because we've gotten almost no scenes of spoby handling the aftermath of what happened in the dollhouse as a couple, and because what we have gotten is spencer turning to drugs and bickering with him over alison and lorenzo, of all people. i guess filling in the blanks is how i live with the writers' negligence. not to mention their complete lack of understanding of their own characters.

originally posted on tumblr based on a prompt by the lovely iwasalwaysaromantic; expanded upon here. title comes from "safe and sound" by taylor swift. reviews are great. wink wink.

(set post-6x03, pre-6x04)

come morning light

(you and i'll be safe and sound)

-:-

She's not quite sure how it happens.

One minute they're cuddling in the red chaise by her bedroom window, their fights about Ali and Lorenzo and whatever else forgotten for the moment, his fingers trailing over her shoulder blades and tunneling through her silken mahogany waves, and if she closes her eyes and freezes this moment, she can almost believe everything's okay. That everything–"A" and the dollhouse and Andrew and his job and the million other obstacles and complications and tragedies–have never happened. That she might actually get her happy ending after all.

He traces the edge of her cheekbone with his thumb, and she leans instinctively into his touch.

And the next, she turns in his lap, ignoring his confused glance, and presses her lips to his; warm and strong and real. And it's sunlight and crescendos and fireworks and she's desperate, desperate for more because there is no bad, no monsters, no threats, no hurt, when he's with her like this, their breaths intermingling and their hearts beating in tandem.

They've kissed since her rescue from the dollhouse, yes. They've hugged. They've both been reluctant to put any physical distance between them, lest they lose each other for good. But they haven't been together, not in that way, since before her arrest, since the night he rather unexpectedly came to her house and told her he would not choose between his hard-fought badge and her, but that if he had to, she was his choice.

"Spence," he murmurs, pulling away. There's something in those deep blue eyes…love, yes, and want and tenderness, but also…concern. "We can't…not like this."

"Why?" She demands, her voice sharper than she'd intended. "Why can't we?" She reaches down to tug at his belt, but he stops her, closing a hand over hers.

"Because…" He falters. "Because I need to make sure you're okay. I can't take advantage of you-"

"Toby." She cuts him off, unable to bear him rambling on with those heartbreaking eyes, guilty at not being able to fix her. The truth is, he can fix her. He's the only one who can, the only one who's ever been able to. She meets his gaze steadily. "I want to be with you. It's been…" her voice cracks, and she ignores it, "it's been so long, and…I miss you. I miss us."

He gazes at her for a lingering moment, then oh-so gently smooths an errant strand of hair away from her face. "Are you sure?" He asks quietly, and she's transported back to another lifetime when he'd asked her the same question, back when things were different and they were different but their feelings for each other were the same.

She wants to go back to that so, so badly.

And so she answers the same way she did then; with no hesitation. "Yes."

Tentatively, and carefully, as if she's made of something fragile and precious, he brushes his lips over hers. Soft and light and fresh, but it's not enough, not at all. She deepens the kiss, pokes her tongue into his mouth, and he responds with fervor, though she can tell that he's still holding himself back, that he's still fearful of pushing her.

Hooking one long leg over his waist, she straddles him atop the chaise, angling her head down to look at him. "I want you," she tells him, her voice low and raspy, and she watches as he leans up to murmur against her mouth.

"You have me."

Prove it, she thinks. Make me believe that things can be good again, that we can go back to what we were. But she doesn't say those words to him. Instead, she reconnects their lips, and can't help the gasp that she exhales as he stands up suddenly, taking her with him, and walks them over to the Queen-sized bed dominating the center of her room. He lays her down carefully, as if she's something fragile and rare, then pulls back, those sapphire eyes scanning her face.

"Are you sure?" He asks again, and she nods, because here, right now, is the most sure she's felt in a long time.

She leans closer to him again, deliberately undoing the first button of his shirt. His breath catches, spurring her on. In seconds, the shirt hangs free and she tugs it off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. His jeans follow, and her dress.

She's caged by him as he hovers above her, but she doesn't feel trapped; she feels, to her soaring joy, free.

He kisses her neck, her chin, her nose, and she closes her eyes as every contact brings forth a fresh wave of feeling. It's always amazing to her that every time they make love feels like the first time; exciting in a comforting way, thrilling in a familiar way. She'll never get used to it. She doesn't want to.

He's a beat away from being inside her when she hears her own voice above the racing of her heartbeat: "I love you."

She doesn't say it enough. The truth is, her bottomless, unconditional devotion to him scares the hell out of her. Knowing how deep her feelings go, how absolutely tied to him she is, messes her up.

And yet, as they lay in her bed with the setting sun filtering through the blinds and his bare skin on hers and he's looking at her as if she's all he ever wanted, it's somehow worth it.

"I love you, too," he says, and then their two broken souls become one.

After, they lay together in a tangled heap of limbs, her cheek against his chest, his fingers toying with hers. The world around them is silent; another day over. She reaches for the blanket with one hand to wrap around their naked bodies, and that's when he sees it.

The long, thin scar, almost healed but still tender, trailing down her arm, puckering the alabaster skin.

He loses his breath. It quite simply leaves his lungs as he imagines how her delicate flesh was marred, what "A" did to her, how "A" hurt her. He has promised time and time again to protect her; he's done impulsive, crazy things to keep her safe, but it is all for nothing, because when she was in the most danger, when the homicidal psychopath going by a single initial had managed to raise the stakes to the highest they'd ever been, he'd failed her.

She could have died in that dollhouse. He could have lost her, and that will stay with him for the rest of his life. He knows that.

She notices his upheaval, bringing him back with a gentle whisper of his name. "Toby?" She lifts her head, giving him a concerned look. "What's wrong?"

In response, he touches the scar, just the barest brush of skin on skin, and feels his already battered heart take another beating when he sees her flinch. "I'm sorry," he apologizes immediately, even though it's not enough. There are not enough apologies. He could apologize every second of every day for a thousand years, and it still wouldn't be enough, not for what he allowed to happen to the beautiful, broken girl lying beside him.

"For what?" She avoids his gaze, picking idly at a loose thread in the blanket. "You didn't do anything."

"That's exactly the point. I wasn't there. Someone hurt you," he grits out, "and I wasn't there to keep you safe."

"There's nothing you could have done," she insists firmly, sitting up and clasping his hand. "You…I don't want you to blame yourself." She looks at him, now; meets his gaze with an unwavering determination. "You can't. Not when you saved my life."

He shakes his head. "You saved yourself." She had. It was her strength, her awe-inspiring resilience, that had gotten her and her friends out of "A"'s clutches.

"But you saved me first."

He feels himself melt, some of the unrest within him soothed, and reaches for her again. "Spencer." She sinks into his embrace, and he holds her there for a moment, just breathing her in, her unique scent of coffee and citrus, because she's here; alive and whole and real and his, she's here in his arms, and he'll be damned if she'll be hurt again.

"A" better latch the hell on, because he, she…it is going to pay for hurting the girl he loves. He'll make sure of that.

But his anger is for later, when he's alone, and he'll have to find a way to vent it. But now he's with her, and it's not anger she needs, but comfort. Not the burn, but the balm. So he very gently touches his lips to the mark on her, closing his eyes to reign in his emotions as he lingers there, and when he pulls away to look at her, she's gazing at him with a depth in her mocha eyes that floors him.

"You know the great thing about scars?" She asks softly. "They remind you. Maybe today, I look at that scar and think of pain, remember what it was like in that place, how lost and hopeless and scared I was. But tomorrow? I'll look at it and remember that I got out. That I escaped, and I'm stronger, and I have someone like you to help me forget. That I'm a survivor." She brings her hand to his face. "We're survivors." He places his own hand over hers on his cheek, linking fingers.

"You're so brave, Spence," he murmurs. "You know, that's one of the million things I love about you."

"Mmm." She lowers her head back to his shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck, speaking against his bare skin, "What're some of the others?"

Her words don't come from a place of conceit, they come from a place of insecurity, and he recognizes that, recognizes that even after all this time it's hard for her to believe that someone could see her every flaw and weakness and love her wholeheartedly despite, and even because, of them.

He tightens his arms around her, as if afraid she'll disintegrate before him, slip right through his fingers if he doesn't keep a good hold on her. "Your intelligence. You know everything about everything. You teach me something new every day. You taught me that there's hope," he tells her, trailing a finger down her spine, which straightens at his touch. "I love your ambition, your determination. You'll change the world one day, I guarantee that. You change the lives of every person you come into contact with. You changed me. You made me someone I'm proud to be." He pauses. "I love your loyalty, how you stand by people no matter how badly they screw up. No matter how many times someone hurts you, you forgive them, and you would still do anything for them. I know that from personal experience."

She lifts her head again. "You always see the best in me. But, Toby..." her voice trails off, and when she speaks again, it's razor-sharp and edged with self-loathing. "I'm a walking disaster. I fuck things up wherever I go. Whatever I do, I end up making a mess. And I don't want you to feel like you have to clean up my messes." He opens his mouth to speak, to object and give her a million reasons why she's more than the calamities she's faced, but she continues, "I'm more screwed-up now than I ever was. But you're still here."

"I'll always be here," he tells her simply, because to him it is that simple, but she gives a vehement shake of her head.

"I don't want you to be here if you're not happy. I get it; I'm not exactly the vision of every guy's dream, what with my rap sheet and bed at the loony bin and teetering mental stability. If you ever want out..." she stops, inhales sharply. "If you ever want out, go. It'll break my heart, but it'll break my heart even more if you stick around because you feel you're obligated."

He doesn't know what to say, because what she's just implied is so fundamentally wrong, there are no words. So he kisses her.

"Listen to me," he tells her when they part. "I love you. I don't care about 'A' or Tanner or our reputations or our pasts or anything else. It doesn't matter what you do; it doesn't matter what happens. I'm not sure about a lot right now, but I'm sure that I love you, Spencer. I'll always be sure of that."

"I'm not just scarred on the outside; I'm scarred on the inside, too," she tells him. "And maybe I'm a survivor, but I can't survive everything."

"You can," he breathes. "I know you can. Because that's who you are. That's the girl I fell in love with."

A tear trails down her cheek, and another fissure opens in his heart as he brushes it away. She's been conditioned for so long to hold in her emotions, to be the rock for everyone else. But underneath the armor she wears as a shield, she's broken, too, and he's the only one she trusts to be her rock when the armor comes off.

And so he stays with her, long into the sleepless night, as the sky darkens from cobalt to midnight, then lightens its way to indigo. He stays with her as the sun rises, flashing vibrant pinks and oranges as Rosewood says hello to a new day.

And when the cerulean day arrives, he leaves her with a long kiss on her forehead and a promise that he'll see her soon. She tells him she'll call him, even though she knows he'll call her first, and not to worry about her, even though she knows he will.

She watches the truck from her window as it disappears from view down the street, then stands there, basking in the morning light, praying as she rarely does that somehow they'll be okay.