A/N: I've had this idea for a fic during the summer and I finally sat and started writing it. It's a future fic that alternates one chapter in the future and one chapter in S3a. It might include something of the Halloween special, but I don't think it will include anything of 3b because I'm not planning to make it a long fic, it'll probably have between 8 to 10 chapters, if it's not awful. I thank other future fics that are inspiring me to write, like The Queen Has Been Overthrown, by go-sullivan, and The Scarlet Letter, by theninemuses7, which are really wonderful Spemily fics, of which I'm a devoted reader.

Sorry, New Yorkers, my knowledge of your city is pretty limited :)

I won't be able to update quickly because I'm still writing my other Spemily fic, but I decided to refresh myself with this one. For whoever's still interested, though, I'll be updating the other one in a few days.

Disclaimer: I don't own Pretty Little Liars, its characters and its story lines.


The past is never dead. It's not even past. (William Faulkner)


It's late September and the night feels already chilly in New York.

"I think we should get a cab?"

Pointing at the street with a slight uplifting of her characteristic dimpled chin, Spencer asks the question in hesitation, wrapping up in the light trench.

Mark traps her hand and pushes it into the pocket of his leather jacket, forcing her to walk.

He sure is a fan of late night walking.

"Don't you wanna walk home?", he smirks, his black eyes twinkling. "Let's walk barefoot in the park."

"You're not seriously saying we should walk barefoot to Central Park now, are you?"

She's not really in the mood – or in the right temperature – to face a long dark walk.

Mark and his walking obsession.

But he's teasing her.

"It's a play."

Spencer magnificently arches her brow at him. She knows it's a play. And it's also an old movie with a very young Robert Redford and a very young Jane Fonda playing a very young couple of newlyweds in New York and facing typical newlywed trouble, or what Spencer assumes it was typical newlywed trouble a century ago. Things have changed for newlyweds, though. Redford played an ambitious lawyer and Fonda played a vivacious "girl", whereas Mark and Spencer are both lawyers and both vivacious… well, Mark is more vivacious than her, to tell the truth. Whatever the case, Barefoot in the park is the kind of movie you can watch in TCM on a Friday night when you get home after dinner and a couple of Mojitos at a jazz club. It's the kind of movie she'll probably end up watching tonight after they have sex.

"I know it's a play, and it's a play by Neil Simon", she playfully lectures him, thinking about how much she's wanted to go to the theater lately, but thinking also of how strangely similar Robert Redford and Mark Melfort are, even in their last names, no matter how much of a golden boy Redford used to be before getting awfully ancient and dying, in opposition to Mark's curly dark fresh-from-the-start French-poet appearance. "But I'm freezing here."

"And the apartment's just around the block."

One thing Mark is, is insistent. Almost as insistent as she is, really. That's probably why she chose him, in the first place.

She values insistence.

"Three blocks."

"You're gonna get warm if you walk there."

"I can get warmer in a cab", she fires back softly, looking up to his warm mouth. "So no way I'm walking three blocks at this time at night."

"You can get warm if you let me hold you too."

Well, that is something. He is sort of a big nice heater in winter, but she guesses winter can start already in September for them, whereas summer is a big don't-get-too-close battle.

She wraps her arms around his waist, sort of giving in to the idea of a warm-up.

"You're already holding me and I'm still freezing", she says, trying to win the argument she's anyway going to win. "I want a cab."

He embraces her too, pressing his chin against the top of her head.

"Why didn't you move to Florida after college again?", he asks after planting a kiss on her head. "I heard there's sun and beaches over there."

"I'm not a fan of the sun and the beach."

"You like terribly dangerous and overpopulated cities."

"Huge cities with lots of crimes."

"Huge cities with huge parks where lots of crimes happen every night."

"Which is exactly why I don't feel like walking", Spencer concludes, "because I'm the one prosecuting the crime, not the one suffering it."

He laughs and they kiss and then Spencer pushes him to start walking away from the sidewalk and closer to the street. They're never going to get a cab like this. It's Friday night and lots of people are yelling for cabs. First they have to gain some distance from those obnoxious couples who have left the jazz-and-cocktail club during the course of their playful banter and who look like they are waiting for the head start to run and win the race against them. Although, Spencer knows, she can win any race, especially with Mark there. She is fast and he is fast and strong. They are both intelligent and he's got these amazing runner legs and these dark curls and this really deep voice which, at the same time, does not sound neither threatening nor pretentious. He is perfect. Not perfect in the sense of having a perfect background and a perfect profession and a perfect personality, but perfect in his appearance and in his hunger for the world and in his obsession to walk across the city. He is perfect for her, because she is perfect in her appearance after years of evolution towards her true style, she is perfect in her hunger for the world and she is perfect in her obsession for catching a cab instead of walking barefoot.

They walk together in a semi-warm embrace, avoiding other New Yorkers who also avoid to bump into the couple, when Spencer spots a big yellow cab stopping right in front of them.

"That one."

She sprints in her heels, knowing this is it and she has to beat the competitors, and her fingers rush to grab the knob of the rear seat in the most primordial declaration of possession humanity has ever gotten to see and understand: I was here first, so this is mine.

First, mine.

I.

There's not much difference between the big city and the original jungle.

From out of the car a face emerges, slightly freckled and with an annoyed expression.

Not everyone cares for competition, even in New York. Although it's weird to escape competition in New York, one must reckon. That's why Spencer chose the city.

The girl glares at her.

Whatever.

Spencer subtly glares back.

She's not probably from New York anyway. She has a freckled pale skin with clear evidence of sunburn. The girl had better watch out the sun and the beach wherever she lives.

There's another girl inside, who's taking her time to get out while paying the driver, and Spencer gets impatient with her, noticing the long dark cascade of hair as the girl faces away to attend the driver, the long tanned legs Spencer can see through the window, legs that are not covered by stockings to fight the night chill of September.

These are not New Yorkers.

New Yorkers know how precious time is.

These are probably party girls trying to have crazy fun during their wild weekend in the big city, wannabe models trying to get an important number or a direct line to the top, people who will leave for some other easy place on a Monday.

New York, New York.

She's been watching too many oldies lately.

"Baby", the freckles call from the awkward position in the street next to Spencer. "Come on, I am freezing here and we're gonna be so late."

Spencer has to agree on this one.

The legs finally appear, giving way to a perfectly fit black dress, the body of which carelessly directs her gaze to the impatient freckles across from her.

And the woman… she doesn't even notice Spencer.

But Spencer notices the woman, notices she knows this woman's legs and this woman's eyes even before really seeing them, and she knows this woman's cascade of glossy black long perfect hair.

She knows all so well because it belongs to her best friend and she can't believe it.

In New York.

Of all the cities in the world…

And where was she the last time they talked?

"Hi."

Hi.

That's all she can utter, because the name doesn't come out of her throat but still the long black hair dances in the woman's shoulders as she turns to look back at the person who just talked to her, and the first curious glance becomes wide-eyed and alarmed and somewhat happy in recognition, and Spencer also realizes she knows that expression of real curiosity followed by a warm astonishment that the girl is getting in her forehead and in her vivid eyes and around the corners of her mouth, because it's the same expression she's seen hundred of times, the same face, slightly thinner, less rounded, so to speak, but it's the face of Emily Fields and Spencer Hastings-Melfort knows it like she knows the palm of her hand.

"Spencer!"

"Emily."

Spencer takes a step forward and proceeds to awkwardly embrace her old friend, who embraces her back with her usual warmth.

"Spencer", Emily repeats, "wow, I can't believe this."

Spencer can't either.

"Hey", Spencer greets again, patting Emily's shoulder as the sweet smell of the long hair fills her nose with a strange sensation, because Emily has changed her perfume but she still smells so nice. "What're you doing here?"

"It's a long story", Emily whispers when their eyes properly meet, and she looks genuinely happy to see her. "Are you coming inside?"

"The cab?"

"No, the club."

"The club?"

Spencer turns to follow Emily's glance, catching a glimpse of an evidently surprised Mark and of more annoyed freckles before registering the information of the Daybreak club Emily must be referring to. It's a trendy place.

Are they party girls?

But last time she checked, Emily was an MBA.

Are they going together in there?

"I'm such an idiot", Emily's already replying, "obviously you're trying to get our cab."

"Yeah", Spencer turns to look back, "yeah, but…"

But she's already given up the car in the embrace and she's pretty sure someone else is going to steal it.

"What're you doing here?", she repeats. "Do you live here now?"

"No, no", Emily answers quickly, "I'm still living in LA."

Oh, that was where she was when they last talked.

LA.

"It's been so long, how long it's been?"

"It's…", Emily seems lost in thought for a second, "too long, I know, you should totally kill me."

"Especially if you're coming to New York without telling me."

Emily smiles. "It does sound really bad."

"It sounds worse."

"It's not what it seems."

"Well, you should know you're not going anywhere with me with that kind of excuse."

Anyone would think Emily should know better, and Emily seems to think so too because Spencer can catch a blush on her cheeks, followed by the immediate brief look-away that still characterizes Emily's shyness. She hasn't changed that much. She's still the same.

"You're totally right."

A cough is meant to interrupt them, but they don't know who it is.

"Baby."

The freckles.

Spencer takes another moment to check out the girl who she guesses is Emily's girlfriend and to check on Mark's continuous existence by her side.

Mark is now grabbing the cab door.

Good.

The girl's pretty. Kind of like a doll, but not vulgar like a doll. She should definitely watch out the sunburn, though, with that kind of skin.

"Hi, I'm Spencer", Spencer finally decides to introduce herself, holding out her hand for a handshake, "I'm Emily's old high school friend."

The girl returns a freckled tiny hand.

"India."

Really?

Spencer can't quite match the name with the freckles and the doll appearance.

"Nice to meet you, India", Spencer acknowledges, turning to look at Emily again before remembering Mark's presence. "And this is Mark."

"Hey."

"Hi, Mark", Emily greets, smiling politely, "I'm Emily."

"Let me guess, Spencer's old high school friend", Mark smirks, softly shaking Emily's hand. "You girls don't look that old, though."

"It's high school that's old", Emily flashes a wider smile, "not us."

"And friendship", Spencer adds, making sure to remind Emily of the most recent lack of contact between them. "That's supposed to be really old too."

"That's older", Emily agrees, shooting her a seemingly understanding glance. "Really old."

"Ancient."

"Older than high school?", Mark asks with curiosity. "Going back to middle school or further?"

"Almost."

"Going back to the pre-historical times of the world", Spencer announces, deadpanning. "Back when humanity didn't write in any known alphabet and all that, it's kind of a mitochondrial friendship."

Emily and India shoot her a confused glance, but she can't help sounding weird and too wordy when she gets a little nervous, and she's a little nervous right now.

Mark looks pleased, though. "Really?"

"It's not that old", Emily says, laughing. "She's lying."

"Yeah, I kind of notice she does that a lot."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Let's say you tend to get slightly hyperbolic sometimes", Mark says in response to Spencer's offended tone. "So where are you guys going?"

"The club", Emily repeats, smiling more shyly now. "Wanna come with us?"

"We just got out of one."

"A jazz one", Spencer clarifies. "We're going home."

"You should come home with us", Mark points out excitedly, "so you guys could catch up."

"Em", India cuts in, clearly alarmed by the direction of the conversation, "we're gonna be late."

"We're meeting some friends", Emily offers sheepishly before staring back at Spencer. "But, yeah, we should definitely catch up."

And it's a you-and-I sort of stare, but it's also apologetic.

"Do you still have my number?"

"Did you ever change it?"

"Well, yeah, like four years ago."

"Then I still have it", Emily assures quickly. "No problem."

"You sure?"

"It hasn't been that long, Spencer."

"How are you?"

They are locking eyes now and Spencer feels like they shouldn't let go just yet. She feels clingy. And she doesn't totally like it.

"I'm good", Emily answers in all her typical politeness, and Spencer can't read the truth out of her, not anymore. "Everything's good, how are you?"

"I'm good too", Spencer engages in competing politeness, although she is sort of good, after all, but she wants to know more. "But we really should catch up, we could have lunch tomorrow." She steals another brief glance to the annoyed freckles across from her. Is this her girlfriend now? Because she seems kind of downbeat, to say the least, and not at all like the type of girl Emily would like in the old times. The old times. Maybe that's why. This is not the old times anymore, and she doesn't really know what's going on in Emily's life, and she hasn't known anything about Emily in a long time. "India, you're invited to come too."

India nods, but it's Emily who talks again, her eyes not leaving from Spencer.

"You cook for so many people now?"

Spencer can hear Mark's deep laugh. "Yeah, you cook for so many people now, Spencer?"

"I know how to order lunch", Spencer defends, "and I've always been able to cook for four people."

"I can't do lunch tomorrow though." Emily looks both a little sad and a little stressed. "How does Sunday work for you?"

She has to work on a case she's assisting. But she's also sure she can make time for this.

"Coffee?"

A flash of recognition lights up Emily's face, punctuated by a sly smile.

"Old habits die hard."

"Do I have your number?"

"You should."

"Did you ever change it?"

Emily's gaze seems still for a second, wandering on Spencer's face.

"It hasn't been that long", Emily finally re-announces, but she seems hesitant that, maybe, she's lying. "I could swear."

Spencer knows it has been long. "We have to do the math."

"You'll probably love that."

"You know her too well", Mark cuts in. "She's gonna make you pay for every mathematical error you're committing."

"I'm used to it", Emily bites back, although Spencer doubts it's possible for her to continue being used to anything about her. "I'll buy you coffee to make up for every one, okay?"

Spencer shrugs and smiles back. "You do remember how to please me."

Emily doesn't laugh, but seems amused. "No one can easily forget that", she says, and Spencer catches a teasing tone that surprises her. "So I'll call you tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting for it."

"But you should expect it late."

"Right", Spencer says, "cause you're going to a party."

Even though Spencer doesn't really want to say goodbye yet, no matter how much annoyance the freckles are suffering, Mark takes the initiative and advances a step to slightly hug Emily. Spencer hates it when he does that kind of easy touchy feely thing, but Emily seems fine with it, not the slightest put off by it.

"I'll be delighted to hear some high-school anecdotes about Spencer, Emily", he advises. "Just so you know for the next time."

Emily winks. "I have lots of them, but you know they mostly involve books and homework."

"And why am I not surprised?"

Well, he should be surprised, and the unnoticed glance Spencer exchanges with Emily is enough proof of it.

"This is not about me, Mark", Spencer cuts off, shooting a devilish grin to Emily, "this is about us, meaning… I don't even know what you're doing in NYC so I expect a full catch-up."

Including the Indian girlfriend.

"Me too."

"You know what you have to do then."

Call.

Call me.

She knows Emily's getting the message, but it's clearer when Emily nods slightly, staring right into her eyes.

"I know."

They embrace each other again, and she wants to ask her if she's really going to call, but she knows she's not supposed to do that. She's already made her point across. It's nonsense putting pressure into people; at least into friends, close friends, people who'll always be close even when they're not anymore. Besides, Emily's never responded well under pressure.

She learned that some time ago.

So she says nothing else.

But she gets her hopes up when Emily holds her tightly and whispers it's great to see her and they'll see each other on Sunday.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

But she surprises herself mentally crossing her fingers for it.

They're in the cab now and it all feels like a dream, one of these things that you tell others at dinner tables. I ran into an old friend in the street. She was getting out of a cab, I was running to get it. It happened like in a movie, in slow motion, but without the slow motion and without the additional music. I knew it was her even before I knew it. So did you ever get the cab? I actually did, isn't it amazing? So did she ever call? She never called. She never calls back lately, lately meaning in the last three or four years. Is she going to call? Does she mean it? Spencer tries to remember the last time they talked on the phone. It was about three years ago, when Hanna's baby was going to be born and they discussed the presents for the baby. And the last time they saw each other was right after that, it was…

Mark squeezes her hand in the seat.

"Wow."

She turns to look at him questioningly. "Wow what?"

"Wow, your friend is the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen in my whole life."

She narrows her eyes at him on purpose. "Thank you."

"Excluding the person in front of me right now, of course."

"Of course."

The comment doesn't really bother her because she does know of Emily's absolutely superior beauty, which actually has gotten even more superior in the last years, for the obvious look of it, but it still pisses her off a little and she can't exactly account for the reason.

"I'm serious."

"You don't need to be."

"I am."

"It's okay", she plays it off, "she's gay, so it's not like I have to compete with her."

He seems greatly amused by this revelation. "Are you serious?"

"Definitely."

"All right", he laughs jovially too, "because I was actually wondering where the baby thing was coming from, but I guess my brain was refusing to believe it."

"I wouldn't say it was your brain."

He's teasing her, but now his eyes cling to her.

"I resent sexist jokes like that one, you should know."

She leans her shoulder towards him and pouts.

"You poor liberal thing."

He shows his perfect white teeth. "So this is the gay friend I've heard about?"

"Indeed."

It's not like she's had to talk about Emily a lot. Only sometimes. Only when certain things are talked about. And Emily has made it easier by not appearing at all in her life, not even at her wedding, for which she guesses she should feel offended. But she decided to stop feeling offended with Emily a long time ago, if she actually ever had the capacity at all.

"Were you planning on hitting on her in front of me?"

"I already did", Mark says, "didn't you notice?"

"I did, actually."

He gives her a funny, honest smile. "So why didn't she come to our wedding if she's such a great friend of yours?"

"Her mom was sick at the time", Spencer replies flatly, "so it was a good excuse."

"But you think it was an excuse."

Well, it was. She is sure of it.

"No, as I said, her mom was sick and she couldn't make it."

"Is she all right?"

"Her mom?"

"Yeah."

"I think she's better now."

She has no idea about Pam Fields' health, but nobody's told her if she has died, so Spencer guesses she's better.

"So when did she become gay?"

Spencer cuts him with her eyes. "I'm guessing maybe when she was born."

"You know what I mean."

She looks at the city lights in Broadway, imperturbable outside, edgy and windy inside.

"She was sixteen when she came out to us."

She remembers Emily's tears in front of Detective Wilden like it was yesterday.

"Was she this hot back then?"

"Mark", she finally snaps, causing him to burst out in laughter, "she was my best friend and I didn't really look at her with sexual eyes like you're thinking of her, but yes, she was."

"I'm not thinking of her with sexual eyes."

"No, you're thinking of her with a penis."

"I resent that again", he shoots back, although he doesn't seem to resent it at all because, for him, the whole thing is actually very funny. "I'm just curious about her, that's all."

"You already got to know her."

"Is that as much as I'm ever gonna see of her?"

For some reason, the question stings. "Probably."

"Did she ever have a crush on you?"

He's so obviously teasing her now, it's causing a strange mix of irritation and amusement in her. Emily obviously made an impact.

"I don't think so."

"But you're not sure."

"No, I am sure."

"She probably did, it's you after all."

She rolls her eyes, hiding her annoyance under sarcasm. "I can't agree more."

"I would've had a crush on you", he offers wickedly, "but then again, I'm biased."

"You're married, which makes it more boring."

"Did you just call me boring?"

"I did, didn't I?"

He knows he's not boring, though, so he just stares at her in confidence.

"And did you have a crush on her?"

He's curious, he's talkative, he's still a boy at heart.

Men.

"Absolutely, how can you tell?"

He lifts his index finger to her face. "It's these lines here", he motions, whispering around her creasing forehead and her pouty lips, "and it's also this pout here, I recognize it, it means lesbian crush."

"Idiot", she playfully chides, brushing away his finger, "are you gonna keep talking about her?"

"All week."

"Well, go on, I won't interrupt you."

"You think she'll call?"

"No."

She feels suddenly sad at her certainty.

"Why?", he enquires. "She looked really glad to see you."

"Statistics", she explains. "She hasn't called me in years."

He seems to take this more seriously. "I'd call you."

She smiles, and it's her who squeezes his hand. "That's because you're sweet."

"And boring."

"And my husband."

"So did you guys fight or anything?"

Is he never going to let it go?

"Not really."

"So what happened?"

She turns to look at him with sudden irritation. "Life happened."

But it wasn't only life and she bites it back, much like she bites back everything about Rosewood and her teenage years, and most of what has to do with Emily during that time.

It wasn't only life.

Problems, books and homework.

It was also everything else that happened to both of them, and she tries to get it off of her shoulders again, but she's trying to remember the last time she thought about Emily, and she's surprised to realize it was only about one month ago, when she was talking to Hanna on the phone. Hanna has that effect on her. And Spencer always asks about Emily, because Emily still has a good, semi-close friendship with Hanna. Because who wouldn't have it with Hanna, anyway?

But it wasn't only life, and she remembers the thought crossed her mind one month ago even though it's been so long since she stopped caring about Emily Fields.

The thought crossed her mind like it's crossing her mind again.

Life happened.

Other things happened.

That night happened too.

She looks away at the big city outburst outside the window, feeling a stingy oppresion in her chest.