A/N: First things first. Thank you all for your awesomeness and your reviews. You make me smile on rainy days. Secondly, I did it, guys. I got a Tumblr. Don't expect me to do much greatness with it but several people have asked me now and I kind of wanted to connect more with my anonymous readers. So if you have any questions/comments you can now reach me at Spobyficstalker on Tumblr.

Now, about PLL. I'm not sure Spencer's actions in 5x22 can ever really be justified, but one thing that is evident to me is that she's hurting. Badly. She's way more emotionally removed from Toby than I originally thought. I'm almost positive her stunt with Colin was some kind of mental preparation to let him go. She wants to start over in London, away from the pain in Rosewood and away from Toby because right now he is part of that pain. (Those of you that know me know I'm in no way trying to throw Toby under the bus. I'm appalled at the things I've read on him and saddened that many fans don't seem to feel much loyalty towards him.)

Anyway. This whole mess got me thinking: what if Spencer did manage to secure that interview at St. Andrew's? What if 5x24 never happens? What if the silence that's been going on between them since 5x20 lasts until Spencer moves to London in a final, desperate attempt to put him in the past? Right now, it doesn't seem that farfetched to me. Please allow me to take you along in this scenario.

And If We…

And when you kiss me like this

And when I touch you like that

And if you do it like this

And if we…

- It's All Coming Back To Me Now, Celine Dion

When she arrives in London it's cold and rainy, which is a sharp contrast to the deadly hot temperatures she left behind in Pennsylvania. The humidity had been stifling, but Spencer discovers she doesn't find much solace in the London rain either.

Unlike last time, Melissa picks her up and the airport. Spencer listens to her sister ramble enthusiastically about how happy she is that Spencer is here, how she will show her around the city, how they'll make up for lost time. Spencer smiles and nods along but deep down she wonders if it's even possible to make up for eighteen years of living on two separate planets.

She stays with Melissa, Wren and Colin for a few days before moving into her dorm at St. Andrew's. Her roommate is a shockingly bubbly British girl by the name of Daisy. She's full of questions about America and Hollywood, Spencer ends up calling it an early night, claiming she has a headache.

Classes start up in late August. She is grateful. She is eager to let her mind do some heavy lifting again, in a way that she hasn't been in a long time. She feels that drive she used to feel, that drive to always be the best at everything. She is determined to be just that – not for her parents or Melissa, she insists. For herself.

It doesn't occur to her that she might just be putting band-aids over old wounds.

Colin takes her out a few times. To a Shakespeare production that she actually approves of this time, and to the British Museum, and to a concert at Wigmore Hall. She has a feeling he's taking pointers from Melissa. She doesn't mind – not really, anyway. She takes pleasure in his company.

They go on double dates with Wren and Melissa. It's a little awkward, but Spencer tells herself to take the high road. She pretends not to notice when Wren's eyes linger on her a little too long to be friendly. So does Melissa. Colin actually genuinely seems oblivious to it. It all works out fine.

She hears from the girls from time to time. They're all scattered across the United States. She misses them ferociously; yet at the same time it's a relief not to have to speak to them on a daily basis. She loves them like they're her own flesh and blood but they remind her of the awful times she isn't ready to confront yet. In a way she's glad they're so far away.

She has dreams of faceless hooded phantoms, and wakes up screaming and drenched in sweat. Her roommate is angelically sweet and supportive about it. Daisy fetches her water, stays by her bedside until her heartbeat is back normal and tries her very best not to look hurt when Spencer purses her lips and refuses to talk about her night terrors.

She has dreams about Him, as well. They always go the same way. He's there with his blue eyes and strong arms. He smiles that smile that grounds her, stabilizes her, calms her. He holds her close, breathes her in, tells her she's never alone, not even for a second. Then he releases her and wordlessly walks away. She cries and screams and pleads for him not to leave, but he does anyway.

She lies there for minutes after she wakes up, tears flooding her eyes, hating herself for still remembering what his lips felt like on her skin and his fingers in her hair. In these moments, she wishes she could just lay down her life and die.

She doesn't go home to Rosewood for Christmas. She just can't bear it. Her parents seem to understand, and her mother comes to London instead. They have turkey – just the four of them: she, her mother, Melissa and Wren. Everyone is amicable. There are no major disasters.

In January she passes her first set of exams with flying colors. Her parents are thrilled, and even Melissa's pride seems heartfelt.

"I knew coming here was the right thing for you," her sister tells her. "It was good for you to get away from all that drama in Rosewood so you can focus on what's really important."

"Yes, Melissa," she sighs. "You're always right."

Colin takes her out a few nights later to celebrate. He treats her to dinner and invites her back to the apartment afterwards for a movie. Melissa and Wren are away visiting his parents in Surrey, so they have the place all to themselves. Colin's arm wraps around her shoulder as they watch the screen. His fingers caress her arm. Soon, he's kissing her.

She lets him. She enjoys it, even. She enjoys the physical closeness. She enjoys feeling desirable. She enjoys feeling like she matters to someone. She tells herself it's healthy to enjoy all this. She tells herself she's moving on.

But when his hands graze her thighs to push her dress over her head, she freezes. She pulls back, feeling suddenly trapped.

"Colin…" She tries to catch her breath. "I can't. I… I'm not ready. I'm sorry..."

He sighs and nods slowly, releasing her. This isn't the first time this has happened, and she wonders how long he'll be so understanding. They can't all be like Him.

Colin asks a question he's never asked before. "Will this be your first time? Is that why you're reluctant?"

She considers lying, but in the end simply can't muster the energy to do it. She shakes her head and avoids eye contact. She wants to give more of an explanation but she doesn't think the vocabulary exists to describe the complexities she is feeling.

She stays quiet, and Colin speaks instead. "Toby, right?"

She swears her heart stops as she looks at him sharply. She hasn't heard His name, or spoken it, in months. Not since coming to London.

She feels the sting of betrayal that obviously Colin has conversed about this with Melissa behind her back, but it isn't her most dominant emotion. Mostly she's just numb.

"Did he hurt you?"

Colin's voice penetrates the fog around her mind, and she finds herself shaking her head despite the fact that she has no desire to discuss this with him. "No. Nothing like that."

"I didn't mean physically."

This causes her to look at him. She's silent for a long time before admitting, "Yes. But not in the way you think."

She can tell he wants to know more but she can't bring herself to go into detail. She asks him to take her home not long after. She knows their night is ruined, and in all honesty she just wants to crawl in bed and pretend the whole thing never happened.

A terrifying thought hits her as they drive through the once again sodden streets of London in silence. She wonders if her life will always be like this.

Aria visits in March. Spencer meets her at Heathrow and they embrace tightly as a few tears leak from her eyes. She can't remember the last time she felt this happy.

They spend the next week touring every square inch of London. Aria is impressed by the culture, architecture and numerous museums, and can't stop gushing about what it must be like to live in a city as grand as this one.

"I can see why you like it here," she says while they have ice cream at the London Bridge.

A few days later they're at little café in South London, sipping cocktails when Aria suddenly asks, "So? How's single life?"

She nearly chokes on her straw in surprise. "I wouldn't know," she says slowly. "I have Colin."

"Oh." Aria raises her eyebrows. "So that's serious then?"

She opens her mouth to answer but nothing comes out. Aria clearly senses she hit a sore spot because her voice becomes soft and mild.

"It's just… you haven't really mentioned him. I guess I thought…" She checks Spencer's face and shakes her head, her voice becoming a little more cheery. "Never mind. How's Colin?"

"He's fine." Spencer smiles and forces herself to meet her tiny friend's eyes.

"Can I meet him?" Aria presses on.

For some reason this makes Spencer uncomfortable. "I guess. If you really want to."

Aria covers Spencer's hand on the table. "I know it's hard, moving on. Believe me, I know. But we're doing all right. I really believe that."

In the moment, Spencer does, too.

It's one of those days. She hides under her covers, refuses to get out of bed, can't be bothered to eat. She stares in front of her blankly. The world outside seems dark and empty.

She hears the sounds of Daisy, her roommate, tiptoeing into her room. "Spencer," she whispers. "I made you some soup."

She closes her eyes, thinking that if she pretends the girl isn't there she might actually go away. Eventually Daisy just sighs and sits down on Spencer's bed, placing a hand on her back.

"Maybe you should talk to someone," she suggests carefully. "A therapist, I mean. This isn't healthy, Spencer. I'm worried for you."

Spencer simply drags the covers over her head and remains silent.

She and Colin have a quiet night in with Wren and Melissa. There's a rainstorm outside, and so far they've played Pictionary and Charades to pass the time. Melissa suddenly appears with a game that makes Spencer's blood run cold.

"Spencer's awesome at this," she informs the men, thrusting the Scrabble board on the coffee table. "You'd better bring your A game if you want to stand a chance at beating her."

Spencer swallows hard. "I'm not playing that," she says quietly.

Her sister looks surprised and laughs a little. "But it's your favorite." She turns back to Wren and Colin, telling them humorously, "The summer she was ten she followed me around the house begging me to play with her until I–"

"Melissa," Spencer warns in a low voice. "Put it away. I'm not playing it."

She feels three pairs of eyes on her, trying to read her, trying to decipher her bizarre behavior. She excuses herself to go to the bathroom and places her wrists under cold running water.

In the summer, she sees not only Rosewood but also Hanna and Emily for the first time in almost a year. She's happy to see her girls, and even Rosewood doesn't seem as suffocating as it did when she left.

Hanna and Emily seem to have it together, and Spencer is glad for them. In a way she feels the three girls are like her children. She would sacrifice her own happiness for theirs in a heartbeat.

She avoids the Brew for a few weeks, until it hits her that she's known all along that He isn't there anymore. She doesn't know where he is, but she knows beyond any shred of doubt that it isn't Rosewood.

She almost asks Emily a few times. She wonders if they still keep in touch. After all, he was Emily's friend before he was hers.

But she doesn't. She hopes that one day she'll be able to remember Him without feeling like every bone in her body is broken. Maybe some day she'll have that… but for now it's too soon.

She enjoys the summer with her friends.

In September, only few weeks after her return to London, she and Colin go their separate ways. It doesn't really come as a surprise to her. She knows she didn't – couldn't – give him what he needed from their relationship, both physically and emotionally, and if she's honest with herself she suspects he found someone who did while she was in Rosewood for the summer. Even this doesn't spark much anger or hurt in her. She really can't blame him for giving up.

She goes out more, parties more. Daisy is only too happy to take her along on nightly adventures. She meets a lot of jerks but also a few genuinely nice guys, and lets herself enjoy one or two of them. When they push for more than a drunken make-out session she subtly recuses herself. She's perfectly happy just to have friends and make out with strangers.

It still happens that darkness claims her. On these days her limbs seem so heavy that it seems like they're made of lead. Even getting up to use the bathroom feels like climbing Everest. She alternates between sleeping and staring at the wall.

On one of these days in late November, Melissa suddenly shows up at her dorm.

"Spencer?" she says, shaking her sister's shoulder. "Come on. It's time to get up and shower."

Vaguely, it occurs to her that Daisy must have finally become desperate enough to call Melissa, despite Spencer's warnings never to do so when she was in one of these moods.

Spencer simply does that thing where she shuts her eyes and blocks out the world around her. As usual, Melissa has very little patience for imperfection.

"Seriously, Spencer. If Mom could see you right now she'd have a coronary."

On an ordinary day a comment like this would have the power to hurt her, but today it goes in one ear and out the other. There are far more terrible things in the world than a disappointed parent.

"Is this about Colin?" Melissa shifts a little, dropping her bag to the floor. "I'm sure you can work it out. He's still crazy about you, you know."

Spencer wants to scream. She wants to hurl something at her sister and scream and scream until her voice is raw.

When Melissa speaks next her voice is uncommonly soft. "Or is it about someone else?"

It's as if someone has plucked the string holding her heart together, and it's more painful than anything she has experienced in months. Before she knows it, her ears fill with her own guttural sob.

She goes home for Christmas this year. She celebrates with her father, his new girlfriend and her kids. There is surprisingly little drama and she finds herself hoping her father won't royally screw it up this time.

Emily is the only one of her friends who is in Rosewood over the holidays. Aria is with her mother, who has moved to Baltimore, and Hanna decided she wanted sun for Christmas and went to Hawaii with Caleb.

She and Emily spend almost every waking moment together, but it's only the day before she's set to return to London that she suddenly finds herself asking, "Do you still hear from Toby?"

She tries His name out on her lips. She can't remember the last time she spoke it.

Emily looks taken aback but not entirely surprised, and shakes her head. "He packed up and left a few weeks after you moved to London last year. He said he didn't know where he was going yet. I begged him to stay in touch but I think I always knew he wouldn't. It was as if he couldn't stand to look at anything that reminded him of you."

Spencer stares out in front of her, letting it all sink in. Emily hesitates before speaking quietly, "If you miss him, there's nothing stopping you from tracking him down. The only problems you guys ever had was because of -A. Now that that's all over there's no reason why you can't start over."

But she shakes her head. "I don't think you understand what being with him was like for me." She looks out the window now, focusing on a tree in the distance to distract herself from thinking too deeply about what she's saying. "Sometimes it felt like my entire existence depended on him. I had no control over my mental state – that was all in his hands. And I know he always meant well. That was the problem: he meant too well. He wanted to fix everything for me but in the meantime he forgot that I was lost and unsteady without him. I just… I'm not ready to be that vulnerable again."

Emily scoots closer and rests her head on Spencer's shoulder. "Okay."

She wonders.

It's like a parasite on her brain now, this pondering about what it would feel like to see him again after all this time. Not to kiss him, or hug him, or sleep in his arms – she can't let herself go that far – but just to see him. His brilliant blue eyes and his gentle smile and his big, sturdy hands. She realizes she can still see all of him when she closes her eyes.

She finds herself distracted from her schoolwork for the first time since she started at St. Andrew's. Her mind drifts off when she's in study sessions or even out with friends. There's a restlessness in her that wasn't there before. She knows all too well that it isn't peace that this unrest is replacing.

It's more like she's finally coming out of a heavy sedation only to realize she's still alive.

She's very consciously aware that it's probably a terrible idea, but she finds herself searching the web at all hours just the same. She finally meets with one of London's most prominent private investigators a few weeks later, still wondering what the hell she's doing.

The P.I. asks for His full name, his birth date, his parents' names. She knows all this by heart still, but when the man asks for a photo she is stumped. She has none. Everything of His she left behind in the States – in the attic of one of their summerhouses, to be exact. She would eat her own arm before she asked anyone to mail it to her.

She checks her phone but knows beforehand she won't find anything. She wiped her hard drive clean of him months ago. Finally, at three in the morning, she finds a photo in an old email that Aria sent her over two years ago. It was a picture of them on the one and only Christmas they spent together. His leg is broken and she sits on the side of his wheelchair and his arm is wrapped around her. Despite the fact that she is out of bail for a murder charge, they look so blissfully happy.

The irony is not lost on her when she cuts herself out of the photo. In fact, it's like a cold shower. What is she doing? Does she really want to go back there? Hand her happiness and sanity over to His mercy and hope he's careful with it this time?

She doesn't make contact with the P.I. again for weeks. She can't. The picture of Him lies hidden away in the bottom drawer of her desk. She tells herself not to look at it; and she doesn't. Not even in the middle of the night when she can't sleep. For a while, she has herself convinced that she had a momentary lapse in judgment but she's fine now. She can get on with her life.

It doesn't last. She remembers things she'd forgotten, or had repressed. The way he would rub her shoulders after a long, hard day. The way he made her laugh without even trying. The way she let herself be loved so completely by another person, and loved back with equal vigor.

They way she had once thought of him as her safe place to land, her once upon a time.

When she calls her P.I. he asks if she's certain she wants to follow through. He says it will cost her a shitload of money and she should reconsider if she's not completely behind it. But she's sure this time. She knows there's a possibility she might never do anything with the information, but she it's crystal clear to her that she wants to know where He is.

Months and months go by. There are times when she's nearly certain the P.I. has forgotten all about her, and Him, but then she receives an email with an update. She manages to get Him off her mind long enough to do well on her exams in May. In all honesty, they're an entirely welcome distraction. She receives news from the P.I. that he's started his search outside of the US, and feels almost unnerved that she's not more surprised. Wherever He went after he fled Rosewood, it was not within the borders of the United States.

The phone call finally comes in early August, while she's in Rosewood over summer break. It's the middle of the night for her, but when she sees her P.I.'s name on the caller ID her heart starts hammering in her chest.

"He's in South Africa."

She blinks and repeats stupidly, "South Africa?"

"Yes. A small village not too far away from Cape Town. He's building houses for the poor."

Her heart jerks painfully. That sounds exactly like Him. "Have you spoken to him?"

"No," he informs her gently. "You asked me not to approach. I respected your wishes."

"But you've seen him."

"Yes."

"What does he look like?" She hears the longing in her own voice and it frightens her.

The P.I.'s answer is neutrally rational. "Like the photo. A little rougher around the edges, maybe."

She agonizes for days. She hasn't told anyone about her search to find Him. She isn't sure why. All she knows is she doesn't want anyone else's input. She doesn't want anyone to try and convince to her either way. She wants to figure out for herself. She's stuck between a rock and a hard place, but she wants to break herself free without anyone's help.

It's mid August when she flies out of Philadelphia. On the plane she inwardly questions the wisdom of her decision, if only for safety reasons. Not a soul in the world knows where she is. Her parents and friends all think she's headed back to London, while Melissa and Daisy have no reason to suspect she won't be in Rosewood for another two weeks.

Yet, she quenches down all this sanity and common sense. There's a fire inside her. A fierce desire to see Him that is stronger and much more tangible than the voice of reason she has been taught to build her life on.

She has traveled non-stop for almost two whole days when her eyes finally have the pleasure of feasting on Him. She hasn't gotten much sleep – partly because of her journey and partly out of anticipation – but all this is forgotten when she gets her first glimpse of Toby Cavanaugh in over two years. He hasn't spotted her, and she allows herself the luxury of observing him unnoticed.

The last time they spoke he'd been in his cop uniform, his eyes uncharacteristically void of emotion as he told her repeatedly to walk away. Now he's in jeans, his bare torso tan and sweaty as he works under the harsh South African sun. His hair is as long as she's ever seen it and blonder than she remembers, probably bleached by natural sunlight. A scruff sticks to his jaw and chin, and oh God – he's so beautiful.

She wondered beforehand if she would take one look at him and run all the way back to London, but now the opposite is true. She's drawn to him, and her sandaled feet move towards him without second thought. He's so busy chopping wood that he doesn't notice her until she's standing almost directly in front of him.

For a moment it's as if time stops. She wouldn't be able to utter any words even if she could think of any, and instead she just finds herself smiling shakily at him. She almost can't believe it when he smiles back, and how…? How is it possible that after all this time his eyes still soften when he sees her?

He drops his tools, informs his buddies that he's taking his break. They go for a walk across the gorgeous South African landscape.

"So… how are you, Spence?"

It's the most natural question in the world, yet it takes her completely by surprise. So far, he's shown her around the village and their conversation has been similar to what it would have been if they spoke yesterday.

She nods. "I'm okay."

The sun catches in his blue, blue eyes. "You still in London?"

"Yeah," she confirms. "St. Andrew's. I'm supposed to start my third year in a few weeks."

He smiles, almost like he approves. "Good for you. Do you like London? Do you like your school?" His voice goes quiet, plaintive. "Are you happy?"

She dodges the question, and he notices. His hand grasps her elbow, and it's as if electricity shoots through her veins at the touch of his bare skin on hers. They stop walking and regard each other.

"Why did you come here?" he asks equally softly.

There is no easy answer to this, and he must know that. She digs deep with in her soul and gives the only response she feels certain is true. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to know you were all right."

He watches her, and his eyes hold her even if his arms do not. "Is that all?"

She shrugs and shakes her head. She doesn't know. They're so different now. They're so far apart. Once upon a time they had both hated Rosewood, but it had been what brought them together. They don't have that anymore. They live in two completely different worlds with nothing that overlaps.

He changes the subject. "Can I take you to dinner tonight?"

She lets out a slow breath, smiles and nods.

He picks her up at the hostel she's staying at in a truck that is eerily similar to the once she once bought him, and together they drive into the night.

"There's not much to do around here," he warns her jokingly, but she can hear the underlying insecurity in his voice.

"That's okay." She eyes him, thinking that he has to know she didn't come all this way to see a village.

They settle at a small bistro he's clearly familiar with. The owners greet him with warmth, and their young daughter comes running to give him a hug. Spencer's heart clenches as she watches him squeeze the child to him affectionately. It's unbelievably gratifying to know he finally lives in a place where he is loved and appreciated.

They sip wine, feast on delicious food and laugh beneath the stars. He wants to know everything about London, and she finds that other than the usual stuff she doesn't really have much to tell him. It makes her wonder – what has she done in the past two years besides go to class, study and engage in the occasional night out? Why hasn't she taken more advantage of living on of the world's most eventful cities? Why hasn't she tried to live a little harder?

"You know," he suddenly speaks up, his finger fiddling with the corner of a napkin resting on the table. "When I asked you to walk away that night… I didn't mean permanently. I always thought we'd find our way back to each other after the whole thing was over with. But it never happened."

She tenses. The truth is that if someone had told her then that it would be the end of them she wouldn't have believed it either. Time, however, told a different story.

She knows it's on her. He stayed away permanently for the sole reason that he sensed she wanted it that way. It breaks her heart that to this day he doesn't know why.

"I was so mad at you," she confesses, still hearing the hurt in her own voice even after so long. "I was so, so, so mad at you."

"Why?" he asks carefully, his eyes open and vulnerable. "I was trying to protect you in the only way I knew how."

"I know. That's the reason I was so mad." At his confused look, she elaborates. "I was furious with you for doing that to me again where you got so obsessed with keeping me safe that you didn't notice I was crumbling. I knew it wasn't all your fault, and I hated myself for not being stronger but it got to a point where I couldn't take it anymore, Toby. I couldn't take needing you like that when I wasn't sure you'd be there to catch me. So I ran away. All the way to London."

He nods, his gaze saddened but accepting. She knows he understands running away. She finally does, too.

"And now?" he queries softly.

"Now…" She sighs deeply, searching for her words. "I've realized it's no use. I can't arm myself against you. And I don't want to anymore."

He reaches across the table and covers her hand, and when she looks up she sees he has tears in his eyes.

"For what it's worth," he tells her gruffly, "I'm sorry."

"I know." She holds his hand in both of her own.

It's astounding how much damage can be done with only the best intentions. They both know this and they leave it at that.

Later, he shows her around his place, as per her request. It's a tiny bungalow – not much more than a hut, really. There's a small living space, an even smaller kitchen, a bathroom and a bedroom. No more than that. She realizes he doesn't need more than that.

She recognizes shockingly little from his loft back in Rosewood. It's as if he literally left everything behind to start anew here.

She's always had a healthy sense of curiosity, and she takes her time exploring the place, knowing he won't mind. He stands back and watches her almost amusedly. When she's at the door of the bedroom she hesitates slightly, but he nods her inside.

It's surprisingly bare. No pictures, nothing on the walls, barely any furniture – just a queen-sized bed, a small wardrobe and a bedside table. But then something small and shiny catches her eye. She walks over to the tiny wooden nightstand, her mind blank as she reaches for the golden pocket watch. Wordlessly, she opens it and even though she knows what's inside she still gasps slightly when she reads the words.

She turns to him only to find that he's approached her. He's standing right by her with a look of defenselessness, of exposure, painted all over his features. He takes the watch from her without a sound and pulls open the drawer to the nightstand, placing it inside with a care that floors her.

She can tell he's going to move away from her again but she reaches out and grabs his wrist. And before she knows it he's kissing her, or she's kissing him, or they're both kissing each other. Her body fits perfectly between his arms. It's the kind of kiss that makes her wonder why she ever bothered with anyone else.

They make love beneath the sheets of his bed – not once, not twice, but over and over. This, she never tried with anyone else. It always felt much too intimate to do with anyone but him.

In between rounds they lie spent in each other's arms, and her fingers follow the contours of his soft, naked flesh.

"You're so much browner than I am now," she notices as she compares their skin tones. "We used to be the same but now I look like a ghost compared to you."

"You're beautiful," he counters, his voice almost reverent as his thumb trails her collarbone. "I saw the world before I ended up here but I never saw anything as beautiful as you."

It's hours and several more rounds of lovemaking and soft laughter later before she's finally able to admit, "I love you, Toby Cavanaugh. With all my heart and soul, I love you."

He kisses her shoulder and her neck and behind her ear. "I love you, too. So much."

"Way too much," she murmurs in agreement.

He pulls back to smile at her wistfully. "Maybe we love each other way too much."

And she smiles back even though she feels her heart constrict painfully. Maybe that's their problem. Maybe that was their biggest fucking problem all along.

The sun is coming up in the east when he suddenly says quietly, "Spencer. You have to go back to London to finish your degree before we can even think about us again."

"I don't have to do anything," she disagrees lightly.

"But you've worked so hard. I don't want to be responsible for–"

"Toby," she cut him off. "You are not going to do this again. It's my life. I respect your opinion, but at the end of the day it's my call. If I go back, it's going to be because I want to and not because it's what you think is best for me."

She can tell how hard this is for him. He's always been willing to put her above their relationship, and when she isn't it goes against his instincts.

"Just know that I'll support you," he says eventually, his eyes serious and sincere. "I'll be there for you in whatever way you want, for however long you want."

She smiles and rolls over so she's on top of him, lowering her lips to his longingly. She delights in the way his scruff tickles her face.

"Thank you," she speaks softly. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear."

She's twenty-five now. She doesn't know where the past five years have gone.

When she and Toby first found each other again, she didn't leave South Africa for months. She wanted to take all the time they needed and then some to rebuild their relationship, to fix what had been broken in the small, dark hole that was Rosewood, Pennsylvania. She knew it was the most important thing she would ever do in her life and she wanted to get it right. For the first time ever, she made her own happiness her first priority.

In January, she returned to London and to her academics, and it was one of the hardest things she has ever done. Being that far away from him was excruciating, even with the emails and texts and getting up at 4 a.m. to skype; even with them flying back and forth to see each other as often as circumstances would allow considering they lived half a world away from each other. In her darkest hours she would wonder if it was really worth it, if maybe if would be less painful if they made a clean break… but then she would remember the years without him. She would remember the perpetual daze she was in, the hollowness that plagued her on the good days and the depression that consumed her on the bad. Gradually, she learned what she suspects he knew all along – that having small parts of each other was aching and strenuous, but still infinitely better than not having each other at all.

He came to her graduation, and it was the last time he ever made the journey alone. She flew back to South Africa with him a few weeks later, and they have not been apart longer than a day since then.

She started a school after settling down with him. A small schoolhouse that is a safe harbor for the children of the village, where she teaches them English and tries to create a fun learning environment for them. It's not something she ever would have pictured herself doing a few years back, but now it's rewarding beyond anything she could have imagined.

Meanwhile, Toby took a break from his own good deeds to build them a magnificent house on one of the hills. She still can't believe it when she looks around sometimes, that this is her life now.

They are not married, or have any concrete plans to do so. It doesn't bother her. She knows it would have been important to her before but now she feels content just to have him, savor him and the life they have built. They don't need a piece of paper to tell them they have promised each other forever.

She stands now, on the back porch of their house, overlooking the valley, the wind in her hair. She thinks she may finally have found some peace.

She startles when she feels a pair of strong hands slide around her from behind. She didn't hear him come in. His body engulfs her and she doesn't turn to look at him; she simply leans back and allows him to hold her weight, closing her eyes in pleasure when his face buries into her neck.

"How's my girl?" Toby mumbles, brushing his lips against her cheek. Her skin is as tan as his now.

She smiles and her fingers stroke his bare arms. "Always better when you're here."

His hands roam her round, protruding belly, almost like he wants to support its heaviness. "And how is my son or daughter?"

"Kicking the living daylights out of me."

The both chuckle. They stay in their current position and he sways them gently back in forth in the breeze, watching the majestic South African sunset and contemplating their future.