IMPORTANT A/N : I thought I had motivation to start a new story for Spoby, but apparently it was just one magical afternoon & that was it. I had a little fragment of a chapter collecting dust for more than a month, so I decided to polish it up and just post it as an AU oneshot. It was supposed to have more of an introduction and several chapters, but I have no intention of accomplishing my original vision. If anyone reads this, I apologize for the super random angsty-ness and the total lack of conclusion. If you're really ticked off, you can curse me out via review and I'll take it like a champ :)

I own nothing, not even the terribly cliche plot!

He's practically choking on the overwhelming deja vu that surrounds him. The house is just as big - and just as intimidating - as he remembers. He hasn't spent much time here in the last few years, but the exterior remains relatively unchanged since his days as a regular visitor. The trim has been painted a new color, there's a shiny car in the driveway that he doesn't recognize, and the flowerbeds are sporting a whole new crop of plants, but that's it. The rest is startlingly familiar. His eyes seek out Spencer's old bedroom window out of nothing more than habit. She's not there anymore. Her parents have finally awarded custody of the barn to their youngest daughter, and while he's happy that she finally has the chance to reclaim the space that she had painstakingly redecorated years and years ago, he can't help but mourn the memory of her old room.

So with a sigh of resignation, Toby trudges toward the barn instead, feeling downright squeamish at the idea of once again stepping inside the little apartment that has recently been home to Spencer and her new boyfriend. He can't even bring himself to think about Caleb being that guy...being the one who...

Nope. He's not thinking about it. He just can't think about it.

And he knows that he needs to get a grip and deal with it, but he can only manage one problem at a time. He will get around to that later, when Spencer is back to normal and this entire nightmare can be put to rest.

So he gives himself one last mental shake, rallying himself to put on brave face for her sake, and steps up to the barn's entrance. Before he can raise his fist to knock, the door flings open and Spencer pours herself into his arms.

"You're here," she exhales into his chest, her grip nearly suffocating him.

The déjà vu of a moment like this - Spencer cryptically texting him late at night, dragging him across town without prelude, and then clinging to him like a life raft as soon as she sees him - the effect is debilitating. He's lived this scene a thousand times before, to the point where it almost feels comfortable to show up and take his cues like a well-rehearsed actor on Broadway.

Almost. Because this isn't the same. They aren't the same.

Patting her back with a twinge of awkwardness, he tries to string together the usual questions. "What's wrong, Spencer? Did something happen tonight?"

He bites back the third question, one he isn't accustomed to asking - and where is Caleb?

She leans back slightly and slides her long fingers through her bangs, giving him a momentary glimpse of the medical gauze that covers the gash on her forehead. Her hair immediately falls back into place as if she hasn't touched it at all. "I'm okay, I just..."

"Just what?" he returns softly, cautiously freeing himself from what's left of her embrace and taking a minor step backward. A little space would be good. He promised himself that he would be supportive without falling through the wormhole into the past. He's her friend. He's always been her friend, even when he was so much more. He could do this within the boundaries of friendship, he was sure of it.

"I'm going nuts in here, that's what," she gives him a look that comes as close to begging as he's ever seen from her, then she glides back into the barn with the clear expectation that he will follow her inside. And against his better reasoning, he does exactly that.

"The police are patrolling your street, Spencer. You're under watch day and night. This perp can't get to you when - "

"This perp, Toby?!" She gapes at him for a beat, effectively chastising his use of cop slang. He's identified himself as one of them and she's not having it. "We know who this is and what they're capable of, which includes evading - or better yet, buying off - the police in this town. There's no way I'm safe here. And when have the cops ever been on my side, anyway?"

His feels his insides twist at her biting tone. "Things have changed. Five years have gone by since..." he wavers for a second, suddenly unsure of how she'll react to the mention of her current medical condition, so he changes the course of his statement as quickly as he can - "...since CeCe was apprehended. This isn't the same police force, and it isn't A anymore. A is gone."

She raises a brow at him, causing her skin to pucker against the edge of the bandage. "From what Hanna and Emily told me in the hospital, it might as well be A. They said you were in on what was going on...before, uh...before what happened to me. And you basically said so yourself when you came to visit, didn't you? You know what this new A is capable of."

"Yes and no. You had begun to fill me in on the basics, and I was there to help out on the night of the election. But um..." he pauses, glances away from her and chooses his words tentatively. "Things between us are...cordial. Not the same, though. I was definitely on the outside of whatever was happening with you guys."

"Oh." For an instant she looks like she wants to argue with him on the matter, a look of defiance curling in her countenance, but then doubt and frustration settle over her features instead and she plops down on the sofa in defeat.

His first impulse is to console her. He knows that Spencer of all people cannot be dealing well with the fact that a huge chunk of her memory is missing, leaving her defenseless and disoriented to the facts of her own life that she has somehow lost. He almost goes to her, almost pulls her back into his arms. Almost whispers to her that everything is alright, that she's never alone, that he can help fix this. That he is still her safe place.

But that would be a lie now, wouldn't it?

Toby frowns to himself, feeling desperately adrift in whatever role he is supposed to be playing here. He tries to remember how he's been conducting himself since she'd reappeared in Rosewood a few weeks back, tries to recall the way they had struck a careful balance of platonic familiarity while still maintaining their old rapport.

All that comes to mind is the feel of her hand when he'd accidentally brushed his skin against hers in the exchange of a coffee mug...the way he had forced his attention back to those blueprints in an effort to keep his composure at the lure of her touch.

And then there was the warm sound of her raspy voice as she began speaking to him in fluent French, an electric grin on her face as she complimented his glasses.

Or the buzz in his system as they worked together in the tunnels under Radley, carrying on as if no time had ever been lost between them. That old protective instinct that sprang to the surface as soon as she had noticed the beam of Mona's flashlight - he refused to let anyone hurt her. He'd brought his gun for a reason.

Yeah, those were all bad examples. He had been feeling less than platonic in every one of those instances.

"I'm sorry. This..." her voice cracks from her spot on the couch, bringing him back to the present as she goes on brokenly, "this was a mistake. You have, um, a new girlfriend and...and I shouldn't have texted you."

She tries to swipe at her tears subtlety, as if she can fool him into believing that she's merely rubbing her eyes. He sees right through it.

Which leaves him staring at her from across the room with his heart in his throat. He's done his best to keep his distance, to put as much space as possible between his body and hers, but his resolve is scattering faster than leaves in a tornado. He's as good as ruined. She cries, he breaks. That's how it's always been.

"You don't need to apologize. I showed up, didn't I? I never stopped caring about you, Spencer."

She doesn't look at him. "But I'm not your problem anymore. You've moved on, you have a new life."

He moves toward her, helplessly magnetized by the sound of her quiet sniffles. "That's not really the only catch here."

"What...?" she glances up this time, eyes clouded with confusion and tears. "...what are you saying?"

Toby sits on the coffee table in front of her, his legs settling on either side of hers, their knees bumping together as he leans forward to catch her watery gaze. "I'm not the only one with a new life, Spence. It's you too...you just haven't caught up to it yet."

A sad smile spreads across her face. She pushes her bangs away from her forehead for maybe the millionth time in the last five minutes. "It's nice to hear you say that...'Spence.'"

He feels like a heel for giving her anything that could possibly encourage her misplaced feelings. She's grasping at straws of course, but he can't help it - guilt washes over him anyhow. "I'm serious, Spencer. I know it doesn't seem real to you right now, but you've moved on from me too."

"I don't buy it." Her brow crinkles as if he's said something distasteful. "It just doesn't seem possible."

"You've done it before," he mutters with an unexpected jolt of sorrow as several past examples flicker through his head, "this would not be the first time that you, uh..."

She grabs both of his wrists in a flash of urgency. "No, Toby. There's a difference between moving on and self-imploding. I'm not good at being vulnerable. I don't know how to function when we're disconnected. You know that. When it comes to you and I, I've always been running as far and as fast as humanly possible when it felt like our foundation was crumbling...but that is not the same as moving on. I never actually wanted someone else. I just didn't want to deal with the hurt. Trust me, because that is something I can remember with alarming clarity."

His mouth pops open, but then he promptly shuts it when he realizes he has nothing to say. She's blindsided him with that confession. It was never the kind of thing she could easily articulate to him before, but he has no trouble believing it now that she's put it into words. It's a Spencer explanation through and through.

She releases him then, her eyes futilely attempting to blink back the emotion that is jumping out at him like a neon sign. "I might have a life without you now, but that doesn't mean I was happy with it."

"You...you don't know that. Maybe it's...maybe he's the one you need now."

He's trying - honestly, he's trying so damn hard - to be mature and rational, to point her back to reality. He has Yvonne. She has Caleb. He can't look backwards just because she's temporarily stuck in a different world.

But then she puts her hand on his knee and he's hers again. "Toby, there is no way I could love someone else as much as I love you. Even someone as great as Caleb...he still isn't you."

"Don't you get it?" His voice climbs an octave and he stands suddenly, trying to gain control of himself. "Your memories are going to come back, Spencer. You're going to remember everything, and you aren't going to be saying these things anymore when you do."

She tucks her bottom lip into her mouth for a moment and shakes her head despairingly. "But what if I don't remember? What if this is permanent?"

His heartbeat stutters and he inhales sharply. He hasn't allowed himself to think about that possibility. A whole minute passes, but it feels like so much longer. "That won't happen," he says once he's finally reassembled himself, "you're Spencer Hastings. I'd never bet against you."

"This is amnesia, Toby, not an Academic Decathlon."

He almost smirks at the familiar twist of deadpanned sarcasm in her voice, but then he immediately sobers when his brain catches up to the gravity of what they're discussing. "I know. This is just..."

This isn't the first time he's felt inadequate in her presence; in fact, it's something he's encountered more often than he'd like to acknowledge. He knows what it's like to fight with her, what it's like to lose her, what it's like to get her back again when he thought all hope was gone. He's watched her break into a thousand pieces because of the ways that others have hurt her, the ways that he's hurt her, the ways that she's hurt herself. And for every time that he's been in this place - completely incapable of finding an end to her pain - he's never once questioned whether or not he belonged in the equation. He's never been so unsure of his own footing.

He flounders for words and covers his face with his hands, overcome. "I don't know, Spencer. I don't have the right thing to say. I don't even know what I want right now."

As soon as those words escape him, he snaps to life and forces himself to look at her, shame consuming his insides. She's watching him with a new glint in her whiskey-colored eyes, a ripple of surprise evident in her features. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," he whispers automatically. "I shouldn't have said it."

But she's standing now, floating toward him with ghostly grace. "You did say it, though. Are you going to take it back?"

The room is spinning as her tear-stained face tilts up to inspect him. She's too close, close enough to see the cracks and splinters in his expression. His hands twitch with the desire to touch her. His throat aches at the uncharacteristic hope that's welling beneath her lashes.

"This isn't fair, Spencer."

His voice is pitiful and croaking. He waits for her to laugh in his face. Not fair? How dare he talk about what's fair when she's the one with a bandage across her forehead and a partially bankrupt memory.

But she doesn't laugh. She doesn't mock him. She doesn't react with indignation.

She falters.

Her jaw tightens and she watches him carefully. Then, just when he expects her wrath - or perhaps even worse, her all-too-compelling affection - she panics.

"Oh my god...oh my god, Toby. This - this was not right..." she fists her hair away from her face and begins to pace back and forth in front of him. "I'm horrible. I'm worse than horrible. I can't believe you're still here. You should be furious with me. I...I..."

His hand grazes her elbow as she makes another pass. "C'mon Spencer, it's okay, just sit down and - "

"No, this is absurd...I'm acting like a crazy person! What, like you're supposed to erase the last five years of your life just because I hit my head too hard and am suddenly 18 years old again? You must think I'm insane! Maybe they can get me a new room at Radley, because clearly I damaged a whole lot more than my memory when A left her calling card on my frontal lobe."

Toby cringes at her choice of words, and makes a more decisive move to capture her in his arms as she sweeps by him again. "Stop it, okay? You aren't insane, you're just hurting."

"You shouldn't be here anymore." She tries to escape his hold, but it's useless. "Seriously, just go. I'm sorry for putting you through this. I'm so selfish."

"Please, Spence," he murmurs against her ear with unflinching conviction, "I'm not leaving you like this, so stop fighting me."

She gives up after another moment of halfhearted struggle, her hands no longer shoving against him. There's still a brittle tension in her posture, but he's unfazed. If there was one thing he had always been good at when it came to dating Spencer Hastings, it was this - knowing what she craved most when she was dangling on the edge of hysterics. So he takes her by the shoulders and leads her over to the couch. He thumbs away the last few fragments of her tears before angling her against the cushions and sitting down so he's facing her, rubbing the back of her hand until she looks him in the eye.

"Is it alright if I stay for a little while longer?" he asks softly, not wanting to overstay his welcome if she really wants him to go.

Spencer gives him a rigid nod, so he scoots closer and guides her head onto his shoulder. He slips an arm between the sofa and her body and begins to run his fingers up and down her spine, alternating between rubbing out the strain in her tight muscles and lightly scratching his nails against the thin fabric of her t-shirt. His other hand slowly smooths her hair away from her face, running from roots to ends over and over again, over and over in a rhythm that soothes the both of them. It isn't long before she's nothing more than dead weight sagging against him, silent and seemingly boneless.

Just when he believes she's nodded off completely, he's startled by the rumble of her voice from the crook of his neck - "Sorry for the meltdown, Tobes."

The corner of his mouth lifts in a one-sided smile. "It's nothing I can't handle. And all things considered, you have every right to be a little high-strung."

"Oh, please. I'm a little high-strung when everything in my life is going swimmingly."

Her voice is lazy and clouded, and something inside of him crackles to life as she makes the sleepy quip. His smile stretches to a full grin. "I'm trying to cut you some slack here, Spence. Take it and run with it."

She's quiet for a little longer, so he waits her out by working at a knot that he's discovered near the top of her rib cage. His thumb presses a bit deeper, and her breath hitches before she nearly whimpers - "My God, you're still good at that."

A chuckle spills out of him. "Thanks. It's been awhile, so I'm glad to hear I haven't lost my touch."

They don't talk much after that, and for that Toby is grateful. He's in dangerous territory and he knows it. His mind keeps drifting toward the memories of other nights just like this one, nights that started off in the exact same manner and ended in a much different place - their clothes discarded on the floor, their limbs tangled together, and an untamable heat burning between them.

But that's not an option anymore, so he does all he can to shut off that part of his brain. He counts each stroke that he makes through the length of her nutmeg hair. He tries to remember the title of every book she's ever lent to him. He makes a mental shopping list of what he needs to pick up at the hardware store for the house he's been working on - the house he's building for Yvonne.

And then a brick of nausea hits him. Yvonne. His girlfriend. Almost his fiancée if not for...

"Toby?" Spencer mumbles drowsily, "you okay?"

He tries to relax the stiffness that's snuck into his frame before he answers, attempts to master the internal storm of self-loathing and anxiousness so that he can sound convincing when he speaks. "Yeah, I...just got a cramp in my leg. It's better now."

She sighs contentedly as he kneads the base of her neck. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

She doesn't pry any further, and he can't help but assume that it's because she's hovering on the brink of unconsciousness. His theory is confirmed a few minutes later when her head bobs lower against his chest and a barely audible snore floats up through the shield of her dark curls. He's afraid to disrupt her too soon and wake her before she's settled into a deeper sleep, so he continues on autopilot, his hands still moving even though his thoughts have been immobilized. He can't process what he's feeling or what he's supposed to do after this. He knows that something inside of him has stirred; something that's been there all along, something that he's been desperately keeping on lockdown until Spencer blasted the whole damn thing open tonight. Not that it was her fault - if he woke up in the hospital and remembered nothing of the last five years, he would be devastated to learn of their breakup. In fact, he'd probably be on his knees pleading with her to take him back. Their relationship had been far from perfect back then, but that's only because they had loved each other to the point of foolishness.

The saddest part is that he still isn't exactly sure where they had lost that foolishness along the way.

He stays later than he should, unable to pinpoint where it all went wrong, rewriting the spots where he had mistakenly let her get away from him, looking for a logical reason as to why they just couldn't make the pieces of their lives fit together correctly.

It haunts him as he carries her into a bedroom he doesn't recognize, tucks her in between a set of sheets he's never seen before. In a fit of childishness, he purposely averts his eyes from anything in the room that might belong to Caleb. Instead, he intently watches Spencer's placid face as she dreams on, undisturbed. Seeing her like this - at rest, serene and unburdened - has always brought him unparalleled happiness since she so rarely enjoyed the same peace in her waking hours. He kisses her cheek with choked sentiment and then promptly backs away as if he's burned himself.

And then he leaves the room before he can do something exceptionally stupid like climbing in next to her. He makes a diligent effort to ensure that every door and window is locked and secure before he makes his exit. His stomach sinks with each step he takes away from her. Amnesia or no amnesia, he has a decision to make. He loves Yvonne. He loves her in a way that is simple, sweet, effortless. And, despite every last reason not to, he loves Spencer too. She's still in his system like a virus he can't shake, a wild craving that threatens to pull him under whenever she's near.

He hauls himself into his truck and cranks the ignition with a miserable grunt. He drives away in a numbing trance, drowning in the knowledge that he obviously can't go on loving more than one girl, but when this is all said and done, he'll probably lose them both.