Hello all! Wow, once again, can I say that I'm just utterly blown away and humbled and startled by your reviews? I freaking love all of you, like so, so much. I sincerely cannot thank you enough and I genuinely hope that you will still enjoy the road I'm taking this story on in the future. You can tell me if you don't. I appreciate feedback either way. It's the thing that really keeps me going, after all; your incredible, unrelenting support. Thank you, seriously. I cannot say that enough.
That being said, since the show's doing a time jump, so am I. Like I said from the first chapter, this story goes AU from prom, but I am going to keep the timeline mostly canon. They're skipping five years, so am I. They're giving us the girls in their early twenties, so am I. However, they gave us a shitty ass excuse for an -A reveal and I'm hoping and praying you won't think mine is. Let's be real, you all already know who's going to be my trio of bad guys (as in, Red Coat, Black Veil, and -A). Think about it. Trust me, you know. I can guarantee you it's three separate people and none of them are Sara Harvey. Because that's stupid. Anyway, yeah. Think about it. You know more than you think you do. Read and review, maybe, and, hopefully, enjoy! Thank you again and see you next time!
Four
Casco Bay is the town described in fairytales. The bustling piers of the famed Old Port in Portland are always humming with activity and the hustle of the big city combines with the quaintness of cobblestone charm in a way that shouldn't work, but somehow still does. Boats beat against docks and foghorns are always sounding into the picturesque mornings, with lighthouses keeping watch over the town, their giant, industrial beams cutting through the densest of nights. The beaches are full of soft white sand and salty blue seas and nearly everyone lives off of love and fish here; after all, fishing is the lifeblood of this quaint town. The houses are close enough to borrow cups of sugar from neighbors, but not so close that they might feel overburdened or on top of one another. It's literal perfection; it's like stepping outside and into a postcard. It's the hometown of Kate Wilson and thousands of others that don't know who she really is.
So much time passes that soon, it's been five years and she's somehow twenty-three. She graduates with honors and volunteers at soup kitchens and homeless shelters and interns at a local psychiatrist's office, as a grief counselor. She discovers she's actually a very talented sailor and sometimes, she goes out on boats with a few of the local fishermen and they bring back the infamous pounds of lobster and they always save her one. She has friends both inside and outside of work and sometimes, she even goes out on dates. What's craziest of all is that she's happy; she's actually legitimately happy and she never thought she could be, not after all that's happened, not without him. But she doesn't allow herself to think about it anymore; in the beginning, it's all she thought about and it drove her crazy. But now… Now, she doesn't dream as much, anymore, and she's beginning to wonder if someday, she'll forget forever. She's lost all hope of finding Charles. What scares her the most is that a teeny, tiny part of her doesn't want to at all.
She's used the last of the government grant and what she's been saving from her job on a small house overlooking the water. It's definitely no Hastings manor; it isn't even half the size of the house she's been living in with Mary Anne, her beloved pseudo-grandmother, but she feels like nothing but a burden to the older woman and she's got to get a start on her solo life, somehow. Currently, it's mid-October and the leaves are golden brown and beginning to fall off trees and there's a Halloween block party for the whole town at the rec center and apple orchards are offering hayrides and free apple cider. She's buttoned her pea coat all the way up and wrapped a scarf around her neck for good measure and she's currently leading Mary Anne up the cobblestone path to her big, beautiful blue house. A soft fall breeze tousles the rustling leaves and sends salty sea air skyward. Spencer's never been more in love with a location in her life.
"You're making me very nervous," Mary Anne says, her eyes closed, her hand clasped in her pseudo-granddaughter's. "I really wish I could just open my eyes already."
"We aren't quite there yet," Spencer says. "You have to get the full view."
They stop walking and Spencer grasps her shoulders, positions the older woman just right. "Okay… Now!"
Mary Anne opens her eyes and a hand covers her mouth as she takes in the wraparound porch with the rocking chair, the beautiful bay window, the ocean view off the cliff side. "It really is beautiful."
"You like it?" Spencer wonders. "I pretty much fell in love with it the moment I saw it."
"I can't believe you're moving out," She shakes her head. "You know I can still provide for you. You don't have to do this."
"I want to," Spencer insists. "I've imposed on your life enough. I wanted you to get your house and your life back. You can really start your retirement now, Nan."
"Oh, hush," Mary Anne waves her off. "You're still my responsibility until you're no longer Kate Wilson. And even then, whether you're Spencer or my little Katie bug, you're a part of my life now."
Spencer chuckles. "You really still want to stick to that nickname?"
"Come on, Katie bug!" Mary Anne winks. "It just seems like something a grandmother would call her granddaughter, don't you think?"
"Sure," Spencer chuckles and then she spots a familiar figure walking up her new driveway. She should've expected he'd be here, sooner or later. "Like my new digs?"
"Love them," Drasin comments, holding out a bottle and three glasses. "Brought you some champagne to celebrate."
She smirks. "You can drink on the job?"
"We just won't tell them," Drasin says and uncorks the bottle, pouring them each a glass. "To your brand new house- may it be easy to live in and impossible to penetrate."
"Heartwarming," Spencer jokes and drinks, the fizzy liquid tickling all the way down. "And I suppose you'd be liking one of these?"
She dangles a set of keys in front of his face and he chuckles. "Liking? More like needing. In fact, now would be a good time. I've got to check every nook and cranny of this place. I'm going to know it like the back of my hand."
"You'll know it better than me already," Spencer agrees. "But okay."
He snatches the extra key from her and grins. "You're going to be late."
Champagne sloshes out of the flute in her hand as she checks her watch. "Crap! I've gotta go!"
She shoves the glass in Drasin's outstretched hand, kisses Mary Anne's cheek and races down the street. At her retreating back, she hears Drasin chuckle, "Does that girl ever stop moving?"
"Never," Mary Anne negates. "Have a good day, honey!"
Her car's in the shop; since she spent the remainder of her money on her new cozy bungalow, she had to settle for an old Sedan that could definitely use a lot of love. The walk to the office isn't that far from her house, anyway; it's most of the reason why she's picked it. Children in backpacks and toting lunch boxes are skipping to school and there's a foghorn blowing into the early morning. Spencer takes a slight right turn and heads in the direction of the docks; it's the best shortcut. As she's weaving in and out of incoming shipments of fish, a scent she used to detest but now kind of loves, many of the fishermen call out to her and wave. She's made so many new friends over the past five years, she can barely keep up with herself. She doesn't know what it's like to have so many people love her, after all.
"Kate!" A familiar voice calls and Spencer halts her steps, turning in the direction of the voice. "Are we still on for Saturday?"
It's Dean, one of her favorite sailor buddies, but she's completely blanking on what she promised him. "Saturday… Right. Remind me what we agreed on?"
"Saturday? Cape Elizabeth? Getting enough lobster for rolls for the block party?" Dean reminds her. "Kelly's still not quite herself."
"Cape Elizabeth!" Spencer shouts. "Right! Right, yeah, I'll totally be there."
"You will?" Dean teases. "You won't forget? I can try and see if Kelly can get someone to watch the kids, but the baby's barely-"
"No, no, no, Dean, no," Spencer insists. "You can count on me, you know that. It just momentarily slipped my mind, but we're good."
He smirks. "You work too much, kid."
"Yeah, I could say the same to you," She grins. "Is Kelly doing okay, though? She's been out of it for a while."
His smile falters. "I don't know. She seemed okay right up until Oliver was born and now it's like… She's so down, all the time. She forgets things, she doesn't have energy… We're all noticing it."
"If she ever wants to talk," Her hand slips into her purse and produces a business card. "That's what we're there for, you know."
Dean takes it and nods. "Thanks. You're really great. Thank you."
She nods. "So, Saturday, then? I'll be there. I'll bring something for the kids."
"They'll love that," Dean grins. "Can't get enough of their Auntie Kate!"
She waves goodbye and it's been five years and she still feels like a phony. Regardless, she presses on, towards the office, and when she arrives, there's time enough to spare for her to relax just a little. She makes it to her desk and there's a blueberry muffin and a coffee waiting for her, a note accompanying them. Spencer unfolds it and reads, 'Thanks for a great night. I had fun! – D. She inwardly shudders; not at the note, not at the one who's sent it, but at the single letter that he'd signed it with. It brings back memories she thought she was okay with and is only now realizing she's never really healed. She crushes the note in between her palms and it ends up in the trash beside her. The coffee's cold and not strong enough and the muffin is sticky, but it's the thought that counts. Her first client's in at ten and a little before nine-thirty, her two best friends appear at her side.
"Newsflash," Lauren starts. "Dr. Cohen is super pissed this morning. I don't know what his deal is, but we all best keep our distance before he blows his top."
"We do all the work around here anyway," Cara frowns. "What does he do? Prescribe them medication? We're the ones listening to their every issue and trying to keep from jabbing this pen in our eyes."
"Easy, tiger," Spencer chuckles. "It's just an internship. We'll get real jobs and be out of his hair in no time."
"Ugh, Kate, please just let me be Negative Nancy for once," Cara sighs and then, Lauren lights up.
"Oh my god, you didn't text me last night," She exclaims. "How was your date with Daniel Handsome?"
"It's Hanson," Spencer rolls her eyes. "I swear, you're like a giddy teenager, sometimes."
"She's right," Cara agrees and Lauren sighs.
"Well I'm sorry my love life is nonexistent and I have to live vicariously through both of you," Lauren replies. "And you didn't answer my question."
Spencer shrugs. "It was nice."
"Nice? That's all I get?"
"It wasn't anything special," Spencer admits. "We went for dinner at that new restaurant on 5th. We got pasta. The end."
"Come on, Lauren," Cara jokes. "You know Kate doesn't kiss and tell."
"I don't," Spencer agrees. "But we didn't even kiss, so there's really nothing to tell."
They chuckle and a door slams open down the hall. Their psychiatrist, Dr. Cohen, bellows angrily, "If you three are done acting like silly schoolgirls, our first client is here."
Spencer jumps up. "I've got it."
She greets the young woman and leads her into the back room. There's a sofa, a chaise, a coffee table with magazines and a box of tissues. Spencer offers her a seat and finds herself sitting in front of the woman. She's petite, brunette, and has big brown eyes that are swimming in tears, but she doesn't speak, not at first. When she does, a tragedy spills out of her. "My husband's dying."
The woman is no older than Spencer herself and she can't imagine being married already, let alone losing him, but she can't show her surprise. Instead, she nods, and offers, "I'm so sorry. Do you want to talk this through?"
"We have a two-year-old. I'm twelve weeks pregnant. We…" She rambles. "I shouldn't be upset about this. I should think about our kids and what… what he's done."
At this, Spencer's confused. "This is a safe space. Everything you tell me will remain confidential unless I think the information is a danger to you or someone you love."
"It's not. It's…" She sighs. "He's been cheating. He got into a bar fight over his girlfriend and that's why he's dying. He's bleeding into his brain and… Now everyone's turning to me to make the final decision. You know, whether or not to take him off life support."
Spencer nods. It makes a bit more sense, now. "Has he showed signs of improvement?"
"No," She shakes her head. "He hasn't gotten better, but he hasn't gotten worse. He's frozen. And so am I. What do I do?"
And so Spencer listens and offers advice and tells this poor woman it's not her fault. Sometimes tragedy strikes and instead of tearing down, it only makes one stronger.
This is, of course, why Spencer is a grief counselor, after all. If she focuses on others' pain, it distracts her from her own.
"Surprise!"
It certainly is. Toby balks, "What the hell is this?"
"It's your surprise party, man!" Jason announces, stepping closer and clapping him on the back.
"My birthday's in March," Toby frowns. "It's October."
"It's not a birthday party!" Jason shakes his head.
"Dude," Their neighbor from down the hall shouts. "Congratulations!"
"On what?" Toby asks, confusion lacing his tone as Jason hands him a beer.
"On making fucking detective, that's what," Jason shakes his head, addressing the crowd when he says, "He's just being modest."
Their apartment is dark and loud and full of super drunken people- his least favorite kind of people. It's been five years since they left Rosewood and mostly, his personality hasn't changed. He still doesn't love parties; he still gets anxious and uncomfortable in these awkward social settings. There's a thumping bass that's legitimately vibrating their thin walls and just when he thinks their next door neighbors, a kind, mild-mannered older couple, are going to throw an absolute fit, he finds them, sampling chips and salsa in the corner of the room. Toby's pretty sure Jason's invited their entire building and he loves his roommate; truthfully, he does. He's the only one- save for Caleb, but he doesn't see him much, these days- who understands his situation, but the guy's pushing thirty and he still parties almost nightly like he's in college again. Toby's twenty-four and he's never partied a day in his life- not even when Jason's forced him to.
They moved to Philadelphia within a week or so of Toby accepting Agent Lydia Bolton's offer to join her search and rescue team for Charles DiLaurentis. Somehow, they found a cheap apartment in the city and easily furnished it to the best of their ability without going completely broke. Jason's been working daily with the Center for Missing and Exploited Children, traveling from city to city and giving motivational speeches, holding fundraisers and pleading with Charles, wherever he is, to just give in and come home. Toby, however, is taking a much more realistic approach. His efforts have since promoted him to detective, but he really doesn't feel like celebrating. He's exhausting himself; he just wants to climb into bed and fall asleep to whatever guilty pleasure is always taking up his television. And he's happy, actually; he really is. He's grown to love his job and the people he works with are really welcoming and genuinely nice to him and no one in Philadelphia knows who the hell Toby Cavanaugh is which is, in a word, refreshing. They don't know that he was his hometown's pariah and they don't care. So, neither does he. Not anymore.
He pops the top on his beer and takes a sip. It's not his favorite; he's never really been a drinker, but he supposes it's a special occasion, so he plays along. Out of the corner of his eye, he thinks he's spotted Caleb and after a double take that nearly snaps his neck, he realizes he has. Caleb's grinning and they hug quickly, clapping each other on the back. Toby's still in shock. "I can't believe you're here, man. What's going on?"
"Jason invited me," He chuckles. "Said we were celebrating some big accomplishment, but he didn't tell me you made detective. Congrats. That's huge."
"Thanks," Toby shrugs. "It's alright, I guess. That's not really why I'm still in it."
Caleb nods. "Yeah. I get that."
A moment of silence passes and he realizes they're both just as empty as they were five years ago. He knows Caleb did all he could for Hanna and so he's not surprised to find him just as lost. He doesn't bring this up; instead, he asks, "Are you staying for a while?"
"Probably just the weekend," Caleb says. "I've got to be back in the office by Monday. Crazy, isn't it, that we all have real lives to attend to now?"
"Yeah," Toby chuckles. "Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it."
Caleb lowers his voice, asking, "Any news yet?"
Toby frowns. "Nothing. We were in Dallas last week. I traced that son of a bitch all the way to Galveston and you know what I found? What was waiting for me?"
Caleb sighs. "Nothing?"
"Worse," Toby shakes his head. "A bag of ice."
"Ah," Caleb nods. "You're getting colder."
"Yup," He says. "Mona left us a similar thing years ago, when she was still calling the shots and when Spencer and I were barely…"
He trails off. It hasn't gotten any easier to talk about her. Caleb seems to understand. "It's okay. I try not to talk about Hanna, either."
Silence ensues and soon, it nearly stifles them. Toby asks, "How did we let it get this way?"
"We didn't have much of a choice," Caleb replies. "But hey, they're still out there, somewhere."
"You think they're okay?"
"Sure, why wouldn't they be?" Caleb shrugs. "I mean they're in the Program; they're not in any danger."
"It's not that," Toby shakes his head and this, he's never talked about with Jason. Jason doesn't quite understand, but he knows Caleb does. "I know how I still feel and I've got a pretty good feeling I know where you stand, too. But do you think they…?"
"Are what? Over it? Over us?" Caleb sighs and Toby nods. "I torture myself with that thought all the time. You're not alone."
"It's just that they've all been through so much shit," Toby sighs. "And if they got through half of that, then…"
"Then this is nothing," Caleb finishes. "I know."
"It's okay," Toby decides after a beat. "If Spencer's over it, you know. I really just want her to be safe and happy. That's all I've ever wanted."
Caleb nods. "Preaching to the choir, man."
The party doesn't start to dwindle down until after three a.m. and the sun's starting to come up when the last guest leaves and Jason starts to clean up after himself. Toby helps even though fatigue is pulling at his limbs and Caleb's crashed on their couch hours ago. They're stuffing Solo cups into trash bags and tossing bowls into their sink and Toby realizes they're kind of living the college dream he never had; throwing raging parties until the wee hours of the morning. Jason has apparently given up completely on sleep; when he's finished cleaning, he takes out the trash and then returns and starts pouring cereal and milk into a bowl, Toby shaking his head at his friend's actions. Jason DiLaurentis is a puzzling individual. He expects nothing less from a member of that family.
"You want me to bring you back anything?"
Toby's barely awake and he's barely heard him. "From what?"
"Massachusetts," Jason answers, dipping the spoon back into his bowl. "I'm leaving tomorrow for that conference and fundraiser. It's at the Westin Waterfront."
"I'm good," Toby yawns and sinks into an armchair. Caleb stirs slightly before him.
"Did you see Lydia showed up last night?" Jason asks. "I think she likes you."
Toby rolls his eyes. "I know she likes me. I'm not in middle school anymore."
"It's okay, you know," Jason tells him. "I know I'm her older brother, but I won't beat you up if you want to date other people. It's been five years. It's okay to move on."
Toby's silent a moment before saying, "I don't like her like that. And we work together; that's a terrible idea, anyway. Never mix business with pleasure."
Jason nods sympathetically. "You're still in love with her."
Toby sighs exhaustedly. "Can't imagine a day when I'm not."
He stands, trudges off to his bedroom and says, "I hope he's out there somewhere, watching you, and I hope he's convinced by your speech at this stupid conference. Better yet, I hope he shows up to the fundraiser. Because we're out of ideas, Jason. We're running out of leads. It's been five years and I'm so tired of this."
"You don't have to do this, Toby," Jason calls after him. "You can give up at any time."
Toby shakes his head, sinking into his bed. "No. No, I can't."
At the end of the day, Dr. Cohen announces he's attending a psychological health seminar in Boston next weekend and he invites his interns to join him, to learn a few things, and that familiar race of excitement gets Spencer's adrenaline pumping. She loves traveling; always has. It gets her blood flowing, her mind racing, her wanderlust satiated and allows her to feel something brand new. She's not so good at the feelings, these days; she supposes she never really was in the first place. The one person who had actually gotten her to confront them had been taken from her and tries not to remember this tiny detail anymore. Instead, she returns home with pep in her step, inhales that brand new house smell and smiles complacently. It might be empty, it might need Spencer Hastings' interior design expertise, but she's got all the time in the world. She whips up some pasta and retreats to her back porch, sinking into a chair and watching the deep cerulean waves crash against the shore. It's chilly and it certainly isn't beach weather, but it's home. And she's glad it is.
Like clockwork, she hears a familiar car horn beep and then footsteps on her porch. Drasin checks in on her twice a day; she's used to him by now. He takes a seat beside her and she greets him amicably. "You want some dinner? There's pasta on the stove."
"Tempting, but I ate already," He tells her.
She smirks. "Did you microwave a burrito again? I told you, those things are pumped with sodium and artificial flavors and are so not good for you."
"And I told you," Drasin counters. "You know way too much useless information and I'm going to eat it anyway."
Spencer rolls her eyes and watches the deep blue sky melt into the sea, turn into an arcane purple and then an omniscient black. "This is my favorite spot in the entire town. I love the view."
"Yeah, it's nice," He nods.
"Nice? It's where the ocean is the bluest," Spencer sighs dreamily. "I could stare at it forever."
"You like blue? Really? You?" Drasin teases. "You don't say."
She grows a bit defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your car? Your house? The ocean?" Drasin points out. "And last week, when you were supposed to be studying but you were too busy staring at the sky? Not to mention you know the most synonyms for the word 'blue' out of anyone I've ever known in my life."
Spencer colors a bit. "It's my favorite color."
"Kate's favorite color?" He wonders. "Or Spencer's?"
"Both," Spencer sighs. "We're not that different, me and Kate."
Drasin chuckles, going to stand. "If anyone heard you say that, they might think you have some kind of multiple personality disorder."
Spencer smiles wistfully. "I'm beginning to wonder if I do."
Just as he's about to go, she remembers, "Oh, before I forget, I'm going to Boston next weekend. Are you going to have to follow me?"
"No," He shakes his head. "I'll still be on call, 24-7, but we've got agents out there. Just forward me your itinerary, okay? I'll make sure you're covered."
"Thank you," She says gratefully. "And not just for this, but for getting me here. Not giving up on me. Making sure I'm always safe."
"That's my job, Spencer," Drasin tells her. "I told you- I take it seriously."
"And thanks for that, too."
He grins and bids her farewell. "Goodnight. I'll be down the street, if you need me. Just call."
"Will do."
After a few more longing moments, Spencer stands and heads for the sliding glass door. But for a moment, her hand lingers on the soft paneling of bungalow. It's a beautiful blue, but now she almost feels subconscious. It's true, she's nearly doused her life in the color, but she's never quite noticed how present it is in her daily life.
Perhaps it's some sort of motif, she thinks ruefully, and then heads down the hall for bed.