A/N: My eternal apologies to you, if you are reading this chapter and you've been waiting a long time for it. Life's gotten busy, but you should know I am finishing this story. Also, I needed to take a break from it, sort of to let it breathe in me? Does that make sense? Anyway, updates will be slow, but they will come.

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Maxi-Luca.

Summary: Spencer broke up with Emily on her birthday because Emily wouldn't tell her the truth about what she was up to with A, who she supposed was behind Emily's actions (which, for the record, is actually the case).

Warning: references to chapter 13, "The Stars Align".

The day was excessively hot and bright and Spencer narrowed her eyes at the insulting brilliance of the sun.

"I feel like we're ready to combust in flames, it's not supposed to be this hot yet."

"You can't look at it, Spencer. There's no sunscreen to protect your eyes."

"Yes, there is." She couldn't avoid smirking at the double-meaning, which obviously hadn't been intended. "It's called sunglasses."

"You can still go blind if you do it. Plus: eyes can't get a tan, so what's the point?"

It was true in both cases.

And how weird would an eye-tan look? Probably as weird as brown eyes, which were not weird at all. She had brown eyes. This simple biological fact gave her an idea.

"My eyes already have a tan, so you're the one who'll get blind."

Hanna seemed to be caught in doubt, her greenish eyes squinting at the idea. It seemed weird to be talking about blindness now, after everything that had happened last year with Jenna, but it was possible between them – it was harmless, no one would ever tell, it was gone – although never in front of Alison. "No way", Hanna finally replied, wiping out the sweat that was forming on her forehead, "and I'm not the one who's looking at it."

"The really expensive ones can protect you."

"What?"

Hanna's baffled expression implied she believed Spencer was going crazy.

"Sunglasses", she explained better. "The expensive ones can protect your eyes from UV rays much better than the normal ones."

"But you're not wearing any", Hanna pointed out, "so it's still stupid."

True again.

"You're right", Spencer conceded before letting the tease roll down her tongue, "weak-eyes."

"Hey", Hanna protested, clearly offended, "your tan eyes are boring, nerd."

"And your white eyes want my tan color."

"My eyes are not white."

"But you want a tan."

Hanna flinched at the remark: she did want a tan and fought so hard for it every summer, only to find herself either red and skinless or covered in a white cream.

"Your eyes are just brown", she shot back. "Plain brown is lame."

"Brown is the color of a tan, I believe", Spencer concluded, fighting the impulse to stick out her tongue. She wasn't a five year old anymore. "Everybody knows green eyes are weaker."

"My eyes are not green either." Hanna punched the line to gain a place back in the offensive, catching Spencer by surprise (it was true too, bluish tainting the shade of her eyes right now). "And anyway Emily's are tanner than yours, so she beats you."

Oh, no way.

"Who says that?"

"I say it, just look at her", Hanna exclaimed, rolling her eyes and raising her hand to imply the obvious. "And your eyes are gonna get red if you keep looking at the sun like that, like in those pictures we took last summer where you looked like a shortsighted snake…"

"Okay, first, snakes don't have red eyes", she huffed, thinking she should check it out later, "and second, they were red because of the camera!" She wasn't narrowing her eyes at the sun now, she was looking directly at Hanna and she could feel the blood rushing to her head and sharpening up her tongue. She was not using glasses – the ones that helped her actually see – anymore; that was the past; it was gone; shortsightedness should never be mentioned again in her presence, or anything having to do with it other than sunglasses.

"Whatever", Hanna let it go. "Sun's giving me a headache. When can we go to your pool?"

"I think my dad's having Jose come next Saturday."

Jose was the gardener who was also in charge of cleaning up the pool during the summer.

"What are we even gonna do until Saturday?"

"Well, we'll just hang out at my place, or at Ali's."

"Duh, yeah, I mean besides that."

"We'll think of something", Spencer promised. "Just tell Mona to stay off the limits."

"Off what limits?"

"Off our limits?" It was a rhetorical question. Hanna had understood perfectly. Ali didn't like it when Mona was around, and Mona's constant efforts could be extremely annoying. It was somehow wrong to keep insisting to be friends with people who rejected you over and over. Spencer valued insistence, but that kind of insistence only hinted at (or even was evidence of) a lack of character – of pride. Spencer would never have it like that. Pride was important: character-building. "She's annoying, Han. She should learn to take no for an answer."

"She doesn't try anymore, Spence", Hanna argued in Mona's defense. "Just make sure you ask Ali today, okay? I don't wanna run out of plans before the summer even starts."

Spencer furrowed her brows in confusion. "You're not coming?"

Hanna shook her head. "Maybe later."

There were problems at home, apparently. Hanna didn't really enjoy talking about it, which was reason enough to let it go, but Spencer tried anyway.

"Your dad again?"

Hanna gave an explanation about how her grandma was visiting and she had to organize her room in order to make space for her, but it only served to confirm Spencer's suspicions. Something was probably going on with Hanna's dad. She wouldn't ask again, though. Everybody had a right to keep their dad's-problems private. As far as she knew, if Hanna could deal with it then there was no reason to question her further. She'd expect the same from her friends anyway. Not that she was ever going to need that kind of… help. She had always dealt with everything; she'd always deal with everything – family or otherwise.

They said goodbye when they approached the crossroad that would take each other home. The summer was beginning with promises of crystalline water and sunscreen, that is sunglasses, lazy hours spent under the sun, perhaps the lake, perhaps the kissing rock – and with whom, Spencer questioned, because kisses were a blank gap yet to be filled for her – but in any case the four of them were going to be abandoned to enjoy the infinite days entirely for themselves, at least until Alison flew down to Georgia to visit her grandmother later in August. Once she left, they would be left to their own devices, they would be truly on their own. Spencer was not looking forward to it: Alison could always find activities for them, even if sometimes they were reckless – one could say dangerous, inappropriate too – but fun. Risky fun. Definitely more fun than reading, which was a solitary pleasure over which only she could rejoice – well, and Aria too. They talked a lot about books. But books did not bring company. It was rather the opposite, no matter how much contentment one could find in another universe – the universe made up of words.

She kicked a stone with her left foot, imagining it was a ball.

Soccer was not her type of sport.

Kicking a ball was fun, but for some reason she couldn't totally master the foot technique, particularly the instep. Coach said it was all about "touch": a sort of secret language, it was feet that spoke it. It turned out she could speak French much better than her feet spoke "touch". She had tried different positions but had secretly decided on the striker, although the coach had put her also in the defense to try her out; it was no fun; she was not cut out for sacrifice, not for the sort of sacrifice that is a team sacrifice involving no personal achievement. She sucked as a defender. Fortunately nobody had tried to convince her to be the goalkeeper. She was courageous, probably a little too cocky too, but balls scared the shit out of her when they flew towards her head at god knew what life-threatening speed. Strikers had to use their head too, but it was different: striking the ball with your head lacked the sense of inevitability that stopping a goal had. It was more about opportunity. She liked that better: opportunity, not inevitability; seizing a moment instead of getting hit by it in the face. However, her foot technique was bad. She would stick to hockey then, the technique of which she controlled with increasing perfection. In terms of team sacrifice and effort, it was clear: hockey was her type of sport although, if asked, she preferred tennis; there were no teams in tennis, only two people facing each other, which was exactly why she liked it best. But hockey – she liked it too; she liked everything she could shine on. In her father's opinion, besides, hockey was way more stylish than soccer for a girl. Then again, Melissa had played soccer and her father had been delighted about it (Melissa mastered the foot technique, Spencer thought, maybe because she was also a better ballet dancer); not once had he said soccer bore no style for a girl like Melissa. But Melissa excelled at everything she tried. Best boyfriends (well, boyfriends at all), best grades, best eyesight, best tan, even best feet touch and arm wave and capacity to inspire beauty to a simple movement in the field (also, her feet were smaller and cuter), best sum total except for… yes, best activity planner (that was Alison, and Alison was Spencer's friend, not Melissa's, so it counted as a personal property or a quality, in a sense). Best friends. Spencer excelled in that one. She had better friends than Melissa. That was for sure.

The sharp shadows of the afternoon announced the Hastings' mansion, but Spencer took the turn towards the DiLaurentis' house. She'd leave the books and her equipment home later.

It was too early, so it surprised her to find Emily sitting on the stairs at the front.

"Hey!"

Emily looked up from a book – was that a book? or a diary? – and smiled in recognition.

"We're early."

"Ali's not here yet?"

Emily shook her head to say no while Spencer sat next to her. Peeking over Emily's arm, she could see what Emily was holding: some kind of an organizer, maybe a diary, yes, definitely a diary with those autumnal pictures of leaves from whose pages appeared a postcard of Paris. She couldn't stop her hand from grabbing it before realizing it was not very polite a move. Especially if it was a diary. Sometimes her hands moved too fast for everyone's taste.

"Sorry."

"It's fine."

"Did your dad bring it?"

She didn't look at the back of the postcard, afraid to seem even more interested.

Emily laughed softly. "No, he's never been to Europe, well, only to Germany." There was a pause when Emily lowered her gaze to the photograph in Spencer's hand. "I actually got it in Lewisburg, you know."

Lewisburg, Paris. Long distance.

"Funny, huh?"

Emily nodded. "If you can't go to Paris, Paris will come to you."

Funny. Smart too. She didn't take Emily for a collector of postcards – it seemed something Aria would do, she was the adventurous-life kind of dreamer – but Emily could surprise people from time to time. Maybe she should get her a set of postcards for her birthday.

"That's a good line of thought", Spencer offered her approval. "I've been to Paris once."

She'd been there at the age of six. It was barely a memory of white buildings and crazy cars, wide hallways in the museum where she had tried to beat Melissa both at running a race and at hide and seek; she had found a good spot behind one enormous Greek marble statue and then behind one Egyptian mummy, but the adventure had cost her harsh words from one of the security guards, a harsher look from her dad and also Melissa's vengeance, because she had won; but Melissa had ruined her braid before an important lunch with her father's clients. Her mom had stopped her at a crosswalk. She remembered the deafening hoots all around, and how she had choked down her tears so Melissa wouldn't make fun of her later.

"I know", Emily replied. "You loved the museums."

Spencer chuckled. "I did? I don't think I was old enough to truly appreciate them."

"I remember because you told us you liked the museums better than Disneyland."

Right.

"Yeah…" It sounded as something she'd say. She had been too little to raise her head over the cloud of tourists that surrounded the Mona Lisa, though. "So are you planning to go?"

Emily returned the inspecting gaze shyly. "Someday."

"We can go all together", Spencer started to plan, "maybe after graduation."

Turning towards the noise of a gate opening nearby, Emily's ponytail danced on her shoulders. It wasn't Ali – or Jason. It was someone else that didn't matter – nobody – so Emily turned around again. She did look tan. Her eyes were also darker, browner, almost black. Hanna was right.

"That's a long time from now."

"It's not so long."

Emily seemed to think about how long it would really be, and then held out her hand to seal a pact. "It's a plan then, right?" They shook hands in agreement. "The five of us. Don't forget it because you'll probably have to pay for all of us."

"Ouch", Spencer feigned hurt, which caused Emily to giggle. "That's nasty of you."

Emily's smile turned sheepish. "Just kidding." It was pointless to clarify it and Emily realized it right after the words were out of her mouth. "I'll try to pay for my own plain ticket."

"Nah, I don't want us eating at McDonalds while we are in La France", Spencer dismissed, a hand waving to intensify her refusal. She was money; she knew that; money meant power – the power to do things, at least. "I'll tell my dad so he can start preparing the checks."

She gave back the postcard, and Emily carefully placed it between the pages of the autumnal diary. It was strange to sit under the pre-summery sun looking at a postcard of France that was being returned to the pages of a falling-leaves seasonal diary. Time and space – dislocated here and now. It was almost like traveling, in a way; maybe that was why Emily had brought the postcard. She didn't know Emily was set on travelling to France. Feeling still a tinge of curiosity about it, she realized she'd never know if there were words written on the back now, and what they said, and to whom. Probably, if Emily had bought it in Lewisburg some days ago, it was empty. Or maybe she was planning to send it to someone. But once you returned a thing, the thing didn't have to come back to you, that was the problem.

"How's practice going?"

Emily asked the question after stealing a glance at her equipment.

"Not so good."

"Really?" Emily frowned in disbelief, and then confirmed the disbelief in actual words. "I don't believe it. You're gonna be, like, the next hockey star at Rosewood High."

Spencer sent a grateful glance. "No, I thought you meant soccer, I'm back from soccer now. Hockey's going well, I can still improve my shots, but…"

"Oh, right, soccer."

"I just thought I could try that one too."

"And why isn't it good?"

"I can't be good at everything, apparently there's an unwritten law about it."

"I thought if it wasn't written it wasn't a law."

Funny. Smart too. It made Spencer laugh. "Unless it is natural law. Or common law." She was the daughter of two lawyers, she knew about these things. Kind of.

Emily blinked several times. "You mean like gravity?"

"Gravity and other stuff."

"Stuff like you can't be good at playing soccer?"

There was mockery in her eyes as well as in the corner of her smile, and it made Spencer laugh again. Emily always found a subtle way to strengthen her self-confidence. As if she needed more. If all, she was already too arrogant and ambitious, in most people's opinion.

"I just don't wanna waste my time if I can't be the best."

"Always the best." Emily rolled her (tan) eyes, but smiled. "You're probably one of the best anyway."

"I wish I could play tennis at school", she answered instead, with a longing sigh, because, after all, that was her favorite de-stressing sport, and it was also her father's favorite sport, and she was magnificent at it. "But there's not enough time for me to manage everything."

Emily sighed too. "Yeah, I guess." She sent a glance to her watch. Alison was running late. It wasn't very typical of Emily to grow impatient, but who knew for how long she'd been waiting outside – it was a hot day.

"Ali's late", Spencer reconfirmed. "She's probably torturing someone."

Emily responded only with a vague smile before moving her hand to scratch her ankle, which glowed in a silver reflex. As if out of instinct, Spencer's hand moved too fast and tipped the reflection with her index finger. Too fast. Again too fast.

"You changed it?"

Emily touched the silver anklet too before stopping at the head of the Faraoh's wife.

"This?"

Spencer offered a nod. Emily's father had brought it from Egypt last year, but Spencer had lost track of it for at least a month after seeing Emily wear it around her neck for months. Now it was hugging her ankle. The new position indicated a cute, subtle difference in intentions; it added a touch of… maybe coyness was the best word for it, as if Emily had suddenly grown up out of the pastel polo shirts that she was actually still wearing today (a yellow one), propelled two – or four, or six – years into teen adulthood with the seductive change. Paris and an anklet. Surprises. It was true Emily already had a boyfriend, but she seemed so naïve and childish yet in so many ways – it was difficult to think of her as a woman, someday; a woman with an anklet – in Paris – leaves falling in the Parisian autumn. Besides, Emily's skin got so dark (tan) when the sun started to hit that the silver light added contrast to the day, increasing the brilliant, insulting glow of the afternoon. Emily, however, seemed dissatisfied with the result, as her frown seemed to indicate.

"You think it looks nice? I decided to change it to an anklet, you know, since we're in the summer."

In the summer we needed plans – and sunglasses.

Also an anklet.

For some reason, summer rhymed with anklet and not with necklace – or with bracelet. Spencer felt tempted to ask for an explanation, although, come to think of it, it made sense: shorts and skirts, without socks or tights, implied legs in display – and ankles and also feet.

Feet.

She stared at Emily's feet, but Emily was wearing sneakers.

"It looks great", Spencer confirmed, glancing up to Emily's eyes and silencing her thoughts except for the most basic one. "I've always liked it."

"Thanks", Emily appreciated, but continued to frown. "You sure?"

"I'm sure", Spencer grinned. "You know you look kinda like her?"

Spencer meant Nefertiti, the Faraoh's wife, but Emily smiled and frowned more intensely at the same time. She was confused – amused too.

"No?"

"Yes, you do", Spencer insisted. "It's Nefertiti."

"I know who it is…", Emily trailed off, clearly unsure of the pronunciation of Nefertiti's name, "it's her, but…"

"So you know she was supposed to be the most beautiful woman of her time?"

Emily was tan indeed, but the words caused her skin to turn scarlet-purplish.

"Yeah, but", she stuttered, scarlet-purple slowly dissolving back into the glowing bronze, "the hat she's wearing is totally ridiculous."

"You mean the crown", Spencer corrected. "She was a queen or whatever. I have to look it up."

If an Egyptian king was a Faraoh, then an Egyptian queen was a… what? They had to have a name. Everybody had to have a name, every position, every cultural, sociopolitical status had to fall under some kind of determined classification or category. Names were knowledge. Knowledge was power. Power was… power.

"It's still weird."

Okay, Spencer could give her that. Egyptian crowns were weird.

"I think it's cute."

Emily's lips quirked a curious smile. "And how do I look like her?"

"You know, the features…", Spencer started, taking the head in between her fingers again. "They're kinda similar to yours. I mean, her face is kinda longer, more oval, if you know what I mean."

Emily nodded, wide-eyed, sort-of-Egyptian-eyed.

"So?"

"But she was older than you", Spencer continued, "well, than us." Nefertiti was reflecting the sun, and Spencer had to look up again. "Have you ever seen a picture of the actual bust? They have it in Berlin, it's not Paris but maybe we can try to see it when we go there."

"Or maybe I can find it in Lewisburg", Emily joked shyly. "Who knows?"

"If you can't go to Berlin, let Berlin come to you."

"Right."

"So have you ever seen a picture of it? Nefertiti, I mean."

Emily mumbled a soft yes before her lips turned upwards again in a delicate smile. "She was Egyptian."

"Indeed."

"I'm not Egyptian."

Well, indeed, indeed again.

"No, you're not."

Emily's eyes were stark black when she gazed straight into hers. "So you mean everybody who's dark-skinned is similar?"

It felt as an accusation of ignorance.

"No, of course not." The question was a little offensive. How could Emily assign that sort of blindness to skin-color and ethnicity and everything else that was culturally relevant to her? She was too well-informed and knowledgeable to say such a thing; to mean such a thing. Hell, there was no one her age, even older, more well-informed in Rosewood, Spencer bet on that one. And even if Emily was not Egyptian, which she wasn't, because she was half Korean and half Filipino, and probably had a couple of Scottish or Irish ancestors too in her line of descent, that didn't prove there was not a similarity between Nefertiti and her. Besides, she'd read somewhere that there were some historians who had found a connection between Ancient Egypt and… anyway, that was not the point. "That's not what I meant."

"So what do you mean?"

Emily seemed oblivious to the previous dryness in her tone, and Spencer breathed in to prepare the lecture.

"It's kind of in the eyes, and the lips, and the cheekbones", she explained matter-of-factly. "It just reminded me of you." That was the final conclusion, and so she shrugged accordingly. "You know what? You should wear a crown to confirm my impression."

Emily laughed – an energetic laugh at the idea. "I totally should."

"I'll try to find one so you can try it on and we can decide on it."

"And where are you gonna find it?"

"We can make it", Spencer replied quickly. "It's not difficult." There was probably a YouTube video showing the know-hows to everyone interested.

"But it won't be made of gold."

"Whoa, that'd be a whole lot to get, but I can ask my dad."

They laughed.

"We can go to Berlin after", Emily continued, "and see if people want to buy it."

The image of Emily posing as Nefertiti in the museum made Spencer laugh harder.

"And people will take pictures of you thinking that's such a great masterpiece and, look at it", Spencer teased, poking her finger in wonder into Emily's bare arm and feigning an invented accent to which she tried to give a German turn, "it looks so real it's totally amazing, it's almost like it can move."

"You're crazy."

"The incarnate Nefertiti of Rosewood. Look at her."

They were still laughing about it when Alison walked through the gate.

"What's so funny, ladies?"

"Hey", Emily greeted, offering the widest, sweetest smile. "What took you so long?"

Alison looked annoyed. "You", she offered as an accusatory explanation, glancing steely at both of them. "I was trying to get us invited to a party next Saturday, but you guys make me sweat it with your popularity levels."

"So are we in?"

"Whose party?", Spencer asked, because not every party was worthy of her attention. Hanna would be happy to hear about it, though. "We're not going to Noel Kahn's again, right?"

"Again?"

"Halloween."

Emily's expression turned serious for a moment, because last Halloween had been a disaster, but Alison dismissed it with a blow of her blond mane.

"That was ages ago, Spence." She fixed her with a stare. "You should be a better friend anyway, cause Aria likes him."

"Well, yeah, but his parties suck."

"Sometimes you have to suffer if you want to get what you want."

Spencer knew that particular unwritten law of nature, but she wondered if bad parties were part of the deal. Parties were supposed to be fun. She didn't like Noel Kahn.

"So you're a statue, Em?"

Alison had fired the question with an amused, intrigued tone. She'd probably heard the last remnants of their Nefertiti joke.

"Spencer was trying to explain it when you came."

"You do have the weirdest ideas, Spencer", Alison announced. "You should stop talking about museums in public, especially if you want to attract boys and, you know, people in general."

Raising her brows, Spencer ignored the comment. She liked museums; thus, she would attract boys who also liked museums. There were some. But they were not in Rosewood.

"I was just saying Em's Nefertiti in the flesh."

"I'm gonna be crowned queen of Rosewood", Emily corroborated, "or something like that, I didn't totally get it."

"Hey, I didn't say that", Spencer protested, because a position such as that one had to be earned. Besides, technically no one could be crowned queen of Rosewood because the USA was not a monarchy. But the fake crown Emily could earn – although for that she'd have to beat Spencer – queen of Rosewood, Spencer the I, queen of the Scots. "You have to earn it."

Alison's eyes sparkled in mischief.

"You both have to earn it", she ruled, sitting next to them on the stairs, where she stole Emily's postcard of Paris from the pages of the diary without as much as an apology. "And you two can start doing that by getting a hot outfit for the party, because I got us in."

"So we're in?"

"Did you ever doubt me?", Alison replied with a wink of complicity. "I'm just that amazing."

Best planner.

That was for sure.

It made Spencer proud – as if it was one of her own traits, projected through her from the lights and shadows of her friend. Best friends. That was for sure. Emily seemed to believe the same thing and she glowed in an intense, burning light in accord with the summer, and the glow brought back the memory of Nefertiti, queen of Egypt, Berlin and Rosewood, coming to erase the rain from the surface of the earth.

A/N 2: Next chapter will pick up on the story where we left it. This flashback was planned from the start (obviously, not every detail in it). Reviews are very much welcome - criticism too; but I understand if no one feels like dropping by! I can't express my gratitude for those of you who have taken a moment to write so far - well, I can, and I am going to :)

Thanks spicy emily, itsKatiee61 (which, yes, I agree with everything you wrote, and about A... there are still a few chapters left), jrzygurl89 (it is Spemily endgame), Tara (yes), DelusionalDaydreams :))), mduwel (yes, a lot of it is unsaid, but it will be said at some point, don't worry), Shellmar (I know, I know), LaughLoveLiveXx (hey, long time! I wanted you to sympathize with them both, also to feel angry at the two of them, because you do have the info that what is happening is not "normal" for them), Let The Flames Begin Again (yes, exactly! thanks for picking up on that! you made me happy), craycrayforshay (shit, sorry bout that), glorymania (Spencer is right, but she's also dubious because she doesn't have all the info), dmpanda5 :))), kamikazej (it is Spemily), sofianme (sorry! do not worry, things will get better; and thank you so much for stopping by), SJVlovesLAD (thanks truly!), Guest, BittersweetLIZ (lol muchas gracias!), Krethyth, Opportunity (dude, THANKS! haha, but no way lol But thank you so much), Olivia and Ort (normally I give up on people who take more than 3 months to update, so I can understand if you do, but if you don't, thanks for the patience!).

Finally, Quinn: which, btw, great username! lol So I had to say I was planning to come back to the story, but it was just an idea in my head. Reading your review actually gave me the physical encouragement to actually sit in front of the computer and start drafting. It still took me a few weeks to write because first I re-started myself off with another fic, but... I really, I have no words, if I'm back to writing the characters is in a great part due to you! I don't deserve such a beautiful review, I'm sure of that, but I appreciate it with my whole soul. Oh, and don't take me too seriously when I whine: I'm big on self-deprecation and self-doubt, it's a really good way of protecting myself, but I'm also big on reading and writing - and on Spemily lol - so I will always try to improve.