A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews, my dears. You truly give me inspiration to continue writing. I'm so glad that you all have enjoyed it so far.

Onward!

CHAPTER 12

The emergency waiting room chairs were severely uncomfortable, and they had already been sitting in them for over two hours. The doctors insisted that Spencer needed to rest before having visitors, and all news about Holmes had been kept underwraps thus far. Instead, they were pointed in the direction of the waiting room, practically suffocating on the bleak air within. It was a dreary, despondent place. No matter what hospital they would have gone to, the disheartening atmosphere would have been the same anywhere. Waiting rooms in the emergency wing were hauntingly depressing. Rooms that had housed dashed hopes. Lost loved ones. The ghosts of unfathomable tragedy.

Toby had strived to remain strong for Hanna, who seemed all but hysterical to learn about Holmes's condition. She was practically swimming beneath Toby's jacket, a far-off look in her wet, bleary eyes.

"I brought you some more coffee," he offered gently as he sat beside her, holding out the Styrofoam cup. She took it silently with a small smile of gratitude, raising it to her lips to sip at. She immediately made a face.

"This coffee tastes like piss," she complained half-heartedly.

"Yet, you keep drinking it," Toby chuckled darkly.

"I don't know what else to do," she replied with a defeated shrug. "I have to find something to keep me busy."

"I know," he stated sympathetically. He leaned against the back of his chair, ignoring the feeling of the muscles tensing in his body. It was as though he had been flattened by a steamroller, then haphazardly fluffed out again to his proper shape. His body parts felt foreign and his organs were in all the wrong places. His heart had been pumping in his stomach for some time now, and he had barely even been able to localize his own brain…

"What's taking so long?" Hanna demanded impatiently, pulling Toby's coat around her figure more tightly. He had offered it to her when he realized that the hospital was unfamiliar with proper climate control. They could have both sworn the air conditioning was running, even though it was mid-January in the Midwest.

"We might have to wait until Holmes's dad gets here," Toby uttered thoughtfully. "We're not family…they can't technically tell us anything."

"Well, when will he be here?" Hanna asked, a meek crack breaking through her voice.

"He's coming from Georgia, Han," Toby reasoned sympathetically. "But he got the first flight out. It won't be much longer."

"I can't just sit here though," she declared with a feverish shake of her head. "It's driving me insane. Soon they'll have to admit me. To the psych ward."

Ordinarily, Toby may have laughed at this. But he knew that Hanna's attempt at humor had fallen flat even in her own eyes as she considered the likelihood of this scenario actually happening.

"As soon as he gets here, we'll have some answers." He patted her on the knee to show his support.

Hanna's face scrunched up once more in disdain, her tightly pursed lips attempting to hold back the sobs in her throat. Toby reached out to put an arm around her. She immediately leaned her head into his neck, clutching the front of his t-shirt in one hand. It was as though she was afraid of letting anyone else out of her sight, and the mere gesture was keeping him anchored to her.

"It'll be okay," Toby murmured gently, rhythmically rubbing her shoulder to soothe her. Only, he didn't know if it would be okay. He hoped it would – he had never been a religious man, but he had been pleading with God all night to make it okay. But the last thing he wanted was to divulge his doubts to Hanna. She was already in so many pieces.

"I can't help but think about the last conversation I had with him," she reflected tearfully. "He told me he'd wait for me…and I just dismissed it, like I have been all along."

Toby grimaced slightly as he envisioned this taking place. Holmes had never been very preoccupied with the notion of dating. In fact, Toby had often wondered if he had been burned in the past, like himself. If he had someone at home, like Toby had Spencer, who still carried his heart. He didn't know much about the situation that Hanna and Holmes were facing, but her mere statement gave him a strong indication of how Holmes felt about her.

"You can't get down on yourself," he began. "You couldn't have possibly known that this would happen…just because you had an honest conversation with him – told him how you were feeling – doesn't mean you did the wrong thing."

"But I did," she argued fervently through the quiet sobs that escaped her throat. "I took him for granted. Just assumed that he'd be there when I made my decision. And now…"

"Shh," Toby interrupted. The last thing she needed was to finish this disparaging thought. "Don't think about the 'what ifs.' Just focus on what you'll say to him when he wakes up."

She hiccupped dejectedly, her labored breathing bordering on hyperventilation. She pulled away to look at him, impatiently pushing tears away from her cheeks.

"You don't understand," she insisted. "He loves me…and I just continue hurting him."

Toby was on the defense in an instant. "I understand that perfectly, actually."

There was a moment of silence as she considered this. She looked away sheepishly, her silence confirming his accuracy.

"Besides," he continued with mild annoyance. "This isn't about you. Don't sit here and feel sorry for yourself because you feel guilty." He didn't mean to speak as harshly as he did, but Holmes had always stuck up for him. And instinctively, he would always do what he could to repay the favor.

"I don't feel sorry for myself," Hanna defended gently. "I feel sorry because I should have told him sooner that I love him, too."

Her sudden declaration caught Toby off guard. Any and all pearls of wisdom were immediately lost in the catacombs of his mind, and he simply continued to stare at her silently.

"I've known for a while," she added, releasing a shuddering exhale. This seemed to signify the end of her tears for now. She was looking thoughtfully at her hands in her lap, as though she had spotted something interesting in her palms. "But it's hard to let yourself love someone when the last person you loved broke your heart. You know?"

Toby nodded absent-mindedly. He knew precisely what she meant. Had he ever needed to move on from Spencer and start from scratch in romance, he would have assuredly felt held back for months. Maybe years.

"It's not all as easy as you and Spencer make it look, Toby," Hanna murmured. She pushed a lock of frizzy blond hair out of her face as she turned to look at him. "Most of us have to try harder at love than you do." This comment could have easily been delivered with volatility, but Hanna instead delivered it with admiration.

"It hasn't exactly been easy for us, either," Toby protested. Hanna shook her head quickly.

"I don't mean the time you guys spent apart. Or even the crap that went on back in Rosewood. I just mean…love. You love her. She loves you. That piece of it is such second-nature for you guys that it's as easy as breathing."

He could not, in good conscience, deny that. He agreed with her. Loving Spencer was just…part of who he was. Like an arm or a leg. He had never had to second-guess how he felt about her. It was simply in his DNA.

Hanna seemed to recognize this revelation on his face, for she offered a sad smile of triumph. "You would do anything for her, Toby. I know that. I will tell you right now – I don't know anybody else who could have kept their relationship going strong during a deployment. And I mean that."

Toby took a deep breath. He was speaking before he even realized what words were coming out of his mouth. "She was always on my mind," he admitted distantly. He would not be able to meet Hanna's eyes for this one. "Every second of every day. She was my reason to survive." He scoffed bitterly at his own statement. "Not that I was really in danger very often, but you know what I mean. There was this one time…"

He could feel her eyes burning through him, straight into his soul. He continued.

"There was…there was a day that my team was on night watch. We came across an Air Force helicopter that had been shot down."

A breath hitched in Hanna's throat. He knew her attention was focused unfailingly on him.

"Then a second attack came out of nowhere. It was like something out of a horror film. The blood pounding in my eardrums. The smell of dying flesh. I thought for a good few minutes that we wouldn't make it out of there. Maybe it sounds melodramatic….but it was my first combat over there. The only one, actually." He took a deep breath to continue. "And all I could think about was her face. The image of her being informed that I didn't make it back. It was enough to break anyone's heart. And because of it, I wasn't about to let that night be my last."

"What happened?" Hanna whispered attentively.

"We killed the attacker," Toby declared. It was the first time he had said it out loud. Ever. He had attempted to admit it to himself several times, but had always backed down. "And not a day goes by, now, that I'm not haunted by it. I know that we did it for the right reasons. That I had to take part in it if I ever wanted to come home to Spencer. But you never quite understand what it's like to watch a bullet go through a man's head and come out the other side…until you've seen it with your own eyes."

Hanna grasped at his knee with her hand, squeezing tightly. He wasn't sure if this strength was for his benefit or hers. She was horrified by his confession, clearly. But not at his behavior. No. She understood that. It was the idea of the choice that he was faced with that was bothering her.

"I can't tell you that you did the right thing," she began quietly. "Not because I don't think you did. But because even if I say it, it won't make a difference in your head. It has to be something you trust, yourself. But Toby…nobody should ever have to go through any of that. Ever."

Her brief speech was more comforting than any pep talk he had given himself. A measure of weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. A certain amount of it would always stay there, to some degree…but this was the closest he had gotten to tasting the moral freedom of redemption in months.

"If I lose her…" he began hoarsely, a sob lodging in his throat. "If I lose either of them…"

"I know," Hanna interrupted, immediately taking him in her arms. Toby piteously buried his face in her shoulder, crying with an intensity that had only existed in his childhood. He felt vaguely pathetic as he collapsed into her, like a toddler would his mother, but found himself too exhausted to really care. She clutched onto him protectively, and he could hear that she, too, had begun to cry once more.

"You're amazing, Toby," Hanna crooned. "You are literally the bravest person I've ever known. You've taken so much shit in your life…and you're still human. You're still alive."

I'm still alive, Toby repeated silently. He wasn't sure he had completely believed it until Hanna had said it just now. He had always felt irreparably broken, beyond repair. After his mom died, he had somehow lost touch with reality. Only Spencer had ever been able to ground him. To show him that despite hardship, life had to go on – and it could go on in such a beautiful fashion.

But despite her success in saving him, a part of him had always still felt detached. Like a piece of him was still standing over his mother's lifeless figure on the kitchen floor, an empty bottle of sleeping pills cupped loosely in her hand.

Spencer had never realized that she helped him as much as she did. He had been wondering for some time before her if he would simply end up like his mother: chronically depressed and disgusted by his own life. He had fantasized before about the ways he could end it. How he could make it happen most painlessly. Most quickly.

And then, one afternoon, the most beautiful valedictorian that Rosewood Day had ever seen was standing on his porch, holding his mail and a French book in hand. He had silently appreciated her ethereal beauty from afar, but had never acted upon it. But here she was, now. And his own life – his own logic – had ceased to make any sense. She had reached out to him in his darkest hour, the epitome of divine intervention. If there was a God, He had clearly sent an angel Toby's way, in the form of Spencer Hastings.

And she had only continued to give him purpose from there. The first time he kissed her in the motel parking lot. The first kiss that had ever meant anything to him in his entire life. The first time he made love to her. The ecstasy that accompanied that memory was so much more than carnal, animal desire. It was the manner in which the strength of the bond between their souls had grown. Flourished. He remembered her running her hands across his chest and whispering how much she loved him. And it was the first moment he had ever felt as though he was worth something. He was no longer just a miniscule blip in the vastness of the universe – he was the man that Spencer Hastings had chosen to devote herself to. And whether he deserved her or not, the pride that accompanied earning her love was enough to sustain him a lifetime.

He slowly pulled away from Hanna, sheepishly digging the balls of his hands into his eyes to dry any remaining tears. Hanna continued to squeeze his shoulder supportively, silently letting him know that she was there to listen. And, more implicitly, that the topic would never be breached again without his permission. So in return, he curled his fingers around hers. He hoped this sufficed to show his unyielding gratitude.

"Whatever happens," he began quietly, barely recognizing the rasp of his own voice, "you will get your chance to tell Holmes. I promise."

Hanna's lips tugged upward only slightly, but he could see the light in her eyes as she interpreted his meaning.

"I'll be holding you to it, Cavanaugh."

They shared a chuckle, then. It was weak on both ends, and required a great deal more effort than it should have. But it felt nice nonetheless.

"Mr. Cavanaugh?"

The sound of this new voice all but caused Toby to leap out of his own skin. Dr. Tate had entered the room, a small smile creasing his wizened face. Toby stood hastily.

"Spencer has been asking for you."