CHAPTER 8

The cold air outside the bar was like daggers on his bare arms. Having loaned his coat to Hanna, he was unprepared to face the harsh winds that swirled around them. However, the feeling of her leaning into him as they walked provided a different sort of warmth that distracted him from his discomfort. It felt almost as though they were back to normal: platonic hugs and cuddles that somehow had a deeper meaning, but were devoid of any underlying awkwardness.

They had barely walked a block when they noticed him – Cody, leaning against a building that was closed for the night, taking a drag on his cigarette. When his eyes met theirs, he stood up, as if to brace himself for a confrontation.

Holmes didn't plan to speak to him. Instead, he began to steer Hanna away, making to cross the street – but suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, pivoting on her heel to face the man that had ruined her night.

"You're an asshole. You know that?" she spat, marching up to him. Holmes followed behind her warily, trying to take hold of her wrist. She yanked it away from his grasp.

"Pardon?" Cody asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke that swirled around her. If she disliked it, she did not make it known. The tear streaks had left her face a disarray of caked make-up, her hair having fallen into wild frenzy. It only perpetuated the animalistic rage that she appeared to be experiencing.

"You! You walk back into town as if nothing's wrong!" she declared brashly, her voice cracking in slight. "You come here and make me keep a secret from my best friend, and for some reason, I fucking listened to you."

Holmes was trying to steady her now, placing a hand on her hip to guide her away. She pushed him off.

Cody crushed the end of his cigarette beneath his foot, his brow creased in annoyance. "Listen, Blondie," he began condescendingly, "what happens in your happy little group of friends has nothing to do with me. I didn't make the decision for you."

She scoffed indignantly, raising a perfectly-plucked eyebrow at him. "You knew damn well what you were doing," she insisted. "You didn't get what you wanted last time, so you came here to ruin our lives all over again."

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "Don't you think I have better things to do than worry about rewinding my life?" he demanded. "When I said I didn't want trouble, I meant it. So let's just go our separate ways and call it a truce, huh?"

His pseudo-rationality only appeared to frustrate her more. She planted both hands on his shoulders to give him a swift shove. He grabbed onto both of her wrists warningly, a heated fire burning from his pale green eyes. Any semblance of patience that he may have had was gone in an instant.

"Keep your filthy, slutty hands off of me," he seethed, bringing his face within an inch of hers. "And if you want someone to blame, take a look in the mirror, you stupid bitch."

She had yanked free and was rearing back to plant her hand firmly across his face. Holmes, however, was quicker. Cody was on the ground instantaneously, before Holmes had even fully grasped what he was doing. He held Cody swiftly at the throat, his newfound instinct to protect Hanna burning in his ears.

"Holmes, no!" Hanna cried suddenly. She grabbed him by the shoulders in an attempt to pull him away, but he did not budge.

"I think you owe the girl an apology," he said slowly, fighting to control his temper. It was as though his rage had been bottled with a champagne cork, and the pressure was building rapidly.

"She owes me one, too," Cody said defensively. He was holding onto Holmes's wrists tightly, as though willing to fight back if the need arose.

"You first," he said through gritted teeth.

"I've never seen you get this violent without your buddy backing you up," Cody taunted. "Where's Cavanaugh when you need him? Or did you have a lover's quarrel?"

Holmes ignored him. "I don't think you're listening to me. I told you to tell her you're sorry."

"Holmes, it's fine," Hanna protested. She seemed to have reeled in her own anger in order to ground him. "Let's go home."

"Home?" Cody asked with a dark chuckle. "You diddling the dumb blond, now, Holmes?"

The pressure in the proverbial bottle gave way. Hanna could not have kept track of the fists if it weren't for the stark contrast of skin color. In desperation, she dove into the tussle, trying to pull Holmes away. Cody got in a fair few hits, but Holmes was largely dominating the altercation.

"Stop it!" she shrieked. The few people that were still on the street had stopped to look at them. "Stop! You're going to get yourselves arrested!"

At long last, Cody broke up the fight himself, leaping to his feet. Holmes was hot on his heels. Cody shoved Holmes away from him and into Hanna's arms. She dug her fingernails into his shoulder to keep him held back.

"Get out of here before I murder you with my bare fucking hands," Holmes warned. His muscles were tense beneath Hanna's grasp. She could see now that he was nursing a single bruise beneath his right eye, and a mild bloody nose. "Go!"

Cody didn't need to be told twice. He was stomping away, fuming, before Hanna could even completely register all that had just happened.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she demanded at last. However, the anger got lost in her throat. Her question sounded much tamer than she had intended.

Holmes would not meet her eyes. She grasped him by the chin to draw his gaze to hers. Instead of the normal affection she usually saw in his face, there was malice. For Cody, not her – but she felt shaken by it nonetheless.

"He shouldn't have talked to you like that," Holmes growled, shaking his head fervently. She curled her arms around his middle, holding her face into his chest. It took a moment, but eventually he conceded to hugging her back.

"Thank you," she muttered quietly. He did not respond. She could feel him shaking with anger beneath her hold.

"Let's go," he mumbled at last. As he pulled away, he did not wrap his arm around her as he had before the confrontation. Hanna felt a pang of disappointment. She trailed behind him, a shiver running down her spine that had nothing to do with the temperature, as they began to head home.

Spencer kicked off her shoes as they entered the hotel room, seething all the while. Toby had attempted to calm her down the entire way there, but she had been nigh inconsolable. She was furious with Hanna, and was refusing to listen to reason.

Toby, on the other hand, had relaxed considerably. He never stayed mad for long, and this was no exception. He had attempted to rationalize the entire fiasco in terms of their friends looking out for their best interests – trying to maintain the happiness that they were indulging in with his homecoming. With their wedding in a couple short weeks. Hanna and Holmes had never done anything to purposely hurt them before.

Spencer didn't want to hear it, however. She was blinded by the boiling blood in her veins, and had no time for rationality.

"Spence, c'mon," Toby urged softly as he clicked the lock behind him. Rather than reply, she stormed childishly into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Toby sighed heavily, rapping his knuckles against the frame. "Baby…"

"Go away!" she yelled. No matter how much she loved him, she was not always willing to let him see her break down. He knew that she needed space to be alone for a moment, even if it stung a little.

"I'll be out here when you need me," he said in defeat as he traipsed over to the bed. It smelled faintly of mothballs and cigarettes. He kicked off his own shoes and collapsed onto his back, fumbling with the remote control to find something worth watching on the ancient television. It was the kind that still had dials rather than buttons. The sort that his grandparents had when he would visit them as a child.

He heard the water in the bathtub begin to run. She must have been upset. Taking a bath was usually the final straw in the Spencer Hastings recovery process. He considered going to check on her, but knew that if she wasn't ready to talk, she would lash out at him like a feral cat. And frankly, he valued his life.

He settled at last on the news. The reporters were discussing a bombing that had occurred on a base in Afghanistan, not far from where Toby had been stationed. These sorts of newscasts always gave him a harsh dose of reality. He had been in that position only a week or so ago. But somehow, now that he was removed from it and watching it unfold on a television screen in a seedy hotel room, it seemed somewhat surreal.

He had been lucky, in truth. His entire unit had come home, one by one, no lives lost. He had been given ample opportunity to eat and sleep, unlike so many soldiers that went into traditional combat. He sometimes felt guilty that he had had such a "safe" job, for as he watched the footage on the news, there was a distant shame that he had not done all that he could do.

He hadn't talked to Spencer about it much yet. Not really. He knew that she had neglected to ask out of respect for his privacy. She knew he would discuss it when he was ready. Somewhere in the back of his mind though, he wasn't sure he wanted her to know any of it.

"Toby?" she called softly from the bathroom, shaking him from his train of thought. The faucet had stopped running, and she sounded entirely weakened now by her own anger.

Without a word, he headed in her direction. Upon opening the door, he saw her sitting in the tub, her arms curled around her knees protectively. She looked close to tears.

"What is it, Spence?" he asked quietly, taking a seat on the toilet lid beside the bathtub. He reached out to gently smooth the wild wisps of hair that had escaped from her bun.

She took a deep breath, her inhale shuddering involuntarily. "I know she did it for the right reasons," she declared quickly. She could never dwell on admitting she was wrong. She would usually spit it out like an auctioneer. Toby smiled inwardly at this tendency of hers. "But I'm still so mad at her."

"I know, babe," he offered comfortingly, curling small ringlets of her hair around his fingers. "But let's be realistic, okay? Would you have told her, if it was the other way around?"

"Yes, of course," Spencer said immediately, brash indignation seeping through the seams of her voice. Toby merely raised a brow. She "hmmphed" irritably in response. "Okay, fine. I probably wouldn't have. Doesn't mean it was the right thing to do, though."

"Maybe not," Toby agreed gently. "But your first instinct would have been to protect her."

Spencer was pouting openly now, looking entirely uncomfortable with realizing she was wrong. Toby could not help but chuckle.

"What is it?" she demanded incredulously, giving her best attempt at a debilitating glare in his direction.

"What's a nice way of telling someone they have a problem?" he asked innocently. She splashed water at him in response.

"Shut up."

"I'm sorry, Spence," he continued, unable to stifle the laughter. "But you live in this world where everything is black and white. You're right – they're wrong. Or, sometimes it's the other way around – and in those cases, you get borderline homicidal."

"Nobody likes to be wrong!" she protested defensively.

"No, they don't," he agreed quietly. "But to err is human, and all that."

She pursed her lips together irritably.

"Your convictions are one of my favorite things about you," he added lovingly, kneeling down beside the tub to look at her more closely. "You stand up for what you believe in. And I love that. But you can't let yourself be controlled by it."

"A Hastings is never wrong," she pressed. "It doesn't equate well for us."

"Maybe not," he reflected. "But it happens. And you have to be prepared for it sometimes."

She looked entirely too fatigued to argue any more. She sighed heavily. "What do you want me to say?"

Toby stood up from his stance and grinned as he offered her his hand. "I don't want you to say anything. I want you to come lay down with me."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly but took his hand nonetheless. The water splashed slightly around her as she rose to her feet, looking longingly at him.

"I'm sorry I'm such a pain," she said sincerely.

He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. It was wet from the water. "You're not a pain," he reassured. He began to make his way out the door.

"Just let me get dressed and I'll be right out," she offered.

He turned to her, delivering what he hoped was his most seductive smile. "On the contrary. I'd prefer you as you are."

She blushed in slight as she wrapped a towel around her figure.

He grinned once more. "Don't keep me waiting."