A/N: A one-shot that was written because this season has been full of Spemily and feels, y'know. Too many of those damn feels. Lots of angsty feels. The best kind.
Contains speculation as to the body being Toby's. Whether or not that's true, well, we'll see.
It's not like she's never seen or known death before – it's not like the rattled feelings of losing Alison and Maya aren't still there, coming out when she least expects it, a heap of illogical emotions and regrets and guilt, all rolled into one that makes it hard to function normally.
It's not like she doesn't remember every single night after Maya died before she went to Haiti, where everything that existed was the silence of room and the nothingness that came from inside her body, a feeling she wasn't unfamiliar to even then. After all, she'd lost Alison before (and she'll never forget the day after Ali went missing, the cops and Ali's parents and Jason's dazed, shocked expression, burned on her mind like the tattoo of her heart and their lives, beating steadily even after everything they've been through).
She knows death. She's seen death. She's felt it, at her own hands. She's seen life fade away, slowly, light leaving eyes, body going still, blood staining her fingers. She knows it and she's seen it and she's felt it, and she knows everything about losing someone close to you, about losing who you thought you were; about losing someone to the idea of the death, the possibility, always there, always lingering and lurking closer than it should be.
She's faced it. She's seen it reflected in her own eyes, pallid face staring out from behind a cracked mirror, the strong scent of vomit and piss overwhelming her senses, the alcohol losing its power, everything coming back into focus and making sense.
She's no stranger to it. She's felt loss time and time again, and by now she should be resilient, because the heart can only take so much, right?
(And yet, it hurts just as much every time it happens).
.
When the words Toby and A leave Spencer's mouth, tied together, in reference to each other, she doesn't believe it. She can't believe it.
It's not that she's naïve and sees the good in people before she sees the bad or that she can't handle another loss, another hurt.
It's that it's Toby, and that's the best reasoning her mind can come up with because, what else is there? What other possible explanation could there be as to why Toby isn't and wasn't and never will be who Spencer says that he is?
He's Toby and she knows him and he knows her, and he gets her and she gets him. She is who she is now, partly thanks to him; because of his help and his kindness and his understanding, and every time she flashes back to homecoming, she feels that same, lingering sense of guilt because she let him down and he didn't deserve it.
There's no way that the Toby she knows – the one she trusts and loves and cares for, the one that trusts and loves and cares for both her and Spencer – after all, he's in love with Spencer, he would never do something like that –is the Toby Spencer says he is.
He's Toby – he's not A – and when she says this, Spencer shuts her down quickly, sharply, bloodshot eyes fixed on hers, dry lips shaping around words that Emily hears but doesn't consciously understand, because he's Toby. He's not A.
They've been over this before. They've dealt with this before. They've seen Spencer unravel and nearly drive herself insane with the conviction that Toby, Paige, Jason, whoever is A. This is what she does. Drives herself crazy with theories and worries and thoughts and pressure, and eventually she'll crack (and it doesn't hit Emily that maybe she's already cracked – messy hair and ghastly skin and dead eyes, staring at her from across a battlefield of pain and hurt, everything that's not Spencer Hastings, everything that shouldn't be Spencer Hastings).
"He can't be A," Emily says, and Spencer laughs again.
She laughs that raw laugh; she tips her head back and laughs, laughs until she's reduced to nothing more than dry heaves and wet eyes, Aria's hand gently stroking her back and murmuring words that sound like condolences (as if Toby's actually dead), and Emily's just staring at her, because it doesn't make sense.
It should make sense. She's seen this before. She's seen death and she's felt it, and she's felt the sharp sting of betrayal.
But, as usual, nothing makes sense and it doesn't look like it's going to any time soon.
.
Until it does. Until finally everything seems to come into place, the puzzle pieces aligning and realigning, and she's staring at a picture she's seen a million (three) times before, a picture that's embodied in her skin and on her mind and in her heart, because how many times has she seen and felt death?
(Only it's not Toby who's dead – she doesn't know if he's dead, doesn't know where he is, doesn't know who he's supposed to be—)
It's Spencer.
Spencer, with her unruly hair and hoarse voice and dead eyes, eyes that hold nothing anymore, no light, no spark; none of that old Spencer Hastings ambition, the thrill of the game, the thrive to win and to be the best at everything, to control and keep everything in check according to what she wants.
That Spencer's gone, folded delicately like a whispered lie beneath this cracked and broken exterior; an empty casket holding the place of what once used to be a fearless, loyal leader.
This is the new Spencer. It's not longer Spencer Hastings – it's just Spencer, a walking and (barely) breathing reminder of a time when things made sense and life was good.
And suddenly, it's not just the thought of losing Toby to that idea – the idea that he is who Spencer thinks he is, the idea she's trying hard to forget and ignore and push against, because she still can't live with it – that hurts and stings and reminds her of memories and death and bloody hands. It's the thought she's losing Spencer, slowly, one day at a time, the seconds ticking by without them realizing it, the truth, the reality of it all.
That she's already lost Spencer.
(Two down, one to go).
.
"So," Spencer says, strangely calm, hands shuffling the deck of cards absentmindedly. Her head is ducked, dark eyes seeking Emily's in the expanse of the room. "What brings you here?"
Emily hesitates. Her mouth feels dry and cottony and there's a strange smell in ward that reminds her vaguely of hospitals. Spencer regards her calmly, almost serenely, head tilted slightly to the side. The only sound that Emily can hear is the shuffling of cards, of Spencer's slippers against the hard cement ground.
"Spencer—"
"Are you here to talk about Toby?"
Spencer says this while glancing down at one card she keeps on top of the deck – the joker, staring right back at Spencer with his sly grin and knowing eyes. Her voice sounds loose, just as calm as her body language.
"Well?"
"I…"
Spencer looks up at her with a little smile, letting out a short laugh that somehow sounds even worse than the raw, broken laugh she gave when she told her and Aria about Toby.
"Of course you are." Spencer sighs and shifts in her seat, leaving the deck of cards alone (with the joker smiling senselessly into the sky) and turning her full attention to her. "Where are Hanna and Aria? Shouldn't they be here with you?"
Emily clears her throat. She keeps her hands folded in her lap because she doesn't want Spencer to see they're trembling.
"Look, Spencer, I know that you haven't had the easiest couple of weeks—"
"You think?" Spencer says, with a familiar scoff.
"—but I just wanted to say that I'm here for you, no matter what."
The last part comes out easily, slipping off her tongue automatically, because that will always be the part that matters. The part that Spencer needs to hear and to understand, because nothing is ever going to change it.
Spencer stares at her, her brow furrowing slightly. Then recognition seems to shine in her eyes and she's laughing again, incredulously, almost shocked.
"I can't believe it," she says, voice shaking. "I can't believe it."
"Spencer?" Emily says, and she feels like an idiot. "What—?"
"You still think he's innocent, don't you?" Spencer spits out the word innocent like it's a plague, hand clutching at the edge of the table. "You still think he's alive and innocent and that sweet Toby that you once knew, don't you?"
Emily doesn't say anything.
"God, Emily," Spencer says. "Are you serious? You actually believe—"
And she erupts into that series of broken laughs again, until a nurse comes up to their table and asks what's going on.
"I think you should go," the nurse says sternly to Emily, glancing at Spencer warily.
"But I—"
"Visiting hours are almost over," she insists. "Go. Now."
The last thing she hears before she's shuffled out of the building is the resounding crack of Spencer's laugh, a melody that will haunt her for as long as she lives.
.
(When A started, she dreamed of Ali and letters and death; after Maya died, she didn't dream much, just slept soundly thanks to alcohol or sleeping pills; after she killed Nate, she didn't sleep and she didn't dream, and now that it's Toby and Spencer that she's lost, she can't tell what the difference is between a nightmare and reality).
.
She looks for answers on her own. It's stupid. She knows that. It's dangerous and it's dumb, and whether or not Toby is dangerous, Mona is.
But she can't let this one go. She can't let something else just pass her by, with no clear grasp on what it means and how it works. She doesn't want to be unsure anymore. Uncertainty is a pastime she's trying to forget, to push in the back of her mind and squash it until it's (almost) as imperceptible as the still-fresh memories of elevators and lighthouses and light leaving eyes.
So she goes out on her own search, trying and praying and hoping that she's right – that Spencer is just being Spencer, overreacting and jumping on her tendency to see the worst in people, because that's how she was raised, cold and cool and controlling and competitive, and the thing is, she isn't like that, not fully, not completely, that's not the real Spencer, Emily knows her better than she knows herself – and what she finds doesn't satisfy her and it doesn't make things better, because there is nothing to find.
Nothing. An empty gap staring back at her, from where the cracks in Toby's kind smile used to be, a lie she's never even known she'd been living, a lie she hasn't even accepted it.
A lie that's cost Spencer everything she is.
.
"She's not insane," Hanna says defiantly. "Okay? Spencer's a lot of things and maybe she can get a bit unhinged sometimes but she's notclinically insane. She's just Spencer."
"No one said that she is," Aria says, glancing around the courtyard furtively to check that no one's listening in on their conversation. "But she's also not stable. I mean, you saw her in there. Maybe being in there might actually help her."
Hanna looks at her like she's the crazy one, eyebrows arched in disbelief.
"Nope," she says, "she's still not crazy. Being in there isn't going to help her. It's just going to make her worse. I mean, look at Mona."
"Yeah, but Mona was never clinically insane either. She was faking it."
"Exactly," Hanna says.
Emily frowns and finally looks up from her plate, distracted from her thoughts on Spencer and Spencer's voice and how Spencer must hate her.
"What are you saying?" she says slowly, mind already rattling with the possibility.
"Wait—" Aria holds up a tiny hand, wide eyes trained on Hanna. "You're not saying that she's faking it, are you?"
"And that she's got some super secret plan to take Mona down from the inside?" Emily continues.
Hanna gives a casual shrug of her shoulders, then nods resolutely. "Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying."
There's a brief silence, while they all try to test that idea out.
"Okay, so maybe she's actually got problems," Hanna says, "and maybe a field trip to Get Sane Camp with a whole lot of happy campfire songs and therapy is what she seriously needs, but this is also Spencer, who's a badass. She's Spencer Hastings, after all."
"And Spencer Hastings always has a plan," Aria says, a little smile touching her lips at the thought.
As much as Emily would (kill) like for the thought to be true, there's that small sliver of doubt, making the ever-present ache in her chest and nausea in her stomach that much stronger.
Hanna seems to think that it's Spencer Hastings after all cuts it – makes everything suddenly all right, because the (old) Spencer Hastings they know always has a plan and is never one to give up easily, no matter what. As if just by being Spencer Hastings, the idea and definition of strength and persistence and mental health just checks it all out, and they don't have to worry as much about picking up the pieces and helping her because Spencer's already on the road to recovery, all on her own.
But that's not the truth, and they have to know that.
"She's not," Emily says, getting up from their table. Hanna and Aria stare up at her, confused, Hanna looking ready to cut back in with a protest.
"She's not faking it."
Hanna closes her mouth and then says, rather sharply, "How do you know?"
Emily sends her a small, humorless smile.
"Because that, in there? That's the new Spencer. The Spencer Hastings we knew is dead. And we're just going to have to get used to it."
She leaves them both in stunned silence, and edges in a dark corner and tries to breathe, because it finally feels like acceptance.
.
(When she gets home, of course she changes her mind and realizes that Spencer might be dead, the Spencer they knew and loved, but there's still hope (there's always hope, her dad would say, don't ever forget that, right along with lectures about honesty and integrity and trying to do the right thing always), because what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, and Spencer is nothing if not strong.
She hopes. She wishes.
She lies in her bed and assures herself of this, because the alternative seems so much worse.)
.
"Toby isn't dead, Spencer."
Spencer shakes her head, and this time she's not as well-mannered as the last. She glares at Emily, a hint of that old intensity edging in her gaze – but it's a different intensity, almost fake, like it's nothing but a façade to the brokenness that's become Spencer – and then says, "Please tell me you're not that naïve. Please, Emily. Not even someone like you can be that far gone."
"I never said he wasn't A," Emily mutters, staring at the patterns fixated on the table, a disarray of gray and white and nothingness. She draws in a deep breath. That, too, feels like a start of something different. Like acceptance really is the first step to ending it all. "I just said he wasn't dead."
Spencer stares at her. Emily closes her eyes, and tries to muster the courage to look right back at her, to meet her gaze to gaze, face to face, hurt to hurt.
Acceptance or not, it's always hard to still remember that yes, they're all actually dead and it's not some form of illusion.
(Funny how the horror of seeing an actual dead body only seems to strike her when it comes in the most metaphorical of ways, three losses and two betrayals later).
To have the actual dead body there, right in front of her – other than the eyes and chapped lips and messy demeanor, otherwise living and breathing, a ghost, a walking, distant memory – makes it worse to face it.
But she tries to anyway, because it's not just Spencer's that's been forced to change (die).
She has, too.
No more weak link Em. No more scared Emily, cowering in a corner, waiting for people like Maya and Toby and Nate and Paige and her friends to come along and pick up the pieces, to give her that little push that she needs only so she'll fall back and lose it all to the careless slip of her fingers.
This is the new Emily. The Emily that has to be strong and there for her friends and for Paige.
So she lifts her head defiantly and meets Spencer's gaze (and ignores the rush of loss of air in her stomach, that reminds her a little too much of elevators and knives and blood, blood, blood all over).
"Well," Spencer remarks dryly, "look who's all grown up, huh? No longer the naïve, sweet little girl, then?"
"No longer the weak link," Emily corrects.
"Ah, right." Spencer's lips quirk into a meaningless smirk, but at least she's not laughing that dreadful laugh anymore. "You'll always be that naïve, sweet little girl that sees the good people, right?"
"Someone has to do it."
"If I'm not around, who's going to be there to be the cold bitch who thinks everyone's bad to contradict you?"
Her breath catches in her throat. It's like a string of understanding's suddenly opened between them, and this is both of them, sitting here in the middle of a psych ward, accepting the cold hard truth of what loss and betrayal means, tied together forever by the bleak knowledge that (hopefully) Hanna and Aria will never have to understand.
Spencer looks at her and she looks back, and she realizes that it's not just Ali and Toby and Maya that could look at her like that and justknow.
(Maybe she's just too easy to read).
"'Cause you three are all too caring to do that," Spencer continues, and Emily fights back the tears springing in her eyes, because no one ever said acceptance was easy, "and I doubt you could do that."
Emily lets out a frail laugh.
"Maybe we need you more than you think," she says, a touch of wistfulness in her voice.
Spencer's eyes harden.
"What you need is the old Spencer." She shifts and looks away, as if that thought terrifies her too. "That Spencer died right along with Toby."
Emily licks her lips and tries to gain control over her emotions, over the situation. No crying. No getting emotional. This is the new Emily staring at the new (dead) Spencer, and if Spencer's given up and tired and spent, then she has to be the strong one. For Spencer, for Hanna and Aria, for Paige.
(for Maya and the Toby that she knew, the Toby that knew her – for Ali).
"Toby's not dead," Emily says.
"I saw his body."
"You saw a John Doe."
Spencer pauses, and maybe there's a hint of hope flashing in her eyes – or maybe Emily's really just seeing things – which then dies when she shakes her head vigorously.
"No," she says, "no. I – I saw him. He was…he was lying there, okay? He was – he was dead. I saw him."
"That wasn't him, Spence," Emily says. "The guy you saw in the woods…that wasn't him."
"Mona killed someone else to make it look like that," Spencer snaps, growing agitated, fingers drumming over the table, shoulders folding inwards, movements jittery and uncoordinated. "Okay? She – she probably went and killed someone else so the park rangers could find him so that you would think that—"
"Toby's not dead, Spencer," Emily cuts her off, speaking gently. "That wasn't Toby. I promise you, the person you saw – that wasn't him."
Spencer looks at her like she wants to believe her, but at the same time would die with this new revelation (physically at least).
"Stop," Spencer mutters, scraping her chair back from the table and leaning forward, elbows resting on her thighs. She grips the sides of her head with her hands, breathing heavily, body shaking. "Just stop it."
"Spencer…"
"Stop it," she says harshly, and then continues repeating it, over and over again, a dead mantra on her lips, a useless cry to the world, to A, to Mona and Toby and her parents and everyone who's ever wronged her. "Stop it, stop it, just fucking stop it already, stop…"
Emily doesn't know what to do. No one's seemed to notice Spencer's distressed state, so the only left to be able to help is Emily.
"Spencer—"
She approaches her, and she doesn't think she's been more scared in her life. Not when A locked her up in the barn or tried to stab her or when A gave her that massage or when she had to stab Nate and watch him die or when Paige told her that she was scared of everything, of everyone, because of her; not all the times Spencer and Hanna and Aria nearly died, adrenaline rushing through veins, pumping, heart beating, everything slowing down while simultaneously moving too fast.
Because all of those times, there was that sense of adrenaline. Now there's none of that. Now there's just fear, plain-out fear, fear's that terrible and intoxicating, fear that's making her hands shake harder than that time when she had to kill Nate or—
"Leave," Spencer says, lifting her head to glare at Emily. Her shoulders have stopped shaking, and Emily would think that everything is better and fine again, only it's not.
If Emily thought before that the spark had died out from Spencer's eyes, she was wrong.
Because there's still death and still brokenness, but Spencer's never looked and never felt more alive than in those moments.
"Get out," Spencer says, and Emily backs away, flinches, as if burned. "I want you to leave."
Emily stares helplessly at her.
"Spencer—"
"I don't want you here," she hisses. "I want you to leave."
"Spencer, I know that—"
"No, you don't." Spencer nearly shouts that part out loud, and all Emily can do is stand there, like an idiot, a complete fool, who never should have come here, who never should have done this.
"You don't know, okay?" Spencer says, and it's like they're back there, back in her room, back there that night when she had to say those words about Toby out loud for the first time. "You think you do just because your girlfriend was brutally murdered and you had to kill her killer, and before that you were in love with a monster who died too – but you don't. So just stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" Emily says dumbly, heart racing. "Spencer, just please—"
"Like you understand what I'm going through. Like you know, just because everyone you love dies. Well, news flash, Emily. It's not just your life that sucks. We all have crappy lives and we've lost people too—"
"I never said—"
"Just leave," Spencer says cruelly, standing up from the table. The intensity in her eyes is terrifying; the lack of death and stillness and shakiness is even worse, because Spencer's not quite dead, not yet, and she's still there, and there's still a lot left before she'll ever be fully dead. "Leave now or I swear I'll call—"
"Okay," Emily murmurs, and so much for the new, strong Emily Fields. So much for not being the naïve weak link anymore. "Okay, okay. I'm leaving."
(She thinks she can hear Alison laughing somewhere, a reminder of what's truly and physically dead and what cannot be saved, what should have been kept safe in the first place, and what should be kept safe now).
.
("I'm sorry," Spencer will say, once this is all over, somewhere in the future when she's back to being Spencer Hastings again, changed and jaded and hurt, but Spencer nonetheless.
And Emily will nod, and smile, and reach for her hand, and say, "Me too," and just like that, they'll go back to normal, fighting down the monsters and villains and As in their lives, one at a time, together.
Until then, there's a long way to go.)
.
"Why are you here again?" Spencer says when she's back the next day, the beginnings of a sneer playing out across her lips. From the way she's looking at her, Emily's afraid that maybe the hatred flashing in her eyes is genuine. "I thought I told you to leave. I thought I told you I didn't want you here."
"I'm not going anywhere," Emily says firmly, never averting her gaze from Spencer's. "I thought I told you that."
"Must have misheard," Spencer mutters coldly. "And you must not have understood me. I. Don't. Want. You. Here. For everyone's sake, Emily, just leave."
"No."
And Emily sits down at the table and tries to keep as stony-faced as possible, to show and prove to Spencer that she isn't going anywhere, not for anything in the world.
"Do you remember the day after they found Maya's body?" Emily starts, softly. "Do you remember when the cops finally cleared out from my house and we went back after sleeping over at your place?"
Spencer's face shifts into something akin to recognition – because I haven't lost someone who I deeply love? – and she sits down too, wordless.
Emily stares down at her hands, because the memory hasn't left her either, tied down to her very being by her weak (bloody) fingers.
"The first thing I did was lock myself up in my room. Remember?"
Spencer doesn't answer.
"I locked myself up in room and I told you guys to leave, because I didn't want you there, and I kept saying there was no possible way you could make it right again because Maya was dead. Nothing felt right. Sometimes, when I think about it, it still doesn't feel right. It never will feel right."
"Where are you getting with this?" Spencer says, probably intending to snap, her voice sounding too thick for it.
Emily sends her a little smile.
"You guys all piled up in front of my door. You, Aria, Hanna, my mom. Even my dad and Toby called and my mom tried to use them to convince me to come out." Emily breathes in, slowly, pretends the look on Spencer's face is not hatred, anger, everything that she's feeling now. "Maybe she was afraid I was going to do something – hurt myself or something. Maybe you were all afraid of that. You tried reasoning, you tried everything. I just kept telling you to go away.
"But you didn't. You didn't. Hanna and Aria left eventually, because you told them and my mom that you would take care of it. And you sat there for nearly two hours, remember? You wouldn't leave. I'd try to tell you to, but that didn't work, so eventually I stopped. Then you started talking about how there was no way in hell you would let me push you guys away. That you would always be there for me, even when if I hated you or didn't want you there. And eventually…"
"You opened the door," Spencer says.
She's smiling, but it doesn't meet her eyes.
There's a brief silence.
Then, "Wow, Em. That was, uh – that was very touching." Spencer chuckles a little. "Very moving, really. I especially liked the whole opening the door metaphor thing. Really clever. Only one little problem with that story."
Spencer gets to her feet, dark eyes flashing and face turning into a scowl. Emily looks up at her, holding her breath.
"I don't remember any of that," Spencer says coldly, and with that she's gone, a shadow blending in the dark, fitting right in with the white walls of Radley.
Emily watches her leave, but she's not too worried.
She knows Spencer well enough to know when she's lying.
.
"She's dead," Ali says, calmly inspecting her manicured nails from Emily's bed with a look of boredom, as if sitting here when she's supposed to be dead is something that happens to her and them often.
(and Emily thinks that maybe it does)
"She's not," Emily denies, because what else is there to do, what else is she good at if not denial?
(there's no one I know who can lie to themselves better than you, Em)
Ali looks up from her nails, and Emily's breath catches in her throat. Even as a ghost, she's more beautiful than she should be. Even dead and gone and terrible, there's just something about her, something beneath the exterior of impish smiles and lies, that makes it seem like even she's not aware that she's living a lie big enough to swallow them all whole.
"She's still breathing," Emily continues, unnerved – as she usually was when Alison was alive – by the smooth expression that Alison wears better than that pretty dress she's got on, a dress that Emily remembers seeing her in a week before she disappeared (maybe that should have been their first clue). "She's not dead – she's still breathing. She's still alive."
"Oh, sweetie," Ali says, grotesquely sympathetic, tilting her head sideways. "You have no way of knowing. Death is subjective after all."
Emily stares at her in disbelief.
"What does that mean?"
And Ali smiles that same sweet, dark, mysterious smile, the smile that always told them – showed them – how weak they really are, how clueless and hopeless they've always been to everything.
She doesn't answer, and within seconds, she's nothing but a lingering memory, a whiff of perfume and body-wash; an engraved, unfinished writing stamped on their skin like a declaration of war, a mystery they've never solved and will never solve because they don't even know where it all began, if it'll ever end.
.
"This isn't you," she says forcefully, as Spencer stands in front of her in that infamous black hoodie.
"It is," Spencer says, voice low and cold. Her eyes burn silently, mouth pulled into a smirk, and she adds, "But I guess you're still naïve to believe that, aren't you?" She laughs, and this time, it's calm, it's normal; it's Spencer Hastings's old laugh, but this isn't Spencer. It's an imposter, donning the black hoodie like a lie she's forcing herself into believing. "You know what I realized, Emily? Aria may be a pro when it comes to lying to the people close to her. But god, there's no one I know who can lie to themselves better than you, Em. How do you do that?"
"I know you," Emily says, ignoring Spencer. "I know who you are." She steps forward, unafraid – like the time she ran after A in the woods (Toby, her mind corrects, it must've been Toby) – and watches Spencer's face remain calm, smooth, features relaxed as if she has not a care in the world. It's alarming, how much she reminds Emily of Alison. "And if you actually believe that we could ever think that you of all people – broken or not – could try to deliberately hurt any of us, then that just goes to show that you're the one who's lying to yourself. That's not who you are and that's not who you'll ever be."
And it's true, Emily knows it is – and she doesn't even need to contradict the argument of Spencer being Spencer and that solving everything, because she knows – better than she knows anything else, better than she ever knew Alison or Maya or Toby or Nate or even herself – that there will always be one thing about Spencer that will never change, no matter how exhausted and broken she is.
Spencer's face turns as if she knows it's true – she does, Emily thinks, of course she does – and then she shakes her head. She says, almost wearily (and that's Emily first clue and final confirmation), eyes softening just a bit, "Stay out of my way, Emily, and I won't hurt you."
"You won't hurt Hanna and Aria either," Emily says, with such conviction it sounds ridiculous even to her own ears. Is that what denial sounds like? Or is it really the truth? She ignores the trickle of fear in her stomach, because of course it is. "You can't. You wouldn't hurt any of us. We're all that you've got left. You need us just as much – if not more – than we need you."
And for once in her life, Spencer stands there and doesn't say anything. She doesn't contradict her and she doesn't try to prove her wrong and she doesn't lay out one more insult, one more sharp response if only to end things on her terms.
Because she knows, as well Emily knows, better than she ever knew Alison or Toby, that that's the truth and she can't change anything about it.
.
"So you're back?" Hanna asks, bluntly, as if her fashion, but even she looks apprehensive, chewing on her lower lip, staring at Spencer's reflection with a hint of desperation, like she really needs the confirmation. "Completely, fully back to being Spencer Hastings?"
Spencer smiles wanly, but it's genuine.
They're all in her room, gathered around her like she's the fallen soldier just come back from war, tired and exhausted and terrified, but still living; like they're her family, the ones she left behind to go fight, the ones that got the quiet call in the dead of night that she was hurt but was going to get better, eventually, they hoped, they were sure but they didn't know; and Emily's been over this before, but it's just as scary and painful as any other time.
"Not sure about completely being back," Spencer says, turning around to face them all, each one of them, unafraid, the leader here again, back in the flesh, flesh and bones and brains, the soldier that's broken and bruised, but still fighting, still there, still alive. "But I promise not to go crazy anymore and dump you guys like that."
You were wrong, Emily thinks.
"You can go crazy, you know," Hanna says, looking mightily relieved by her answer. "Just as long as you don't end up in Radley again, where you're crazy enough to believe that they can help you any better than we can. Oh, and just as long as you also don't go behind our backs and steal our boyfriends' kid for a little trip to the carnival anymore. And then try to pretend you wanna kill us. That's not really nice."
"Hanna," Emily says sternly, glaring at her while Hanna just shrugs and gives her an affronted what? expression, before she rolls her eyes.
Spencer glances at Aria, who's been quiet so far, guilt washing over her face.
"I'm sorry," Spencer says. "You know that, right? I only did that because I had to fool Mona into believing it was true. I never meant to hurt Malcolm. Or you. Just to scare you. I'm sorry."
Aria stares for a few long seconds at her, not saying anything until Emily's tempted to talk some sense into her about how of course Spencer didn't mean to hurt her. It's absurd to ever believe that.
"I know," Aria finally says, smiling back too. "And Malcolm doesn't seem too traumatized by it, so…"
"We're good?" Spencer says, face grimacing into what looks like hope, the first sliver of hope she's letting herself hold onto in a long time. After all, hope breeds eternal misery. "You and me and Malcolm and Ezra and…"
Aria nods.
"We're good."
Spencer lets out a shaky laugh.
"Good," she says, relieved. "Because after all that, I can't imagine losing you guys – even if I probably deserve it."
"You don't deserve it," Emily cuts in. "And you're never gonna lose us – you know that, right?"
Spencer meets her gaze, and Emily's almost afraid to look back. But there's no death and there's no brokenness – she's jaded, yes, she's scared, yes, the scars, both literal and figurative, are going to take years to ever heal, but she's there and she's alive and that's all that matters.
"I know," Spencer says softly, nodding, almost dismissive.
Once they're done talking and going over everything – Spencer's ingenious plan ("I told you," Hanna says smugly), how she managed to trick Mona, how that really was Toby's body and it's fine, she can deal with it, he was dead to her already long before she found his body – the three of them are about to leave because Spencer said that she wanted to be alone, at least for a while, at least until tonight when sure, of course they could come sleep over; when Spencer says, voice slightly unsteady, "Em."
They all stop. Aria and Hanna glance between them, and then Emily says, "It's fine. You guys go ahead."
Hanna shrugs and pulls Aria away, both of them looking happier than they were before they came here.
To be honest, Emily is so relieved she's too scared to even think anything about it. There's no way of knowing for sure if Spencer really is fine, as fine as she can manage to be right now, and those thoughts are clouding her excitement that finally, Spencer is back, that she's not dead and she was never dead, just broken, and she wishes Alison were here to see this; to be proved wrong once more.
(for A and Mona and Toby to be here and see this)
"Are you really okay?" Emily asks her, watching her go slump down on her bed with a sigh.
Spencer nods, rubbing her temples.
"Yeah, just have a headache."
"You should get some aspirin."
Spencer reaches over to the bed-counter and raises a box of pills, waving it in the air, an ironic smile forming on her lips.
"My mom made sure I have enough," she says, slightly sarcastic, but it's all right, because it's the same sarcastic tone she uses when it comes to her family. Not bitter; just dry. "Including sleeping pills. I'm gonna need them."
"So are you?"
"What?"
"Okay. You know – mentally, emotionally, whatever…just, are you okay?"
Spencer thinks for a while, then nods.
"Yeah," she says. "I think I am."
"If you're not, do you promise to be?" Emily says, feeling like a kid again, in the eighth grade, trying to convince Alison into getting better when she once fell over and hurt her ankle; a naïve little child, looking for hope in the bleakest of places.
Spencer laughs. Her smile is wide. Emily can barely contain her own.
"Yeah," Spencer says. "I promise."
"Pinky swear?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die," Spencer says, crossing her fingers over her chest, and Emily's too relieved to even notice the implication.
They laugh, both of them, quietly. Then Emily says, seriously, "I've missed you."
Spencer looks down at her hands, the mood more solemn now.
"I know." She smiles wryly at Emily. "I'd like to say that I missed you too, but you kind of made it hard to get rid of you."
"I told you I wasn't going anywhere," Emily says, using the same firm tone as before, because no, she's never going anywhere, not when it comes to Spencer and Hanna and Aria and Paige and her parents and everyone she still cares about, dead or alive. "You didn't seem to believe me."
"I did. But I didn't want to."
"Why not?"
"The same reason you wanted to get rid of us when we piled up in front of your door and tried to get you to come out."
Spencer's smiling, but she's as serious – and sincere – as she can be.
"But I don't feel like that anymore," she adds. "I promise."
"Does that mean you're not going to try and push us away anymore?"
"With your stubbornness, I don't think I'll ever be able to," Spencer jokes, and Emily smiles.
"I think that's the pot calling the kettle black," she says lightly, teasingly.
"Uh, believe me, no. I may be stubborn – but damn, your perseverance is terrifying."
"So is yours."
"So I'm terrifying, then?" Spencer asks, like it's no big deal; like Emily can't remember the way her hands shook when she tried to touch her, to calm her down, back in Radley, what feels like a lifetime ago but was really only a few weeks back. Long enough for Spencer to get better, more or less; too short for the memories and feelings to ever fade away, for any of them, especially Spencer.
But time heals all wounds, or at least helps for them to hurt less, and that's what Emily's counting on.
"You have no idea." She frowns. "Wait. Am I terrifying?"
"You can be," Spencer says with a smirk.
"In a a killer sort of way, or in another way?"
Spencer shakes her head, looking stern.
"You're not a killer, Em. Don't ever think that."
"And you're not alone, Spence. Don't you ever think that," she counters, and Spencer raises her eyebrows, impressed, enjoying the small little heart-to-heart they're having, enjoying the subtle challenge enlaced in their words.
"Understood," she says, nodding. "I won't ever try to push you guys away and I promise to be okay, eventually, whatever that means – as long as you do the same."
"Me? Why would I—?"
"I'm not the only one who shuts down when there's something wrong, Em," Spencer says, gently, in a way that lets Emily know that she's there for her, too.
And suddenly, it's like they're caught in that understanding once again, all over again, unspoken words, a bond forever tying them together to this misery and pain.
Toby's A. He's dead, but he was dead to both of them before that anyway (because she finally understands that sometimes the bad overrides the good and however much it hurts, she just has to accept it as it is).
"Fair enough," Emily says, giving in, because she does have a point. "Fine. I promise, too."
"What?"
"To be okay. To not shut down if there's anything wrong."
"Pinky swear?"
Emily laughs.
"Cross my heart and hope to die," she says wryly.
"Good. Just not the last part."
"Same goes for you."
"Whatever you say."
"I mean it."
"So do I."
"Good."
"Better."
"So are we good?" Spencer asks, the spark of amusement dropping from her face, replaced by trepidation, voice low and tentative. "You, me…even after everything – are we good?"
"Of course we are."
"Even after I—"
"You just said it yourself that I'm stubborn. What else do I have to do to prove to you that I'm really not going anywhere?"
"Nothing," Spencer says, smiling. "I believe you."
Emily smiles back. Then she remembers about Toby's body and the horror, the fear on Spencer's face when she saw it, and tries to ignore the regret bubbling in her stomach; regret for letting Toby down and (possibly) leading him to being who he was, who he is now – a dead body, nothing more than rotting flesh and bones, a fading memory that will soon be forgotten and meaningless (hopefully); regret for not doing enough for Spencer, for not realizing earlier; regret for everything that she's ever done wrong and everyone she's ever wronged (her friends, Maya, Paige – even Ali and Nate, because she killed one of them and the other one she never bothered to protect because she never knew her well enough to).
"So Toby's funeral…" Emily says.
Spencer sighs, running her hands through her hair.
"Yeah," she says evenly. "Toby's funeral."
"When is it?"
"Next week."
"I'm sorry, Spencer."
"It's not your fault." Spencer glances at her. "I'm sorry too."
"So we're both sorry," Emily says, and she remembers, a lot more vividly than she'd like to, how she and Toby apologized for too many things, for the wrong things when he was alive; when he was still Toby. "And we've both promised to be okay. We are going to be, right?"
"Yes," Spencer says, convinced by those words that might seem like a lie – or at least, far enough from the truth to feel like a lie, when they're really just another obstacle for her to overcome, just another challenge for Spencer Hastings to accomplish, and Emily knows that she will, because she really is Spencer Hastings, and will always be the Spencer that they know and they love. "We are."
They hug, Emily holding onto Spencer tightly, breathing in the strawberry shampoo in her hair and the detergent in her clothes, to make sure she really is alive and really is there and you were wrong, you're not always right, you were wrong.
(she doesn't know who she's talking to: Spencer or Alison, both alike, but so different in so many ways.)
Mainly because one of them is dead and the other one is alive, and they were both wrong and that's all that there is to it.
"I'm sorry," Spencer says again, once they pull apart, and Emily smiles and reaches for her hand, and just like that, everything feels right and everything will be all right and they'll both be fine, and maybe she's naïve to believe that, maybe she's wrong to believe that, but she doesn't care.
"Me too," she says.
It took them a while to get here, but they're here and that's all that matters.