A/N: Final chapter! I'm a little bit more nervous about this one. It's such a fragile subject, and I won't pretend to know what it feels like… so sorry if I got it completely wrong. I mean no offense to anyone.

That being said: thank you for sticking with me, and for the treasures also known as reviews. You guys rock.

Chapter Three: I wanna shelter you

"Spence," Hanna suddenly proclaims. "You better come look at this."

Spencer is knee deep in her own digging, but something in her friend's voice makes her drop what she's doing and join Hanna and Caleb by his laptop. Hanna's computer-savvy boyfriend has spent the last two hours hacking into a website Spencer stumbled upon during one of her many sleuthing missions. After breaking through the firewall he came across numerous videos that have N.A.T. club written all over them, and Hanna and Caleb are sifting through them while Spencer busies herself with tracking down more information on Cece Drake.

"What?" Spencer wants to know, impatient to get back to her business.

She catches the hesitant look Caleb shoots Hanna before playing one of the videos, and Spencer sees what appears to be someone's back yard. When the camera focuses on a lone figure in the distance, her heart stalls in her throat. It's Toby. Her Toby. Her safe place to land.

He's alone, and appears to be cutting at a piece of wood with a pocketknife, oblivious to the camera. And oh God, he looks awful. He's too thin; too pale. His hair is long and dark and in his face, but that doesn't stop her from registering the haunted look in his eyes.

"Ugh, Jenna," comes a voice from behind the camera. "Your new stepbro is such a creep. I don't know how you're getting any sleep with him in the house."

The camera turns to focus on Jenna, who is sitting beside whoever is filming (Spencer doesn't recognize this person's voice – the best she can do is that it's a female around their age). Jenna smirks, her green snakelike eyes focusing on the boy on the other side of the yard.

"I know, right?" Jenna replies, clearly enjoying the conversation. "I catch him staring at me all the time, it's seriously like the most disgusting thing ever."

The nonchalantly spoken words spread like fire across Spencer's chest, and she becomes faintly aware that her hands are shaking with rage. It's the knowledge of what Jenna was exploiting him into at the time, the unspeakable things she was forcing him to do with her… Spencer feels bile rise in her throat. For Jenna to turn around and use that kind of language on him is fifty different kinds of ghastly.

Suddenly food flies in Toby's direction, and she realizes it's the chips and guacamole the two girls had been snacking on.

"Get lost, perv!" Jenna's friend calls out maliciously. "No one wants you here. Scram!"

Toby flinches as some of the food hits him, and his hands come up to protect himself. But he doesn't even put up a fight. His shoulders just slump dejectedly as he stumbles up to the house, food still attacking his back and Jenna's cruel laughter echoing behind.

It's only when Hanna places a tentative hand on her shoulder that Spencer realizes her face is wet.

She knew about his dark days – how no one wanted him, how no one cared. But seeing his loneliness with her own eyes, watching him hurting like that… It's harrowing, and it causes a pain inside her that makes being stabbed in the gut with a knife seem preferable.

"I have to go," she chokes, and flees Hanna's room before anyone can protest.

She drives to the loft almost blindly, but when she has her car parked she's suddenly apprehensive. She takes a deep shuddering breath, checking her appearance in the rearview mirror. She stopped crying when she left Hanna's house, but her mascara has leaked onto her cheeks and she tries desperately to erase all remnants of her tears.

The last thing she needs is to freak him out.

She pulls open the door to his home to find him in the kitchen, emptying the dishwasher. He looks up, and she questions briefly if she's ever seen anything so beautiful.

"Hey," he says, sounding surprised but pleased. She struggles to remind herself that he wasn't expecting her.

She wants to greet him back, but the word never makes it out of her throat. When she looks at him she sees the boy in the video – the broken, rejected, misunderstood boy. She would give everything she has to go back in time, hold that boy in her arms, brush his long hair gently away from his beautiful eyes, kiss him, rock him, whisper that everything is going to be okay and she loves him, somebody loves him.

Instead, she walks up to the boy in front of her. Without a word she draws him to her, stroking her hands across his back and burying her face into his neck. He indulges in her embrace, squeezing back tightly before pulling away and tilting her chin towards his face.

"What happened?" he asks softly, his eyes concerned.

Oh God, doesn't he realize she's giving comfort and not seeking it? She shakes her head, naively thinking she can somehow escape this conversation – not because she doesn't want to have it but because she doesn't know where to begin.

He's patient like he always is, and in the end she blurts out a waterfall of sentences that barely make sense to her own ears. In broken English, she tells him about the website, about the videos and about the one video that featured him in particular. She somehow manages to refrain from crying again, even when his features grow solemn under the memory.

"I promise you," she hears herself saying, reaching out to hold his face between her hands. "I promise… you will never be alone like that again."

He looks at her for a moment – then kisses her forehead, and her eyelids, and her nose. "I haven't felt alone since you sat on my porch and talked about having the rug pulled out from under you and ending up on your ass."

She laughs despite herself, marveling at the way he can change her mood in a matter of seconds. She pulls him back into her arms.

"Me neither," she whispers.

She's dreaming of rain, of running through puddles as her drenched clothes stick to her body like a second skin. It's oddly liberating, yet something dark stops her from feeling completely free.

When she opens her eyes, she's in their apartment in New York, alone in their bed. And she realizes it wasn't rain she was hearing in her sleep. It was the sound of the shower running, and her heart sinks into the pit of her stomach because she knows that can only mean one thing.

Pain sears through her body, so intense it nearly cripples her. But at suddenly as it came, it retreats into a softer, duller ache. She's no use to him when she lets his demons overwhelm her. She wants get up, join him in the shower, kiss him senseless until he forgets. But she knows by now that it doesn't work that way. Not with this.

He has nightmares of red coats and black hoodies, as does she. Sometimes they wake up screaming; sometimes it's silent tears spread across their faces. Either way, the embrace of the other person is home. It's bliss, it's solace. It's unprecedented, unparalleled, and nothing else will ever come close.

But when he wakes up with memories of Jenna poisoning his mind, Spencer knows there's nothing she can do. No comfort she can provide. At least not until he's scrubbed his naked body raw, the same way he used to after the abuse took place. It kills her, but she has to choice but to accept that in these moments, he'll always be on his own.

When she hears the shower turn off, she can't take it anymore. He's drying himself off when she slowly pushes open the door. He looks up and spots her, and for a moment they don't speak.

"You okay?" she finally utters weakly, grateful that she managed to keep her tremor out of her voice.

He gives a barely perceptive nod, wrapping his towel around his waist. She waits another moment before dragging her body away from the door and crossing the room to him on her bare feet. She drapes both arms around him, leaning into him as her mouth connects with the bare skin between his neck and his shoulder. He welcomes her embrace, returns her hug – but she can feel something preventing him from completely surrendering, unnoticeable to anyone but her.

"Will you come back to bed?" she requests in a murmur, pulling back slightly to look at his face anxiously.

"Um…" He strokes her bicep with one hand while both her elbows rest on his shoulders. "I think I'm going to watch TV for a while."

"Me too then," she says quickly, only to see him hesitate. "Please, Toby. We can watch whatever you want on Netflix. Or that Game Of Thrones episode we missed. I downloaded it already, it's on my laptop, let me just…"

She's rambling uncontrollably now, sounding increasingly desperate to her own ears, and she's grateful when he stops her by simply pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Okay," he whispers.

He climbs into bed next to her after putting on some underwear, and she balances the laptop on his legs as he settles against the pillows. She crawls against his chest, wrapping an arm across him and repeatedly stroking his bare skin with her thumb as the episode unfolds.

It's her favorite show, but she has a hard time concentrating on the story.

Over the years, Toby has opened up about his history with Jenna, but only slightly, and with long gaps in between. He's spoken of the guilt in believing that he somehow led his stepsister on, simply because he was so desperate for human contact that he'd actually encouraged her company when she and her mother first entered the picture. He's mentioned brokenly how whenever she touched him his heart and soul would react with disgust, but his body would betray him over and over. And he's talked about the extraordinary steps he took to make things better not only for himself, but for Spencer as well.

She'll never forget how he let it slip – over three years after she lost her virginity to him in her room at her parents' house – that in the months leading up to this life-altering event, he'd paid regular visits to Dr. Sullivan without her knowledge.

"You looked at me like I had all the answers," he told her when she stared at him like he was growing a second head, "but I was as much a stranger to consensual sex as you were. All I knew was force, and I was terrified of being too rough with you, of unknowingly hurting you…" He swallowed and didn't continue. "Dr. Sullivan… she really helped me. I mean…" He suddenly looked uncertain. "It was… okay, wasn't it?"

"It was perfect," she promised, suddenly emotional as she reached for his hand, wondering how after all this time he could still have doubts about that. "I mean it. I think if every girl had a first time like I did, the world would be filled with happier women."

Tears sting in her eyes as she remembers this conversation now. She almost forgets sometimes how her sweet, gentle boyfriend is a victim of sexual abuse. He's so well-adjusted and mellow, and his smiles are so genuine, that it just slips her mind.

It's absolutely appalling how she's always taken by surprise by these monsters lurking between his sheets. Just because their own sex life never suffered under his previous abuse – just because he's never been anything but generous, unrestrained and utterly selfless in bed – doesn't mean he's healed. It destroys her how he might never be one hundred percent free of his evil stepsister's reign.

When Spencer hears the familiar cello solo of the famous Game Of Thrones theme, she realizes that, one, the episode has come to its end, and two, she completely zoned out on the second half. But when she looks up to meet Toby's eyes, all her anguish is momentarily forgotten.

His gaze is sincerely peaceful, and when he smiles at her it lights up his already pale eyes. She realizes instantly that he is calm; he is soothed – even if she isn't. He's no longer thinking of all that had hurt him. He's thinking of her and all things good.

He leans in and kisses her – a warm, heartfelt kiss and she wishes irrationally would last forever. He's still smiling when they break apart, and without a word he sets her laptop on the floor and switches off the bedside lamp.

He pulls her against his body, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair. "You're my angel," he murmurs. "You know that, right?"

She doesn't confirm this verbally, but she smiles at him even though her throat tightens. She rests her head against him and closes her eyes before responding, "And you're mine."

It's Cleo who notices the tattoo while they're all sitting on the beach in their swim gear – or rather, she's the first out of their three to take notice of the actual words instead of merely the design.

Free At Last.

Naturally, she wants to know what it means, and soon the other two are chiming in. Spencer has always known this day would come, but somehow she didn't expect it to be so soon. She and Toby have had multiple discussions on the subject, and he even went as far is to confess that back then, if he'd thought there was even the slightest possibility of someone wanting to have children with him someday, he probably would have thought twice about engraving something so permanent into his body.

They don't go into details, because the kids are still much too young for that, and because they can't bear it. But they tell the story of how their father lived in fear of someone, was afraid to speak up and consequently was very unhappy for a long time. So when he finally mustered the courage to stand up for himself, he had the tattoo engrained into his body as a reminder to never let someone have that kind of control over him again.

Their children all agree it's the coolest thing ever, and, satisfied, they don't inquire any further.

But Spencer notices her husband is quieter than usual since returning from their day at the beach. Thankfully the kids don't seem to notice, and so dinner is its usual lively affair. Bedtime wouldn't be bedtime without a little protest, but their trio is so wiped out from sun and laughter that they're out cold before their bedtime story even comes to an end.

She and Toby decide to turn not much later, also beat. She's in bed reading, waiting for him while he does his usual task of making sure the doors and windows are all locked. He stays away longer than usual, and she starts to grow restless, not to mention increasingly lonely.

There was a time she would have yelled for him to get his ass in bed, but with three sleeping children in the house she has no choice but to get up and follow him. She spots him almost instantly, standing in the open doorway of the bedroom where their daughters sleep, and his head is turned in the direction of their son's territory on the opposite side of the hall.

He smiles softly when he sees her and holds out an arm. Her feet carry her over to him without a second thought, and she leans into him, resting her whole weight into the warmth of his strong, solid body. They don't speak, and the only movement is his fingers slowly raking up and down her back.

"Think we did the right thing?" he wonders out loud after a moment. "Telling them about…"

He doesn't need to finish for her to know exactly what he means. She sighs. "It's not like we had much of a choice. We can't shelter them forever."

He nods against her. They both know it isn't over. The day will come when their kids ask more questions, and they will be forced to reveal more devastating answers.

"Knowledge is power," she continues. "If they know, they can protect themselves from falling in the same trap. And we need to give them that protection, Toby. All of them, especially…"

His arms tighten around her. He knows which child she's talking about.

After a few moments of silence, Toby reminisces wistfully, "Remember when they were born?"

And she smiles – because how could she forget that day almost six years ago when they became parents to these three incredible little humans? The day when first Lawrence came into the world, and Spencer fell head over heels in love with him the way every mother falls for her firstborn. He was so strong and healthy and perfect, and to this day remains just a tad taller than the two sisters that would soon follow him.

Cleo was next, and she was a dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty from day one. She took her mother's breath away, and Spencer remembers looking down at her tiny daughter and thinking that life just doesn't get any better than this.

She cried when the nurses took the two babies away, telling her that her third child seemed to be holding out and she should use this time to let her body recuperate as much as possible. At this point, she was so enamored by the two kids she'd already held that she'd completely forgotten there even was a third child. (It was also still quite ridiculous to her that she of all people would get pregnant with triplets. She, who – after a lifetime of struggles with Melissa – had told her husband, "We're having one kid, so it better be a good one.")

She felt a pang of anguish. They already had the most perfect baby boy and the most perfect baby girl imaginable… how could this third baby, this second girl, possibly compete?

A horrible thought struck her, as horrible thoughts have a tendency to do when she is stressed and sleep deprived. What if she didn't love it as much? What if this baby just didn't mean as much to her?

She remembers looking at Toby, who was gazing down at her with wonder in his eyes while running his fingers through her sweaty hair, and feeling a wave of calm wash over her. He would make everything all right. He would make up for all her shortcomings with candy and patience. If she loved it less, he would only love it more.

Before she had time to dwell on it too much, the doctor was telling her to push again. The previous two had come out screaming their tiny lungs out, but this baby only made a few faint gurgling noises. The nurses wrapped her up in a blanket and handed her to Spencer, and when the silent infant opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, all Spencer's previous anxiety instantly melted away. Because instead of the chocolate Hastings eyes she had seen in Lawrence and Cleo, and in all her family members for as long as they had photos, she was met with the bluest blue she could ever imagine. And Spencer felt love at first sight for the third time in her life.

"Most people go through their entire life without ever really finding peace," Toby murmurs, bringing her back to the present. "Happiness is something they feel in between bouts of loneliness and doubt. But I found it." She feels him press a kiss in her hair. "I found it when I was just a stupid kid. And everything before that… it doesn't matter anymore, Spence."

She knows he's talking about the way his life had unraveled when he was just a boy: his mother's depression and subsequent death, his father's complete detachment, Jenna's abuse, being sent away to reform school for something he didn't do, returning to Rosewood as the town pariah, and lastly, the horrendous fallout of being accused of murder.

"If I had to go through all that as compensation for ending up with you, for having this ridiculously happy life with you, then so be it. I'm still a fucking lucky bastard and I know it, okay?"

She laughs a little, grateful for the comic relief amidst his intense words. Blinking back tears, she tells him, "How about we go to bed and I show you lucky?"

"Just a sec, don't move," he instructs as he steps into the girls' room and places one of Cleo's feet back under the covers. In his haste to get back to her, he bangs his knee loudly against the foot of Cleo's bed. He curses under his breath, then checks if either noise awoke their sleeping child. But it isn't Cleo's tiny body that stirs. It's the one belonging to their other daughter on the other side of the room.

"Mommy?" she says, sounding frightened. She sits up, and in the blink of an eye both parents are at her side.

"It's okay, sweet pea," Spencer soothes her, brushing a strand of wispy blond hair away from her breathtakingly blue eyes, still identical to Toby's even in the moonlight. "Just Daddy being clumsy."

Eloise smiles at her father, who nods sheepishly in confirmation, and thankfully doesn't ask what her parents are doing in her room so late at night. Cleo might have asked that question, but Eloise just looks pacified and says, "I'm thirsty."

Toby hands her the plastic cup resting on her bedside table, and they both watch their daughter take a few large gulps. Spencer wonders, not for the first time, what it is about this kid that always breaks down all her defenses. Eloise is the child she worries most over, the one she hugs a little tighter before sending them off into the world every day. She's always had an immense respect for Toby's mother, but it's only since Eloise that she truly identifies with the woman. It's utterly terrifying to have a child that is so sensitive and so softhearted that sometimes they just don't seem cut out for the world they live in.

Marion would have known a little something about that.

"Close your eyes," Spencer says gently, easing the little girl back against her pillow, and Toby drags the covers up to her chin.

"Kisses?" Eloise requests sleepily, and they take turns brushing their lips against her impossibly soft skin. They've barely pulled back before they hear the slow, easy sounds of her breathing – a sure indication that she's fallen back asleep.

Spencer reaches for Toby's hand and wordlessly leads him away. They're kissing before they've even properly made it into the hall.

"Where were we?" she says, biting on his lower lip teasingly. "Oh, yeah. I was going to show you what lucky feels like."

He laughs quietly, and she does too. They have yet to let the kids distract them from their sex life – which is a good thing too, or it would be virtually non-existent.

Instead it's full and satisfying, and him sweeping her feet out from underneath her and walking them both to their bed is only the beginning of what will later undoubtedly become a fond memory.