Thank you so much for the response last chapter! I wasn't originally intending on updating until next week, but you guys were so kind in your reviews last time that I wanted to put this one up a bit earlier. Next chapter is the one where the rest of the Liars finally put the pieces together, which I'm excited to share with you all (although boy oh boy, when I tell you that chapter was a headache to edit...). Thank you again for your ongoing support, and I hope you enjoy the chapter (which includes a flashback, a hint, and a good ol' dash of Spanna). See you next time!
[Sixty-nine hours, forty-one minutes.]
It's quiet in the kitchen, a fact that immediately sets Spencer's already frayed nerves on edge. She was once known for seeking out quiet places, opting to study in solitude more often than she attempted to drag her reluctant friends into study sessions. The library, the farthest corner of the park, the barn when her sister was out of town – it was all fair game, and she enjoyed being able to hole herself up in some secluded place and focus all her attention on her studies. But it was a different experience down there, with the constant background hum of the generator, and now such silence feels… wrong.
Having abandoned her pursuit of a hot beverage, Hanna moves over to the sink and turns the tap on, apparently eager for something to occupy her otherwise idle hands. The sudden rush of noise is oddly soothing, and Spencer's so focused on it she almost misses Hanna's next words. "So, Spence, do you want the bed or the couch?"
The question freezes Spencer in place as she tries desperately to figure out the trick, terrified to make the wrong choice. In her experience, do you want -? never ends well.
Do you want to tell me Aria's favorite color, or do you want me to press this button?
Do you want to tell me about Emily's first kiss, or do you want to go another day without food?
Do you want to tell me what Hanna's greatest fear is, or do you want to see what happens when I cut Melissa's brake line?
She swallows, relieved that Hanna's facing away from her so she won't be able to read the fear in her eyes. Friends, she reminds herself yet again, they're your friends, but as she shifts her gaze away from Hanna she realizes that Aria is watching her. Do you want -? She doesn't; she isn't allowed to. What she wants doesn't matter, and her captors had made that very clear to her. What mattered was how compliant she was, how much information she could give. What she wants hasn't been part of the equation for so long that even now, in the presence of only her closest friends, she still feels like the question is a trap.
"We'll take the bed," Aria says, and Spencer unclenches her fist as she realizes she won't have to make the decision. "You guys can have the sofa."
"Sounds good," Hanna says, not looking up from the dishes she's scrubbing so furiously she seems on the verge of shattering them. She's putting on a brave face, they all are, but Spencer can't find it in her to ask them to stop. Underneath it all there's an edge of anger, a tangled thread of confusion, and she understands the need to hide that behind a veneer of false positivity.
"What about Ezra?" Spencer asks, gaze still fixed on the sink. If she doesn't look directly at her, she can pretend she doesn't see the well of compassion in Aria's eyes. And if she doesn't see it, she doesn't have to feel guilty for it.
"He has a book signing tomorrow in New York," Aria explains. "He's staying at a hotel tonight since he's leaving so early."
The dish soap Hanna's using smells strongly of lemon, an overwhelmingly artificial aroma after months of odorless sterility. The place where Alex held her had always been clean and characterless, everything monochromatic and lifeless, and Spencer feels out of place now in this bright, colorful space. She rubs at a smudge of pasta sauce on the tablecloth with her thumb and asks, "Is that where he was going when…?"
"When he found you?" Aria finishes for her. "No, he was just going to the corner store to get a couple of things he needed for his trip."
"It's lucky he did, though," Hanna says, pausing her obsessive cleaning to spare a glance over her shoulder. "You might still be wandering around the streets if he hadn't brought you here."
Brought me here, Spencer thinks, like a sickly stray dog.
When Spencer doesn't speak, Aria picks up where Hanna left off. "Where were you coming from anyway? Ezra said he didn't see your car nearby."
Of course he didn't. I haven't been near it in months.
Something about the directness of Aria's question is reassuring, and part of Spencer wants to abandon all pretense and spill the truth to her friends here and now. But her old wariness resurfaces when she opens her mouth to respond, flipping the switch in her brain that makes her default to skirting around the truth. "I was… with family," she says, the last word catching on her teeth so that she has to almost spit it out. Before her friends can comment on it, she gets to her feet and asks, "Can I help with anything?"
"Nope." Hanna pulls her gloves off, setting them down beside the array of freshly washed dishes. "I'm all done."
There's a challenge in her voice, something that Spencer picks up on but doesn't have the energy to rise to. Although Hanna doesn't say it outright, for once exhibiting something akin to tact, the message is clear: you can't help me, because I'm supposed to be helping you.
"We should probably start getting ready for bed soon anyway," Aria adds, standing up as well. "Do you want a shower before you go to sleep, Spence?"
There it is again – do you want? – but this time Spencer reins her thoughts in, clinging to some semblance of control. She's unsteady in the saddle, but she's determined. "I'd love that, actually," she says, wanting both to finally get out of these clothes and to get away from this conversation. She doesn't know what her friends think so far, but knowing them they must have theories aplenty. Theories that, sooner or later, they're going to want her to weigh in on. The longer she can put that off, the better.
"You can borrow some of my pajamas," Aria offers, already moving toward the bedroom. "I'll be back in a sec."
The door closes behind her, and Hanna, ever the lioness when it comes to her friends, pounces on her opportunity. "You're going to have to tell us eventually, you know," she says without preamble, turning to face Spencer. She's leaning against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed over her chest. There's an imposing air about her, something almost threatening, and some stubborn part of Spencer's psyche instinctively pushes back against it.
"I'm not, actually," she says, feeling a selfish twinge of pleasure at the way Hanna's face falls ever so slightly. "It's over, I'm fine, so let's just move on."
Hanna considers her very carefully, and Spencer focuses on hardening her resolve, her demeanor, hoping against hope that her friend won't push the issue. "Nope," Hanna says simply, crushing Spencer's hopes of a quick resolution.
Spencer blinks, wondering where the rest of the sentence is, but Hanna doesn't elaborate. "Nope?" Spencer echoes finally. "That's it? Just… nope?"
"Yep." Hanna shrugs, feigning casualness, but her expression remains firm. Like Aria in caretaker mode, Hanna in investigation mode is a force to be reckoned with. "We're your friends, and that means you don't get to keep stuff from us."
Stuff like what? The thought clings to the edges of Spencer's mind even as the rest of it scrambles to formulate a response. Like the fact that I was missing for months and none of you noticed? Like the fact that you were having the time of your lives with someone pretending to be me while I was stuck in some underground cell? Like the fact that you were all going out to lunch and getting your hair done and going to work while I was literally being tortured?
Pushing the thoughts away, Spencer bites back on her anger, swallowing it like a bitter pill. She's used to it by now; anger was always one of the least useful emotions while she was in captivity, and giving in to it only ever gave her sister an edge. She needs to keep a clear head. She takes a deep breath, making an effort to untense her muscles and relax her shoulders. She came here to ask for help, not to pick a fight.
"… I know," Spencer says finally, letting go of the last of her anger. Its absence leaves her feeling empty, like someone had scraped the strength from her bones, and she doesn't realize she's swaying on her feet until she feels steadying hands on her shoulders.
"Easy," Hanna says, helping her sink back into her chair. "I've got you."
With Hanna's hands still on her shoulders Spencer slumps forward, her elbows on the table in a way that would probably give her mother – her real mother, the one who'd raised her – an aneurysm. For all her faults, Veronica Hastings did instill in her children an admirable sense of etiquette. With her vision swimming slightly – dimly it occurs to Spencer to wonder if this is dehydration or stress or malnutrition – Spencer looks up at Hanna, a medley of unspoken words poised on her tongue: I'm sorry you had to see me like this; thank you for not thinking any less of me; I hope you understand why I can't tell you everything. What she settles on, in a voice so quiet it doesn't even register as her own, is, "I will tell you. Not now, but… I will."
Hanna takes the seat beside Spencer, but she keeps one hand on her shoulder, never breaking contact between them. "Okay," Hanna says, her hand drifting to Spencer's back and starting to rub in comforting circles, "I know. I didn't mean to push, I just… I want you to know we're here for you. Whatever's going on with you, you don't have to go through it alone."
Against every instinct, Spencer feels herself relaxing under Hanna's touch, even though she can feel the hesitation in her friend's movements as her fingers feel bone where there should be fat: her ribs, her spine, her shoulder blades. All far more pronounced than they should be, sharpened after months of being fed the bare minimum necessary to keep her alive. To her credit, Hanna doesn't mention it, and after a couple of minutes Spencer leans against her shoulder, letting Hanna pull her into a gentle hug.
This time Spencer doesn't pull away, and neither does Hanna until a quiet footfall alerts them to Aria's return. Reluctantly they break apart, and Spencer glances over her shoulder to see Aria hovering a few steps away, while Ezra lingers in the doorway to their room.
"I'm, uh, going to head off now," he says, one hand on the handle of his suitcase and the other raised in a hesitant half-wave. "It was…" His usual eloquence fails him, and he looks faintly embarrassed as he trails off, shooting a look at Aria as if hoping she'll step in to finish his thought for him.
Spencer wonders what he'd been about to say, what he even could say in this situation. It was great to come across you wandering in the streets at night by yourself? It was nice to exchange a couple of words while the rest of the time you've been almost catatonic? It was good to see you, even though you look malnourished and traumatized and won't tell us what's going on?
"Thank you," Spencer says, when neither Ezra nor Aria finish the sentence. "For… for finding me."
"He's not too bright, is he? That old English teacher of yours?"
Her heart slamming into her chest, shuddering to a stop. "What?"
"Ezra? The bloke who's engaged – sorry, married – to your best friend? For a former teacher you'd think he'd be more observant."
"Observant about what?" The chain stretching taut, pulling her up short before she can reach the door. "Alex, what did you do to him? If you hurt him -"
"Relax, sister dearest. I didn't need to. We just had a nice little chat. He didn't suspect a thing."
"Yeah, I'm -" Ezra's expression softens, concern eclipsing his awkwardness. His next words are so gentle and full of compassion that for a moment Spencer drowns in them, caught off-guard by kindness after months without it. "I really hope you feel better soon, Spencer. I'm only a phone call away if you need anything."
The words turn over in her mind, like a rock being tumbled by the waters of a river, and as Spencer tries to grab onto them she realizes she missed her chance to respond. Ezra gives her another smile and then makes his way to the door, Aria a step behind to farewell him in the hall. Hanna's hand is still on her shoulder, and Spencer uses the physical touch as a tether, fighting against the light-headed fuzziness that she's become all too familiar with over the past few months. It feels more like dissociation than withdrawal this time at least, which offers some small comfort.
After saying goodbye to Ezra, Aria comes back into the room with Emily behind her. Spencer starts to ask how the twins are, but she can't even get the words out. The thought of her twin strangles her, trapping the words in her chest.
"Here," Aria says as she reaches them, still clutching the pajamas to her chest. "They probably won't fit you perfectly, but they'll be enough for tonight."
"We can take you back to your apartment tomorrow," Hanna adds, looking at the proffered Hello Kitty pajamas with some distaste. "You can stay with one of us if you need, but you should not have to spend any more time in those than is absolutely necessary."
Aria glares at her as she hands over the pajamas, holding on long enough to be sure that Spencer's hands won't spasm and cause her to drop them. "These were a gift," she says defensively, "from my mom. So if you have an issue with them, you can take it up with her."
Suddenly certain that any more talk of family is going to send her hurtling back into catatonia, Spencer clutches the pajamas to her chest and stands up. "I should -"
Aria steps out of the way, gesturing to the bathroom, and her quick smile is almost enough to hide the surprise in her eyes at Spencer's sudden movement. Emily is less quick to hide her reaction, concern darkening her eyes for a moment before she shares a confused look with Hanna, who looks equally perplexed.
Without giving them time to decide whether to question her, Spencer darts off to the bathroom, closing and automatically locking the door behind her. Then she leans up against it, her breath catching in her throat as she approaches the edge of hyperventilation. Breathe, she thinks desperately, just breathe. It takes longer than she'd like for her to get her breathing under control, but eventually she drags herself back from the verge of panic and pushes herself off from the door, bracing herself for the first shower she's been allowed to have in almost two weeks.