard as this is, it's a little less painful with you here with me."

"I love you too," she whispered, glad that he wasn't trying to convince her to leave. An overwhelming sadness settled in. "But you have to keep fighting this, Toby," she framed his face with her hands to ensure that he didn't look away from her, "if not for yourself then for me." That was manipulative and she hated herself for saying it, but it was true. "I- I can't live without you anymore, okay?"

He didn't say anything for a minute. He just looked at her, and when a tear slipped from her eye and trekked down her cheek he wiped it away with a smooth motion of his thumb. "I'm not going anywhere, Spencer."

His prognosis wasn't great, but she knew that he would fight it with everything in him. Because that's who he was. He was sweet, kind, and loving, but he was also determined. When he set his mind to something he never gave up. So maybe there was hope. "Do you want me to go get some movies or food or something?"

His arms tightened around her, and he shook his head quickly. "No. I don't want you to move from that spot."

Fine by her. If she could spend the rest of her life in bed next to Toby she would do it. She was going to say something else, but her words were lost as he urgently sat up and reached for his puke bucket again. She sat up next to him and rubbed his back again. She could tell from the way that he held himself that he was embarrassed, and that might have broken her heart more than anything else had. He had no reason to be embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated pitifully once he was done.

"Are you kidding?" She was going to have to fight depression with humor this time. It seemed to work better than words. "Do you remember when you came to visit me my senior year at UPenn?"

"I came to visit you more than once, if I recall correctly," he murmured, humor seeping into his sad tone.

"Yes, but there's only one time I would be mentioning specifically in regards to puke..." She trailed off and looked at him questioningly.

When he still didn't seem to remember she couldn't help but laugh. "Oh Lord, the things I must have put you through to make you forget that night. Hanna got me really drunk right after we finished finals. And you got there right in time for the aftermath."

A light of understanding flashed in his eyes. She smiled in satisfaction and continued. "You stayed with me all day in the bathroom even when I told you that you should go. You held my hair back, you wiped my face clean, and you force fed me crackers even when I told you to shove them up your ass."

"I know what you're trying to do Spence, but it was different."

"It was different! I did that to myself. This is not your choice, and if you think for one second that I'm going to leave you or that there's somewhere else I'd rather be you've truly lost your mind." That story turned out significantly less humorous than she had intended, but her point was valid. She was going no where.

"I love you." His eyes were watery, but he somehow managed to keep it together.

He sat the bucket down and pulled her back down onto the bed. They both clang to each other throughout the night. She didn't know his reasoning, but she knew that the only way that she was going to be able to remind herself that he was still there. He might not be okay, but maybe he would be. Maybe he would be able to beat this. And if he couldn't- No she didn't even want to think about that. He was here for now, and that's all that mattered.

At the time she had wished that they could have celebrated their anniversary outside of the hospital, but even that was preferable to this. She was the perfect picture of pathetic right now. She was curled up on their bed, on Toby's side, in Toby's work shirt. It was the only way she could feel close to him, so she would continue to do it.

God she wished she could go back to that girl on her last anniversary. Toby might have been in the hospital, he might have been devastatingly ill, but he was alive. She could hold him. She could kiss him. She could wipe away his tears. He could still tell her that he loved her. He could still touch her. It wasn't ideal, but anything, anything, was preferable to this.

She lifted the back of her hand to swipe away the tears that were still cascading down her cheeks. How long did it take for someone to run out of tears? It had been twelve days, and they still had yet to slow down. She couldn't bring herself to look at her face in the mirror, but if she did she was sure that whatever she saw wouldn't be good.

Knock, knock

She didn't react to the knocking on the door. She didn't want to see anyone, but if it was someone she could tolerate then they had a key.

The scratching of metal entering her lock burst her little bubble of isolation, and she felt an irrational surge of anger at whoever was on the other end of the door. She didn't want to see anyone, and they were forcing her to socialize.

"Spence?"

Emily. She supposed if she had to see anyone that Emily would be acceptable, and that was only because she knew that Emily's burden of grief was also very heavy. Toby was one of her best friends. But that still didn't mean she was going to talk to her.

"Oh, Spencer," Emily said softly. She felt the bed shift as her friend joined her on the mattress. "I thought I'd come check on you."

"Okay," she whispered, the words coming out painful from her current lack of use of her vocal cords.

"I also got your mail. You had a bunch of junk, but there was this creepy letter in there too. Someone must have slipped it into your box, because it doesn't have a stamp." Emily pressed the letter into her hands.

Spencer was going to just toss it onto the nightstand, because the last thing she wanted was to read some letter full of sympathy. She would take advantage of pity for as long as she could, as long as it meant that she could wear her dead husband's clothes and not move from her bed, but she didn't want to see or read it.

She was going to toss it, but her eyes caught something familiar about the handwriting on the envelope. She sat up with a start and traced over the soft indentations from the pen that had written her name across the envelope.

That wasn't possible.