A/N: Hey thanks guys for the reviews and the support for my little thought :) This one is pretty Spencer-centric and way longer than the first chapter.

Spencer walks out of her master bedroom, fresh out of good shower but still manages to feel just as groggy as before. Usually the strong pressure of the water against her muscles always took the kinks out, but not today. An hour in the shower results in actual showering for about fifteen minutes, and the other forty-five for her mind to wander. Unfortunately her on-edge, sexually frustrated brain always form herself, caught in the steam-filled room, taken hard and fast by the lovely swimmer, feeling that tan skin flush against her own as she drives Spencer to the exponential orgasm she so desperately needs.

It took cold, cold,water to tame her hormones so she could walk out the shower without shaky legs. It's sad; Spencer, the 'assertive' and 'self-assured' one, could no longer trust herself alone, or with Emily, or anywhere.She has so many questions, mostly for herself and some for Emily, and when she tries to verbally articulate them her mind goes to mush when she sees the beautiful girl.

What happened to me?

Her mind is still racing, she honestly doesn't think it truly stops, when she hears the doorbell from downstairs. With an instinct Spencer is ready to bolt downstairs to get it but then halts when she remembers she is in nothing but a towel. As she rushes to throw on underwear, gray shorts, and a white tank top, the bell is rung for the third time. "Jesus, Jesus, I'm coming!" She calls out as she skips down the stairs, and opens the door without even checking for the visitor.

It would've only taken a second to check. She isn't ready for this type of conversation.

Her shock is clearly evident in her widen gaze and opened mouth; there is no way she could've feigned it. Emily is here, now, when she's all alone. Lord knows what she'll say then but what slips out of her mouth surely makes the swimmer flinch.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Her own sharp words and its icy tone surprises Spencer, but she couldn't take it back. That'll show weakness in her and Spencer doesn't need other parties, especially her, to know the conflicts of her own emotions. The pride in theHastings family and the constant need to sustain perfection forbids her to apologize.

"I called you and you didn't pick up and I sent you a million texts-"

"So you come by unannounced?" Again her voice cloths in ice and indifference, but her heart and conscious bleed with sadness and guilt. Emily didn't deserve this; she was only being the sweet, caring girl she's always been. Nothing changed.

But Spencer did.

"Yeah, I figured I'd be a friend to check up on you," Emily retorts, concern and care replaced with anger and pain. "But I was wrong, sorry." Her last sentence has conviction and it matches her action when she about-faces and heads for her car. Emily's had enough; she's been crushed and rejected enough to know when she's not wanted, and Spencer could feel the sadness radiating from her.

It just pains her to see Emily hurt, again.

"Emily." Her tone is choked with weakness and defeat; two adjectives that Spencer could never thought she could describe herself as. "I, uh, have some coffee ready." She pauses, pondering for a moment to figure out what to say next. "It's fresh" she calls out, voice cracked in desperation, hoping for Emily to return. "O-Or you could have tea.." She's a Hasting; it's impossible for her to apologize and it offends her that she couldn't do so, to make this problem go away with a simple 'I'm sorry'. She only could prove her feelings and thoughts through gestures.

Emily stops in her stride to her car and to Spencer's surprise doesn't turn around. It hurts her, but doesn't surprise her; Emily, already presumed as the 'weak' one of the group, does not want to give consistent to conclude her to the self-given title. She wants to prove that she's just as strong, if not stronger, than everyone else. Why? Perhaps for respect from others, herself, maybe, Spencer didn't know the thorough answer. All she knows that she's extremely sorry and it'll take work for the swimmer to forgive her.

And for Spencer to forgive herself.

With what seems like an eternity, Emily finally faces her, long dark hair swooping over her shoulders as she did so, with only a few long strands falling over her tanned face. It seems like the swimmer always mirror the expression of pain or suspicion, brow cautiously furrowed, eyes always wary. It shouldn't be this way among friends, Ais one thing but with them? No. She should be able to open up about something that doesn't involve the omnipresent terror. Thinking about it, Spencer doesn't know if she's still referring to the swimmer, or her own insecurities.

Emily finally walks up to the field-hockey player, expression still wary and suspicious. Her dark eyes flicker on Spencer's, gazing from her eyes, down to her nose, on to her lips- which she seem to look at the longest- as if she is detecting something, perhaps searching for veracity or honesty. The hold Emily keeps on Spencer startles a bit; no one's ever looked at her with such intensity unless they show disdain. Emily continues to gaze down at her lips, on to her eyes- which probably display the embarrassment and self-consciousness she's feeling- when she finally responds "Better have something stronger than that" with her dark brow slightly arched and a small one-sided smirk.

Initially Spencer smiles relieved that Emily is open to forgiving her for the churlish act of her ways, but then her face grows pale because Emily wants something stronger, obviously alcohol,and that terrifies her. The thought makes her shiver, thinking of herself under the influence, around Emily, with her having no filter of what to say. But she can't turn down a time to converse with the swimmer.

"Y-Yeah," Spencer says, catching her anxiety in her tone, "Melissa doesn't drink much, anyway."

Spencer escorts the swimmer into her kitchen, trying to feign her obvious skittishness and anxiety. She watches Emily sit on one of the stools, waiting, as she walks over to the lower cabinet and takes out the Bourbon and two glasses. She returns to the table sitting beside Emily, not wasting time pouring them their first drink. The alcohol burns her throat as it travels down her body but she continues to refill her drink and the realization hits her.

This is her third drink and Emily hasn't touched her first.

She takes that as a hint to stop, to let the conversation, anyconversation, run smoothly- like it's suppose to be. Emily continues to stare, oddly uncharacteristic of her meek traits, and unabashedly at that. Spencer looks down at her third drink, half empty, then back up at the swimmer who finally took interest in her own drink.

"Look," she starts, her voice a bit raspy from the strong contents she just guzzled, "I've been a real bitch to you and that's not fair. I've been on a lot of pressure and…" The truth behind her irritation is on the tip of her tongue, but she keeps it a bay. "…it isn't fair to you."

Emily nods at that, but something in her expression isn't satisfied by that answer. It is very vague response, Spencer purposely keeps it that way, and Emily wants to know more and she hasto tell her or her brain will explode.

She just needs more courage from her friend, Bourbon.

Taking down the other half of the alcohol in one shot, she lets out a sigh and gazes at Emily who doesn't seem to mind the silence. Who doesn't care how long it'll take to make Spencer feel better; who will do anything in her power to make her feel better. What a truedoes on a daily basis.

You're too good for me..

"Is it A?" Emily asks softly, as if the thought of breaking the long silence could kill them both.

It makes Spencer softly smile in return. "No," she answers truthfully, with a shake of the head. A, might have been in every place at the same time, but she could never be in her mind. As tempting as it was, whenever Spencer touched herself she made it her business to moan but never a name. In her sleep, however, she couldn't exactly account for but she feels that A would have messaged her that he/she/it knew this knowledge.

For once, A wasn't her problem.

"It's…it would be a lot easier if it was," Spencer replies with a short laugh, but not a humorous one. She's dead serious about that.

That strikes out the concern trait in the swimmer when she furrows her brow. "Spence…what's going on?"

When Emily asks the question, fear suddenly crawls up Spencer. Having her ask if something is wrong means that this situation is indeed real, and there is nothing she could do about her strong physical attraction for the tanned girl. Timidity trails into outright anxiety, leading her to down another drink. The affects of the alcohol slowly kicks in, her fear plastered with artificial courage of the strong liquid. Though she's a bit tipsy, it's not nearly what she needs to be fully oblivious of her fears. And she won't, or never, get that class and she will like to keep her name of the caliber.

"It's nothing really, now that I think about it," she musters in a lie, the side affects of the alcohol making her appear more confident. "It's just these…college courses are kicking my ass-"

"Stop." For once, the swimmer's voice edges with something sharp, pain- perhaps disappointment. She actually looked relieved when Spencer was anxious, but now that she's confident- well veiled by plausible lies- she hates it. For such a mystery, when displayed Emily isn't that hard to read. Even when she was drunk.

"You can't just brush this off Spencer. It's been bothering you for awhile and it…it obviously has something to do with me if you have to be so…secretive," she says carefully. "Please…if it isA then-" She sounds so calm and caring when she reaches over and places her hand on top of Spencer's. So sweet…like a weak, fragile doll.

Spencer may be confused, but she is noweakling!

"It isn't!"Spencer hisses, snatching her hand out of. "Just…please…please leave it alone?" She's begging, plea clearly evident in her tone, not to continue this. It's obvious that there's something up, she could practically see it all over the swimmer's furrowed brow, but she's not ready- not like she thought she was. She needs more time, to rationalize, to be the Spencer Hastings she's familiar with.

She can't do this today.

Emily watches as Spencer's down yet another drink, with a wary eye. She's drunk a lot, Emily counts this as her fourth drink- five,she quickly notices- while the swimmer barely touched her first. Aside from her keeping her bloodstream pure enough to drive back home, Emily wants to keep an eye on Spencer with a mostly sober mind. The pale girl seems lost, suffering in a place she cannot find an ally to assist her. It quickly brings her back to herself just a year ago, remembering how she struggled with her sexuality, swimming, A, with school and a desired scholarship on top of that. Now a few things are knocked off that list, A in its own right the domineer of issues, but she could be proud to say that she's at peace with her identity and that makes A a whole lot easier than it would be.

But Spencer...it seems like she's deteriorating right before her.

She's silent, dark eyes glued to her drinks that only disappear quicker as she pours herself more, and it kills Emily inside. She could only think of the typical issues, A,her family ripping apart becauseof A, and typical teenage issues, but none of them seem to equate the level of despair and...confusion Spencer is wearing.

What could it be? Grades? Yeah it's plausible, but Spencer would be too busy studying till her brain fried if it's anything academic. A? A has been torturing them for a while and if A did write her something, Spencer- the private eye she's become- would've told the group about it, terrified or not. Emily won't completely drop the theory, but it still is unlikely.

What could it be?

It's been fifteen minutes since words have been conversed, and it's getting on Emily's last nerves. She is a patient person, but she is still human and she's growing anxious to know. And with Spencer tossing her sixth down her throat, it's less likely for her to speak.

This ends now!

"Spence, I think you had enough-" She sighs, grabbing the near-empty bottle.

Spencer makes a low, intoxicated growl, dark un-focused eyes attempting to glare at the swimmer. "W-Who do you think you are?" she mumbles, slightly slurring but surprisingly coherent for the amount of alcohol she contained. "You think that you could j-just waltz in and tell me what I c-could drink in myown house?"

"W-What? No!" Emily gasps, appalled by Spencer's sharp attitude change. "Spencer I care about you and I don't want you to die of alcohol poisoning!"

"Oh, oh, so youknow how to take care of me?" she smiles grimly, slowly getting up from the chair to stumble to the floor, bring the stool down beside her.

"Oh my god, Spencer!" Emily gasps, dropping down to the floor, flinging the chair from her side, to pull the the drunken teenager up. She didn'texpect Spencer to hastily snatch her hand out of her hold as she stubbornly holds on to the kitchen island for support.

"Get off of me!" She growls, giving another un-focused glare. "I am s-sick of you thinking you know everything and that you could always help-"

Emily is truly appalled, so shocked that a bitter laugh chokes out her throat. "Says Spencer Hastings? Really?"

The field hockey player remains silent as if some how through her inebriated state, could see the pain she's caused on Emily's face. She looks soft, almost apologetic, but that sweetness leaves as fast as it appears. "All he had t-to do was fuck me right. Is that so hard?" She sighs, exasperated, clearly overlooking or ignoring the dark blush under the swimmer's tan skin.

Is she...is she talking about Toby?

An aching tick in her heads pleads with her to ask Spencer to elaborate, but the rational part of her brain told herself to bite her tongue. Lord knows how the pale girl will react, especially her abrupt attitude change just a few minutes ago. So Emily decides to wait, stealthily pouring herself another drink when the field-hockey player isn't looking, and casually takes a sip. Silence got her results before, so surely the outcome will remain the same. Besides, knowing Spencer for this long, she knows the preppy girl can't keep her mouth shut when drunk.

She looks at the clock, 3:30,and notices that it's been about ten minutes since the brunette didn't speak. Her embarrassment for Spencer's blunt wording trails into impatience. She wants to know, needs to know. And she needs to know how she correlates with the apparent issue she and Toby is having.

"He tried s-so hard," she finally says, voice in a low, raw groan, caressing the rim of her empty glass with her fore-finger. The saddened look on her face makes Emily sigh.

At least she shouldn't have to do this sober.

With a disappointed shake of the head, disappointment in herself that is, Emily refills Spencer drinks and sternly adds "This is your last one" before she closes the bottle and returns it behind her.

Spencer chokes a hard laugh at that, cautiously and slowly taking some of the drink before setting it back on the table.

Good.

That grim, slightly humorous on her face erases and gets replaced with a tight, thin line for lips. She gives a pause, a short one- thank God- and she mumbles a low sigh. "N-No matter what h-he did…it was n-never enough. He…why couldn't he be her?"

What?

Did she hear that correctly? Did Spencer horribly misused a pronoun or is it intentional? Her eyes flicker all over the pale woman's face, trying to find some hint, if any, of…Emily didn't even know. She couldn't keep this secret internal. She has to ask.

"She, Spence?" she asks, shock evident in her high tone.

She's expecting some grandiose action, or an explanation, a smile, for her to tell the swimmer that she misunderstood, anything, but she receives nothing of the sorts. The realization must've hit Spencer. Those brown eyes flutter, brow furrows, and her lips part as she widely opens her brown orbs.

Oh god.

"G-Get out," Spencer starts, breathing in low pants.

Oh dear, what did she do?

"Spencer it's fine, you don't have to-"

"Get out!" She all but screams, topic clearly not up for discussion. "I…t-this never happened. Now go!"

Her dark eyes finally flash up at Emily and it makes the swimmer outwardly flinch. The mixture of dazed inebriation, lividity, and a layer of shame and embarrassment, forms across the field hockey player's expression. She's drunk, clearly, but beneath the surface of intoxication lays fear…and confusion. She only knows this because she had that very same mix plastered on her own face just a short while ago. She's been through so much, and she also knows that hiding makes the pain strike even harder.

She just couldn't do this to her friend.

"No…"

Yeah so this one was pretty long and a bit sad ._. I wanted it humorous in my head, but my muse made it hurt. I'll try to lighten it up next chapter….if you want it. Review for chapter 3