Sorry it took me so long to update. I really suck.

But thanks so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, followed, this story. You guys are amazing. It's nice to know someone likes my dumb writing.

Also, in the first chapter I said Toby has a step sister. And since it obviously isn't Jenna... who do you think it is gonna be? I mean, it's pretty predictable. HAHA. She may appear soon. It's kind of strange. But AU, man. I just wanted to clarify that hahaha.

Chapter 6

Hope Breeds Eternal Misery...

"So, when do you think I'll get it back?" the man inquires.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I'm only the tow guy. Maybe, a day or three? It depends on how busy we are. The problem is with the fuel, from what I can tell, it's not reaching the engine. Usually that's a pretty easy fix, but it is the weekend, and we are closed Sunday. So, if we don't it back to you by today, you won't be seeing this lad until Monday," the teenager pats the truck beside him.

Toby sighs, "Monday? Seriously?"

"You should check out with your insurance company. Sometimes they offer rental cars."

"I don't need a rental car. I have another way to get around," the words are quick to leave his mouth. "But this is for my job."

"Well, I'm sorry. I'll try my best, but I really don't have much say around the shop," the younger man shrugs, turning around to make his departure.

Toby frowns as he watches the buck toothed teenager pull away his truck.

Toby turns to Spencer, who has been observing the whole scene silently. "I can't believe this," he shakes his head. "I don't even know how that happened…" he furrows his brow.

"It's a shame they don't perform autopsies for cars, or trucks, in your case, I guess," she offers, a tight smile arranged on her face.

He smiles at her, "too bad," he sighs. "I don't know…" his voice trails, his hand tousling through his hair. He looks away, "this has not been a good 24 hours."

"Is Tabitha any better?" Spencer asks. She didn't ask him on the way back from the hospital. She didn't want to impose, or push him. He had to spend the whole night with those two crazies. He deserved a moment of peace (and a coffee, which she gave him—she even included cream and sugar, and tried to make it a little less strong!)

"Sort of. It's a phenomena. There discharged her this morning, but she's with Jenna, and," he rolls his eyes, "I'm sorry," he looks at her. "I don't want to burden you with all my crap."

"I don't mind," she supplies. "Really, I don't."

He smiles again. It is tired, but genuine.

"Thanks, Spencer."

She nods.

"But maybe another time… I'm sort of beat. I just want to go take a huge nap."

That sound like a marvelous thing to do, but she can't nap. Because she has her therapy appointment in, like, thirty minutes. And she has to leave in ten, or otherwise she'll be late.

"Do you need a ride home?"

"No, I'm fine. You've done enough," he smiles. "I live close by…sort of," he murmurs.

"Are you sure? I'm on my way out anyway…" she offers again.

"No, Spencer, really. You've done enough," he grins, again, this time placing his hand over hers. At the gesture, she shoots her eyes down, feeling the nerves in her hand explode.

He pulls his hand away, "so, I'll see you Monday?" he asks.

She nods, meeting his nervous blues.

/

Dr. Wellington, this time, doesn't open with the customary question. Instead she asks, "have you gotten any of your memory back?"

And Spencer wants to say yes. The word begs to be spoken—for the thirst of life, and touch of the tongue, but she can't say the word. Because it isn't true. And as much as she desires for it to be true, it isn't.

"No."

Her therapist frowns at her, and then looks at her chart. "It's been several months," her therapist states in a pondering tune, sounding to be talking to herself, more than Spencer. She sets her chart down, and clasps her hands together, setting them on her knees. "Spencer, would you be interested in hypnosis?"

"Like…you swaying a watch in front of me, and forcing me to act like a moose?"

Her therapist is not amused. "More like, me, putting you under, and trying to rip the memories from your subconscious."

"How would that help me? I mean…I still wouldn't remember them, right?"

"Well," her therapist begins, "possibly not. But there is a possibility that when I wake up you, you will remember them. It is slight, but it is a possibility. But that really isn't my objective, Spencer, if I'm going to be honest with you."

"What is your objective then?" Spencer inquires in a small voice.

"I think you are strong enough to hear this. So, I'm going to go ahead and tell you. At this rate… it is very unlikely that you'll be able retrieve your memories. They call it Retrograde amnesia, I'm sure you've heard this term before, due to your condition, but it is unclear to know how severe your amnesia is. Sometimes the memories are able to come back, by looking at old pictures, or mementoes, but that has not worked for you, has it?" and it is a rhetorical question, for she continues, "I want to look into your subconscious, see if I can reach these memories…if I can't…I'm sorry Spencer, but there is nothing, really, I can do to help to regain them. I'm not saying that it is completely impossible to restore them, but if they do come back, it will mostly be because of some item—something that was special to you. Something that brings it all back. But you've been shown mementos, and photos, so I'm not sure if it is even possible, but no one can be sure of the extent of your amnesia, Spencer."

She nods in return to the words, her eyes going vacant. "Okay…do it."

"Are you sure? I can give you some more time to—"

"No," Spencer immediately shakes her head. "No, I'm sure."

It isn't even that she is desperate for her memories, it is that she is desperate to know. It is the curiosity—the inherit obsession to know everything—that drives her to desire to know. She just has to know. Whether it is good or bad, she has to know. She can't go her whole life without three years of her life. She won't let that happen without a good fight.

As instructed, her therapist goes on to perform the hypnosis.

When Spencer wakes from her unconsciousness, Dr. Wellington wears a frown.

"I'm sorry Spencer."

And that's all she needs to say because there really is nothing more to say than an apology. She doesn't need to go on to tell her it didn't work—and that it doesn't mean there is no chance of her recovering her memory—no, the apology says it all. The apology is enough, and anything else would just be unnecessary.

"We can continue with therapy, if you want, but I don't think we should continue with trying to recover your memory. There isn't anything more I can do."

Spencer doesn't really want to continue therapy, mostly because she has never been a fan of it. She doesn't like being personal. It makes her extremely uncomfortable. She can barely be comfortable with her friends, why should she with some stranger? But, regardless of that, she says, "maybe we can just meet once a month, or something."

And her therapist offers a mellow smile to this, "sure. If that's what you want."

/

When she tells her parents, they (specifically her father) tell her that that is bullshit—her therapist is obviously not qualified enough if she cannot retrace her memories. They tell her they'll get her a new one—a better one; one who actually knows what they're doing, as her father put it. But she told them no. She likes Dr. Wellington. Sort of, anyways. More than she would like anyone else. She likes that Dr. Wellington doesn't bull shit her—doesn't sugar coat the truth. She likes honesty. Her father just grumbles about this, and goes off, mumbling growls of irritation under his breath, and her mother just gives her a pointed look, until she is interrupted by a phone call. (A phone call that is obviously more important than Spencer—because aren't they always?)

Spencer didn't expect her parents to act any other way though. They blamed everyone. Even if it wasn't their fault—they would blame them. They would sue. They would fire. They would do whatever they needed to do to show their blame, and disappointment.

When she told Aria the news, the petite girl prompted the idea of a sleepover.

It was obviously some tactic to cheer her up. She doubted any of them wanted to have a sleepover with her. She has seen Hanna and Emily, like, four times, since the whole thing. And she has seen more of Aria, but Aria still wasn't that involved in her life. When they did see each other, it was for the most, two hours. Now, she was offering to sacrifice a whole night for her.

"I don't…you don't have to give up your whole Saturday night for me. Besides, don't you think Hanna and Emily will busy? Aren't you busy?"

"I had plans, but I can easily cancel them. It's no big deal, and if they can't come, then it can just be the two of us. Team Sparia doesn't need no quartet, when they have each other," she smirks, winking.

It produces a laugh from Spencer, which prompts Aria to say, "there. I got you laughing. Now, tell me you'll attend my slumber party."

"Okay, fine," Spencer smiles.

"Great!" the smaller girl exclaims. "I'm gonna go call Em and Hanna, and then I'll tell you how it goes."

"Okay."

Aria goes off to call the other girls, and Spencer can't help but to ponder on why she couldn't just call them in front of her. Was it because she needed to convince them? Convince them to spend time with her? Was she really that terrible?

When Aria comes back, ten minutes later, she has a smile on her face. "Okay!" she begins, "Em can stay the night, but Hanna can only stay for an hour or so. She has plans tonight, and apparently they aren't avoidable."

"Okay," She smiles, sort of surprised. She gets an anxious feeling in her chest. Is it excitement? She thinks it is.

"So, if you want to go home, and do whatever, you just need to come back at 7."

"All right," she nods, stepping up from the bar stool. She bids her farewell to Aria, and happily goes home.

/

Andrew is waiting for her in her parent's living room when she returns.

"Spencer, finally. I've been waiting, like, an hour."

"I was with Aria," she explains.

"Oh okay," he sighs. He grabs her hands in his, "I heard what happened," his thumb brushes against the side of her hand. "I'm so sorry, Spence," he says gently.

She nods, "yeah. It sucks, but," she shrugs. "It isn't like it is impossible to recover my memory. She said it could still come back."

"I think you should listen to your parents," he seemingly ignores her. "You should get a new therapist."

Spencer sighs, "no," and then she pulls back her hand. "I don't want a new therapist. I just…I want some peace."

"I'm sorry about last night," he says after a moment. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I just…I'm really scared of losing you. You get that, right? You don't even know who I am, and I'm completely in love with you, and it just…it's so hard to not be with you."

She keeps her eyes downcast.

"And, if I'm being honest here…well…" he takes in a deep breath. "I damaged Toby's car. I'll pay for the damage, I will. I just—It was stupid, and immature, and I apologize."

She darts her eyes up, "you did that?"

How did he even manage to do that?

"I'll pay for it. I will, It was a dumb, idiotic, jerk thing to do. I get if you don't want to see me for awhile, I understand. But please just try to understand," he pleas, coming closer to her. She moves back, the disgusted look on her face unfaltering. "I was jealous. And I had a little too much to drink. I shouldn't have been driving…I shouldn't," he shakes his head, throwing away the thought. "I'm truly an idiot, Spencer."

"That you are…" she breathes coolly.

He pulls an envelope from his pocket and hands it to the woman. She reluctantly takes it. She only does so because she knows it will probably help Toby in the long run, and since this is partially her fault…

"There's a little more than it'll cost in there, I think, but I figure it'll pay for the time I've wasted. Tell him I'm sorry, please."

"Maybe you should do that, yourself." she says evenly.

He sighs, "maybe. But for right now, just give him the apology for me."

"I want you out of my house…" she demands, her voice frightening.

"I understand. But please, Spencer. I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry," he sighs, his shoulders slumping down. "I don't like who I am turning into."

…

She debates on telling Toby. Where does she say the money came from? Who the hell is Andrew to her? Her fiancé? Her jealous-slightly psychotic- fiancé she doesn't even remember meeting, let alone, agreeing to marry? The whole thing gives her a giant migraine (she gets them a lot.) She debates to call off the sleepover, but Aria put it together, just for her, and canceled plans. She couldn't just bail.

She sighs, looking at the envelope of money. She can't just keep it.

She comes up with a plan. It is a crappy plan, but it is a plan. Hopefully he won't question it.

She calls him, and asks if she can stop by. He did say he lives close. He is curious as to why, but nonetheless, he gives him his address. She tells him that she'll explain once she is there.

His apartment is about two miles from her house. Toby is such a liar. This would be a long walk.

She goes up to his apartment, the money in her purse, and knocks.

He greets her, and then invites her in, and Spencer can't help but let her eyes wander. Looking at the place where someone lives—where they spend the most time (unless those people are Spencer's Parents, whom only spend time in their house for sleep, sometimes not even.) It feels like looking into someone's soul almost. It is so personal, but so open. You can find out a lot about a person through their home, through their belongings.

A week or so after she was discharged from the hospital, Andrew took her to their home. (Yes. They shared one.) It was actually very nice—it was, of course, one of the higher expense apartments. It looked over a small, most likely, manmade lake, and had a balcony to sit out on. She could easily imagine herself on that balcony, drinking coffee, and watching the sun rise. (She woke up early.)

But as nice as it was, it didn't feel homey. There weren't much pictures. Contrary to Toby's apartment, which was decorated with dozens. Most of them were of him and his daughter, and in some of them, there were people she didn't recognize. In one, there was an older man, a man who looked like Toby. He had his arm wrapped around Toby, and was holding Tabby in the other. She could only assume it was his father.

"You're probably wondering why I am imposing on your Saturday evening," she begins, taking small steps towards him.

"You're not imposing."

She offers a smile. "Well, this surely isn't the norm."

"No, it's not," he observes, slightly amused.

She sighs, "there's something I need to tell you."

He frowns, "everything okay?"

"Yeah," she nods, "I just—" she takes in a deep breath. "My friend…he was drunk, and being stupid, and he messed with your truck."

It is a stupid, idiotic, lie.

"Oh…"

But he buys it.

"He wanted me to give you this," she pulls the envelope from her pocket, and extends it towards him.

He stares at it.

"He also wanted me to apologize, but I told him that he should be the one to do that."

His eyes raise from the money to Spencer. "I don't know…"

"Take it, Toby. I don't like that he's buying this whole situation off, either. But…just…take it. It's his fault, okay? You shouldn't have to pay for him being an asshole."

Toby sighs, and then finally takes it. He doesn't look in the envelope. He just sets it down on a table next to him.

"Are you mad?" she asks in a small voice a second later.

"At you? No. It's not your fault. At your friend? Well…"

"Don't worry. I'm ,sort of, debating on keeping that name tag for him. It was a really shitty thing to do. Especially when…" and then she stops because she isn't sure where she is going with this. The more she talks about Andrew, the more she lies.

"When what?"

"When, nothing," she sighs. "I just—I'm really relieved you're not reconsidering this friendship."

He smiles. "As I said before, Its not your fault. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"Thanks," she murmurs. "Sorry to make this visit short, but I have to go. I hope the rest of your evening goes well, and void of any more intruders."

He grins, "you were a very nice intruder."

She bites her lip to suppress her growing grin. Her eyes flicker away for a second before she looks up at him, "goodnight, Toby."