A/N: Hey, everyone! So this story is the result of me re-watching season one during this lengthy hiatus. If anything, it's only made me love Toby Cavanaugh even more. He went though all these horrible, horrible things, and yet he remains so untainted and genuine and not bitter and yeah. Let's just say I fell in love with him all over again… and thus, this fic was born. :)

It will be three chapters, and – since apparently I'm such a control freak that I'm incapable of posting a first chapter until I've got the whole damn thing already written – I'll be able to update regularly (if you want a testament to what a control freak I am: this story was completed over a week ago, but I kept editing and editing until it was driving me crazy, so this is me telling myself to get a grip and just post before I lose my mind). This first chapter could be a oneshot, it might even feel like a oneshot – but I promise it's not. The second and third chapters are different, but also kind of the same. Yeah I know I'm probably not making any sense but hopefully you'll have caught on by the end of the second chapter.

One more thing before I stop yacking your ears off. I'm sure you all recognize the title: Demons by Imagine Dragons (I just tweaked it a little to fit Toby better: 'my' became 'his' because it's Spencer who's telling the story). Each chapter is also named after one particular line from the same song. Okay. That is all. Bye.

Where His Demons Hide

Chapter One: When you feel my heat

"Oxytocin?" Toby queries, staring down at the Scrabble board in disbelief. "I've never even heard of that."

"It's a real word," Spencer retorts defensively. "Look it up if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," he replies, trying and failing miserably to hold back a smile.

She looks satisfied, only to look at him questioningly when his eyes remain trained on her.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" he teases gently. "Show off all that knowledge?"

She rolls her eyes, but it doesn't elude her how he is one of the few people who can get away with a comment like that without triggering offense on her part. She's pretty sure it's the affection she always hears in his voice, almost like he takes pride in the fact that his girlfriend can easily outsmart him when it comes to subjects like biology, chemistry and physics. There are other areas where he gives her a run for her money, but when it came to science she has him beat and they both know it.

"Let me show you instead," she replies mischievously, enjoying the surprise in his eyes as she crosses the bed and crawls over to him.

She nestles herself in his lap, leaning her body against his and draping both arms across him in what can only be construed as a lover's embrace. He doesn't ask questions, just wraps his arms around her in return – like a reflex, she thinks. Like the way your leg automatically jerks upwards when the doctor hits the right spot on your knee with a tiny hammer. That's the way his body reacts to hers.

She feels him breathe deeply, his nose buried in her neck, and she melts even further into him. They stay like this for a while, like they usually do. Neither of them is very good at letting go when they're this close to each other. In fact, they both downright suck at it.

"Do you feel it?" Spencer whispers, brushing her fingers through his baby soft hair. "The oxytocin?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he murmurs back, sounding lazy and relaxed, "but this feels amazing."

She laughs, pulling back just a little so she can look at his face. With a deep breath, she prepares to share the information she obtained from a biology book not too long ago. "When a hug lasts twenty seconds, there is a therapeutic effect on the body and mind. The reason is that a sincere hug produces a hormone called oxytocin, also known as the love hormone. This substance has many benefits to our physical and mental health, and helps us, among other things, to relax, to feel safe, and calm our fears and anxiety," she rambles.

For a moment he looks dumbstruck, but then he chuckles. "Come here, you," he says, pulling her all the way against him again. She feels him press kisses against her neck and shoulder. "You have got to be the prettiest science nerd ever to be born."

Smiling into his skin, she continues. "The average length of a hug between two people is three seconds. But it's only when the hug lasts twenty seconds or longer that the oxytocin gets released." She pauses for a moment, and when she goes on her voice was softer, and more wistful. "You're the only one who ever hugs me for that long."

His arms tighten around her protectively. "Yeah, well. You're the only one who ever hugs me, period."

She freezes in his embrace, and when she speaks her voice sounds tight. "That doesn't make me feel better at all."

"I'm sorry," he apologizes quickly, unmistakable guilt coloring his tone as his hands rub soothing circles in her back. "I didn't mean it like that. I mean… it wasn't supposed to come out like that."

But it's too late. He's said it, and the fact that she knows it's true is enough to cause a lump to manifest itself in her throat. She knows he's an introvert, which by definition means he doesn't always know how to ask for the physical and emotional affection he needs. On top of that, his family still looks at him like there's something wrong with him, and while he's no longer really viewed as the black cat of Rosewood, he still doesn't have very many friends.

Telling herself to get it together, she presses her lips against his in a firm, no-holds-barred kiss. A hug no longer seems like enough to show him what she feels for him and what he means to her, so she struggles for an even more meaningful way to show him. Their tongues engage in a fierce duel, and before she knows what she's doing she has removed his shirt and is pulling him down on top of her.

His muscles feel hard but his skin is so wonderfully soft, she thinks as she trails one hand down his back. They've only been doing this for a few weeks, but already he feels so familiar, so comforting. He carefully helps her out of her dress, making sure the buttons don't end up tangled in her hair, and she watches his turquoise eyes darken as they view her lying beneath him in just her bra and underwear.

He leans down to kiss her, and any self-consciousness she might have felt instantly evaporates into thin air. Her hands move to the button of his jeans on their own accord, and she smiles against his mouth.

"You're overdressed," she murmurs, causing a chuckle to escape his lips.

He pulls away slightly to accommodate her as she pushes his jeans down his hips, and they both jump when something clatters against the floor.

"Wha…?"

He doesn't finish as they see the Scrabble board knocked on carpet, tiles scattered all over the place.

"Crap," Toby mutters. "Sorry."

"'s Okay," Spencer says quickly, dragging his mouth back down to hers, desperate to finish what they started.

"But you were winning," he reminds her, smiling.

"Yeah and in an hour I'm sure I'll be furious," she answers, sprinkling kisses along his neck. "But for right now… this is more important."

You're more important, she wants to say, but he cuts her off with a fiery kiss, and within seconds her mind goes numb.

"Hey, Toby?" Aria calls from her spot on an air mattress in the pool. "How's my eggplant coming along?"

Toby gives her the thumbs up, and Aria grins.

"Look at him," Emily says to Spencer, clear affection in her voice as she watches Toby by the barbeque, grilling sausages and hamburgers and one exceptionally large eggplant for the vegetarian of the group. "He's such a good sport."

Spencer follows her friend's eyes and smiles to herself. "Tell me about it."

The two of them are setting the picnic table outside the barn while in the other girls have fun in the pool. They really couldn't have asked for better weather to do this. It's something they planned months and months ago, after one of their many A-related disasters. They all agreed that after graduation, they would have a barbeque/pool party at Spencer's, just the four of them with their significant others… only it didn't quite turn out that way. Emily and Paige seem to be over for good, Hanna and Caleb – while talking again, at least – continue to attempt to work through layers of secrets and distrust, and Aria still can't hear Ezra Fitz's name without tearing up.

And so Toby is the only one of the partners to show up. Not wanting to put any pressure on him, Spencer assured him beforehand that she and her friends are perfectly capable of figuring out how a barbeque works. She doesn't want him to feel awkward amongst all these girls, especially since Alison has maneuvered her way into their group again. Spencer knows he still feels uncomfortable around the blond diva, and she's pretty sure she'd eat dirt before she'd force him to hang out with her.

But Toby just shrugged his shoulders when she told him he didn't have to come, given her his sexy half-smile and said, "It's okay. It's not like I have anywhere else to be."

Spencer thinks back to that moment now, feeling a familiar stab at her heart. Impulsively, she turns to Emily.

"Do you ever hug him?"

"What?" Emily asks.

"Toby," Spencer clarifies. "Do you hug him sometimes? Just… as friends," she adds, noticing how Emily is giving her a funny look.

"Um," Emily says, sounding like she can't really tell where this conversation is going. "Yeah, I guess. Sometimes. Why?"

Spencer shrugs, unable to find the words to explain. A moment of silence hangs between them, and then she quickly says, "I'm sorry, I know it seems like a weird question. It's just…"

Her eyes wander over to her boyfriend, still slaving away at the barbeque. "He went three years of his life without a single hug from anyone," she hears herself saying, though her own voice sounds far away. "From the time his mother died till after he got back from reform school… no one hugged him. Ever."

She watches Emily's eyes cloud over with sympathy, and has to look away to avoid her own emotions from getting the best of her.

"He told you that?" Emily wants to know, and Spencer nods, not trusting her voice.

Emily clears her throat before letting out a small, rueful laugh. "You guys are always saying the most heartbreaking things about each other."

Spencer stops in the middle of setting a plate down, looking at her friend in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Emily hesitates. "He told me once that when you cry, he feels like a failure."

With a deep sigh, Spencer lowers the plate down to the table, avoiding Emily's eyes. Wondering why she still lets comments like these surprise her. "Well, he shouldn't. He's the reason I don't cry more."

They work in silence for a little while, barely registering the happy sounds of their three friends splashing around in the pool. Spencer goes inside to retrieve a few soda bottles from the fridge, and she's delicately placing them on the table when she asks, "You love him… right?"

Emily looks momentarily taken aback. "Of course I do," she speaks earnestly. "As much as a gay woman can love a guy."

The corners of Spencer's mouth turn upwards a little at the comment before she turns serious again. "Then you should hug him more. I feel like he needs it… that physical contact… from more people than just me."

"He deserves it from more people than just you," Emily agrees quietly.

Spencer looks at her, registering the subtle difference, but doesn't comment on it.

"I will," Emily promises after a few more seconds of silence, and Spencer feels her face relax into a smile.

Out of their three children, Cleo is the one most like her. Everyone says so. She not only has the chocolate-colored eyes, but also the dark hair and the sharp tongue that can be hilarious one moment and mortifying the next. She's fiercely competitive, talented at pretty much everything she sets her mind to, and has the best organizational skills of any seven-year-old Spencer has ever encountered.

A true Hastings if there ever was one.

Currently, the little girl is engrossed in a school project: a mobile she's supposed to make with a hanger, displaying the characters of a book she read – or in Cleo's case, devoured in one day straight. Spencer notices the determined look on her daughter's face as she draws, cuts, glues. She's completely oblivious to the world around her, and doesn't take notice when her father announces he's leaving for an overnight weekend job.

Cleo's brother and sister immediately jump up and run over to him, and he bends down to catch them, planting noisy kisses on both their cheeks. Their giggles echo in the hallway. They know he won't be back for three days. Cleo knows this too, but she's still stuck in her world of books and imagination.

"Hey…" Spencer nudges her gently. "Daddy's leaving. Want to go say bye?"

"Uh huh," she answers absentmindedly, her dark eyes never wavering from the drawing she is trying to cut out. She doesn't move, and Spencer rolls her eyes.

"Cleo Cavanaugh," she says exasperatedly. "Go hug your father, please."

The child sighs dramatically and drops her scissors to the table. She slides down from her stool and takes off in the direction of her father, whom she adores. Toby's eyes soften as she approaches him enthusiastically, and by the time she's reached him the project seems momentarily forgotten.

"I love you, Daddy," she singsongs, squeezing her tiny arms around his neck. Spencer watches her husband close his eyes in pleasure at hearing their daughter's innocent, heartfelt words. Her own chest swells. There is nothing quite like watching Toby melt under their children's undying devotion to him.

"I love you too, pumpkin. Be good for your mom, okay?"

"Okay," Cleo agrees automatically, and Toby sets her back down on her feet.

"Wait," she says, grabbing his hand, her big eyes suddenly anxious. "You won't get to see my project before I turn it in."

"Take a picture when you're done," he tells her soothingly. "Send it to me."

And instantly, everything in Cleo's world is all right again. She beams and happily makes her way back to the table, prepared to dive back into her own creativity. And it never ceases to amaze Spencer how Toby's calming qualities comfort not only her, but their children as well.

She smiles at him from across the room, noting how the kids are all occupied. "I'll walk you out," she offers.

She follows him outside to his truck, which is parked in the driveway next to her SUV. He loads his things into the back; then makes his way over to her. He's thirty-three, but she suspects his eyes will remain blue and boyish until he's at least a hundred.

Wordlessly, she falls into his arms. He brings her close, running a soothing hand up and down her back, and breathing her in like he's done a million times before. She closes her eyes and relishes. Just relishes.

"Feel the oxytocin?" he suddenly whispers against her, and she laughs.

"Most definitely."

He kisses her – a long, tender kiss that other people's children tend to find shocking and gross, but their own kids don't bat an eyelash over. ("They're allowed," Cleo would tell her friends authoritatively.)

"I miss you already," Toby mumbles into her hair.

"Me too," she replies, her voice possibly softer than his. After a moment she adds, "I always miss you."

It's true. She does. Even if he's gone for only an hour, it leaves her out of balance. It leaves her cold.

She frames his face between her hands. "Be safe."

"You too." He kisses her lips again, and then her forehead. "I'll call you when I get there."

She nods and releases him, feeling that familiar feeling of dread well up inside her gut. He smiles at her before closing the door to his truck, and she feels herself smiling back despite the dull ache in her heart. She watches the truck drive down the street, and remains rooted in her spot for moments after it turned the corner.

Then she feels something very substantial pulling her back towards the house, and she smiles to herself.

Watching him leave will always be difficult; she doesn't doubt that. But she also knows that she has three very good reasons to be happy even when he's gone. Three pint-sized human beings – all different, all unique, and who all carry bits and pieces of him inside them. Even Cleo.