Title from "Careful" by Paramore. Uses my headcanons from "no more straight lines" so perhaps read that super quickly if you haven't already.
[Week 1]
.
It's weird, being back at Dr. Sullivan's office. She's alone this time; no Emily to distract her with dramatic what-ifs, no Hanna to dispel the tension with her unique brand of commentary, and no Aria to be unflinchingly optimistic, to convince her that everything is going to be A-okay.
Which leaves Spencer to sit here making awful puns and staring at the plant across the hall until she starts seeing faces in the leaves, and hey, maybe she is crazy after all.
She's back in her home, in her normal clothes and makeup and brushed hair, smiling and behaving like a Hastings and even fitting an SAT vocab word into every conversation—if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, right?—but her mom is apparently dissatisfied with both her reformed attitude and the Radley exit exam she passed with flying colors.
This is why she's outside Dr. Sullivan's office, waiting for her first private session (she got here earlier than necessary, as Hastings do) and trying to remember the words to the song she has stuck in her head.
The door bursts open and she suddenly has company in the hallway; a girl breezes past her, wearing a bizarre combination of ripped, ratty black clothes that smell vaguely of cigarettes. Her hair is bright pink like Aria's used to be, but it's everywhere instead of being isolated to a few streaks. It looks more grown-up, more dangerous, than Aria's ever did, and for whatever reason Spencer can't take her eyes off of it.
"I'm ready for you, Spencer."
Dr. Sullivan's voice drags her attention away, but not before the girl cocks her eyebrow at Spencer.
She doesn't know what to do with that, so she just follows Dr. Sullivan into the office and takes a seat at the end of the couch.
Dr. Sullivan crosses her right leg over her left and props a notebook in her lap. "Would you like to talk about what your life has been like since you left Radley?"
Spencer rakes a hand through her hair and begins to study the bookshelf behind Dr. Sullivan. "Nope."
.
They haven't gotten much further than that by the time her hour is up, a fact that she's completely okay with, because she doesn't see the point of even being here in the first place. She's out of Radley and back to normal and everyone needs to move on instead of treating her like she's a China doll with a grenade inside.
She's digging through her purse for her keys as she shoves through the front door, but a haze of cigarette smoke catches her attention and she finds the girl from earlier leaning against the building. Spencer stares longer than she means to, and the girl glances at her after a long drag.
"Come here often?" she asks with a ghost of a smirk, almost like a pick-up line.
Spencer averts her eyes and continues to her car, trying to not wrinkle her nose at the smoke.
.
[Week 2]
.
She finds that time passes more quickly now that she has something to dread every week. The seconds crawled by in Radley—she could think, breathe, exist—but now that she's back to being Spencer and thus subject to all of the routines that come with it, she barely notices the journey from Point A to Point Z.
(Again with the "A" puns. They're almost as dumb as the fact that she has to be here.)
There's a stack of magazines on the small end table a few feet away and she grabs the one on top; it's a Cover Girl with Emma Stone on the front, and floating by her left shoulder is a headline that says "Ten signs that your man might be hiding something!"
Spencer flips the magazine over and stuffs it into the bottom of the pile.
The office door opens and the same pink-haired girl from last time appears; today she's wearing a black tank-top that looks like it used to be a t-shirt, a pair of aviators dangling from the V of her neck line. She looks right at Spencer as she passes, her lips curled into that same half-smirk from last week, and for the first time Spencer notices the glint of her silver nose ring.
"Come on in, Spencer."
She glances at Dr. Sullivan, a little annoyed that she can't keep studying this girl, because her appearance alone is infinitely more interesting than anything Dr. Sullivan could possibly have to say to her. But then she's gone, so Spencer gives Dr. Sullivan the most pleasant smile she can and reclaims her spot on the couch in her office.
"How was your week?"
Spencer shrugs. "Fine."
Dr. Sullivan cocks her head to the side. "Why were you so open when we spoke in Radley, but not now?"
"Because when we spoke in Radley, I was in Radley. I'm not anymore. I'm fine."
Dr. Sullivan nods and writes something down on her notepad.
Spencer glares at the clock on the wall.
.
Why she even bothers coming to these sessions, she has no idea. Dr. Sullivan asks her questions about Toby and Radley and herself, ad nauseum, and Spencer gives her abbreviated answers or nothing at all, and she has better things to do than sit on a therapist's couch for an hour.
Spencer walks outside slowly, reading through the handful of texts she has from her mom about errands and work and dinner, only vaguely registering the smell of tobacco.
"I'm Quinn."
She freezes and looks up to see the pink-haired girl leaning against the building, a cigarette dangling from her lips. The aviators are on now, blocking Quinn's eyes from view, but Spencer can still feel the weight of her gaze.
"Spencer," she mutters back.
Quinn laughs softly and takes a drag. "I know."
Spencer blinks, remembering that Quinn's heard Dr. Sullivan use her name twice, and she can't think of a witty (or even halfway intelligent) response, so she keeps walking to her car and gets in without looking back.
(She looks in her rearview mirror instead, watches Quinn inhale and exhale each puff of gray smoke, doesn't start her engine until the cigarette has been ground into the asphalt.)
(Spencer wets her lips before driving away.)
.
[Week 3]
.
The Cover Girl is back on top of the pile and Spencer's not sure if Dr. Sullivan is playing mind games with her or just has a serious OCD issue. Maybe Spencer could ask her some personal questions for a change, figure out the roots of this obvious symptom before things spiral out of control.
She glances at the office door and then wonders why she's doing that. She's not looking forward to the session, to an hour of sitting in awkward silence broken only by Dr. Sullivan's patient attempts to get her to talk. If she's being honest with herself, it's seeing Quinn again that she's kind of looking forward to.
It happens before Spencer has time to wonder why she's a little excited about it; suddenly the pink hair and black clothes and cigarette stench are coming out of the office and passing right in front of her, and then Quinn's semi-smirk is pointed her way and Spencer feels her cheeks burn.
Dr. Sullivan has to call for her twice.
.
The moment she's released she beelines it out of the office and doesn't slow down until she's at the front door. Spencer takes out her keys and focuses on isolating the remote unlock, and she gets chills when the smell of tobacco smoke hits her. She glances up to find Quinn in her usual spot, staring into space, and takes a deep breath. "What are you here for?"
Quinn looks at her and takes another drag. "What makes you think I'd tell you that?" she asks with the cock of an eyebrow.
Spencer swallows and is mentally screaming at herself for saying anything when Quinn speaks again.
"I had a baby and gave her away." Her voice is soft; loaded with some emotion Spencer can't quite place. Quinn holds the cigarette out. "Want some?"
"No thank you," she says automatically, then instantly regrets it. She's never smoked in her life—it's disgusting and unhealthy, something a straight-A, star-athlete Hastings wouldn't do—but she's also never met anyone who made it seem so freeing. Everything about Quinn seems like that. Spencer's wardrobe is the opposite of Quinn's: full of sweater vests and blouses and cardigans and skirts, of pressed fabrics and neat hair, like a professional interview could happen at any moment. They're the kind of clothes that a not-crazy person wears. "I was betrayed by the person that I care about the most," she hears herself say, and she's pretty sure it's longer than any sentence she's spoken in Dr. Sullivan's office.
Quinn looks at her again, longer this time. "You sure you don't want some?"
Spencer fidgets with her keys for a moment before stuffing them back into her purse and walking closer to Quinn. She hands her the cigarette; Spencer brings it to her lips and breathes in, coughing a little before blowing the smoke out. It doesn't feel awful, but it doesn't feel normal, either, and that's what she likes about it.
She gives the cigarette back to Quinn, only for her to hand it over again a single drag later, and soon Spencer is leaning back against the building like she and Quinn have had this tradition for years. They pass it back and forth until it nearly burns Quinn's fingers and she flicks it onto the ground.
"See you next week," Spencer mutters as she retrieves her keys again, shoving away from the wall and starting to make her way toward her car.
"See you next week," Quinn echoes, a teasing edge to her tone.
The corner of Spencer's mouth lifts just a little as she opens the door and starts the engine. She thinks about what it feels like to not give a fuck what anyone might think of you, to be in complete control of who you are, whether it's your clothes or your hair or smoking a cigarette.
(The smoke burns her insides, but not as much as Toby did.)
.
[Week 4]
.
She can barely sit still as she waits for that stupid door to open, and this time she isn't even close to pretending it's not because of Quinn. This is her only interaction with someone who's not her mom or her friends or a therapist, someone who knows nothing about her except the eleven words she's given her so far, someone who doesn't need her to be Spencer.
It's the freedom she had in Radley, without actually being locked up.
The door opens and she snaps to attention as Quinn walks out, today wearing an oversized zip-up hoodie. It's black, just like the rest of her wardrobe, and Spencer feels a jolt in her stomach.
Quinn is digging through her pocket as she passes by, but right before she disappears around the corner she glances up at Spencer, biting her lip just a little.
Spencer feels another jolt.
She's through the doorway and on the couch before Dr. Sullivan can say a word; the faster the session starts, the faster it can end.
"You seem more enthusiastic than you've been the last few weeks."
Spencer just shrugs.
"What's changed?"
She shrugs again. "Nothing."
Dr. Sullivan folds her hands in her lap. "What's stopping you from opening up to me?"
"There's nothing to open up about," Spencer replies, trying to keep her voice even. "Why won't you take my word for it?"
"Spencer, I think you're suppressing a lot of pain. The emotions you were feeling in Radley don't just go away with a change in environment."
Spencer tucks her hair behind her hear and clenches her jaw hard. "I think you're full of shit," she says quietly, staring at the polished wooden coffee table between them.
Dr. Sullivan writes something down on her notepad, and Spencer thinks about cigarettes.
.
It's like she can't get out of the building fast enough, and once she's through the front doors she walks up to Quinn and takes the cigarette from her lips without preamble.
Quinn just smirks and slips a new one out of her pack. "Wanna talk about it?"
Spencer takes a deep breath and blows the smoke out. "No." Her lungs are burning dully but it's a welcome distraction from… everything else. She leans back against the building and slides down until she's sitting on the ground, her knees bent against her chest. Another drag, and she tilts her head back and blows the smoke up into the air.
"You sure you don't wanna talk about it?"
The way Quinn asks it is so different from the way Dr. Sullivan does, like she wants to hear the story and not just the problem. "It's kind of complicated."
"Suit yourself."
Spencer rolls her eyes at herself and takes another drag. "Once upon a time, there was an evil bitch who was determined to ruin our lives via anonymous text messages."
Quinn laughs and shakes her head. "Damn, all I've got is teen pregnancy."
"After a while, we found out that it isn't just one person sending all the texts. There's a team."
"Yikes."
Spencer nibbles her lip. "Yeah, well. Then I found out that my boyfriend is part of the team."
"Fuck."
"On our one-year anniversary."
"Fuck."
"And then I thought I found his body in the woods."
"Okay, now you're just making shit up."
"So I ended up in a mental hospital."
Quinn takes a long drag and exhales slowly. "And now you're here."
Spencer watches the smoke waft up from the end of her cigarette. "And now I'm here," she repeats with a quiet sigh.
"That blows."
She nods.
Quinn flicks away some ash. "How much does she know?"
"Everything, actually."
Now she joins Spencer on the ground. "So what aren't you telling her?"
Spencer inhales from the cigarette again and holds it in for a beat before letting her breath go. "I have no idea what I'm doing anymore." Quinn says nothing, so she keeps going. "These last few years have been about solving puzzles; finding the truth. It's what I'm good at." She tilts her head back against the building again. "But sometimes the truth sucks," she continues, inhaling from the cigarette. "And sometimes I think I don't want it. Sometimes I wish I didn't have it." There's moisture burning behind her eyes and she sniffs. "My friends expect me to keep chasing down the bad guys, but what good has that ever done? I just… lose people," Spencer chokes out, then wipes at her eyes. "I'm sorry, you don't need to listen to all of this."
Quinn grinds her cigarette butt into the ground. "Fuck you. I don't mind."
Spencer wets her lips and takes a deep, shaky breath in and out, tossing her cigarette away as well. "I can't decide if I'm glad I know everything I do, or if I wish I could erase it all and start over." She crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "And that scares the shit out of me."
Quinn nods slowly. "Anything else?"
She laughs a little. "No, I think that about covers it." Spencer glances at her watch. "I should probably get going before my mom organizes a search party," she says, getting to her feet and fishing out her keys again.
"See you next week," Quinn replies with her small smirk and a raised eyebrow, and Spencer's stomach tightens again.
"See you next week," she echoes, grabbing a pack of gum out of her pocket as she heads to her car. She chomps into the hard mint coating and within seconds it's masked the taste of the tobacco.
Hastings are always prepared.
.
[Week 5]
.
This is the first week that she's running late—not that it matters, because she couldn't care less about being punctual for Dr. Sullivan—but she does care about seeing Quinn, about Quinn seeing her, about both of them knowing the other will be there when her session is over.
She locks her car and heads to the front doors in long strides, shoves into the building, is almost around the corner—
Suddenly there's a body in the way and she jerks to a stop before she plows into the person, and after a beat, she realizes it's Quinn.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
Quinn finally looks at Spencer, and her eyes are red and wet, and she moves around her before Spencer can get another word out.
Spencer watches her leave the building, watches the doors shut behind her, and after a single glance down the hallway toward Dr. Sullivan's office, she turns around and heads back outside. Quinn isn't in the usual spot, but then she glances around and sees her leaning against the passenger-side door of Spencer's car, and something in her chest tightens.
She holds out the remote and hits the button to unlock the doors. "Get in," she calls out, and Quinn does so without missing a beat. Spencer rounds the car and climbs into the driver's seat, and then everything is quiet.
Quinn staring out the windshield and clearly trying to hold back tears, but it's not working at all and she has to wipe away the moisture with her sleeve. "I lost visitation rights," she manages through the lump Spencer can hear in her throat. "I can't see Beth anymore." Quinn barely makes it through the sentence before she dissolves, curling into herself and resting her head against the window as her breathing gets more erratic and tears keep rolling down her cheeks.
"Hey, shhhh," Spencer murmurs, turning to face Quinn. "Hey, you need to breathe."
Quinn swallows thickly but her breathing is still ragged and she coughs a few times.
"Come on, Quinn. In and out. You can do it, in and out." Spencer takes one of Quinn's hands. "Slowly," she says, dragging out the word. "Breathe. You're okay. In and out."
Quinn coughs again but then tips her head back against the seat and takes a deep, shaky breath, and she's still squeezing Spencer's hand. She closes her eyes for a moment and then wipes away the tears with her free hand. "I'm sorry."
"Fuck you," Spencer says quietly with a small smile, "I don't mind."
Quinn laughs a little before clenching her jaw and shaking her head. "Shelby doesn't feel comfortable letting me interact with Beth. She thinks I have an attitude problem." Her grip on Spencer's hand gets even tighter. "She thinks that just because I wear these clothes and say 'fuck' a lot, I don't love my daughter… that I shouldn't even be around her." She sniffs. "I would never—" she starts, but she can't finish the sentence.
"I know," Spencer says softly.
Quinn's breathing is steady now. "Thanks for calming me down."
She shrugs. "I've had my share of panic attacks over grades and tryouts."
"But never over that fucking text message crap?"
Spencer laughs. "Maybe I'm crazy, after all."
Quinn looks blankly at the dashboard in front of her. "Nah, I don't think so," she whispers.
Spencer looks at her for a long moment, then cups her cheek with her free hand, turns Quinn's head, and kisses her.
Quinn's lips only seem surprised for a fraction of a second before they're kissing back.
After a moment she starts to pull away but then Quinn has Spencer's bottom lip between her teeth; she lets out a breathless moan and now their kisses are open-mouthed—
Spencer's phone rings but she doesn't stop tasting Quinn's lips until she sees the name on the screen. "Hey, Mom," she greets, trying not to pant the words out as she leans her forehead against Quinn's. "Yeah, I didn't make it to the appointment. Um, Aria called and said she needed me for something." Quinn's hot breath is in her mouth and her stomach is in electric knots. "Sorry, it won't happen again. Yeah, I'll be home in a bit. Bye," she finishes, then hangs up and lets her phone fall to the floor as her tongue slides against Quinn's.
She finally pulls away when her hand starts snaking up Quinn's shirt of its own volition. Spencer can feel how flushed her face is, and Quinn's eyes are brighter than she's ever seen them; for the first time she notices they're hazel. "See you next week?"
The tip of Quinn's tongue peeks out to snake along her bottom lip. "See you next week," she repeats, her voice low and playful, before climbing out of the car and closing the door behind her.
This is going to be the longest fucking seven days of Spencer's life.
.
[Week 6]
.
When she gets to Dr. Sullivan's office, the door is wide open and Quinn is nowhere to be found. Part of Spencer just wants to turn around and leave, but Dr. Sullivan sees her before she can move.
"Come on in, Spencer. My last client didn't show up so we can go ahead and get started."
"Okay," she manages, and she sits on the opposite end of the couch that she normally does because it's Fuck Routine Day, apparently.
Dr. Sullivan is looking at her curiously. "What's on your mind?"
"Nothing."
"You seem distracted."
"I'm fine," she snaps, except she's not because she misses Quinn and she doesn't want to be here and god, she really misses Quinn.
That's when Spencer realizes she hasn't thought about Toby in days, and a small smile spreads across her face.
"Spencer?"
She looks up at Dr. Sullivan. "Really," she repeats, her voice the calmest it's been in a while. "I'm fine."
.
She takes her time leaving the office, because her head is full and her chest is peaceful and she wishes Quinn were here, but that's the point. She's not thinking about Toby Cavanaugh or nametags or Scrabble tiles or diner conversations; they've been replaced with pink hair and aviator sunglasses and cigarettes that she only feels a little guilty for smoking and lips that taste like everything Spencer has never been.
Her car is one of only a handful in the lot and she silently dares "A" to make a move, but her phone remains silent and she sees no one lurking in the shadows, and honestly, there's something new in her veins that couldn't give a fuck what Toby or Mona or Redcoat might try to use against her. She's lost everything once; anything from here on out would just be child's play.
She opens the door and climbs in, and barely a microsecond has passed before there's a mouth on hers. Spencer chucks her keys and purse into the backseat and tangles her fingers in Quinn's hair as Quinn's hand cups the back of her neck to bring her closer.
"The door was unlocked," Quinn breathes against her lips.
"I know," Spencer manages, and then Quinn is leaning forward, pushing her back against her seat and climbing over the center console and on top of Spencer. The space is cramped and Spencer blindly reaches for the levers by her hip; she toggles the first one to slide her seat away from the steering wheel, then the second one to tilt the seat back, and suddenly they're horizontal and Quinn's full weight is on her. "You didn't go," she mumbles during the split seconds that their lips aren't together.
Quinn chuckles into her mouth. "You got to play hooky once. I thought it was only fair."
"Thanks a lot," she deadpans, angling her leg just slightly so it slides between Quinn's, and she earns a grunt.
"Miss me?" Quinn asks with a bit of a tremor in her voice.
Spencer smirks into the next kiss and brings her thigh even higher, and it's almost pure reaction when Quinn's hips come down hard against it.
"If you don't stop doing that," she pants, "I'm gonna—"
"You're gonna what?" Spencer interrupts, and Quinn dips down to nip at her neck. A moment later Quinn's leg is between her own and their movements get stronger, more deliberate, and those electric knots are back in Spencer's stomach. She clutches at the hem of Quinn's shirt and pulls it up a little then lays her hands along Quinn's lower back, fingertips digging into the hot skin there, and Quinn starts pressing even harder.
Their breathing is getting louder as the electricity drifts up into Spencer's abdomen. She tilts her head back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as Quinn's lips and tongue and teeth continue dancing along Spencer's throat, but soon Quinn's movements begin to falter. Spencer lifts her leg one more time just as Quinn drives hers down, and together they fall apart with a mix of moaned names and cuss words.
Quinn slumps against her, resting her forehead against Spencer's collarbone, and as Spencer catches her breath she can feel Quinn's hot pants against her shirt.
"See you next week?" Spencer asks, still slightly breathless as she brushes her fingers back and forth along Quinn's spine.
Quinn's lips ghost along her neck and up to her earlobe. "What about tomorrow?" she murmurs into Spencer's ear.
Her breath catches in her throat and she wets her lips. "I can do tomorrow."