a/n: hi, i wrote an alternative ending for 3B/3x24. It is #3 of my 100 prompt challenge. Aka, Endings.
"If our hearts are never broken and there’s no joy in the mending.
There’s so much this hurt can teach us both."
When the words left Mona’s lips—those lips that have held so many of her secrets, both bad and good—a sudden hope filled her. Hope, her worst enemy. The thing that never fails to fail her.
It was a simple question. Was she willing to put Toby before her friends? Toby, who broke her heart? Toby whose love could possibly be a mirage? Who was dead a few days ago, and wrenching her whole being? Proving that there is no limit to being broken? Even when you are shattered into millions of pieces already?
She likes to think she isn’t that shallow. Isn’t that pathetic. That somewhere, deep down, past all her insecurities, flaws, and damage, that there is a glimpse of Spencer Hastings left inside her. Spencer Hastings whom once mocked the hopeless romantics of the world. Spencer Hastings, the person who always put her friends first. Spencer Hastings, the strong, perfect, girl, who never failed in her mission.
But as much as she wishes she was that person, she is not. That person died when Toby “died.” He killed her, just as she thought she killed him. And she should resurrect with him, right? That’s how it should work?
If only she actually believed he was alive. If only she could see him; his chest moving up and down, his bright eyes blinking, his lips twitching into that boyish smile that always put butterflies in her stomach.
She is conflicted. Because seeing Toby—alive— would put her back together. Even if this whole thing they had—whatever the hell it was—was a lie, it would bring her back to the Spencer Hastings she knew before.
Seeing is believing.
She says yes to Mona.
She will not betray the girls. She won’t. In her selfishness, she will try to remain loyal. She’ll work against Mona. She’ll team up with her friends. She’ll make it work.
But putting on the black hoodie—it feels like the biggest betrayal of them all.
But she has to see him. She has to know he is alive because she doesn’t know how much longer she can last.
She wanted to die when she saw him laying there. Die!
He loves me, he loves me not.
She took him for granted when he was around…and hers. She lied, and even though she did it to protect him, she felt like she was just being selfish with that. Selfish because she wanted to have that normalcy. She wanted Toby to remain in the dark, so he could keep being her light, but it turns out that he was the one blowing out the torch.
It doesn’t seem likely that Toby “loves” her. Because how could he? After everything. If he was –A, he had to have seen the destruction. There was no way he was blinded to the way she completed unfolded—utterly erupted, and imploded, at the notion of him being “dead.”
If he loved her, he wouldn’t let her believe that. He would have reached out to her—done something!
But at the same time, how could he fake all that? Everything? It was so real…so raw, and legit. His touch was so gentle. His looks, so sincere. His love, so deep.
Dammit, she was crying again.
She hated him. She hated him so much. He hurt her so bad. And they have had fights. He has hurt her (rarely) but, he was always there after to hold her. He held her in his arms, and kissed her forehead, soothing her with simple words and soft affection. But he didn’t do that this time. He wasn’t there for her. He was gone. She was all alone, the hurt consuming her, until she was nothing, but broken, jagged pieces.
She hated him.
But she craved his love.
She craved him to beg for her forgiveness.
She craved him.
So, she does what Mona says. She betrays her best friend, all while coming up with a plan to make it up to her—to all her best friends. She comes up with a plan, and puts it into action, and is rewarded in doing so. She gets to see Toby—on Friday.
But that is too far away. And she is planning another scheme—one Mona is not involved in, one that will uncover all the secrets that lies between Mona and Redcoat (hopefully.) She needs to see Toby, now.
So, she comes up with another plan.
Why is it that she is so much better at playing the villain, than the hero?
She waits at a booth, sitting in her –A get-up, wondering how she ended up here. When it all got so fucked up that she was wearing the clothes only the devil could fit into? How did it all get so bad?
Someone—Toby—sits across from her. But it still doesn’t feel like it is him. He still feels dead. She still sees him in the forest—the tattoo, the crashed bike. It all still seems present, and suddenly she falls back into that moment. Only for a second, but she is back. Back to it all—to the pain of seeing him—her Toby, who was maybe never even hers—gone away to another life.
“Hanna got the job,” the man across from her states.
And her heart skips a beat because it is him. It is Toby. It is his voice—his voice that spoke words of promise and love, and lies. It is Toby. The boy who beat her in scrabble. Her safe place to land. The owner of her heart. It is him. It is really him. He may sound hollow—sound as if he wishes he were dead, but he is not. He is alive. He is here.
“I know,” she raises her head to look at him, swallowing every ounce of emotion she has.
His eyes widen—those eyes that linger on the lightest shade of blue—those eyes that promised love and truth.
“Spencer,” the word runs off his tongue in a vague tone. A vague, emotionless tone.
“When I was in Radley, Mona told me you were alive…but I couldn’t believe it until now…” she states, her voice wavering—insecurities breaking through her weak walls.
Something washes over him. Something that almost seems like sadness. He looks down.
“It’s—complicated,” the words break on the way out of his mouth.
She sniffles, “you’re alive. You faked your death!” she exclaims in a rasp, feeling her eyes well up. She recoils into herself, her body becoming tense.
“It wasn’t me!” he fights back. “I didn’t—I didn’t know. I knew after,” he throws back words weakly.
She stares at him, wishing that she could just be strong. That she could hold herself together, but it isn’t possible. It isn’t even close to being possible. So much has happened. The last time she saw him, he was in her kitchen, sporting a black hoodie and rummaging through her kitchen drawers. So much hurt has consumed her. She has succumbed to darkness.
“We can’t talk about this here,” he quickly states. “Does Mona know you’re here?” he asks in a whisper.
“No…she has no idea.”
“Spencer, this isn’t safe...” he beckons, his voice quiet. “I know somewhere we can talk,” he offers. “You just have to trust me,” he pleas.
“Trust you?” the words leap off her throat in a pang of despair and loss. “Do you have any idea--,” she begins in a fuss of emotions. She sniffles, “why should I trust you? You’re –A. You’re working with Mona—,”
“To protect you,” his voice finds her in the pit of darkness. “I know that it looks bad, but you just…you have to believe me.”
“I want to,” she admits in a tender, broken voice. “But…” she looks away, feeling like she will burst into tears in any second.
“What we had was real,” he states firmly. “I need you to believe me…and to follow me,” he tells her, his voice stern.
He gets up, and begins to walk towards the door.
And hesitantly she follows.
He leads her to some dingy motel. He tells her that he has been living in motels for the past couple weeks, moving in and out of them like a nomad. And it seems fitting for him, because he is always running. Even though he hates it, he is always going the other direction—always furthering himself from the harsh reality that surrounds him.
He passes her a cup of coffee, and their hands accidentally brush. Sparks run up her in an instant. She missed these sparks. Sure, there was something with Wren…but it wasn’t the same. He will never be Toby. No one will ever be Toby.
“Why did you do this Spencer?” he asks after a long, drawn out, silence.
He sits on the bed, and she leans against a wall, her coffee cup heating her cold hands. She stares at the black liquid, the sweet scents of its contents running up her nostrils, “Mona told me she would let me see you…if I followed her rules…” she confesses. Why is she the one answering questions? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? “I had to kidnap a seven year old,” she breathes, the guilt washing off of her as the words sweep past her tongue. “I broke up Aria and Ezra, so…I’ve earned her trust,” she says, disgust in her voice.
Toby doesn’t say anything, so she continues, “you’re supposed to be my reward for delivering the girls.”
“How did you find me?”
“Mona has a lot of equipment,” Spencer says listlessly. “It wasn’t that hard. I just had to get into her lair alone.”
She sets the coffee down on the small table next to her, and walks in front of Toby, staring down at him, almost scared to open her mouth. “Why did you do it?” her small voice flows into the air.
“I told you, I wanted to protect you,” he states, his jaw clenching at he speaks. “I knew something was up—you’re not that great of a liar.”
“But apparently you are,” the words move past her mouth, coolly. “You said what we had was real, but if that’s true—how could you,” she inhales sharply, staring away, “how could you just watch me fall apart,” the heavy words tumble out of her frowning lips. “If I saw you…hurting, like I know you saw me,” she clenches her eyes shut, shaking her head, feeling her throat closing on her.
“I know,” his heavy, raspy voice echoes off the walls, and into her ears. “I know…” he states again, rising up to his feet.
He tries to take her hands, but she flees from his touch, clasping her hand to her chest. She opens up her eyes, and stares up at him through the blur of salt and despair. He has tears of his own, dark circles, too. He looks almost as worn out as her. Almost.
“Spencer, I just…I worry about you. I…the thought of losing you…I just…can’t,” he shakes his head, his eyes pleading her. To do what…she isn’t sure.
“I understand…you…joining the –A team…I mean, I did the same thing, but…” she sighs. Her brown eyes wavering against his, “you...broke me.”
“I know,” he looks down. Swallowing, the words scramble out of his mouth, “I broke me, too.”
She wished so much pain on Toby throughout the last few weeks. She wished death on him at one point. Of course, she didn’t actually want that (clearly.) But she had wished it. She had craved revenge. She desired to see him in a state of torment. To see him break, and fall, and shrivel. But, right now, seeing him—hearing his voice break, and eyes swell—it hurts her. It pains her to see this emotion of despair from him. He has caused her so much terrible suffering, but yet, seeing him suffer only breaks her more.
“Do you love me, Toby?” she asks, sniffling, swallowing another sob, feeling her cheeks cover with dew.
She asks because she has to hear the words.
She has to hear those three, overly used, words.
Even though he implied it…even if he said that they were real…she has to hear the words directly.
His eyes sync with hers—his eyes that shine brighter through his tears; his sad, tragic, beautiful eyes. “So much,” he declares. “I know it may not seem like it. And maybe you don’t even believe me. But, I…I do. I love you more than you know. More than I can probably ever prove…” he professes, salt and pain running down his face.
A bittersweet, tiny, smile rises up on her face, “I just…I needed to hear that…” she confesses.
“I really love you, Spencer,” he says it again, a strain in his voice. “I just…needed to say it again,” he breathes. “I love you.”
And then she breaks down. Carelessly—freely, and openly. And when his apprehensive arms coil around her, she doesn’t pull away or push him off. No, she accepts it. She embraces it. She needs it because she is already so fallen apart. She cannot lose anymore of herself.
Apologies soothe her to a lull, and suddenly they are sitting on the bed. She is leaning into him, her hands wrapped around him in a possessive matter, her head in his chest, in his sweet smelling shirt. Toby loves her. Her Toby—the only man she has ever loved, the only person who has every really understood her, the one she has given herself fully to—loves her. She feels bliss at the thought, after everything. After it all, he loves her. He loves her.
But does she love him?
After all he had done to her. After all the strain he has put on her heart. After all the destruction and ruin, is it possible for her to still love him?
She knows the answer though. She is asking herself the wrong questions.
How is it possible that she still loves him?
She finally pulls away from him, offering a sort of, broken smile. He just looks at her, unmoving—completely still.
“Toby…I love you,” she breathes after a second. “But…” the word is painful to say, “I just…” her voice breaks off into a ghastly silence.
Their eyes flicker back and forth, both feeling so utterly damaged by the world.
“I don’t know…we can’t just go back to how things were.”
“Are you saying we shouldn’t be together?” he prompts.
“I don’t know,” she admits… recoiling from his touch all together.
She already feels cold without him to warm her. But being close to him, it’s like being in the midst of the fire. It is demerging herself into toxins. It feels good with him, it does. But it also leaves her with a sense of guilt. Of anger. Of sadness. There is no changing the past. She cannot erase his mistakes, and he cannot either. They can only go forward, but how can something so utterly broken and damaged move forward? Move at all? When everything is left in scraps and pieces, and lost among the dust of chaos? Where do you even start? Is it even possible?
“I love you,” she states the words again, peering up at his blue irises. “I do, but…” she shakes her head. When she was little, when her mother and father would fight about everything and anything, she always wondered what made them stick together. She found out later that it wasn’t love, or even trust, but both being strong enough to endure the suffering appointed by the other. She isn’t comparing her relationship with Toby to the relationship her parents have with each other, at all, reallu. But the fact of the matter is that love is not the most important thing. There is no one important thing. A relationship is a complex structure, it has multiple bonds, and necessities. And her relationship with Toby is only running on love. Which makes it incapable of surviving…
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” she tries to say without sobbing, feeling herself crumble beneath the words.
“But…”
“Some things are just unfixable, Toby. I can forgive you for joining the –A team. I get that. It’s just the pain you put me through… I can’t. I can’t look at you without feeling all of that again, and while being with you makes me happy, it doesn’t cancel everything else out,” her voice is quiet and frail.
His eyes skirt down to her hands, and then her copper orbs, “I want you to be happy, and safe, and to feel okay.”
“I want the same things for you,” she offers, taking his hands in hers, almost in an urgent matter. “But… there is also a part of me that wants to spite you. It’s microscopically, but it’s there. I’m not a forgiving person, Toby. I have been holding on to grudges my whole life. I try to let things go, but I can never fully do it. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I could say that in a decade from now that everything will be okay, but I’m not an optimist. I’m not some hopeless romantic. I never have been. I never will be. That’s just not who I am.”
“I understand,” he murmurs in a heavy tone. “I guess this is the end for us, then,” he looks up at her, dismal in his eyes.
“I’ll always love you. It’s never going to be the end for us,” she murmurs, her voice strained.
“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” a tear falls from his right eye.
“I know.”