Thank you for the engagement last chapter, it's always great to read reviews and to see new people following/favoriting the story! To answer the question about why Spencer isn't being open about what happened (yet): there are two reasons. The first is the obvious trauma, as you'll see in this chapter it's not something she even really knows how to start talking about. The other reason is to do with the countdown at the beginning of each chapter; do with that information what you will. Annnd with that all out of the way, here's the next chapter! Read, enjoy, review, etc. See you all next time!
[Seventy hours, twenty-five minutes.]
For most other people, the question would need to be answered. This would be an entirely unfamiliar situation, with no frame of reference to elucidate a conclusion. Unfortunately for Aria, she knows exactly what the small raised bump on the back of Spencer's neck is. She'd had one of those herself, a few short lifetimes ago. Some friendship groups get matching tattoos; hers had ended up with matching scars.
With each passing moment of silence Aria is more sure of her conclusion and more terrified of the implications. Spencer raises her hand then, lightly touching the bump. By the purposefulness of her movements it's clear she knows it's there, but the lack of surprise is nothing compared to the lack of concern she shows. The first time, back in the lab not long after the Dollhouse, Spencer had been the one to figure it out. Bitch chipped us, she'd announced, caught between fear and indignation, she chipped us in the bunker, that's why we were drugged.
But there's no trace of that now, no puzzle pieces falling into place or plans springing into motion, no emotion besides what Aria can only describe as a detached sort of resignation. Spencer's hand falls back into her lap, but Aria's eyes are locked onto the bump, the chip, and the wheels in her head are spinning so quickly she wouldn't be surprised if some of them flew off and her brain just stopped altogether. It's a new chip, we got rid of our old ones years ago. Someone chipped Spencer specifically. Recently. Why? Who? And why didn't Spencer tell us?
"I was awake this time," Spencer says, breaking a silence that feels like it's lingered for hours. Her voice is scarily neutral, betraying no emotion – which is probably just as well, because Aria's reasonably sure she's feeling enough for both of them. "It doesn't hurt as much as you'd expect."
"Spencer, I -" Aria lets the sentence die, unsure what she can even say in this situation. Nothing about this makes sense, but it feels like it should, like she's just missing one clue or hint or piece of information that will force everything into place. She takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check, to match Spencer's neutrality so as not to spook her back into silence. "Who did this to you? Was it A.D.?"
"No." The word is sharp, short. A complete sentence that feels like the end of a conversation.
Caught off-guard by the direct answer, Aria tries to slot it into place in the ever-growing collage of information in her mind. It feels out of place, incompatible with everything she's learned so far. Mona hasn't been part of the game for years, Charlotte is dead. A.D. has to be the only one left who's after them; the alternative is unthinkable, even for someone who's been through as much as Aria had. If it isn't A.D. that means there's somebody else who wants to hurt them, maybe even kill them, and she'll be damned if she lets another person try to ruin their lives after they've finally fought their way to some kind of happiness.
"Do you -" Aria starts to ask, but Spencer cuts her off.
"It's okay," she says, still in that blank voice, the one that makes Aria's skin crawl. "No one's tracking me anymore."
For all her lack of emotion, she does convey a comforting sense of certainty. Aria wants to ask how she knows that, why she won't tell her who did it, what the actual hell is going on, but her need to protect her friend outweighs her desire for answers.
"I think we should go to the police," she says cautiously. "If you're not ready to talk to us -"
"There's nothing to talk about." Spencer shifts away from her, turning to meet her eyes. There's an earnestness there, hidden beneath a layer of fear. "I promise you, nobody's following me."
"But you -"
"The police can't help," Spencer interrupts in something that comes very close to her Hastings voice, the one she used to use to win debates and shut down counter-arguments. The fire is missing from her eyes, but that firmness in her voice is reassuring. Whatever Spencer's gone through, she's still a Hastings; she's still her. "I know you're trying to help, but just… drop it, okay?"
"No," Aria retorts, finally unable to hold back the flood of emotions, "no, Spencer, I will not just drop it! Not when my best friend is clearly traumatized but won't tell me why. Not when you're sitting here with a goddamn chip in your neck and nerve damage in your hand and -"
"Aria!" Spencer stands up then, so suddenly it seems to make her dizzy, but she steadies herself in time to look down at her friend. "Just leave it alone!"
Aria stands up as well, to a much less impressive height than her friend, but just as determined not to back down. "Jesus, Spencer, will you please just let me finish a sentence?"
For a moment it looks like Spencer is about to cry, and Aria has just enough time to rein in her emotions and start to construct an apology before her friend laughs. Just once, barely more than an exhale, but there's a touch of humor in her expression as she sighs and sits back down. Aria follows suit, trying to get a sense of what the mood is in the room now. She doesn't want to fight, but she's not just going to let this go.
"I'm sorry," Spencer says when they're both seated again. "I didn't – I should have let you talk. I just… I haven't really talked to anyone. Or…" She looks down at her hands, fiddling with the bandage. "I mean, I haven't had anyone to talk to. Anyone who'd listen to me."
Aria exhales slowly, letting go of the spark of fear-fueled anger she'd momentarily felt. "Well, I'm here now. And I'm listening."
In the silence that follows, Aria regrets every single story she's ever written, every creative writing class, every poem and song and photograph, every ounce of effort she'd put towards the creativity that's now allowing her mind to run away from her. The longer Spencer goes without speaking, the more scenarios Aria comes up with to fill in the blanks, and each option is somehow worse than the one before it. Given what they've all been through, coming up with worse options is a feat in itself, but Aria's always had a flair for the creative – as much as, right now, she wishes she didn't.
"I don't even know what to say," Spencer says eventually, with a rueful smile that doesn't touch the coldness in her eyes. Her posture is still stiff and rigid, but with her hair a lot neater she looks the tiniest bit more like herself. "Imagine that. I spend months wishing somebody would actually listen to me, and then I get tongue-tied the second someone finally does."
Although Aria's first instinct is comfort, wanting to wrap Spencer up in another hug and never let her go, something catches her attention. "Months?" she echoes, trying to make this new sliver of information fit into the growing list of clues in her mind. "Spence, we -"
Spencer opens her mouth to respond, but snaps it shut as someone knocks on the door.
"Room service," Hanna calls from the other side, her voice almost excessively playful, evidently overcompensating for the pervasive air of tension in the apartment.
Aria shares a look with Spencer, part amused and part disappointed. But Spencer's eyes are brighter now, as if some of her fear has finally faded. Or maybe she's just excited about the prospect of coffee. Taking it as a win either way, Aria smiles at her. "How about it? Feel up to having that coffee?"
She gets to her feet, automatically holding out a hand to help Spencer up as well, and doesn't realize her mistake until her friend's face falls. She's got nerve damage, you idiot, Aria silently scolds herself, the last thing you should do is touch her. But Spencer only hesitates for a second before taking her hand and letting Aria gently guide her upwards.
"Definitely," Spencer says, starting to let go of her hand, but she stops herself and looks down at Aria before they've made it more than a step toward the door. "But before we go out there, I just… I want to thank you. For…"
She doesn't finish her sentence, but she doesn't need to. Aria squeezes her hand, trying to convey as much love and support as she can in that one simple gesture. "You don't have to thank me," she says. "You know I'd do anything for you."
Something passes across Spencer's face though, so quickly Aria can't be sure she really saw it, but it makes her stomach twist. For a second Aria is flung back to high school, to when she'd said almost exactly the same thing to Spencer after she'd been released from Radley – and had secretly been working with Mona as part of the A-Team. Her expression is different now, less guarded and more… haunted. But Aria has the same uneasy feeling in her gut, like there's something dangerous simmering just below the surface. Stop being so dramatic, she thinks. You're not in high school anymore.
Another knock at the door pulls them both from their thoughts, and Spencer squeezes Aria's hand back before letting it go. "Let's not keep Hanna waiting," Spencer says, with more enthusiasm than she probably feels, and starts leading the way to the door.
Aria follows, trying to push aside her uneasiness. Months. Spencer had said nobody had listened to her in months. Given how frequently they'd all seen her recently, that can't be true. They'd all had their fair share of problems in the past few months, but they'd always talked about it with each other. Spencer had confided in them about things that were bothering her – friction with her parents, indecision over Toby, tension with her sister. They'd listened, hadn't they? They'd helped her. Aria is sure of that – as sure as Spencer seems of the opposite.
When she reaches the kitchen her friends are already gathering around the table, Hanna distributing the coffee and Emily standing so close to Spencer it's like she's expecting her to drop to the floor at any moment. Aria joins them, standing on Spencer's other side and gratefully accepting the cup of coffee that Hanna hands her.
"They're doing well," Emily is saying, and like Hanna she's adopted a slightly-too-bright attitude, her normally cheerful demeanor just a little bit exaggerated. If Spencer notices the attempt to make her feel better, she doesn't comment on it. "Jason's been sending me so many photos and videos. I know Ali had her doubts, but he's really taken to being the fun uncle."
Spencer smiles, both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee she's yet to even sip from. "Is this the first time Ali's taken the twins to see him?" she asks.
Emily and Hanna share a look, and Aria feels that twinge again, the faint hint of an alarm bell ringing in her mind. She'd considered amnesia as a possible reason for Spencer's behavior, although it doesn't account for the physical changes, and that theory rises to the top of her list now.
"We went to see him last month," Emily reminds her. "All of us."
Spencer's face falls, her grip around her cup slackening. "Oh," she says, so quietly it's almost a whisper, and there's such an unbearable air of sadness around her that Aria clears her throat, suddenly desperate to change the subject.
"Since Toby's still in London, I was thinking you could stay here for the night," she says, taking a sip of her coffee. As instructed, Hanna had made it strong, and Aria can almost swear the jolt of caffeine hits her as soon as she swallows.
"Maybe we all should," Hanna chimes in before Spencer can respond. "It'll be like a sleepover."
Aria glances at Spencer, half-expecting to see her pulling away at the prospect of spending a night in such a crowded house, but she doesn't seem to have even heard the suggestion. She's staring into her cup like it holds the answers to all her questions, and she doesn't look up when Aria nudges her gently to get her attention.
"You know that's for drinking, not for fortune-telling, right?" Aria says quietly, a joke to test the waters that seem to be shifting more quickly than any tide. One minute Spencer is lucid, the next she's miles away.
"Hm?" Spencer does look up now, but her gaze shutters as she notices all three of her friends looking at her. "Oh. Yeah, it's…" She takes a tentative sip of the coffee and seems to visibly relax, but it's hard to tell whether it's because of the drink or because she's making an effort to seem more at ease. Even in this state, she's still trying not to worry her friends. "It's really good, Han."
"I learned from the best," Hanna says, waggling her eyebrows, and Aria and Emily laugh. Spencer doesn't, but she does give something that almost passes for a smile.
"And I," Ezra chimes in from his place near the stove, "learned from a dingy little cookbook I found in the back of my cupboard when I moved in, but… voilà."
With a flourish he gestures to the five bowls of freshly cooked vegan spaghetti bolognese neatly laid out on the counter. Aria looks at the others, grateful for Ezra's thoughtfulness but wondering whether anyone even has the stomach for food right now. To everyone's surprise it's Spencer who moves first, quickly skirting around the table to reach the counter. Ezra steps aside to let her grab a bowl, and she's settled back at the table before anyone else can react. It's the most animated they've seen her all night, and Aria holds her breath for a couple of beats, scared of upsetting whatever balance there is now.
Realizing everyone's still looking at her, Spencer's eyes widen. "Oh. Sorry, was that – Was I supposed to wait?"
Ezra is the first to shake himself out of the state of shock that's gripped everyone at the sight of Spencer's forwardness. "No," he assures her quickly, "no, by all means, dig in."
With that he starts to distribute the remaining bowls among the rest of them before sitting down at the table himself. Despite Ezra's assurances Spencer had waited to start eating, but there's a hunger in her eyes that Aria finds uncomfortably familiar. It's the same look they'd all had in the Dollhouse, when their meals were carefully rationed and only given twice a day. She had lunch with Hanna today, Aria reminds herself, she's not starving. But even in her mind the words don't quite ring true.
"Well," Ezra says, beaming at the gathered group with that same slightly exaggerated enthusiasm everyone's been showing, "bon appétit."