A/N 1: Fifitehvampire, AmyLaze: Aww, you made me happy with your reviews. Well, everybody did :)). Maxi-Luca: you should definitely write your Spemily fic; I'd be very curious to read it, to tell the truth.
There's an M-part, so usual apologies apply profusely.
The universe has its own plans designed for the people who live in it. Sometimes, the most logical plans, or at least the ones that are based on experience and recent history, fail because they are ultimately absurd, because they are not meant to happen, or because parents realize that, on a particular night, they need to pay attention to their child. Tonight, Spencer was expecting to surreptitiously sneak Emily inside her house. She hadn't really thought of a plan. She was just expecting to do what she'd done in many occasions: lead the way and do whatever she had in mind regardless of everything else, especially of her parents. No matter how or why, she'd been sneaking in and out of her house hundreds of times during the last year without her parents knowing or even caring about it. But, tonight, her mother had to wake up due to insomnia and realize Spencer wasn't there. It was a surprise that her mother actually cared about it enough to wait for her in the living room, thus making Spencer's plan impossible; making, at least, the surreptitiousness of it an impossible, unattainable event. The moment Spencer realized this, when she parked the car in front of her house and saw the lights inside the living room, she did start thinking of a plan; she wasn't one to shrink in the face of parental trouble, especially not on a night like this. However, the moment Emily realized it, only a couple of seconds after Spencer did, when she was still in her state of drunken stupor that was progressively sinking her down into the kind of depression that alcohol creates when you've used it to escape reality, her face fell to the floor, the skin under her eyes darkened even more, and then she grew paler and sort of shadowy around the edges, in a clear sign of shame and inescapable terror. But she didn't say anything. She seemed resigned to bend to Spencer's will tonight, even if that meant her downfall would become worse and harder to fight back in the morning.
Veronica Hastings was surprised to see Emily in such a state. Emily was, after all, a healthy, sunny kid; had always been a healthy, sunny kid ever since she was introduced to the Hastings long before they even learned she was gay or that their daughter had decided she was in love with her and was, thus, also gay. Emily was probably the person you'd least expect to find wasted and messed up like this, so it was natural that Ms. Hastings was stunned to see the effects a bad use of alcohol had on the Fields' healthy child. But Spencer had very quickly prepared for this outcome. She was already thinking about it while she helped Emily walk towards her house. When she opened the door to the hall and confronted her mother, she silently drove Emily to the living room, left her there with a bottle of water and a silent order to stay quiet, and took her mom to the kitchen to have the due conversation. There, in the middle of the kitchen, she explained a convoluted story about why Emily had gotten drunk. Without telling the actual truth, Spencer figured it was important to underline the fact that Emily was trying to help her. Her mother wasn't, obviously, easily fooled; she inquired about what Emily was trying to do to help Spencer and why Spencer would need that kind of shady, suspicious help. Spencer tried harder to complicate the story while at the same time aiming directly at her mother's possible feeling of guilt: a weird excuse about how she'd once innocently stolen an autopsy report back when she was trying to prove Ian had killed Alison sufficed; she'd asked Emily to return it without arousing suspicions, and so on and so on. The mention of Ian's name hit the mark; besides, the story was convoluted enough to make her mother actually believe her. For once, it didn't look like she was trying to compete with Melissa; and Emily did look as innocent as a young, long lost fawn who'd been deceived into a drinking game by an undetermined male person who'd promised her help, thus help to Spencer. So her mother believed her and actually agreed to silence the incident to both Ms. Fields and Ms. Marin, but insisted Emily sleep in the guest room again. Spencer said no, there was no way Emily would sleep alone tonight and it would happen over her dead body. She was feeling sick and she needed help. Her mother said no, there was no way they were sleeping in the same room because she might understand Emily's difficult position but she was still a mother and Spencer had to comply to the rules that had been laid down when they'd started dating. Spencer doubled down the bet and said no, there was no way Emily was not sleeping in the room with her, and she was deadly serious about it and didn't care about any rules; her mother called her out on her inappropriate behaviour and threatened to sleep in the same room with them, which made Spencer fear for a second, but she didn't show it; she said fine, but attacked her mother's ability to take care of sick people and reminded her she had to go to work the next morning. They crashed their Hastings antlers, and this time Spencer won. Sometimes Spencer managed to win also at home. And, when it came to Emily, she would always be a winner, no matter what, when, how or even who tried to oppose it.
The power of her determination was amazing. She was learning to be a Hastings even among the Hastings, which was where she probably needed it the most.
Besides, Emily looked harmless tonight. She seemed ashamed and sick enough to not be able to do much but sleep it off.
It was a special circumstance in a special world where parents had nothing to say.
When the crash was done and finished, and her mother was convinced, Spencer came back to the living room to pick Emily up. She was pretending to watch TV, sank down on the couch where she'd spent so many hours of her life. Spencer was hoping she'd be deeply asleep by that time. That would mean she wouldn't have caught any part of the conversation with her mom, since there had been a couple of heated moments which could've been heard. But she was awake. And the look she sent her meant she had, indeed, heard some parts of the conversation, because it was a look full of embarrassment and sorrow and even anger. However, she didn't say anything. She just looked up at her and proceeded to follow up the stairs. They were already distant from Veronica Hastings, who had stayed in the kitchen, when Emily finally opened her mouth and decided to speak in a whisper.
"I should sleep in the guest room, Spence", she said, and Spencer could hear the fine dripping of resentment. "Let me sleep there."
Spencer turned around. She was exhausted and unwilling to convince anyone else tonight. "No." That was all she was planning to answer, but decided to extend some more. "You're feeling sick and I'm gonna take care of you."
"I'm feeling better now", Emily answered. "Why are you doing this? You should've taken me home. Hanna could take care of me."
Spencer sent her classical cut-through powerful glance, but didn't answer right away. She grabbed Emily's hand and drove her to her bedroom, closed the door and finally spoke in a tone that left no place for an argument.
"Yes, I know Hanna could take care of you", she said, looking Emily in the eye. "And also Aria could take care of you. A lot of people could take care of you, I'm sure, but it's gonna be me because I wanna do it. I'm your girlfriend and I have the right to do it. It is my prerogative after you got drunk wanting to help me."
She understood Emily's embarrassment over this, and especially over the encounter with her mother, but she'd already dealt with it appropriately (well, maybe not in a conventional appropriate manner, but in an effective one, which was what mattered tonight) and she wouldn't let Emily have a say over this now. She needed to be with her tonight. Emily was in this state because of her, or because of A, or because of whatever bad things were happening to them, she didn't care; she just knew they weren't going to sleep in separate rooms tonight. And then there was the other thing – she might go to jail next week. They needed to be together on a night like this, and there was nothing else to add.
Emily seemed more embarrassed after listening to her, and took a step back. She was probably still too drunk to fight and too emotional to say anything sensible, because once again Spencer saw her eyes shine in tears.
But she just looked down and sat on the spare bed.
Spencer looked for a towel and a spare toothbrush and came back to Emily's place on the bed. She sat next to her and Emily turned, indecisive and frail. "Is that for me?"
Spencer smiled, trying to come across less edgy than she'd been before. "Yeah. You'll feel better after you take a shower."
Emily nodded in agreement and took both the towel and the toothbrush in her hands, but still didn't move.
"I totally screwed up with your mom."
Spencer knew this was the real source of preoccupation right now. "She totally bought my story", she explained, trying to ease that worry away. "It's fine."
"I shouldn't be here", Emily insisted. "I worked so hard to have her on my side and now…" She trailed off, chocking back more tears that threatened to well up and overflow her eyes.
"She's still on your side", Spencer argued, sounding more convinced than she actually was. She actually didn't care that much. She knew her mother liked Emily and would still like her because there was no human way to not like Emily. "And, more importantly, I am still on your side and will always remain there, whether you like it or not."
She tried to sound cute, but she'd been enduring too much tension during the night and somehow her words seemed more menacing than playful.
Emily seemed to get it right, though, because she gave her another of those tiny smiles that were so hard to obtain from her tonight. "I know you are", she managed to say. "But it should be me on your side, not the other way around."
She was still feeling guilty over what she saw as her failure to save her, even though Spencer was actually grateful she'd failed. That was another reason they needed to be together tonight – to talk about this. Spencer was preparing to say something when Emily stood up in a resolved, yet wavering movement, and wandered off to the bathroom.
Spencer waited, and while she waited she got changed into her summer pyjama-T-shirt and chose another one for Emily. It wasn't a good idea to sleep in the same clothes she'd used to go get lost and drunk while preparing to cheat on her, so she got her a fairly big T-shirt and a pair of shorts. They weren't exactly the same size, but she hoped they'd fit her, and then she took them to the bathroom. Emily had already showered, was covered by the towel and had even washed her hair. She gave her a shy glance and received the clean clothes with a thank you, in polite-and-sweet Emily fashion. She was suddenly as far away from the obstinate, desperate drunkard she'd been a while ago as she was from the sexy, confident, happy person she'd been during the last months. And, still, it was Emily. It was that same person who could sometimes shy away and become isolated in her sweetness, in her distant nicety and beauty that acted as a safe place for her whenever she needed it as a cover. It was her cover. And Spencer knew it was her cover. She could see through it now. And, moreover, she knew she was taking refuge in it because of everything that had happened and that could still happen, that she was scared of and that she regretted. But Spencer had to break through it tonight, because they needed to talk, and because, hell, because she had to do it, because they had to do it. Because, if not to each other, who would they turn to?
She sat on her bed, reclining against the pillows and cushions, and waited until Emily reappeared.
When Emily came back, she closed the door and awkwardly stood in the middle of the room. She didn't know where to go. She didn't know where to put herself to sleep. And Spencer's heart broke once again at the realization, because this was such a clear sign of everything that had changed between them in the last months, that she wouldn't know where to sleep tonight when she'd been sharing her bed with her or the spare bed with someone else for years now. It was the clearest sign of their change of status and of the difficulties that they sometimes faced because of it.
"Come here", Spencer called, hoping to help her make the decision.
Emily gave her a hesitant look, but approached the bed and sat on its edge.
"Why did you wash your hair?", Spencer asked, taking advantage of the question to sit closer and touch her wet hair with her fingers. She had the most beautiful hair she'd ever seen. It smelled so good and was always so dark and yet luminous.
"It seemed like the proper thing to do", she explained with her little voice. "I feel like rum's still pouring out of every part of me."
At least now, after the shower, her speech was more elaborate. She wasn't so drunk anymore.
"Oh, so it was rum." Spencer had been trying to smell what kind of alcohol it was, but hadn't been able to guess, and the fact that they hadn't even kissed had not helped. "What made you choose rum?"
Emily looked away. "Just that it was there", she said. "But I swear I'm never trying that shit again."
"Yeah, I heard that's what everybody says when they get drunk."
She looked at her again, with a very serious expression on her face. "No, but I mean it."
Spencer felt like kissing her, but she held herself back. She did take Emily's hand and intertwined her fingers with Emily's. "Come here", she repeated, meaning the bed, but maybe meaning more than that.
"Shouldn't I take the spare bed?", Emily asked, giving another clear sign of uncertainty and shyness.
Spencer decided not to answer and just offered her one of those typical glances that said it all, which was, once again, effective, because Emily immediately complied. She did move to lie down on the bed next to Spencer, but didn't go under the covers. It was a warm night. They lied down next to each other until Spencer reached for the lamp and turned the light off. They were suddenly embraced by almost complete darkness and by the sound of both of their regular respirations. Emily moved a little and placed some of the cushions at their feet, in order to get into a more comfortable position.
"When are we gonna talk?", Emily asked after a while. "About what's gonna happen."
"Are you feeling better now?" Spencer felt for Emily's hand again. "Do you wanna talk?"
"Yeah."
Spencer turned her whole body to face Emily's. She took some seconds to consider what she wanted to say. "We can't let A get so close to us."
Emily turned her head in her direction and Spencer could smell again her rum-and-toothpaste breath. "And how do we do that?"
"I know it's not easy, but we have to tell each other everything", she started to explain. "Every text, every little piece of information that we get from A, we need to tell each other or we're screwed, Em. We'll be screwed if we don't do it."
Emily took a while to consider Spencer's words too. "Aren't we screwed already?", she finally asked. "If you're going to jail…"
"No", Spencer interrupted her. "We don't know that yet."
"Dr. Sullivan…"
"Yeah, Dr. Sullivan might be dead", Spencer interrupted again. "But we don't know for sure. And anyway, Emily, that's my mother's job. It's not your job to get me out of jail. And, even if I go to jail, I know I'll eventually get out, because I didn't do anything."
Yes, she was scared of going to jail. She was truly, deeply scared of it. It was one of the very few things that truly, deeply scared her. She knew her powerful mastery of vocabulary wouldn't be of use there. She knew her death stares and her grave, low cryptic threats wouldn't help her there, if she was suddenly thrown in the middle of an unexpected situation, with people who wouldn't be either friends or enemies, or rivals or players or bystanders; without Emily, and Hanna and Aria; without her parents and Melissa to piss her off or give her protection. With people who wouldn't give a shit, or who'd be real criminals, or who'd have real bad intentions. But, still, she hadn't murdered Dr. Sullivan. She would eventually get out. A would eventually be discovered, and his/her/its ass would be kicked to where it belonged, to jail, which was exactly the place where Spencer didn't belong at all. She might belong to a lot of places, places she still didn't know or which she hadn't heard of yet, although she did know one of them, the most meaningful one for her at this moment of her life, which was here, right here and right now, next to Emily. The way they were now, this very same way: this was her place, her home. She didn't want to be anywhere else. It had probably been her most natural place, her natural home for a long time, and she wasn't letting it go now. But that was why they couldn't allow A to dominate the game. Not when it came to them.
Emily sighed deeply, next to her in bed, and again Spencer smelled her breath. "I was just trying to get you time", Emily repeated her explanation. "I was trying to play the game without really playing it."
"Is that why you were going to kiss a boy?"
"Yeah", she admitted. "It was the least meaningful thing of all."
"And Samara?" Spencer actually thought it was more important to keep talking about A, but she couldn't really stop herself when it came to questioning this part of Emily's plan.
She felt Emily move a little closer. "I didn't want to hit on a straight girl. And since you don't hate Samara so much, I thought maybe it would be less offensive somehow." She sounded a little uncertain, her voice wavering as an indication of her own doubts.
"Well, at least you wouldn't enjoy a boy."
"I wouldn't enjoy Samara either, Spencer", Emily assured apologetically. "Or anyone for that matter."
"So you were trying to soften the blow?", Spencer half teased.
"Yeah."
Spencer gave it some thought. "Well, trust me, if you kissed her I'd very much hate her anyway."
Besides, she didn't actually hate anybody. Not for real. But, at the same time, she hated everyone who'd ever tasted Emily's mouth. Samara too. And she was very cute and very blonde, albeit kind of boring.
"Well, the plan was to get you mad", Emily continued. "I had that clear instruction. But I was hoping it wouldn't cause an irreparable damage."
Spencer approached her a little, until they were really, really close. "So you were hoping to get back together with me after that?"
She sensed Emily's inner trouble. "Maybe not right away, but…"
As much as she knew they had to speak seriously about this whole set of troubles, she chuckled at how meticulous Emily had been while trying to reach a decision.
"Emily, your kissing someone wouldn't cause an irreparable damage because you wouldn't mean it, not because of who you chose to kiss. But still, it would be bad", she thought aloud. Maybe it would create a bigger damage if she actually kissed certain people, but she preferred not to think about that now. Fortunately, she hadn't actually kissed anyone. "And do you actually think Samara would kiss you months after she dumped you?"
Emily's voice sounded firm this time. "Why not? I wouldn't be asking for a serious date or anything. It was just a kiss. It's not that difficult to get."
Oh, so she was still confident in that department, no matter how shy and ashamed she felt. It made Spencer smile, in spite of everything.
"Huh, I sense some confidence coming back to you."
"It was just a kiss, Spencer", she insisted. "It's not that difficult. I wouldn't have texted her if I'd thought I couldn't get it."
Interesting: more self confidence. And, somehow, it was sort of hot to see how she kept that for herself even when she was feeling so miserable. It should be annoying, but it was actually hot.
"Well, I'm sorry for her, because now you'll just have to put her off again when she answers the text tomorrow."
"Yeah, I know." She sounded apologetic. She was probably feeling guilty about Samara too. That was Emily, after all.
"Just for the record, I hate Samara as much as anyone", Spencer decided to warn. "Just in case you ever need to wonder about this again."
Even though they were in complete darkness, she sensed Emily's eyes trying to catch a better vision of her face. But she didn't come up with an answer. Emily's reservations worked mainly for her and only for her, and Spencer couldn't always decipher the inner workings of her mind.
"Back to the original point", Spencer decided to pick up on the more important topic, "which is A and what A's gonna try against us, and what we should do about it." She waited to see if Emily wanted to intervene, but she didn't. "You have to promise me you're not gonna do anything on your own. We have to stick together through this. We can't let A get in the middle or it will destroy us."
Emily moved away a little so she could face the ceiling again. This part of the conversation was upsetting and unpleasant for her.
Spencer decided to clarify her idea. "I'm talking about sharing every text we get whatever the threat involved." She'd already said it, but you could never underestimate the influence of repetition when it came to persuading others.
Emily repositioned the pillow under her head, trying to make time while she considered Spencer's words. "That's easier said than done", she finally answered.
She was going to call Spencer, the same way she'd called her and showed her every text. But then the picture came, along with the threat. If the picture was talked about, the hockey stick was out; maybe more. It'd been a hard decision, but she didn't believe it'd been a mistake.
"But it has to be done", Spencer stressed her point. "Isn't that what you always say? You don't try, you do?"
This time Emily moved a little more roughly on the bed, a sign of her becoming increasingly upset.
"You might be going to jail." That was what she could finally utter, her tone now sharper. "In some days. In some days or a week, Spencer. Do you think it's easy for me to sit and watch while it happens?" Her voice cracked a little when she pronounced these words.
Spencer took a deep breath. She knew it wasn't easy for her either. She knew Emily felt responsible and wanted to help. But this wasn't the way to do it.
"I know it's not easy for you, Em. But this is exactly what A wants. Just take a second to think about it." She let a couple of seconds pass as if Emily really needed the time. "Do you think it's gonna be better if we have a fight, if we break up, if we're miserable around each other? Because, let's be clear, that's exactly what A wants to do with us."
"I know that", Emily curtly answered.
Spencer decided to soften her aggressive style to reach the core of her argument. She'd been thinking a lot about this. She needed to be completely clear about what it meant for her, and about what it meant for Emily. Her words had to be precise, but also heartfelt.
"Emily, I don't wanna go to jail, that's for sure", she started, her voice low. "But I don't wanna be home without you either. It is important for me. This is important for me. I can't stand the idea that we might break up or fight because of that bastard-psycho-animal doing things to us. I can't."
Again she felt Emily's eyes intently on her face through the dark. This time it was Emily who felt for her hand on the bed. "That sounds kinda cheesy coming from you."
Even though she'd tried to quip it, Spencer could tell Emily was touched because her voice shook a little when she spoke.
"Cheesy or not, it's the truth."
"I can't stand that either", Emily turned again, her puffy, shadowy eyes shining in the dark. "But I think freedom might be a little bit more important than love right now, Spencer."
"I don't want that kind of freedom". Spencer became a little heated and her voice rose over their heads. "Freedom that was bought to a psychopath at the price of destroying my life is not freedom. I wanna be free with you."
"If you're free, you'll be with me. We'd find a way to make up at some point."
There it was again: Emily's meticulous preparations to manage the best method to break her heart without leaving an irreparable damage, so they would pick their romance up later. When A was out of the picture? When they were already out of Rosewood? Or maybe earlier, earlier than that, when Spencer actually forgave her in the ten seconds it'd take her to understand there was no way for Emily to actually break a heart, her heart? Because it was Emily. Because Emily would always be Emily.
"I don't want A making that kind of decision for us and I don't wanna play A's game of destruction. Not when in comes to this. This is us, and we are sacred, private territory."
She decided to throw a ball at Emily to make her understand her point, even though she knew it was a risky ball because Emily was still feeling miserable and disoriented. But she had to do it.
"I'm happy you're so certain it wouldn't hurt us so bad, though."
Her tone was sarcastic enough to strike the ball with enough double meaning. Therefore, the ball hit its target and Emily approached her with a pained expression on her face.
"No, it's not that." She sighed, as if to explain herself better. "I just… I didn't want to hurt you, Spencer. I couldn't do it." Her voice broke a little, which made Spencer feel rather guilty at her previous move. "But I had to choose and I chose your freedom."
Spencer reached her hand to Emily's cheek now, fighting back the need to kiss her again.
"I need you to stick with me."
It was all Spencer said, and Emily understood the message. But she still resisted a little, trying to consider every possible consequence of Spencer's proposition.
"What if it's Hanna or Aria who'll be exposed? What if it's me?"
Turning the table, or rather the promise, on Spencer seemed fair enough if they had to actually arrive to a conclusion. Emily wasn't so sure Spencer would stick to her own plan if the situation was reversed. If Emily did stick with her and told her everything A said regardless of the consequences, would Spencer do the same if given an A-ultimatum? Would Spencer ignore a threat that meant something damaging for Emily or for another one of their friends?
"I know it won't be easy for me either." Spencer had already considered the reversed situation. "And if it's a life-or-death situation I understand we might have to act otherwise. But if it's not, we have to stick to each other like glue."
"Like glue", Emily repeated, finding the comment funny. "Okay. I guess I can try that. But I still have the right to make my own decision when I think the situation's bad enough."
"Is that the best you can offer me?"
"I'm offering what you offer yourself", Emily defended her position. "You get to make your own decisions and to follow your own ideas. But I will try my best."
Spencer let out a grunt of displeasure, indicating she didn't totally agree with that. "Fine, you get to make your own decisions too, as long as you don't get drunk, you don't put yourself in danger and you don't hurt me because A says you have to do it."
That was her final lay-out of conditions. It might sound raw or accusatory, so she added something else. "And it works for me too."
"I'm sorry I got drunk."
Damn, that had hit her pride. Spencer shouldn't have said it, but she realized too late.
"You can get drunk whenever you want to, just don't do it on your own and outside", she tried to explain what she'd actually meant. "You're actually terribly cute when you're drunk. I can hardly resist that combination of funny and angry that your drunken self is."
She took advantage of the moment to lean across really close, but Emily's pride was hurt and there was no kiss, not even a slight brush of the lips.
"Trust me, I'm never gonna get drunk again to deal with this kind of shit." Emily sounded angry, probably at herself. "It's not only that I didn't save your ass, no, I just had to go and make an ass of myself in front of your mom, for which I'll have to apologize tomorrow."
"You don't need to apologize."
"Oh, yes, I do. And I will."
That was Emily too. She always tried to do the right thing. And, when she felt she'd failed, she tried to go back and mend it. So Spencer had better let her do as she pleased in the apology department. Besides, they both knew how pressured Emily felt when it came to the Hastings, so it was probably better if she tried to straighten the situation with her mom. An apology wouldn't hurt, as long as Emily stuck to Spencer's convoluted story.
A sort of relief invaded Spencer now. They had talked. There had been a compromise, maybe not the best she was hoping for in the actual circumstances, but Emily had agreed to tell her everything about A regardless of any terrible consequences that might happen to her. It wasn't a perfect plan, of course. It could fail: they could still decide on their own, personal terms (which was always dangerous, as it'd been tonight), and there were consequences that, perhaps, couldn't be avoided. Perhaps she'd be sent to jail. But, at least, they'd stick together. They'd be together. They wouldn't be broken, and A would be defeated at the end. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait for that while seeing the birds sing from a jailhouse window, though.
Emily seemed to be feeling better too; although she'd probably start to be hangover pretty soon. Spencer lifted her head to check she still had the bottle of water on the night stand.
"There's water over there, okay?"
"Yeah, thanks."
Spencer repositioned her head on the pillow and thought about falling sleep while they were in silence. Emily had rolled over and was facing the ceiling again, close enough so their arms were touching, but distant at the same time. She inspected her. Spencer could swear her eyes were closed. Maybe she was a little dizzy or maybe her head ached from the ingestion of alcohol? That was probably going to happen – in a really bad way. She'd been really wasted and it wouldn't be easy to recover from that one. She had wanted to kiss her after saying that thing about her cute drunkenness, but there had been no chance, so now she searched for her hand again, and squeezed it. She couldn't really stop herself from it. She was filled with affection. She was filled with so many positive feelings even when she was mad at her. Which she really wasn't, after all. How could you get mad at Emily when all that Emily wanted was to save your ass from everything bad? And then she'd gotten herself in this really big mess, and now she was lying safely next to her. Next to her. On a bed. On her bed.
Spencer took another deep sigh. The elephant in the room was the bed in the room. Yes, they were on a bed. But it wasn't the moment to think about it. Thinking about it would actually make her a very bad, insensitive, corrupted kind of person. Or just a horny one with a really bad timing.
They'd have to wait for another occasion. One when they wouldn't discuss being drunk and heartbroken and cheated on and in danger.
But still – they hadn't even kissed. They hadn't even sealed their agreement with a kiss. Perhaps it was also inappropriate to kiss after what had happened, although she didn't really see it that way. A kiss was sweet and a good, perfect way to seal any kind of thing, even if it was the victory of non-cheating.
"What?", Emily faced her again, opening her eyes. "Why are you staring?"
"I'm not staring, I'm only watching over you."
Emily smiled. "I don't need you to watch over me. You're making me nervous."
Did she mean the real meaning of nervous or the other, quasi-sexual one? The thought did create some nervousness in Spencer, so she moved a little and debated over asking or not asking for a make-up, goodnight kiss.
She felt Emily's hand reach up and slowly caress the space where her face and her hair crashed against the pillow.
"What are you thinking?"
Spencer moved closer again. "Nothing", she lied.
"You always have something on your mind, even when you're sleeping", Emily joked, while she tried to fixate her eyes on her. Spencer thought that was the moment when Emily was going to lean in and kiss her. But it didn't happen. She just kept looking at her, trying to grasp something in the dark. "Tell me."
"It's nothing", Spencer repeated, but then decided it was absurd to keep dancing around the same unspoken nothingness. "I was actually hoping to get a make-up kiss after all this drama."
"We haven't really fought, so I don't see how it could be a make-up kiss." Emily's voice had a playful, hopeful undertone.
"Are you gonna make me beg for it?", Spencer teased. "Because I think I have every right to ask after almost being cheated on. In fact, I shouldn't even be asking for one. It should come naturally."
Emily sighed at the mention of the cheating, but offered a weak smile. "I'm feeling like crap", she explained. "Can I make it up to you in the morning? I don't wanna kiss anyone when I'm feeling this bad."
Spencer felt a pang of pain in her heart. So that was the reason why she hadn't leaned in to kiss her.
"But I'm not anyone", she refuted. "I'm Spencer. I'm the girl in your dreams, I hope."
Emily offered a bigger smile now, and her fingers walked up Spencer's neck. "Yeah, you are." She seemed to take a moment to consider it, and then she slowly leaned in and gave her a very sweet kiss on the lips. "There you go."
"Is that it?" Spencer smiled back, her lips slightly humid with the brief touch. "No more?"
"I stink, Spencer", Emily weakly protested. "I can swear I'm still sweating alcohol. It's disgusting."
"There's nothing disgusting about you. I thought you were well aware of that fact."
"Stop being sweet. I don't deserve it."
Spencer chuckled. "You deserve every bit of it." She made a pause to think of her next words. "What if I go to jail next week? I think we should properly kiss before that happens."
It might have been a little over the top, but what the hell? In a way, it was the absolute truth. She wanted to properly kiss before she was imprisoned, if it ever got to happen.
"You're not seriously using that to make out with me tonight, right?" There was an underline of real surprise in Emily's words, but she couldn't conceal her other concerns. "Your mom's in the next room and I'm still drunk."
"She's actually a long way across the hallway", Spencer corrected. "And, besides, is it that bad that I wanna kiss you when I don't know what's gonna happen in a week? And you're not that drunk anymore."
Once again, she hit the mark tonight. She could see Emily debating over her words, her frown and her pout very slightly illuminated by the distant shadows that projected themselves in the room from the light of the street.
Emily's hand rested firmly on Spencer's neck, but she seemed indecisive as to the final move. So it was Spencer who did it this time, and caught the kiss in Emily's lips. She opened her mouth to show the kiss must be deepened, and Emily responded accordingly, though still tentatively, due to the embarrassment she still felt about her drunken state. However, when Spencer tasted and explored the inside of her mouth, there was nothing unpleasant in it, as there'd been nothing unpleasant in her breath or in her general appearance tonight. If all, the taste was different, yes, because it still possessed the distinctive trace of rum – now it was clear: strong and sweet – in her tongue and her saliva and in every corner of her mouth; but Spencer wouldn't say it was disgusting at all. In actuality, while they kissed, she realized she'd been waiting for this moment all the time, all night until they'd gotten here. Sure, they did need to talk, and Emily did need to sober up, and she'd been crying and feeling bad. True, Spencer had been scared to death, and paralyzed in fear, had run in a hurry, alert and ready and worried; had felt heartbroken too at the sight of Emily crying. But all the time, all she'd ever wanted was to reach this point when they'd feel good enough to do what they were supposed to do when A was not in the picture. This was what they were supposed to do: the kiss. She'd wanted to do it when she gave Emily the towel to get a shower and when she told her to come to bed next to her; she'd longed for it when she touched her wet, humid hair, the same hair she was brushing now with her fingers, sensing a distant touch of water at the back of her neck, where it took longer to dry; when they talked about A, about Samara, and then about A again the kiss was there, patiently waiting at the tip of her tongue, waiting like a leaf hanging on the tree to fall, like a drop that you wanted to catch inside your mouth when it started to rain. It was already there when she saw Emily in the distance of the parking lot, with her big Labrador puppy and her innocent air, before she realized she was so drunk she could barely walk. It was already there when she held her hand and tried to convince her to come with her to the car, even if she was so drunk she could barely say a sensible thing and all she did was cry. It was there when Emily threw up under a tree and it was there when Emily looked at her in anger at the stairs because her mother had caught her in that state and she felt humiliated. It was there all the time: the kiss. All the time, while they talked, while they breathed in silence, even while they argued whenever they did, the kiss was there all the time.
They kissed slowly but heavily for some minutes, and then Emily stopped – again. She pulled away and gave Spencer a darkened, misty look that sent chills down Spencer's body.
"I'm…", Emily started saying, but trailed off. "We should stop. I'm drunk."
Spencer contemplated the shadows on her face, wondering about her insistence on her drunkenness, but didn't let go.
"What are you afraid of?", she asked in a whisper.
Was she afraid of the kiss? Was she afraid of the kiss because she was drunk, or because they were in a bed, or because of all of those factors combined? Emily didn't want to say it or was also afraid to say it, so Spencer overcame her resistance and pulled her closer for another kiss. Now Spencer didn't only taste the alcohol inside of her mouth. She kissed and tasted her face, and smelled the smell of her hair, which was different too because she'd had to use Spencer's shampoo. And she realized she could never be badly heartbroken when it came to Emily, no matter what A made them do or say. Because she was already heartbroken, once again, she was already heartbroken in the style of that figure of speech that reflected a truth about Emily and a truth about herself too, because every time they kissed or touched or talked, her heart was smashed in smithereens of joy and affection and of that really crazy, demented element that both covered and shook her body like a electric bolt of lightning, that was most probably sexual desire, sexual attraction, pure and sheer want for the other person's complete self. Armed with that knowledge, armed with the weapon of her broken heart of joy, she reached under Emily's oversized T-shirt, the one Emily borrowed from her tonight, and pulled it up, hoping to uncover her complete self which was also her dark, beaming skin and her feminine, curvy waist and the lines that formed her stomach until her breasts appeared, her rounded, full breasts that were so different to her own. It was then that Emily sat on her knees and finished the movement with certainty and nerve, taking off the T, and then stopped and stared at Spencer, a gaze of want that could not really be held or contained any longer.
"Are you sure?"
Spencer didn't understand. Was she sure she wanted Emily to take off her T? Yes, she was absolutely sure of that; she'd actually started the movement to undress her.
Was she sure she wanted to have sex? Was she sure she wanted everything that could be done on a bed, about which she actually didn't have yet a clear, definite idea or plan, because it wasn't an idea or a plan? It was more of an act that still had to be done.
Yes, she was sure too. She was sure all the time, all the time. Lately, she wasn't simply sure; the certainty mostly dominated her, even when she pretended she was actually thinking about something else that seemed to be more important.
"We don't need to give it a name", Spencer answered instead.
The name didn't matter. They didn't need to name it, they didn't even need to do much if they didn't want to get dirty. They just had to lie there and get naked.
Emily offered a coy smile. "Aren't you the one who's always giving names?", she asked, a teasing smirk on her face now.
She leaned down back to her mouth and they kissed with passion.
Yes, she was sure. And, no matter her shyness and her embarrassment, Emily was also sure. It was plain to see in her eyes and to taste in her still vaguely drunken kiss.
Heated and humid and not tentative at all anymore, the kiss developed and curled inside their mouths until the click happened. There was always a click. In every make-out situation between them there had been a click, a sudden, overwhelming change of disposition, ever since the first night when they kissed until the very same moment when Emily slid her hand under her dress in that restroom in Texas. Oh, that burning summer evening in Texas; the touch of her hand, and her eyes. The sole memory of it hit Spencer, and the click pushed inside, her guts torn with even more violence than it'd happen otherwise. The kiss grew harder, so their breathing became already difficult to sustain. It was a click that Spencer could almost hear: when the kiss stopped being just a kiss and became something more, something bigger and definitely dirtier. It was a kiss, but it was also more than a kiss. Then, after they both heard the click, their bodies seemed to escalate in tension and temperature, and the air became thick and dense. That was when the click happened, and now it was happening again. First there was the kiss, but then the click sounded and took over the room.
Spencer felt Emily's hands pulling her own T up and then over her head until she was also undressed, left only with her cotton panties. Indeed, Emily had also heard the click. In a sense, Emily was the click. Spencer didn't know why or how she did it. It was mainly Spencer who pushed for it and who created the necessary conditions, but it was Emily who clicked the click, no matter what Spencer did. It was Emily's hand under her shirt or Emily's hand under her dress or Emily's hand which, now, took Spencer's left hand and brought it to her lips to kiss her pulse point, and then, with a commanding gesture, pushed Spencer's body down on the bed. Instead of fighting it, of claiming her right to charge the debt ofTexas, of taking the power and using it against Emily, Spencer allowed it. Why, why did she allow it, why did she weaken like that, why couldn't she really stop her from doing that and start doing it herself?
The answer was already clear: because she was easy.
She was easy. And, god, she didn't really mind being easy anymore, if it was for Emily. She'd rather be easy like this than try to play difficult and miserably fail.
So she lied down and allowed Emily to carry the lead once again. Not that being deprived of the lead meant that she'd stay quiet like a piece of meat or a statue of bronze. Her whole body was burning and twisting in desire when Emily sweetly kissed her armpits and her clavicle and trailed down her body until her teeth grazed her flat stomach and the curve of her waist in such a sexy, heated way that she both jerked up in tickles and in extreme arousal at the aggressive, yet delicately calculated touch. And it was only there. It was only her stomach and her waist, and she felt her back arching in a strange, sudden impulse, as if she couldn't really control anything at all. She wondered what would happen now, both expecting it and fearing it, until Emily's mouth travelled furthered down, exactly as Spencer had actually imagined it was going to happen. Oh, the power of imagination. When she felt Emily's warm breath on her, the feeling was so intense she thought the Texas Restroom Experience was pale and shallow in front of what her body was making her feel now. The power of imagination paled too in the face of the reality, of the carnality of it. But it was only the beginning. It was only a mouthful of breath over a piece of fabric that was still covering her as a last barrier, and it seemed already more than she was able to take and bear in a second of her life.
Soon enough she would be taking a whole lot more. When Emily carefully started to take off her panties, slipping them off her legs, the weirdest thing played and danced inside her head. Images and sensations came and left in rapid, exciting flashes, leaving her breathless and thoughtless. Their first kiss, how warm and soft it'd been, natural and almost expected but still surprising, gave way to images of Emily's fingers working on opening a box of chocolates she'd received once as a gift, when Spencer realized how graceful and efficient her moves always were in every aspect of her physical motion. Emily's fleshy lips, Emily's meaty, red lips that time she put on really intense red lipstick for a party. Was she still with Ben at that time? She was drop-dead gorgeous and Spencer noticed it because she never usually wore that much make-up, and, god, she was actually impressed; she was, but she didn't know why. She thought she had a beautiful friend. Her lips when they talked, and her lips when she tried smoking that time, at her house, in the living room, and her pout when she was cute, and her wet, humid, lasting kisses when she kissed her shamelessly like she was doing now. Like she was doing now. Oh, Jesus Motherfucking Christ. Maybe she should stop screaming blasphemies inside her head. Had she actually said it inside her head? She wasn't really sure. Maybe she was actually talking and screaming these things and making awful sounds she didn't even realize. Had she talked? A sudden flush of embarrassment washed over her because, for god's sake (there again), she hoped she was not talking now. But she didn't seem to know, and the shyness didn't last either, because nothing seemed to last enough except the long, last humid kiss, and every image gave pass to another one, and soon it was Emily's eyes, Emily's eyelashes, Emily's long eyelashes and Emily's dark eyes that she wanted to look into, but couldn't now, because right now she couldn't even reach her head except with her fingers, that were clinging to her like claws.
She did try to close her mouth. She did try to contain herself, unsure as to why, but she tried. Emily's hands pushed softly against her inner thighs, spreading her legs, and she wondered if she was choking her down? Was she choking her, could she breathe, what was going on? Suddenly she realized her fingers were clinging even harder to Emily's head now. She tried to relax, tried not to press too hard or to scratch too heavy or to pull Emily's hair; she tried not to say anything, not to cry out anything, not to invoke the Lord or God or any other mystical, divine entity, she tried not to make a fool of herself, but this wasn't foolish, right? This was just sex. Oh, Jesus, but it was sex. It was sex already. It was dirty sex already. So she just tried to feel it, but this wasn't only a feeling. Feelings were lame in comparison to this, and her back arched again, and her whole body was sent in the most shocking shock of all the worldly shocks that ever existed, and she lost control of her legs to a point where she got afraid she might be pressing Emily down and sending her to her death. The shock came and stroke with powerful energy, elevating her body and making her blackout in the night, and this time she did hear herself cry out a moan, which fortunately wasn't a god or any other entity with a meaning. It didn't go away yet. She trembled, and curled, and twisted against Emily's mouth, and cried out something else that managed to come out of her mouth. And it happened. It was a thousand times more intense than anything she'd ever felt, including Texas, including that black-eyed Texas orgasm.
When it passed, she laid there feeling stunned once again, unable to move even though she wanted to reach Emily and look into her eyes, look inside them.
It took Emily a few seconds but she trailed back all the way up, still working with her sweet little kisses and her intoxicating tongue. When her beautiful face was within reach, Spencer grabbed her neck and pulled her to her mouth, where she kissed her softly. Oh, god. Oh, god again. Please forgive me, if you do exist, for saying your name or any other name in vain, in this kind of unholy situation, but she was in fucking love. No pun intended. Although it was kind of funny, but mainly it was true: she was totally sold out and easy and in love, and she was so happy about it she couldn't care less if she went to jail. Well, she did care, but not right now. At least she was getting to have sex before it happened.
Emily kissed her back with unhidden, revelling passion and, in between the kiss, searched for her eyes. Reassuringly so, but wanting to be reassured in a way too, they kissed some more, while Spencer slowly recovered her breathing and her general sense of being a whole person and not a trembling, nerving web of desires. Once she recovered enough, while they still kissed, she tried to make out and conceive a plan in her head. She listened to Emily's breathing, which was as intense and heavy as her kiss was now, and she pushed her decidedly so now she'd be the one to be on top and manage the situation. She might be the easy one, but that didn't mean Emily was getting away with this. Oh, no, she wasn't getting away with it. Spencer wanted badly to have the same effect on her. She wanted badly to make her feel the same sensation, to drive her crazy and send her over the top. So she started to kiss her around, here and there, and after a while she followed the path down. Taking her time, she teased and grazed with a direct aim in her head, tasting both the memory of water and soap and the vague trace of alcohol and the immanent, deep fragrance of sexual energy that Emily's curvy body exhaled. However, it was halfway through the torturing trail when she felt Emily's gentle touch, pulling her head up back to her. Spencer looked into Emily's eyes, trying to understand the meaning of it. Was she doing it wrong? But she hadn't even gotten started. Was Emily really stopping her? Didn't she want this? Oh, no, but things did not work like this. Not in their world and in their bed. Spencer wanted to get to do stuff too.
"Stay here", Emily murmured in a very low, sweet tone. "I wanna see you."
Oh, so maybe that was it? She wanted to see her, to look at her face. During the Texas Restroom Experience, that had undoubtedly been the best, sexiest plus of the whole situation. So maybe Emily was right and it was better to "stay" here, face to face, eye to eye, mouth to mouth.
Yes, she would definitely stay. That was clear. The plan had to change, though. She kissed her again, delaying any decision, torturing Emily with her slow kiss, and then she sucked and bit her neck and her earlobes, her shoulders and her breasts, while her fingers traced patterns on her ribs and her stomach that would lead to the very same aim, to the very same aim where her mouth had been previously headed. A flow of information came to her mind, causing her to feel a pang of anxiety. Was she taking too much time? Should she actually work faster? Emily seemed to know the rhythm that every action required, but it was difficult for her to be sure of it. She had probably read too many things about how to have sex with a girl and had now an excess of useless images and inputs and data. They were blocking her, filling her head with doubts and vague decisions, like one of those people who showed up for an exam after an all-nighter and had to leave after a while because their mind was blank. But that sort of thing never happened to her. She nailed every exam! She was always calm in the face of knowledge, except this wasn't about knowing anything. Now she wasn't only the easy one; she was the clumsy one as well, the one who didn't know what to do in bed. How did Emily know it so well? Was it true she'd never done anything with anyone? Well, of course it was true. Emily didn't lie about that kind of thing. She just happened to be perfect, while Spencer wasn't.
"Are you all right?", Emily breathlessly asked, taking Spencer's face in her hands.
"Yeah", she answered. "I'm just… I'm trying to…" Great, and now she stuttered over it.
Emily smiled. With a resolved movement (wasn't she always resolved when it came to this?), she grabbed Spencer's hand, which was already resting on her lower stomach, and carefully placed it on her shorts, between her legs.
"It's easy." She obviously had the power to read Spencer's mind. "Just feel your way around. Just touch around and listen to it."
"What if you don't like it?", Spencer asked, feeling a little panicked at her own question.
"There's no way I won't like it, Spencer", Emily answered. "Just relax."
She softly pressed Spencer's hand with her own fingers to show her it'd be fine, she didn't need to worry about it, and she closed her eyes in a clear sign of pleasure at the touch. The mere vision of it made Spencer feel dizzy and funny. Yes, she had to relax. It shouldn't be that difficult. Perhaps the key to this was the fact that it wasn't an exam and she wasn't going to be graded. It was sort of a game: she got to play with her toys and she won a prize anyway. The prize was there; it was the game itself. So she did what she'd been told, and Emily kissed her hotly, even uncontrollably: that was a good sign, a response. It was easy, in a way. There was a response. There was an immediate, powerful sense of a response, and it felt crazy good to obtain it, so she decided to slide her fingers under Emily's shorts to try her luck. It was a bold move, but the most natural one, and the response was, once again, immediate and powerful enough to send her own body on a rampage. She pulled away from the heavy kiss to steal a long gaze to Emily's face, the way she'd been asked to do when Emily had told her to stay.
There was pure, uncorrupted sex on Emily's face. Was that the look of sex?
Both vulnerable and sweaty, her eyes were closed but sometimes managed to send a misty, darkened signal for Spencer to decode. What did it mean? Did it mean she had to move, or was it something else, did it mean she wanted to be kissed? Spencer kissed her, and the kiss was heatedly returned. She moved too, pressing harder. The pressure she applied with her hand caused Emily to deeply moan. Listen to it. Listen to the sound of her body, in her throat.
It tasted like victory literally on her hands.
It felt so intoxicating that she did it again, gaining another sound and a purely sexual, dominating glance from Emily even though it was Spencer who was now in command. She was starting to learn the tricks and she liked it. This was what power meant. This was why Emily liked to take the lead. Maybe she was a slower learner but she was going to learn: power was toxic, it created a space between their bodies that no one would ever understand or possess but themselves, it burned the air around them and it made them go up in flames. And, hell, she liked listening to it, hearing its crackles and its sizzles in her ears while Emily slowly burned under her hand. She moved, trying to reposition her body on a more comfortable posture to continue her education in sexual power. But, when she moved, she felt Emily move also under her, and suddenly Emily's thigh pressed between her own legs, sending a wave of pleasure around her body. She was surprised when she looked down at her.
"Move", Emily ordered, a sly expression on her face. "A little."
Was Emily ordering her around in bed?
Her voice was sweet and gentle. It didn't even sound like an order, but it was. When had the world transformed into this new place? Shy, drunken-and-still-shy Emily with her direct, softly-spoken orders, her sly, mischievous smile, sent new shocks all the way up to her hair while she moved, a little as she'd been ordered, trying at the same time to drive Emily wild. This was a competition against herself, as it seemed. If she kept moving against Emily's thigh she was going to lose it again. She tried to focus instead on the movement of her hand, following Emily's look and sound of sex.
There was no way Emily was getting away with this.
Slowing down her own movement, she shut down the waves and shocks of pleasure that intermittently crashed against her. Hand, only her hand. That was her focus. That was her need, her urgency, her only real want. She lowered down her head, in revengeful mode, and bit Emily's full lips, kissing her hardly, knowing it'd take her by surprise. It did, and she moaned again. Oh, the moan. Listen to the moan. Listen to the sound of her body, to the sounds that were forming at the back of her throat. Another glance of both mist and dark followed, another message to be decoded and broken; but Spencer just stared back, ruthless and without pity, and Emily opened her mouth in surprise, lifted her head, stupefied, stunned (oh, yes, stunned), trying to reach Spencer's mouth, and finally cried and trembled while Spencer finally surrendered, lowering her head again for the kiss.
The glances had been decoded. They were kiss-me-now glances. They were look-at-me-and-kiss-me-now glances.
They were sex glances.
They were Emily having sex. With her. On her bed.
She repeated the whole operation until Emily went wild and finally lost it.
It was victory, power.
It was sex.
Emily took a while to recover until she opened her eyes to let Spencer see her under the dreamy, sexy curtain of her closed eyelashes. She smiled sweetly, and Spencer automatically smiled back. She laid her back on the bed, trying to recover her own breathing, until she decided to climb on top again.
They looked at each other.
"I almost gave you another one", Emily suddenly smirked, her voice low and a little shaky. "I win."
Spencer frowned at her, amused but still surprised. She did want to get away with it.
"I didn't know this was a competition."
Emily wrapped her arms around Spencer's neck and laughed. "It's always a competition with you." Then she rolled over her so they'd be positioned at the same level. "I'm kidding."
"You're not."
Emily softly laughed again. "No, seriously, I am." Another long gaze followed. "Was it good?"
"Do you really need to ask?"
"Yeah."
Spencer cocked an eyebrow at her. "I think you already know it was good. You just want to hear it."
"Yeah, I wanna hear", Emily smirked again. Sex actually got the best out of her, including all the weapons of cuteness at her disposal.
"Well, I wanna hear too", Spencer answered. "Especially after you had to indicate me what to do and how to do it."
She rested on Emily's shoulder, hiding her face. Emily chuckled a little at her words and shy attitude.
"Oh, now you're laughing at me. Great."
"I'm not laughing at you." She moved down so she could face Spencer again. "It was pretty hot. And it wasn't in a restroom, so it's finally sex. Now we can baptize it."
Spencer couldn't help smiling at her words. "It was much better than the restroom thing."
"Definitely", she agreed.
"I told you a make-up kiss was a good idea."
"I knew it wouldn't be just a kiss."
"So why did it take you so long to do it?"
Emily seemed serious for a moment. "Well, showing up drunk in front of your mother is bad enough. Now it turns out I also showed up to have sex while she peacefully sleeps in the next room."
It was Spencer who chuckled this time. "It's not the next room."
"Anyways", Emily argued. "I'm a really bad, disrespectful person. Tomorrow I have to apologize to your mom and I'll just have to look at her knowing I screwed up, got drunk and then ended up doing… this."
Spencer gave her a crooked smile. "I hope you leave this part out."
"Don't worry, I'll stick to your harmless story", she assured, revealing she'd actually heard most of the conversation with her mom. Then she lost part of her glow and seriousness returned to her features. "I don't even wanna think about whatever's gonna happen tomorrow."
Spencer moved even closer and gave her a kiss on the nose. "Don't think about tomorrow then."
They stayed like this, silent and in a tight embrace, for a while.
Suddenly Emily rolled on her back and took her hands to her head. "Shit, I feel good", she exclaimed. "I don't even have a headache."
Spencer laughed and popped on her elbows to look at her. "It's called sex. Apparently it cures every illness."
"I thought that was a lie."
"Now you can get drunk as much as you want, as long as we're having sex afterwards."
Emily smiled, but not widely. "I'm not getting drunk like this again. Next time I'll be sober."
"Will you be so good when you're sober?", Spencer teased.
"I'll always be good."
She was obviously buzzed both with sex and alcohol, because she wasn't shying away easily anymore.
Spencer approached her again and positioned herself on top. "Then it'll be me who'll get drunk."
They kissed. "I don't think you need to get drunk", Emily whispered. "I like you this way."
"You sure?"
"Totally."
"I still have to learn all your tricks so you don't go kissing Samara."
Emily stared back at her in silence. "That's not funny."
"It is if you give it the right turn."
"I don't have to give it any turn to know it's not funny", Emily responded calmly. "And I think you're learning my tricks pretty fast. Faster than me, probably."
Yes, in a way she was, Spencer agreed to herself. Fast enough, at least. And she was sure she would get even faster. She leaned down and they kissed slowly on the bed where they'd finally, finally done what they had to do, even if the circumstances had not seemed to be the most appropriate ones.
If there was such a thing as love, she was fully in it. They were totally, completely in it. And it was for the long run, despite A and every prison on the face of earth that wanted to take her in.
Soon afterwards, Emily fell asleep. Spencer watched her for a while, worried about when the next text from A would come. Maybe this one wouldn't be for her; maybe it would be for Spencer. After a while, she fell asleep too.
In the morning it was Spencer who woke up first. She decided to get up and let Emily sleep for as long as she needed. She had been through a really rough couple of nights and she needed the rest, so Spencer went downstairs to the kitchen, read a note written by her mother telling her she had told Ms. Marin Emily was at the Hastings and reminding her Emily should be back at her house during the morning, and made coffee and toasts for breakfast. Even though the light of day reminded her of every tragic possibility she still had to face during the next days, she couldn't really feel tragic or crashed by reality. She felt she hadn't really landed in the other, dreaded universe yet. She was still living in the dark, sexy night. She was still under the power of Emily's kiss. Oh, she couldn't get much cheesier than the way she felt now. It was better not to speak about it, or she would sound as a stupid pop love song, as a crazy scream of joy in the wind.
She waited for a couple of hours until she decided to go back upstairs. When she opened the door to her room, expecting to find a still sleeping Emily, she found her instead making the bed, dressed in the oversized T-shirt and the shorts that Spencer had given her last night.
"Hey, you're up", Spencer brightly greeted her.
"Yep."
She seemed busy while she made the bed. Or maybe she was shy again? Spencer approached her with curiosity.
"I made us some breakfast. Although I already had mine."
Emily gave her a shy smile. Oh, so she was shy. Shy and glowing. "Sorry I overslept", she apologized. "I was so tired."
"Yeah, you needed it", Spencer answered, amused. She approached her and hugged her from behind, until Emily turned around and kissed her on the lips.
"Where's your mom?"
"Working."
"Oh, thank god." She kissed her with more intensity now. "I didn't even want to wander out of the room just in case."
They kissed until a phone beeped and they both froze.
"It's mine", Emily said, her face suddenly somber.
Spencer tried to get the phone but Emily sent her a warning look and took it in her hands. She read the text and then passed the phone to Spencer.
"Poor Em, you didn't have it in you. Nevermind: you'll get to visit her. – A"
Emily let her body slip on the bed she'd just made and pushed her face against the sheets. Spencer sat next to her and caressed her beautiful long dark hair.
"A's right", Spencer happily joked. "Do they allow marital visits for people who're not married?"
Emily's head moved a little to send Spencer a bad look, but didn't answer anything, so Spencer lied down next to her body and spoke into her ear. "Let's take this one step at a time, okay?"
Emily nodded, her face still muffled against the sheets.
A/N 2: Title taken from "Because the Night", song written by Bruce Springsteen but immortally covered by Patti Smith.