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scottyjetpaxx · 5 years

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2 AM - Max Kepler

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Warnings: None

A/N: Please don’t be afraid to request an imagine. I have a prompt list if you wanna look through it, and I also accept non prompt based requests

WC: 2,108

Your eyes slowly blinked as you woke up due to the sound of clamoring of pots and pans in the kitchen. Looking over at the clock, you found that it was 2 in the morning. You had a feeling Max was up getting a snack, and so you weren’t surprised when you found his side of the bed empty. Letting out a sigh, you got up from the bed and over to the kitchen. And just like you had suspected, Max was in the kitchen looking in the fridge.

“Max” You began with a whisper but he didn’t hear you “Max. Max!”

After you said his name the third time, he finally heard you and jumped a little in surprise. “What are you doing up?”

“I could be asking you the same thing” You replied “But I’m up cause I heard a commotion in here and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Now, why are you up?”

“I-I wanted some cake…” He whispered

“You wanted cake… at two in the morning…?” You asked and he nodded “Why?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know, I just got a craving for some cake”

Letting out a sigh, you spoke, “I assume you want me to help with this since you can’t bake to save your life. And I know for a fact I won’t be able to fall back asleep with you clanking in the kitchen, so I might as well.”

“You’re the best,” He said with a cheesy smile and opened his arms for a hug

“Yeah, yeah, I know” You replied and then accepted his hug

Once you two pulled apart, you went over to the drawer and pulled out your recipe book. There, you skimmed through the pages that were bookmarked until you found the recipe for regular old chocolate cake, which was one of Max’s favorites.

“Wait, wait, wait, you get all of your cake recipes from a book??” Max asked when he noticed the book in your hands.

“Uh yeah, where else would I get them from?”

“I thought you made them up in your head or something” He admitted

You let out a stifled laugh “I wish I was that talented. But no, I need a recipe to follow,”

“Wow. Okay. So, let’s get baking?”

“So first off, do we have all of the ingredients?” You asked

“I have no clue. What do we even need for it?”

“Go to the fridge and check to see if we have butter, eggs, and buttermilk.” You told him and he gave you a weird look “What?”

“Buttermilk?” He questioned

“Yeah, buttermilk. It’s part of the recipe”

“Why can’t we just use regular milk?”

“Because buttermilk makes the cake taste so much better,” You said as if it was obvious

“Alright, if you say so” Max mumbled

While he was looking for those three items, you decided to look for the rest. Going over to the cabinet with all of the baking supplies, you easily found the baking soda, baking powder, sugar, flour, salt, vegetable oil, and vanilla extract. However, you couldn’t find the cocoa powder for the life of you.

“He babe?” You began “Have you seen the cocoa powder anywhere?”

“Cocoa powder? Like the stuff we make hot cocoa out of?”

“No… that’s hot chocolate mix. I’m talking about actual unsweetened cocoa powder.”

“Oh, that would be why my chocolate milk tasted horrible…” Max mumbled

“Did you seriously mistake unsweetened cocoa powder with hot chocolate mix?!”

“Maybe…” He admitted

“You’re ridiculous, but I still love you”

When you got to the cabinet that had the regular hot chocolate mix. There, you found the cocoa powder.

“Did you find everything?” You asked Max as he closed the refrigerator door.”

“Yep. Does that mean we can start baking?” He questioned

“Yes, it does. Just get two large bowls and we’ll be set.” You told him. Once he did as you asked, you told him what to start mixing. “Okay so I need you to measure and mix the flour, salt, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, and baking powder in one of the large bowls”

He nodded and went to work as you measured and mixed the buttermilk, water, eggs, oil, and vanilla. In the middle of you mixing, you couldn’t help but to look over and see how Max was doing. He seemed to be fine, as he mixed all of the dry ingredients together. However, there was a devilish smirk on his face that made you a bit uneasy. But you turned back to your mixing, deciding not to question him.

But of course, knowing Max, you definitely should’ve questioned him.

Moments after you turned your back to him, you felt something land on your back. Turning around, you noticed nothing was on the ground, and so you looked up at Max. As soon as you did so, your heart picked up its pace. Not because you saw your boyfriend, but because your boyfriend had a pile of flour in his hands.

“Don’t you da-” you began but got cut off by the taste of flour in your mouth. You began to cough, but once you recovered and wiped some of the flour from your face, you smirked “Oh you are so gonna pay”

Grabbing a cup from the cabinet, you filled it partially with water and then grabbed a handful of flour. Max had his eyebrows furrowed as you walked towards him. He was clearly confused about what you were going to do.

Without saying a word, you tossed the water on him, and then followed with the four, causing him to be covered in it. Max looked down at his chest and tried to wipe the stuff off of him, but since the water was there, it was stuck to him.

“Oh come on. Why would you do that?” He whined

“Hey, you started it.”

“But I didn’t douse you in water!”

“All is fair in love and war” You shrugged

Max didn’t say anything. Instead, he simply stepped towards you, which caused you to take a step back. He took a step forward again. Yet again, you took a step back. He had you up against the wall, close to covering you in flour. However, you found a hole and managed to slip by.

Darting out of the kitchen, you ran down the hall and into the family room. Max followed, still covered in the flour and water combination. You weaved around the coffee table, couch, and spare chairs before finally turning the corner. Cursing under your breath, you realized you were back in the kitchen due to the fact you lived in an apartment and everything was closely connected.

Looking behind you, you saw Max slowly creeping up to you. Just like he had before, he backed up into the wall. However, instead of it being just a wall, you were up against the corner counter. Scanning the area around you, it was clear that you didn’t have any hole to sneak away from him. So, you felt around the counter as he stalked towards you, and you felt an egg. You grabbed it but kept it behind your back so he couldn’t see.

“Come here you little nugget” He said as he wrapped his arms around you

Somehow, you were able to wiggle one of your arms free from his hug and smash the egg on his head. This instantly caused him to let go of you and try to get the egg off. However, this led to some of the egg being flung onto you.

“Okay, okay, okay” You began “That’s enough. We have some baking to do”

He let out a sad sigh but agreed nonetheless. “Yeah, let's get baking.”

You turned around and went back to mixing the contents that was in your bowl. Once you got it to the proper consistency, you asked Max to hand over his bowl, and luckily he did so without making even more of a mess.

Both of you were silent as you mixed the dry ingredients with the wet ones. However, as you mixed, you felt Max’s arms wrap around your waist.

“What are you doing?” You asked as you looked up at him

“Just watching you” He replied

You turned your attention back to your mixing. Once you had finished, you had to disperse the batter between the three pans. There was just one problem. Max was still holding you.

“Babe, I need to pour the batter into the pans” You whispered

“Then go ahead” He whispered right back

“No, I need to you get off of me so I can do it.” You explained, which caused him to let out a soft whine. “Come on. The sooner you do this, the sooner we can eat this cake”

“Fine” He sighed and let go of you.

You made your way over to where the pans were and dispersed the batter evenly among them. Once you were done with that, you put the pans in the oven and began to make the icing.

“Hey Max?” You asked, but got silence in response “Max?” Turning around to see where your boyfriend had gone, and you found he was behind you, leaning against the wall. “Are you alright?”

“Wha- yeah, I’m fine. Just a little tired that’s all” He said as he let out a yawn

“If you’re tired then go to bed,” You began but he cut you off

“No, I got you up, I don’t want to leave you up alone.” He told you

“Alright, fine.” You sighed “But if you get anymore tired and you want to go to bed, go. I’m not gonna keep you up. However since you are staying up, can you help me make the icing?”

“Yeah, of course” He said and then walked right up to you.

“Okay, so, I need you to mix the butter and cream cheese until it’s nice and fluffy” You told him and he just stared at you. “What?”

“Sor-sorry, you’re just gorgeous,” He said

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks as he took a step towards you. Max leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead, however, seconds after, he started to cough.

“Wha- are you okay?” You asked as you both took a step back from each other

After a few moments of coughing, he finally gathered himself and spoke “Yeah, I’m uh fine. I just kinda forgot you had flour on your forehead and somehow accidentally inhaled it.”

You couldn’t help to let out a little laugh. “Only you would do that”

“Oh shut up,” But c’ mon let’s make the icing.”

Just like he said, the two of you spent no time in making the icing for the cake. By the time the icing was finished, the cake was ready to be out of the oven. So, you took all three of the pans out and put them on the stove to cool.

“Oh my god that smells amazing,” Max said as he walked over to the stove

“Step away from the stove. The cake isn’t ready to eat yet” You told him, staring him down as you did so.

Fortunately, he got the message and backed away from the stove. However, it was clear that he wanted the cakes since he would keep looking at them every few moments.

Once the cake was done cooling, you transferred the first one to a plate and began icing it. Without warning, you felt Max wrap his arms around you again and let out a hum of satisfaction. Somehow, you managed to ice the cake with him on you.

“Alright babe, the cake is ready,” You said and you instantly felt Max get off of you. Rolling your eyes, you moved the cake to the table where Max sat. You began to cut a slice for Max, but as soon as you put the slice on his plate, you pushed his face into the cake.

“Y/N!” He groaned as he lifted his head to see you in a fit of laughter. “Oh you’re so gonna get it”

You were too busy laughing to even register what he had said. Once you recovered, you saw Max inches away from you, and out of nowhere, he kissed you, causing the cake to get on your face as well.

Licking the cake off of your lips, you let out a happy hum “Yeah, I deserved that. But, this shit’s pretty good”

Both you and Max spent the rest of the night devouring the cake before you finally drifted off to sleep in his arms.

#max kepler #minnesota twins #major league baseball #mlb 2019 #MLB #mlb imagine #mlb writing #baseball #baseball imagine #Baseball writing

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ghostmartyr · 6 years

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SnK 102 Thoughts

Any of you ever watch Imagine Me & You?

In it, some small child whose name I can’t remember asks what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. The answer given by one of the romantic leads whose name I remember slightly better but am pretending not to is that they can’t both exist.

Taking all bets, folks.

First thing’s first, and oh my gosh, it actually comes first in the chapter! What witchcraft is this!

That’s way more visually appealing in the manga, but. ...I mean, looking at it, all of my reasons seem very silly, because that is horrible and I could probably be spending this time making it better, but I’m not going to, so now we’re all sad.

It’s a metaphor.

(it wasn’t supposed to be)

Anyway, the in-universe confirmation that wow, this is all a bit much, are you sure any of this was a good idea? is greatly appreciated. Expected, on some level, but when the story starts going dark places, it’s easy to distrust the motivation. So I remain a mostly unhappy camper at this getaway, but canon taking a moment to pause and wonder why someone thought this was a good plan is nice.

I’m going to get lost in questions and character stuff very quickly, so for the sake of making sense of what is going on in The Plan, bullet points are my new friends.

Jaws and Cartman are were contained

Scouts are closing off the streets and killing enemy combatants

Civilian casualties are considered un-ideal--officially

Lamps are being positioned on high buildings

The plan is contingent on disabling the War Hammer Titan ‘in time’

Eren nomming the War Hammer is in his book as a Good End

Survival is emphasized over everything else

My guess is that no one wanted this (whatever it is) to turn into a Titan brawl. If everything had gone according to plan and stayed that way, Pieck and Galliard would be imprisoned, no Marlyean soldiers would be left alive within the internment zone, and the War Hammer and an impressive number of prominent government officials would be dead.

Currently, the Panzer Unit is live, Galliard’s running about, War Hammer is not contained, and the Beast Titan is here.

The Beast Titan would have appeared either way (like the lamps, which have me wondering if Armin is showing up), because no steps were taken to contain him. Both sides have been counting on the Beast Titan to be available in the coming something or other.

Zeke has been kept in the shadows as far as a lot of his feelings on things. He disdains war and copes by treating it as a game, and he loves his family. The inner workings of all of that isn’t readily available, making him a potential wildcard. Since Eren’s taken up baseball, the thought of something being up with him has been a topic of active discussion.

If things went as planned, the Survey Corps + Eren would have unfettered access to Zeke. Titan holder, primary instrument of the most vile Marley offenses, and someone with royal blood. Only two people alive can say that last one, and one of them is presumably still an ally to her military.

Confronting Zeke is a reasonable plan in most every category you could ask for. Wanting to face him in isolation makes perfect sense, and you can’t say that about many of the known quantities here. My questions are if what he knew what he would be walking into, if Eren wants something different from what the Scouts want out of him, and if Zeke’s commitment to Marley’s side is as plain as it looks.

Since the Yeager boys have been so hush hush about what they’re up to lately, I’m not very interested in speculating (Zeke’s face has Isayama lines, but to be fair, a lot of people just died, and he does dislike war), but I am looking forward to the answers.

...Well, I say that. However

If nothing comes of Galliard trusting Zeke’s presence to be a good thing while his frame emphasizes light next to Pieck’s silent shadow... I will be disappointed. If anyone’s keeping score, Eren’s frame is more of a midtone shadow. I believe Pieck’s is darker, but that could be an optical illusion since her frame is descending into darker tones, and Eren’s lighting is evenly dispersed within his frame.

And since there’s only three panels left on the page, the other people having flashlights on their faces are Magath and his surviving troops and Gabi.

Symbolism.

Or not, but I’d like it to be.

Let’s move on to angry children, also known as Gabi and Floch. With Gabi first because oh hell, kid. Kid. Her friends are dead. People she saw every single day on her way to achieving her greatest pride are dead. There’s no rhyme or reason to it that she understands, or even maybe could understand, given what Marley’s done to her, she’s still alive, and she’s angry.

We’ve seen that anger in the exact person it’s aimed at. Hopefully Gabi learns a thing or two from it, preferably without getting killed in the process. Her cousin’s still MIA (Reiner is either having a horrific mental breakdown, going to go full Warrior mode and make everyone’s awkward planning more awkward by exploding out of the ground, or unconscious, and all of these choices make me feel really bad for Falco--who is a character who can still have a worst day of his life instead of stopping to debate which one was truly worst), and...

Gabi may have no problem committing war crimes to win a fight, but she’s a child who wants to be a Warrior so she can help her cousin. She’s not innocent in the usual sense that children are, but she is a child, and she has a very soft heart.

Sasha spares her life, but Gabi’s living a nightmare, and the devils of Paradis brought it to her.

-rewards Sasha a “You Tried” star-

Our other angry child should know better, but even though it hasn’t been explicitly stated, it’s basically been established that therapy does not exist in this world. Floch is where he was four years ago. He’s upset at the injustices he’s suffered, and willing to lash out at anything connected to what’s responsible.

Jean’s best feature as a leader has always been understanding people’s weakness. But I think with Floch, he’s found something of a barrier to communication. We’ve seen Jean try to talk to him before, and if their interaction here is anything to go by, he hasn’t stopped. Except as much as Jean knows about personal weakness, hate isn’t something I think he gets.

Arguably, it’s because he knows so much about personal weakness that his feelings don’t fester into something dangerous (Connie has a similar moment when he says he understands why someone would kill Sawney and Bean).

Jean sees the big picture. He knows there are more victims than just them here.

Floch sees his personal pain, and bleeds all over everyone. He’s destroying a zone full of people who have been more warped and abused than he has any empathy for, and feels he’s in the right because look at what they’ve done to us.

And look at what their side has done to someone like Gabi.

I don’t think the two situations are the same, thanks to Marley’s copious awfulness getting into every potential interaction both sides of Eldians can have, but the emotional response is easy to see:

These people did a horrible thing.

They should be punished.

Only the root cause of everything goes so much deeper than all of that, and it’s not something that can be fixed by lopping off flowers. Gabi is like. twelve, and her emotional trauma just happened. Floch is like. twelve, and he was getting by just fine before the mess he survived four years ago.

And it is painfully obvious how much that specific event has trained Floch’s thinking. He wants Erwin to survive the Serum Bowl because Erwin is the devil humanity needs to break them free of their cage.

He’s grown up since then. Humanity doesn’t need Erwin to be their devil. Humanity just needs a devil.

Look. Eren?

Floch_is_agreeing_with_things_you_did.

Mikasa is not.

Regardless of what this plan is, you have made your mistakes and they are many, and the first statement does keep in mind that those mistakes might very well be the whole point but come on.

This chapter is hard to read, and I really wanted to open this post saying thank you for Mikasa Ackerman’s existence, because I don’t think I have ever been more grateful to see her.

I haven’t bothered obfuscating how much I loathe Marley. I think their conduct is evil, and the world would be better off if they got wiped off the map. All those angry child feels from above are actively present when I consider what they’ve done with their nation.

One of the recurring... is it a theme? It feels like a theme, but it’s also sort of just a random thing I’m pointing out, and the language I want to use implies things about the story that I’m not sure is really an objective. In any case, something we see over and over again in this series is that monsters are human.

Gabi watches a whole squad of soldiers get demolished. Among them is a man who watches the gate she passes in order to train to be a Warrior. He treats her as a child more than an Eldian, and knows enough about each individual Warrior candidate ask about their progress and laugh about Falco’s crush.

He’s a human being.

The children he’s being friendly with have been coerced into indentured servitude and live in internment camps that are under constant watch, where leaving is punishable by--well, people like him. He’s a cog in an abhorrent machine. One small piece that helps keep it running.

Humans do evil things. You could probably have a lot of fun arguing that a human’s capacity for evil is part of what makes them human. Evil monsters aren’t always creatures beyond understanding or sympathy. Sometimes they’re just people who take the easy path that someone else burned down a forest to make.

You could also argue that part of what makes a human human is their capacity for goodness in the midst of evil. The guard spends the last moments of his life trying to keep a little girl safe.

I don’t like Marley, but I like seeing the sparks of decency in people start a flame. You want to believe that if people can be good to each other even when they’re covered in muck and sin, that goodness deserves a chance to make it out alive and flourish. You want to think that if everyone could just be convinced to be their best self, the world would be okay.

A lot of sparks are snuffed out during this attack.

Marley getting wiped off the map without devastation and heartbreak is a nice pipe dream, and I might still daydream about it or hand-wave things in fics, but regardless of my personal angry child feelings, there’s too much death here to feel good about any of this.

So I really, really appreciate that Mikasa Ackerman exists. She’s here for Eren, and she’s actively participating in this operation, but you can see her heart breaking at what’s been done. People are dead. Civilian people. Children. This is something that’s happened, and there’s no fixing it. There’s only pain at the result.

Mikasa is the stoic badass. But all she’s ever wanted is for her family to be at home with her. However she counts them, they’re what’s nearest and dearest to her heart. She has extraordinary combat skills, and if she could go the rest of her life without needing them, she would be happier.

Someone suggested that one of the Scouts present could be the little girl that Mikasa saves in Trost. I have no idea if that will pan out or not, but I love the idea.

The anime’s handling of Mikasa deciding to live during Trost is what hooked me in this series, but the moment with that little girl is one of my favorites for her. She charges in, kills a titan, threatens a dude, and leaves. Perfect hero is perfect even with only that, but the little girl and her mother, instead of running to evacuate now that they can, stop and thank her. And Mikasa turns back and salutes them.

Their salute in this world is meant to represent offering up their hearts to humanity. Mikasa has select few people she loves beyond all else, but whenever she steps in to fight, she does so wanting people to be safe. She feels her responsibility towards her comrades more keenly and openly than many of the characters we’re familiar with.

Mikasa’s line about the world being cruel, yet beautiful, is one of the more memorable ones in the series. As a theme, it’s marvelous, but as something that comes out of a character’s head, it’s... very gentle and touching. The world is cruel, but while it’s being cruel, there’s still warmth. Even from people who are now gone.

Mikasa is a kind person who gives small children her time and nearly cries at her friend’s joy when he finally gets to play in the ocean. She’s known terrible cruelty at the world’s hands, but she also loves the world’s beauty. It isn’t an empty acknowledgment. She sees it, and she feels it, and she fights for it.

What Eren just did is... abominable. She loves him, but... hell, every beautiful panel of Mikasa and Eren before the War Hammer gets back up is a testament to how much pain he’s caused, and how much heartbreak is involved.

Mikasa is compassionate, and this arc... really needs that.

Even if now I’m wondering if “Too Little, Too Late,” is referring to her instead of one of the larger sides. That title really works for anything you want to stick it to, since the phrase is basically shorthand for “everything’s fucked.”

This series has gotten painful in ways I didn’t exactly need it to.

Monthly serials hurt.

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 102 #Mikasa Ackerman #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #spoilers #tl;dr #chapter post

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spobyfanfictionarchive · 7 years

Text

A Bleeding Heart: Chapter 12

AN: Okay so I'm awful for taking this long to update but I've had a paper due for my class and it took me like 20939348 years to edit all this. I broke it up into sections, so some of it I edited days ago. So forgive me if there is typos, please. I'm going to stop apologizing now for all the delayed updates because I'm pretty sure that's all my author's notes for the last five chapters.THANK YOU, BABES FOR STILL READING. LOVE YOUUUUUU. (It's exactly 4:34 in the morning, forgive me for being exhausted and loopy.)

When she woke up the next morning, bright and early, at the brink of six am, Toby was already awake and staring at her. His eyes, blue as the sky and the sea, filled with adoration and tender affection.

“Hi,” she croaked, her voice still hoarse from the events of the day prior.

“Hey, baby.”

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, roughly clearing her throat and rubbing her eyes.

“About an hour,” he shrugged, his fingers running through her hair softly.

They'd fallen asleep in their usual position, him spooning her, his arm tucked over her waist, his face buried in her neck. But somehow in the night they'd ended up rolled over and facing each other, his arms still flung across her middle, her legs both between his.

The events of last night still flickered across their brains, like a movie that never evaporated.

The brunette’s embarrassment was still present, her indignity still evident in her demeanor.

He didn't comment on it, hoping if he let it go and moved on, so would she.

“How do you feel?” he asked, bringing her hand up to kiss gently, his lips pressing themselves down her palm, over her wrist and forearm.

“Achy,” she murmured, a slight element of surprise in her tone. “Faint. And tired. How long did I sleep?”

“Ten or eleven hours.”

“What?” She lunged up, despite the way her body protested the action. “How the hell was I out that long? I never sleep more than four hours. Five, if I'm lucky!”

The cop chuckled, sitting up too, kicking the covers back and climbing out of bed, still bleary, despite being awake for an entire hour prior.

“The meds are probably just keeping you out longer,” he assured, offering his hand to help her up.

“Tobes, I'm fine,” she swore instinctively, her knee jerk reaction.

“Are you sure?” he asked, studying her face carefully. She threw him a sardonic look, causing him to, wisely, backed off. “I’ll go take a shower,” he murmured as she climbed out of bed, more awkward than him, but still steadier than she’d been in a long time. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“I’ll just flash you the bat signal if I'm dying,” she promised wryly.

“That’s my girl,” he smirked as he headed towards the bathroom.

She followed behind, needing to relieve herself after eleven hours of sleep.

She made it parallel with the television set before the room began to twirl. “To-Toby,” she tried to call out but all that was audible was a faint whine, too high pitch to be recognized as her raspy alto.

Her legs trembled and gave out. She heard her impact with the wall before she felt it and she braced herself for a brutal landing to the carpet.

Instead she felt two sturdy arms wrap around her, just a second before collision, a second too late to completely prevent the fall.

Instead, she toppled over on top of her very loving, but also very solid boyfriend. It wasn't the most comfortable landing, feeling akin to landing on top of a rock, but it beat smacking the back of her already contusioned head on the ground.

“Toby!”

“Are you okay?” he asked first thing, before even making sure he, himself, wasn't hurt.

“Fine,” she assured, a little breathless, scooting higher on his torso so that she could brace her elbows on the ground. “What about you? Are you alright?”

He chuckled. “I’m fine, Spence. I'm the one who should be worrying about you, not the other way around.”

The brunette snorted, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him through her long eyelashes. “Try and stop me.”

“Hmmm,” he hummed, wrapping both arms around his girlfriend suggestively. “This is a romantic position, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes. “You're such a weirdo.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he murmured, kissing her nose.

“You should probably go take your shower,” she suggested evenly, as she pulled herself up and off him, hanging onto the wall as she hobbled towards the table and chair, where his laptop sat. “I’ll wait out here for you to be done.”

“Do you want to join me?”

She shot him a mordant look. “That’s not going to help the sex issue,” she pointed out grimly, her mood taking a dive.

He sighed, the lightness dispersing from his expression. “Spence, please don't be embarrassed-”

“I’m fine,” she waved off, adverting her eyes to the cop’s laptop in front of her. “Seriously. Go, shower. I’ll be okay for twenty minutes.”

He made a face. “Twenty minutes? What exactly do you expect me to be doing in there?”

She shrugged, fighting a smile now. “I just figured since we weren't having sex, you’d need-”

“Spence,” he cut off, laughing now, somewhat baffled by the innuendo.

“Sorry, just trying to be sensitive to your needs.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “I’ll be in the shower,” he called over his shoulder.

“Twenty minutes is your limit!”

“Goodbye, Spencer.”

“Oh, wait!” she halted, remembering something. “I almost forgot. Last night I was thinking I should send thank you notes to all the people who sent flowers to me in the hospital.”

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, waiting for the inquiry. “That sounds like a nice thing to do.”

“Except I don't have everyone’s address,” she explained.

His brow furrowed. “I doubt I would if you don’t?”

“Well, do your parents still live in that same house?”

“Like they would ever leave,” he laughed humorlessly. “They’d get their groceries delivered if they could.”

“Did Dean say where he lived?”

“No, but I’m sure your mom would know.”

“And what about Mrs. Ackard?”

“I think it’s the same as it was five years ago?”

She took in a deep breath as subtly as she could, anticipating his reaction to her next question. “And where do Yvonne’s parents live?”

Just as she imagined, the name alone changed his manner completely. She couldn't help but narrow her eyes, the brunette’s entire attitude shifting as well.

“I’ll make you a list in a bit,” he promised finally, his voice now strained as he turned to walk back into the bathroom, avoiding her eyes.

“What is it, Toby?” She demanded, her voice akin to a frustrated groan.

He spun around to look at her. “What?”

“Why is it that every time Yvonne’s name comes up, you get this look in your eyes,” she trailed off, volume fading from her voice as she lost her nerve a bit.

He stared at her for a long moment, speechless and startled. “What’re you talking about? What look?”

“This dejected look. You get this sad, miserable expression that . . . that I used to only see when I was hurting,” she admitted, her gaze abating.

She didn't want to admit it, though it was beyond obvious to both of them now, that her words were fueled by envy, no matter how irrational it was. Toby was here with her. He’d just about adjusted every single aspect of his life, just to be with her, to cater to her needs above even his own. And yet, she couldn't shake this feeling every time the raven haired beauty’s name came up.

It was embarrassing to own her jealousy of another girl. A girl who could have been his wife. A girl he looked at with so much warmth and respect and infatuation. A girl who had all of her good qualities and not a single of her bad.

A girl who was essentially everything she wasn't.

“Spence,” he whispered, his eyes now even more forlorn than before.

“Why is she such an elephant in the room between us?” She pressed, her tone even. She was trying to be understanding but the quiet frustration in her voice was unmistakable.

“She isn't important,” he persisted, visibly working to make his voice convincing.

That sparked a fired inside Spencer. “That’s exactly what people say when the person they're talking about is important!”

He shook his head, struggling to find a rebuttal. “That isn-”

“Do you still love her?” The brunette beseeched, holding no inquisition back now. “Do you miss her? Do you wish you and her were still together?”

She was posing the questions like atrocious scenarios truthfully, had he said yes to any of them, as searing of pain as that would have caused, akin to ripping her heart out of her chest, she would have still understood. She would have understood if he chose Yvonne over her, even on the brightest and most brilliant day of her life. There was no question who was better suited to give him the life he deserved.

And she wanted that for him. She wanted him, so badly, to have a life full of blissful happiness. She wanted him to never see the dark side of the world, ever again, after all that he had already endured in his twenty-four years. After everything he’d been put through. All the pain and suffering, all the heartache, and neglect and abuse he’d survived. He, if no one else she knew, deserved to have a joyous, carefree life. She wanted him to thrive and get everything he’d ever dreamed of and never be forced to withstand the things he had as a teenager.

But she also wanted him. She wanted a life with him. She wanted him fully and completely and as selfish as it was, she wanted him to want a life with her too.

But she knew she wasn't equipped to give him that life. Even before her abduction, even before she became a character straight out of Girl, Interrupted, she was far from what he truly deserved.

She was so lost, so deep, inside her self-deprecating thoughts that she barely noticed how Toby’s expression had shifted.

He looked as if he was staring dead in the face of a stranger, so baffled, so confused, so bewildered, it almost made her retract her statement altogether. She contemplated the notion for a moment that she’d imagined the whole thing, that this was just paranoia and exhaustion from all she’d been through as of late.

But she knew, deep inside her bones, that this wasn't in her head.

“Do you?” she asked again, and her voice was entirely void of the earlier fire. All that remained was an unsteady, half-broken murmur.

“No,” Toby refuted with unexpected vigor. “No, no, God no, Spence.”

Relief filled her stomach, his reaction alleviating some of her insecurity.

It didn't answer any of her questions, didn't quench her curiosity, didn't lessen her need to pry the truth from his stubborn bubble gum pink lips, but it gave her a sense of calamity that she was afraid to ask for.

“Spencer Hastings,” he breathed again and this time he propelled himself forward, dropping to his knees so they could be at eye level. “I-I can honestly say that I have never, ever loved anyone like I love you. I don’t-how could you even think-”

His watery blues, his heartbroken gleam popped the words out of her mouth. “Because,” she sighed, almost afraid to admit the words reeling around inside her brain, even after all they'd confessed as it was. “You’re always looking so heartbroken whenever she comes up. Sometimes, I don't know,” she adverted her eyes downwards, failing once again, just like she did every time she said anything vulnerable or exposing in his presence, to look him in the eye. “Sometimes it just seems like you’d rather be with her.”

He sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes narrowing incredulously. “Babe,” he whispered, but couldn't maintain his voice, the breath disappearing from his lungs with the heartbreak that came with every new word she uttered.

“Just. . .when you hear her name, it’s like a light goes off and she changes you. Like the idea of not being with her cripples you.”

The cop absorbed that, not speaking again for minutes on end. He stared straight ahead at her lap, not angry, not irritated, but trying to find his footing as he took in her words.

Her head snapped towards him as he finally broke the silence. “All I feel towards Yvonne is absolute and undeniable guilt,” he confessed, raising his head to meet her gaze.

“Guilt?” Her brows knit together, wholly confused what he meant by that.

She knew he felt bad about breaking the darker girl’s undoubtedly fragile heart. Toby felt bad about killing spiders, for crying out loud. But this, this remorse, was incomprehensible to her. How could he feel that guilty about dumping his ex?

As if, like she’d thought yesterday, they held a telepathic connection, he knew what she was thinking. “Not guilt for breaking up with her. Not exactly,” he explained, his voice growing stronger as he gained momentum in his speech. “I feel guilty for exactly how happy I am every single damn time I look into your beautiful eyes and kiss you. How ecstatic I am to hold you in my arms again and think how I never have to let you go. Okay, Spencer, even in the absolute worst circumstances imaginable, I have never felt more in love than I do right now. I love you more and more and more every day and I feel so fucking contrite because I have no regrets for a single thing I've done. I put you above her and I can’t help but be thankful that I did. And it makes me feel like a horrible person, because she didn't deserve to spend years of her life with someone who could do this to her-”

“Toby,” Spencer cut off, her eyes so full of love, her mouth completely disconnected from her brain as she processed his words, let them seep into her brain. “Babe,” she whispered, fervently, and without preamble, without warning, without any indication, she flew at him and folded herself into his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he swore, both his arms wrapping around her so tight, the air was squeezed out of her lungs. “I am so sorry. I never thought you would-I didn't realize I was giving you that ide-”

“No,” she cut off, her voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

He pressed his lips to the gash on the corner of her mouth, moving upwards to her cheek, trailing to her temple. “I love you,” he whispered against her skin. “I love you more than anything.”

She didn't respond verbally, instead choosing to bury her face in his shoulder, pressing her mouth to his chest, one, two, three times, four.

“I’m sorry, Spencer,” he whispered again and before she could halt any more apologies, he was murmuring more. “I’ll do better, alright? Please. I swear, I will be better. Give me another chance to prove to you-”

“Toby,” she gasped, pulling back to look into his crystal blue irises. “Y-you don’t think I'm going to leave you, do you?”

Some girls would have been delighted to see their boyfriend beg and crawl like that, see them cry and plead for a second chance. But that wasn't appealing to Spencer. It didn't make her feel happy or satisfied to see him beg for forgiveness, and it never had.

She wondered in her head, when did he become so repentant? He’d always been more than apologetic on the rare occasion when he’d done something wrong, even unintentionally, but he’d never been so gravely desperate for forgiveness, and it left her feeling bizarrely guilty, like she was turning him into an abused dog who cried even when he really didn't pee on the floor.

“I love you,” she whispered back, fervently pressing her lips to his, despite how sore her mouth was now the medication was officially wearing off. “I’m right here. I’m not going to leave,” she vowed. “I promise you. I never will.”

They stayed in that position, cuddled together, her entirely in his arms, on the rough, piercing carpet for more than an hour before both of them moved. Toby wordlessly took her hand, guiding her towards the bathroom, the issue of sex nearly forgotten in both their brains as they discarded their clothes, and quickly showered under the hot cascading water.

As they were drying off, a loud chirping filled the room and Spencer eyed the cop, confused. “My cell,” he offered, pulling on a pair of jeans and heading out of the bathroom to retrieve the device.

“If it’s my mother, I swear to-”

He shook his head, attempting to hide his instinctual discomfort. “It’s Ali.”

“Ali? What is she calling for?”

“I don't think she knows you have your phone back.”

“You think it’s for me?”

He gave her a derisive look. “It’s definitely not for me,” he assured, pressing the phone into her hands and picking up his wet towel from the ground.

“Hello?” The brunette greeted, her tone still hesitant.

“Spence!” Alison’s voice called through the speaker.

“Hey.”

“I haven't talked to you since. . .you know. I feel so awful for ignoring you. How are things?”

Spencer shut her eyes, knowing her circumstances were truly dire if Alison Dilaurentis was being so sugary sweet.

In truth, she loved Alison more than she led on. The girls had a long and a very tremulous history but for some reason, Alison was one of the people she’d never been able to completely detach from. She was a part of her family, even when she hated the girl with every fiber of her being.

But, though the blonde had changed significantly from the mean girl she’d once been, she was still incredibly inconsiderate at times and inherently self-centered. She would do anything to protect her friends but she would also ask them to chew off their left arm if it benefited her in the end.

That’s why her seemingly sincere concern for Spencer’s well-being and her remorse for being preoccupied in her own issues, caught the brunette completely off-guard.

“I. . .I don’t know?” the brunette answered honestly. “Things for me have been chaotic.” And that was putting it lightly.

“Same,” Alison agreed and Spencer realized the blonde wasn't the only one caught up in her own problems.

“Oh my god, Alison! How are you?” She reverted the question. “How are you doing? The girls said-”

Hanna and Emily hadn't actually said much but it didn't matter, as Alison cut her off then, “that my aunt-sorry, correction-that my mother’s twin sister that I never heard of in my entire life, showed up out of the blue?”

Spencer’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Yeah, that was my reaction too. Evidently her and my mom didn't have a good-or even civil-relationship. My mom got her sent away to Radley.”

“What?” The brunette repeated, her eyes widening further as images of the outdated, archaic hospital filled her mind.

“That’s not all, Spence. Mary knows your dad.”

“What?”

After an hour of talking straight, Spencer torpidly ventured out of the bathroom, still clad in her towel.

“What’d Ali have to say?” Toby asked, glancing up from his laptop.

She shrugged, still reeling, as she pulled on the shirt he’d worn yesterday. “A lot. Her family is. . .” she trailed off, making her way over to him.

“Hmm?” he hummed as he closed the laptop and reached for her waist.

She sat on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Jessica’s twin sister, Mary Drake, came to town right around the time I was in the hospital. She apparently never met Jason or Ali or-”

“Wait,” he cut off, a hand squeezing her arm lightly. “Mary Drake? The woman from the file we found on your mom’s Election Night? With Mona? After I power sawed through a wall?”

“Um, excuse you, I power sawed through a wall, thank you very much.”

“Spence.”

She sighed, digressing. “Yeah, I know. It’s weird,” she agreed.

He narrowed his eyes, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. “Why would she come to town right after we found her Radley file?"

“I don’t know. All I know is she is apparently Jessica with brown hair.”

“Brown hair?” Toby picked that word. “No one in that family has brown hair.”

“Maybe the Drake’s do.”

The cop shook his head. “That’s so bizarre.”

Spencer laughed humorlessly. “It gets worse, babe.”

“How?”

“Apparently Mary knows my dad.”

Toby’s mouth fell open, much like her’s had an hour prior. “Your dad had an affair with Mary too?”

“Alison doesn’t know for sure, but. . . she thinks so.”

“Oh my god,” he shook his head, baffled. “How many hidden secrets can one family have?”

The brunette snorted. “And I thought the Hastings were messed up. Imagine if you were dating a Dilaurentis.”

“Technically a Drake,” he amended dryly.

“It’s my job to correct others, not be corrected.”

A loud laugh fell from his full pink lips. “I would love you no matter who you were related to,” he promised, rubbing her arm for emphasis. “Besides, I come from a. . .”

“Jackass father?” she finished for him when he trailed off.

He smirked. “And somehow, you manage to love me anyway.”

“Of course, I do. How is your dad, by the way?”

“He’s fine,” the cop answered too quickly.

She studied his face for a moment. “When was the last time you two spoke?”

The sandy brunette shrugged, his eyes on his pointer finger tracing circles on her thigh. “A couple days ago. I returned his call when you fell asleep.”

“What'd he have to say?” she pressed gently, her eyebrows drawing together. She always approached the subject of his father with caution. He was Toby’s only living parent and despite how much she detested the way he treated his only son, she knew it hurt Toby when she openly bashed him.

He shrugged again but his sad, guilty eyes gave him away. “My dad never really says too much, Spence.”

“He thinks you're ruining your life by getting back together with me,” she guessed, her eyes narrowing now. “He told you I'm nothing but drama with a stuck-up family, holding you back and that I'm an awful person that’s sucking the life out of you. Didn’t he?”

Toby swallowed, about to refute her assumption but it was too late. His face read like a book. One second of eye contact was all the confirmation she needed.

“You always look sad when you lie,” she noted, quietly, shifting her eyes to avoid his.

The fact that his dad disliked her wasn't new, per se, but it still wasn't anything she easily got used to. The fact that the man, who had given life to the person she loved most in this world, detested her elicited a deep, involuntary ache in her chest.

Toby watched her expression, watched her try to mask the hurt she felt, and he pressed a delicate kiss to her cheek, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Sweetheart,” he whispered gently, “what my father thinks doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does,” she disagreed. “He’s your father.”

The cop stared at her face, his turn now to study her expression. “Remember when you first got out of the dollhouse? Whenever someone would say something rude or insensitive or careless and I got angry, you would swear up and down that what strangers thought of you didn’t mean anything. Spencer, you taught me that.”

She offered a half smile, knowing he was right on all accounts. “I guess,” she met his eyes, his sensitive, expressive blue eyes, “I guess, it depends who’s talking.”

Toby squeezed his eyes shut before he dropped his face into her neck, nuzzling her gently. “Don’t do that. Don’t give him free rent in your brain. He doesn’t know you. All he knows is what Jenna and her mom tell him.”

She nodded, accepting his words, knowing he was right. “What do you say? When your dad says those things about me?”

The cop pulled back, bringing his head up to touch his forehead to her’s. “I tell him I'm in love with you. That you are the most important thing in my life and if he can’t accept that, he can save his minutes.”

At his statement, a ghost smile appeared on her face. Still, she insisted quietly, “I don’t want to be the reason you and your dad stop speaking.”

“You’re not,” he promised. “He still calls every so often to make sure I'm still alive. And to criticize me.”

“What does he say when you defend me?” the brunette inquired, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing herself even closer to him now.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” she repeated, perplexed. “He critiques me and then when you defend me, he has nothing to say back?”

“My dad doesn’t know what to say,” Toby stated evenly. “He can’t relate to how I feel about you. He’s never loved anyone more than he’s hated himself.”

“Get dressed,” Toby commanded, smacking her butt as he walked by, causing her to jump.

They hadn’t even been in the same room a minute ago, him still at his laptop, her brushing her teeth in the bathroom, both distracted by their own individual tasks.

“Why?” she asked, her voice gargled by toothpaste.

He ran a washcloth underneath the faucet before wringing it out and running it over every inch of his face, soothingly. “Because there’s an open house I just saw for an apartment.” His eyes met her’s, catching her staring as he set the wet rag down. “What?”

“You’ve always done that,” she noted, gesturing with her chin towards the washcloth, a nostalgic twinge in her voice. At his expression, she elaborated, "You’ve always wiped your face with a damp rag before we went anywhere.”

He looked downwards, his smile mirroring her’s. “I can’t believe you still remember that. You always looked at me like it was so weird,” he laughed, shaking his head.

“I didn't get it,” she defended, chuckling. “I’ve never seen anyone else do it.”

“It feels good!” he insisted. “Remember when you were sick that one summer and I ran a damp cloth across your face to get you fever down? And you said-”

“Yes, I remember,” she interrupted, still smiling in spite of her playful eye roll. “I just don't know how you even got in the habit of that.”

His smile changed then, morphed into a slightly more dismal expression. His tone grew wistful, the dull ache of a badly healed wound evident. “My mom,” he said, his glance flitting across the bathroom, unsure how to maintain eye contact when speaking about the life he’d had with his mom, before Spencer was even a whisper in his brain. “She used to wipe my face every time we went in public anywhere. I was kind of a messy eater and. . . you know, old habits die hard, I guess. When she wasn't around anymore, I thought if. . . if I kept doing it. . .”

“I know, baby,” she whispered, reaching out and taking his hand in her’s, lacing their fingers together. Without another word, he pulled the brunette towards him, gathering her small frame to his chest. She inhaled and exhaled through her nose, absorbing the smell of cinnamon and wood and aftershave. Pressing her lips to his chest, exactly where his heart laid beating, she whispered, “Your mom would be so proud of you if she could see you now, Toby. She’d be so proud.”

“Oh my god, look at that wooden side panel, Tobes!” Spencer exclaimed, trying to keep her excitement subdued, though it was nearly leaking out with every action. “And look at how the trim on the ceiling fades perfectly into the color of the walls and how it matches the closet door.”

“I see,” the cop chuckled, his spirits elated from witnessing his girlfriend so happy.

Her smiles were few and far between lately, and though he knew it had nothing to do with him, though he knew that their reconciliation only brought her happiness and strength, he couldn't help but feel like his heart was being ripped out with every tear that coursed down her cheek.

“Look at the curtains!” she pointed, practically dragging him with her as other potential leasers moved aside, seeing the two of them coming. “And the color of the window pane matches with the carpet.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair, as she continued to point out every single detail she liked.

“Are you sure we can’t get in any sooner?” the cop heard, from the main room, sharp ears being a feature he’d attained over the years in his law enforcement career.

“No, sir, I'm sorry. Not for a least three more months,” the realtor-a seemingly inflexible man-stipulated.

His voice was low and rang out clear enough that even Spencer heard him over her own excitement.

She abruptly cut herself off. “Oh,” she murmured, her demeanor deflating like a popped balloon.

He met her eyes with a heartbroken gaze. “Spence-”

“Its fine,” she waved off, hiding her disappointment unsuccessfully. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a stupid apartment.”

“You love it,” he fought weakly. “I knew you would. I knew it was a perfect fit. That’s why I jumped on the ad as quick as I did.”

“Tobes, it’s okay. We need to find a place to move in sooner. Alright, we don't have the money to live in a motel for that long and it’d be stupid to move into somewhere else for only a couple of months,” the brunette reasoned.

He gave her a pitifully, forlorn smile, knowing she was trying to put on a brave face for him.

She had been doing so much of that for so long. She’d tried to always remain strong and secure, a backbone for everyone she loved to lean on, even when her own heart was crumbling or her mind was destroying her from the inside out. Spencer had always put others before herself, no matter what it cost her.

And she had been through so much, especially lately. The fact that it seemed like she couldn't have one good thing, one thing that made her happy, literally burned a fire inside of him.

Without preamble, without pondering the action, Toby grabbed Spencer’s hand and headed towards the realtor in the living room. “Excuse me?” the twenty four year old addressed.

Spencer stared at him, completely caught off-guard, by what he was doing.

“Yes?” the older man raised an eyebrow, a false smile spreading across his lips. “Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Toby kept his voice even and pleasant. “I’d like to know when the soonest possible date we could move in is?”

The answer was rehearsed and automatic. “In about four months,” the graying man informed, smiling still as if they were old friends. He reminded Toby of one of the people he met when he accompanied Spencer on dinners to the club with her family.

The cop used the skills he’d learned over the last few years and pretended those words were a surprise. “Shoot, we need a place to stay sooner than that,” he looked at Spencer, playing his part.

She smirked up at him, catching on. Her eyes stayed on his face, softening by the second, in total awe of his dedication to her. No one else had ever done so much, just for her happiness. That was all he wanted, her to be happy. It was incomprehensible to her that he was even real sometimes, let alone that he existed in the direst circumstances.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the realtor’s face fell ever so slightly, his facade slipping down a little. “I can’t permit a new tenant until the old ones are out and they said they needed a few months.”

“And what if we pay double the first and last month’s deposit?” Toby challenged, causing his girlfriend’s mouth to fall open.

The man blinked once then twice before sticking out his hand, surprised by the offer. “My name is Martin Kayn,” he greeted evenly, eyeing the couple now.

“Toby Cavanaugh,” the sandy brunette took his hand with his free one that wasn't resting on Spencer’s waist. The older man's eyes changed subtly as the name seeped in, something unintelligible flickering in his gaze.

“And you are?” he asked, turning to meet Spencer’s chocolate orbs.

“Spencer,” she offered simply, leaving out her last name altogether, aware of the chance of recognition.

Martin cleared his throat, turning back to Toby. “Well, I'd have to present the offer to the current tenants, but there’s a strong possibility this could persuade them.”

The cop’s face morphed into a grin as he felt Spencer’s hands tighten around his arm, her chin resting on his shoulder.

A small, minuscule part of him felt somewhat like Peter Hastings, throwing money around to get whatever he wanted. But that small, minuscule part of him that felt uncomfortable and disturbed was muted by his girlfriend’s smile, the light filling back into her eyes, the ease in her body language. If this, even for a split second, gave her peace, gave her something to look forward to, something to be happy about, then he'd do whatever it took to make it work, no matter how awkward it felt to him.

Because she, above everything else, was what mattered to him.

“I’m going to go look around, babe,” Spencer whispered into his shirt, pressing her lips there.

“Okay,” he murmured, loosening his arm around her waist as he kept his eye on the realtor, now engaging in a conversation on his cell phone.

She held onto his hand as she headed into the opposite direction of the house, until the distance was too great and they had to let relinquish their hold on each other.

The brunette found strange comfort in seeing the near dozen people, scattered across the house, a few shuffling in and a few shuffling out, every couple minutes. It gave a strange boost to her confidence and it dawned on her rapidly why.

Her parents and Dr. Barnes both stated she couldn't be in large crowds, because it may trigger her after the large amount of people in the massacre.

They were wrong. They thought they knew everything, they treated her like an inept child who didn't even know herself, they treated her like an inferior, and here she was, proving them wrong.

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face, in spite of the fact that she was in an open house full of strangers and was currently wandering room from room, completely alone.

“Ugh,” an aristocratic woman in her mid-fifties groaned, motioning out to the window.

“What is it?” the man next to her inquired.

“Look at that,” she pointed disdainfully.

Spencer crept up towards the window, peering out to see what the woman was going on about.

Outside stood two males, about Spencer’s age, early to mid twenties. They looked like they were just talking, their expressions unreadable, until one swung back and aimed for the other, narrowly missing the jaw.

Unlike the woman next to her, the brunette found the spectacle amusing. This apartment complex was in a higher class neighborhood. The residents were members of the same club as her parents, they were active members of the congregation and they probably all were invited to Melissa’s baby shower.

And yet, no matter where you go, there were immature men, fighting as if no one else was watching, as if there were no consequences, as if violence was always the answer.

She pursued her lips, thinking about Toby, thinking of all the things that had been done to him, all the hurt he’d suffered, all the maltreatment and yet, he rarely resorted to violence.

The brunette’s eyes stayed indolently on the two men, aiming unsuccessfully at each other, when she was ripped out of her thoughts at the sight of a punch finally making contact and one of the men smacking the concrete.

She was running down a hall, an empty, dark, unnerving hall. She was sprinting as if her life depended on it.

It did.

“Get back here,” she heard a man growl, his voice familiar. So familiar it twisted her stomach painfully, forcing her to come to a halt to keep herself from gagging. “I said, get back here!”

“No,” she gasped, her tone completely and entirely hopeless, as his hands gripped her forearms. “Please, don't hurt me.”

Without a response, without an acknowledgment, she was thrown straight into the ground, her hands flying up to protect the back of her head from making impact with the cold tile floor.

She shut her eyes as she felt him come closer, towering over her and she felt her stomach drop as she registered all he could do to her in that position.

Her breathing hitched as she felt him creep above her, his hands so close now she could practically feel them on her skin. “Please,” she cried one last time, as she felt him yank her upper body off the ground, like a lifeless rag doll, whatever she’d been previously drugged with still flowing through her system.

She glued her eyes shut, her natural, uncontrollable reaction to forced trauma, unintentionally allowing herself to be caught off-guard as he pulled back and swung, landing a harsh punch straight to her eye.

Her scream was muffled by her fraught, powerless cry. She’d never felt like this. She’d never been this far out of control, this far away from the ability to save herself. She’d never been this helpless before in her life, not even inside the dollhouse.

Her howls were still filling the room as he stood up again, taking a step back. She knew he wasn't done, not by a long shot, but she didn't have time to brace herself for the impact, to pry her injured eye open and make herself see what he was doing.

She couldn't even stand to look him in the face, knowing who he was now, knowing what he’d done.

Her body recoiled before she truly felt the harsh kicks, numerous kicks, straight to her abdomen.

Her loud, tortured scream erupted into the air, deafening anyone within thirty yards. Her throat protested in response, feeling like it was being ripped apart, like it was going to gush blood any second now.

Even in her wholly petrified mind, she wondered why no one outside this building could hear her, why not a single soul was coming to see what was wrong, why no one was calling nine-one-one.

“Shut up!” he ordered, his voice rising to try to muffle her’s.

But she refused to be silenced. If she was going down, she would never go without a fight. It wasn't who she was and it wasn't who she would ever allow herself to be. She wouldn’t let him to take from her.

If she never made it out of this building, she was going to die fighting.

When she refused to comply, refused to stop her harrowing shrieks, refused to be silenced even minimally, the man’s tactic changed and suddenly, without a hint of a warning, there were hands wrapped around her throat, pressing down.

“I told you,” he murmured, his voice as lethal as his actions, “to shut the fuck up.”

His hands tightened and breathing became an unfeasible task. “Please,” she tried to beg, attempting to raise her hands, attempting to plea for her oxygen.

But it was all futile. He wasn't going to let up until he, himself, decided to let up.

Black spots filled her already impaired vision, the need to cough overwhelming but the ability nonexistent. She felt her face growing hot, her limbs numbing and the world around her moving in slow motion.

And all she could see was him.

He was the ringleader.

He was the one in charge.

And he had a knife in his hands, ready to kill.

“Spencer,” Toby exclaimed, grasping both of her shoulders.

Somehow, someway, she’d ended up flat on her back, laying on the ground of the apartment, strangers all around her, staring at her in horror.

She heard a loud cry, a desperate, cacophonous wail, loud banging against the wood floor and she wondered who she’d frightened.

It took her next to no time to realize that those sounds were coming from her.

She didn't realize she was thrashing until Toby had her wrapped up in his arms, folding her so tightly she couldn't move if she tried.

Her ears popped and she heard her own screams of fear, with crystal clarity now. “Toby,” she sobbed and he squeezed her even tighter to him.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“What the fuck?”

“Someone did call nine-one-one, right?”

“Is she epileptic?”

“No, you idiot. She’s schizophrenic.”

“Be quiet!”

“Is an ambulance on its way?”

It was Toby’s voice though that really shocked her. “Do not call nine-one-one or anyone else,” he ordered through clenched teeth, his arms still wrapped protectively around Spencer’s shaking form.

“What the hell just happened?” Martin Kayn pressed, stepping out of the crowd.

“Back away from her,” the cop commanded, bypassing the question altogether. When it came to Spencer, when she was in trouble, no one had the power to intimidate him anymore. His timidity instinctually paled when it came to her needs.

“Toby,” the brunette cried again, swallowing hard, feeling her throat as if for the first time, trying to erase the feeling from her brain of someone strangling her.

“Take your time, baby,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, only for her. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

She heaved, narrowly choking back the urge to vomit.

Not here, not now, she thought to herself. She was humiliated enough as it was, screaming and crying and spazzing out in the middle of the open house.

“I’m sorry,” she cried, her vision still swirling. “I’m so sorry.”

It took her a minute to realize she was apologizing to Martin, the man whose open house she’d wrecked. There was no way anyone would want the apartment where they'd watched a girl lose her fucking mind.

“Spence, it’s okay,” Toby whispered in her ear, pressing a kiss there. “Just calm down.”

Embarrassed by her breakdown, embarrassed by her still quivering limbs, she burrowed into her boyfriend and tried to pretend that no one else could see her right now.

The concept lasted a total of fifteen seconds as the realtor spoke then, a sudden recognition entering his voice.

“You’re the little girl from the news?” Martin Kayn stated, utter disbelief obvious in his tone. “You both are,” his said again, his eyes sweeping between the trembling brunette and the cop holding her. “They did news stories on you two.” he continued.

“Okay, enough,” Toby halted, his voice desperate and fierce and almost unrecognizable as the shy, altruistic cop he’d once been, before her problems had dragged him through the muck as well.

“You were one of the girls kidnapped and tortured in a bunker when you were younger,” the graying man continued as if the twenty-four year old hadn’t spoken. “They did a two hour special on 20/20 about you. They showed you two hugging after you escaped that place and they’ve been showing on every news station him carrying you out of the building-”

“Stop!” Toby yelled, the level of his voice shocking all their onlookers and stealing the voice away from the oblivious, inconsiderate man.

The second the words left his mouth, his head was turned downwards again, as if looking away from her for a second ached.

“T-Toby,” she whispered, her voice a shell of what it’d been a half hour ago.

“Yes?” he breathed, his eyes somehow both tender and alerted.

She opened her mouth to speak, to explain that the world was still blurred all around her, to explain that she needed help to move because she couldn't stop shaking, to explain that she couldn't even see straight, that she could feel every single eye on her, that she just wanted to flee this places and all the stares and just go, when abruptly, just like it had happened before, her stomach retched and suddenly the contents were displayed on the ground.

She didn't speak the entire way back. She didn't say a word as Martin Kayne stared at her, open mouthed or as she received an outpouring of sympathies from complete strangers or as her boyfriend wrapped her up in his arms and got her the hell out of there as fast as he could.

She didn't say a word all the way back to the Edgewood Motor-Court, despite the fact that Toby was the last person who deserved the silent treatment. The way he showed her nothing but understanding and compassion was awe-worthy at this point, for the fucked up mess she’d become.

Her shaking had dissipated, her screaming had stopped, but the tears still ran down her cheeks, without reprieve.

She hated herself. She hated how she couldn't get a handle on her attacks, how the smallest things triggered her, how the more and more time passed, the more she proved the doctors and her parents right.

She hated, above all else, how Toby felt guilt for her episodes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” he whispered at a stoplight, reaching out to wipe her tears with his thumb.

Once they'd arrived back at the motel, Spencer didn't wait for him, throwing her door open and breaking nearly into a sprint, wanting to get inside the room as quickly as possible.

It didn't even occur to her that she was moving, without a single stumble or trace of dizziness at all.

She hadn’t been off-balanced in hours.

The small fact that would have delighted her not long ago only brought her minor pleasure now, in light of the chilling memory that’d just came back, the awful recollection she had now that she couldn't make sense of, couldn't even begin to understand.

This was different from every other memory that had come back to her. It wasn’t as if she was seeing something for the first time. It was as if she were reliving it.

She remembered the feeling of knowing who the ringleader was, remembered they were male, remembered the feeling of betrayal and humiliation and hurt. She remembered everything she felt in those few minutes that had resurfaced in her brain.

But she couldn’t see the face. It was as if she were staring through a piece of stain glass, completely indefinite and undistinguished.

She couldn’t retain the voice or the touch or the smell or any identifiable thing. It was as if she had lost all her senses while trapped in that building.

She heard her boyfriend come into the room, in no hurry to race after her, clearly aware that she was in her right mind again.

How did he know these things about her? How could he just sense them? How could he understand her, like she was an extension of him, when she couldn't even get a grasp on herself?

“Baby,” was the first word that he uttered, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed.

Without warning to her brain, her mouth ejected a small whimper, more mortified than frightened.

No, her terror didn't have a sound. There was no resonance that the human mouth could elicit, no noise a brain could conjure up that would be able to convey how she felt, every single time she was taken back to that night.

What made it so much worse, was that she was alone in hell. In every other situation she’d encountered in the past, even the most frightful and ghastly of them, she had always had the girls as a support system.

She didn't blame them for not being there. How could she? This wasn't high school any longer and they all had their own adult lives. This wasn't the -A that had been after them before. This new person wasn't one for a continuous game, a constant cat and mouse chase.

No, this person wanted a big impact. They planned out their big attacks and then allowed the after effects to run their course, knowing that mentally isolating them from everyone surrounding them, that psychologically tearing them apart, that obliterating their lives, aspect by aspect, was much more effective.

Spencer realized then, that she had been forgetting one person in all this equation. She wasn't alone. Not if she didn't force herself to be. Not if she didn't punish herself for things beyond her control, shut down and close herself off.

She had Toby. She had someone who loved her, more than was humanly conceivable, more than was healthy. She had someone who would do absolutely anything for her, no questions asked, and she was allowing this entire ordeal to push him away.

She felt his fingers run through her hair, gently, gradually working his way up to touching her. He was feeling her out, seeing where she was and what she needed in that moment.

She needed him.

“Tobes,” she whispered, as his hand moved to cup her cheek. He didn't say anything, his eyes just boring deeply into her’s, filled with captivated compassion. He was there, willing to do anything for her, willing to be anything she needed him to be. She turned her head and pressed her lips to the palm of his hand. “I love you.”

He made a sound akin to a choke and she wondered why those words still elicited such surprise in him. “I love you too,” he promised, swallowing hard on a lump in his throat.

She didn't realize until then that she had one to match. “I’m sorry I ruined that for us,” she mumbled, barley able to keep eye contact.

“No,” he disagreed sharply, his voice nearly breaking. He couldn't stop himself then, and his arms coiled around her, pulling her to him. “You didn't ruin anything, Spence. Nothing that happened back there mattered.”

“They all think I'm off my rocker,” she contested and couldn't help but remember his words for only hours ago.

“Since when do you care what other people think?”

She didn't used to. It didn't matter if people, just random strangers, gossipy lowlifes or nosy meaningless neighbors, believed a bunch of lies about her.

It mattered if what people thought of her, was actually her new reality. It mattered if there really was something wrong with her. If she was crazy or certifiable or demonic. It mattered that she no longer held control over her own life, over her own psyche, her ability to keep herself in check. It mattered that she had no choice, no warning, no power when she fell apart.

“And they’re probably right,” she added, her voice muffled as she chose to bury her face in his chest.

His hand rubbed her back, massaging the tension out silently, allowing her to relax into him, let her body sag against his. Finally, he murmured into her tangled hair, “What other people think doesn’t matter. Not to me and you.”

She laughed once, humorless. “It’s still not fun being the town freak.”

She was surprised when he stiffened and stopped kneading her back. “Spence,” he started, his tone shifted, giving her a look.

“What?” she matched his expression, her distress momentarily put aside. “Why are you looking at me like I have three heads?”

He laughed now, incredulous. “Because you and I have always been the town freaks,” he pointed out, shaking his head. “You were a girl who tried to frame her brother-in-law and I was the boy who everyone crossed the street when they saw me coming. And we got together. We’ve always been something to talk about.”

His words, so blatant, so unconcealed, so forthright, it elicited a genuine chuckle from deep inside her chest.

He continued, feeling in her body language the tension slowly seeping away. “Everyone thinks we’re weird, babe. Nothing we do, one way or the other, could change that now. And you know what?”

She glanced up at him, narrowing her eyes playfully. “What?”

“It doesn’t even matter. Let them think we’re weird. Let them think me and you are two psychos or that we’re both on our way to the funny farm. Because what a bunch of redundant, chatty snobs like our parents think of us isn't our problem. It never was and it never will be.”

Her mouth, which had been set in a permanent frown only a matter of seconds ago, involuntarily turned upwards. She leaned her forehead towards his, resting them together. “How do you always know how to make everything alright? Even when things were are awful, even when I'm scared out of my mind, even when I don't think I can keep going like this, somehow you always make it okay. You never give up on me. Not even when I give up on me.”

His eyes changed, gaining a reflective gleam. “How could I? You’re not just the person I love, Spencer. You’re my entire family. I couldn't give up on you if I tried. I wouldn't know how.”

Before she could even get a grasp on herself, before she could remember the shameful events of the day, she was kissing him and his hands were on her hips and she was climbing onto his lap, and their tongues were twisting together and nothing else existed until this moment.

The kiss started out as a thank you.

It turned into exactly what they’d both been craving for longer than they could even remember.

They don't kiss long before their clothes are discarded, tossed carelessly aside in piles on the roughly carpeted floor. They don't take the time to realize what they’re about to do, they haven't done in three years. They don't think about the fact that there’s no condom or birth control in sight.

They only think about each other. The feel of the other’s skin pressed against theirs. The way words aren't necessary. When they're together like that, they can feel what the other is thinking. The way sex provides both of them with the calm, the serenity, the euphoria that they lack in every other section of their lives. The way the other looks at them, as if they are an angel on Earth, as if they are the world’s greatest treasure.

Maybe things are rough. Maybe for them they always will be. But they both know as long as they have each other, they’re never going to be facing it alone.

#spoby #pll #pretty little liars #Spencer Hastings #Toby Cavanaugh #fanfcition #fic #story #my stories #stories #spoby stories #My writing #ableedingheart

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