Thank you for the reviews :) seems some of you have got me sussed haha. Enjoy the update!

15.

He's long been aware that some days pass quicker than others. As a teenager, the days he spent with nowhere to go seemed to drag on forever, especially those nights on a cold bench or walking around the same block over and over. But then, when they'd first moved to New York, time flew by. They'd be out during the day living separate lives, and the evenings passed too quickly for all the time he wanted to spend with Hanna, especially when they were interrupted by gala dinners and networking events. That whole period of his life went far too fast and ended before he knew it. The time in A's hotel themed bunker went so slowly it was hard to believe they weren't trapped there for much longer than a week, but it's the few days since leaving the hospital that have felt like years.

He can put the dragging of time down to several reasons. It's been getting increasingly difficult to find ways to dodge Spencer's inquisitions on what happened, and to keep replying to her many theories on A.D's identity with a vague I dunno, maybe rather than screaming at her to shut up. And there were only so many times he could turn his head so when her lips came near his she got his cheek instead, before she started asking leading questions about their relationship that he couldn't answer until he'd checked with Hanna how they wanted to handle it. He'd told Spencer the reason they had to sleep in separate beds was medical advice rather than the fact he didn't want her to see his scars or to roll over and try to cuddle him in the night, but the guilt in the pit of his stomach was almost as painful as his broken leg or the burns on his back. Mostly, though, he thinks the dragging of time is due to missing Hanna.

He had been meant to go and see her the previous day but he'd received a text from Ashley just before he called a cab, telling him Hanna had said she was too tired for visitors. He doesn't get it. After everything they went through, he thought she'd find being apart from him as hard as he's finding being apart from her. He knows from her gap in memory that she won't recall him pouring his heart out to try to keep her conscious, but he's sure they exchanged enough I love you's throughout the time for her to know how he feels.

Then it hit him, just hours ago, that perhaps she'd changed her mind and wanted to stay with Jordan instead. Since then, he's been steadily working his way through the alcohol in Spencer's barn.

When Spencer arrives home from some event with her mom, he doesn't even try to hide the bottle. She immediately clocks the state he's in and pulls out her phone, tapping away at the screen.

"Yep, I knew it. You're not meant to mix your medication with alcohol."

"What?"

"Caleb, you're already mixing two types of opioids with antibiotics, it could be dangerous."

"How do you know what I'm taking?"

She sighs. "One of the doctor's husband is on my mom's campaign team."

"So you exploited your connections."

"Yeah!" she says, unabashed. "And I'd do it again. I need to know what's going on with you!"

"Why?"

"Why? Because I'm your girlfriend!"

He shakes his head, not so much at her statement, just the whole situation, but he knows immediately how she's interpreted it.

"I'm sorry, did we break up and nobody told me?"

He groans. "Don't do this, Spence."

"No, I'm doing this. I think we need to! Caleb, I want to help."

"I don't need your help."

"Right, because you're a walking bruise but you're fine."

He's silent.

"So, is that you don't want help, or you don't want me to help you?"

He takes a long swig from the bottle.

"Because you've been avoiding me for days, Caleb, and I've seen that video of you and Hanna-"

Something inside his chest clenches. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"We were putting on a fucking show to keep A sweet and to show you guys we needed help, you know that."

"And that's all it was? You're honestly going to sit there and tell me that nothing happened between you in there?"

"No, I'm not gonna tell you that."

She winces. "So, you kissed? More?"

"She needed me."

"That's not what I asked."

He tries to get up, the bottle still in his hand, but drops one of the crutches and growls in frustration. "You don't understand," he says, flopping back into the chair.

"Then tell me!" Her voice wobbles. "I may not know everything that A put you through in there, but it's not like I've never experienced something similar."

"Then imagine what it was like for Hanna going through it twice!"

"I have. I am! We talked about it earlier."

"You saw Hanna earlier?"

"Yeah, she's out of the hospital now, didn't you know?"

It would be impossible to deny it hurts that he didn't know. He shuffles to the edge of the chair, poised as if he's about to jump out of it any second. "I need to see her."

"What, now?"

"It's important."

"So's this conversation!" She turns away from him, hiding her face. "Caleb, if you want to be with her, not me, then do us all a favour and just say it."

He rubs his head. The alcohol hadn't given him a headache but this conversation has. "In there… it felt like the real world didn't exist any more. Like it was just the two of us. And so it was hard to remember that we weren't… or why we shouldn't-"

She scoffs. "Okay, when we were taken, we were in there nearly four weeks, Caleb. Four weeks. And not a single day went by that I didn't think about the people on the outside I was missing, about my parents, about Toby-"

"But that's you and Toby."

"Because who I was with at the time! I'm just giving an example. It would be the same now, with you."

"You don't know that."

"Yes," she wipes at her eye. "I do!"

He returns the bottle to his lips. Everything is spiralling and this is the only way he has to control it.

"So what is it?" she asks. "What's going on between you two?"

"We only had each other," he continues. "It didn't feel like we were doing anything wrong. It kept us alive."

"Do you love her?"

"Yes, I love her."

The tears are falling faster now. "Then what does that mean for us?"

"Just drop it, Spencer," he snaps.

A sob shudders through her shoulders and out her mouth. "Drop it? I know you're hurting right now, Caleb," she says, "and I'm trying to be understanding of that and everything you've been through, but I exist too, you know, and I- I…"

Through the haze of alcohol, he sighs. He knows she's got a point. "Look, Spence-"

"I think you should leave."

He looks down. The bottle's nearly empty. "Fine," he says. He discards the bottle on the floor and grabs his backpack from beside it, throwing it over one shoulder and hopping away on his crutches.

Once outside, he takes a break, leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. That wasn't how he'd wanted things to go.

Without thinking it over too much, he heads in the direction of the nearest shop and purchases a bottle of Vodka. He has nowhere to go, so heads for the swings, throws his crutches onto the floor and pours the liquid into his throat. It burns on the way down but the pain is almost comforting.

He wishes Hanna would appear from around the corner, like she has done so often over the years when he's been brooding on the swings. He just wants to see her, talk to her, check she's recovering okay. But he doubts she feels the same, or she would have told him she was home. He takes another long gulp of the Vodka, coughing from the harshness of the taste.

He remembers after the last time Hanna was taken by A, she'd accused him of suffocating her. He'd thought he was going to lose her over it. And then he did lose her, in New York, and it was because he'd reacted with emotion, rather than talking things through. He's not going to let the same happen again.

He drinks as much as he can manage in one go and then staggers to his feet, tucking the bottle under the top of his jeans so he can use his crutches, and hoping precariously towards Lucas's apartment where Hanna's been staying.

Emily opens the door in her pyjamas. "Hi," she says, sounding surprised to see him.

"Can I come in?"

"Sure. You do know Hanna's not here though, right?"

"What?" He staggers slightly and leans against the wall as if that was his intention all along.

"Come in and sit down," she says. "I'll get you some water."

He slumps onto the sofa and retrieves the bottle of vodka from his waistband. "I've already got a drink, thanks."

"Caleb-"

"So where is she?"

"Are you… okay?"

He brings the bottle to his mouth. The taste hasn't got any better.

She slides onto the sofa next to him. "I do get it, you know. Why you'd want to drink."

He shakes his head. Spencer had also given the impression she knew what was going on in his head, but she'd also got it wrong. After what the four of them went through, he doesn't know how to explain that A's a very small part of why he's drinking.

"It does get easier," she says.

"I've fucked it all up, Em."

She's quiet for a moment. "She's at her mom's. It can be fixed."

"I never meant to hurt either of them."

"It's not me you need to tell."

He takes a final gulp and then screws the cap back on the bottle. "I've got to go."

It's not a long walk but blisters are beginning to form on his palms from the crutches and he has to stop several times for a medicinal swig of Vodka before he reaches their house.

It's Ashley who opens the door. It hadn't occurred to him that would be a possibility. She looks him up and down and stands in the doorway with folded arms, blocking his entrance.

"I need to see Hanna," he says by way of greeting.

"Hanna's asleep," she replies. "But hello to you too!"

"Asleep?"

"It's late, Caleb."

"I won't be long. I- I need to talk to her about something."

"No. Not in that state."

Things are starting to feel a little dizzy now and he begins to realise that perhaps coming here unexpectedly wasn't the best way to win Hanna over. "Fine. I'll go." He tries to step backwards but he can't coordinate the crutches.

She sighs. "No, I think you'd better come in."

He makes it through to the kitchen unsteadily and climbs onto a stool. His crutches fall to the floor with a clatter. He hopes the noise didn't wake Hanna. And then he hopes it did.

Ashley swaps his bottle of alcohol for a glass of water. "Drink this. We have some leftovers in the fridge, I'll heat some up for you. It'll sober you up."

"Who says I want to sober up?" he says, then immediately wishes he hadn't.

She gives him a concerned look so he takes a large gulp of his water, rewarded when she turns her back again to stick a container in the microwave.

She passes him the warm tub of noodles. "I'm not going to ask you again what you've been through, Caleb. If Hanna won't tell me, I don't expect you to. But it's obviously something you need to heal from and you can't heal while you're half a bottle deep in Vodka."

He shoves a large forkful of food into his mouth to prevent having to reply.

"You're no good to her like this."

A noodle sticks in his throat on the way down. "I know."

"Why have you done this to yourself, Caleb?"

He can feel her eyes baring into him as he looks down into his food and shrugs.

There are a few further beats of silence and then he hears her sigh. "Okay, well eat up. It'll help. Trust me."

He manages most of the noodles and then twirls the fork around in the remainder, focusing on them rather than the spinning room. He knows Ashley's right. He can't be the person Hanna needs when he's a drunken mess. He pushes the tub away and drains the rest of the water.

"If you're done, I can drive you back to Spencer's."

He picks at a scab on his hand. "I'm not staying there now."

"Okay. Where are you staying?"

He shrugs.

She rolls her eyes and for a moment he sees Hanna reflected on her face. "Okay fine, you can stay in the spare room."

Caleb's on his knees, his hands bound behind him, and blood sticking his hair to his forehead. He's looking, not at her, but through her, at the person swathed in black whose shadowing her limb for limb.

She can't see them but she can feel them, their chest against her back, their head on her shoulder, their hand over hers, making her fingers stay clamped around the item they'd forced her to hold. She can feel their breath, hot and heavy against her cheek.

Slowly, the person lifts their arm, bringing hers with it, like a puppet. She's trembling violently and she's sure she'd fall to the floor if it wasn't for their strong grip on her. She can't avoid looking at the thing in her hand now that her arm is horizontally in front of her. The gun.

Caleb's looking at it too. He can't not. It's pointed straight at him.

And then, her eyes are so flooded with tears that she can't see it any longer.

"Hanna," Caleb says.

She feels her finger being pushed on top of the trigger.

"Hanna," he says again, louder this time.

She's fighting with all the strength her finger has to offer. "No, please," she whimpers.

They're pushing her finger harder and harder. The trigger begins to dip. They're going to make her kill him.

"Hanna, fight it," Caleb says.

Her face is damp with snot and sweat and tears.

Her finger buckles.

The gun fires.

His body is blown backwards. There's droplets of blood in the air, on his chest, spreading rapidly across the floor and there's a horrible gurgling noise coming from his throat.

She's suddenly released. The gun falls from her hand and hits the floor with a smack. She runs to him and drops beside him, her hands forming a dam and pressing down on the bullet wound, hard. He moans in pain.

His lips are moving and he's trying to say something but blood is trickling from his mouth and she doesn't know what he's trying to tell her. His eyelashes are fluttering rapidly. She can see his chest heaving, skin getting pale and clammy, and each breath is rasping.

He's dying. She knows it. He knows it too.

"Caleb," she says. She wipes her tears so she can see him clearly and in doing so smears his blood across her cheek.

"I-" he tries again. He coughs and another spurt of blood comes out of his mouth.

"Shh, baby, it's okay."

"-love you," he manages.

A sob shudders through her body. "I love you too."

His eyes flicker shut.

She wakes with a gasp.

She looks around her. She's back in her childhood bedroom, safe. And yet, her chest is heaving and her cheeks are damp. She wipes her tears with the corner of her duvet then heads downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She's surprised to see that her mom is already up.

"Hello." Her mom squints at her. "Are you okay?"

Shit. Her eyes must be red from the crying. "Yeah, fine. I just need to, er, moisturise. I've been getting really dry skin lately, I think it's the hospital air-con."

"Hanna-" her mom interrupts.

"Can I use some of your-?"

"Caleb's here."

"What?" She blinks away a sudden flashback from her dream.

"In the spare room." She lowers her voice. "He showed up here last night drunk."

"What, why didn't you wake me?"

"You still need your sleep; I wasn't going to wake you!"

"Mom! Caleb is more important than sleep, okay?"

"Says the girl who made me lie to him by saying you were too tired for visitors."

"It's complicated."

"Is something going on between the two of you?"

Hanna rolls her eyes. "You know what, I'm going to take him up some water, so if you don't mind…" she sidesteps her mom and heads to the sink. Beside it, is a bottle of vodka, less than half full. "That's his?" She doesn't wait for a reply before unscrewing the lid and pouring what's left of it down the sink.

"Hanna!"

"What? Don't tell me you didn't consider doing the same?"

"Considered, yes."

"That stuff's rank anyway."

"Well, I'm glad you think so."

She rinses out a glass and fills it up with water.

"You never answered my question," her mom says. "You and Caleb..?"

"Mom, stop it! I don't know, okay? It's complicated. We're both with other people and I… I don't know if he wants to leave her."

"Spencer?"

"Yes, Spencer. He's not sleeping his way around Rosewood!"

"And if he does leave her… what does that mean for you and Jordan?"

She takes a few steps towards the hallway. "I can't talk to you about this now, Mom."

"Okay, okay!" Her mom holds her hands up in peace. "But Hanna, you should know. In the hospital, when I told him how sick you were… he broke down in tears. I may not know exactly what's going on between you, but I know that boy cares about you a lot."

Her chest feels warm but she can't quite smile. "Thanks Mom."

She carries the glass of water upstairs, picking up some painkillers on the way. She knocks but doesn't bother waiting before she pushes the door open with her foot and enters the room.

He's stirring. Even with the bruises and a blatant hangover, he looks a hell of a lot better than he did in her dream. She wordlessly passes him the drinks and tablets.

"Thanks," he says. He pushes himself more upright and takes a sip of the water.

She climbs onto the bed and sits on the other side to him, knees to her chest and not making eye contact. There's so much she wants to say but the words stick in her throat. She doesn't even dare look at him for fear it'll prompt him to say he's changed his mind, that he doesn't want her after all. The silence lasts a long time, so long she begins to wonder if he's fallen back asleep. But then she feels the mattress move as he shuffles. She holds her breath, hoping he's about to tell her he loves her.

"How come you didn't you tell me you were out of the hospital?" he asks.

The directness of the question makes her jump. She looks at him, startled, then back at her knees and shrugs.

"Hanna."

"You were back at Spencer's," she says. "If that's your choice, then I didn't want to ruin that for you."

"You thought that was me choosing Spencer over you?"

"Well, wasn't it?"

"No!" he says. "I had to stay somewhere! And she- she just assumed-"

"What, like she just assumed she was in a relationship with you? It's not really cutting it as an excuse, Caleb."

He falls silent again. The space between them feels even more poignant now. They'd touched all the time when they were in the bunker.

"I think we broke up anyway."

Her heart leaps but she tries not to show it. He's not getting away with it that easily. "You think? As in you drank so much you don't remember?"

"As in she kicked me out before I could ask her to clarify." He pauses. "It's not a case of choosing. It's you. It's always you. I just didn't want to end things with Spencer without letting you know first."

She knows this would be the perfect time to ask what's going on with them but she's scared to hear the answer. The words reach the tip of her tongue and she's about to open her mouth to ask them, when he speaks again.

"So how are you doing, Han?"

She waits a beat. "Better than you."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"We've been here before, haven't we? With your drinking."

He looks affronted. "That was a long time ago. It's not like I have a problem."

"Maybe not but, Caleb, I know you. You only ever drink vodka when your head's fucked."

She raises her eyebrows pointedly and waits for him to relent.

"Fine, maybe," he says. "But tell me yours isn't too."

Her stomach lurches. She looks away. At one point in time, she'd deny it straight away. But if he's able to admit it, then so should she. She sees a flash of his limp, bleeding body from her dream.

"I had a nightmare," she says.

He frowns. "When, last night?"

"Last night, the night before, most nights in the hospital…"

"Han-"

"Don't."

"I want to help!"

"What can you do, Caleb? Really?" She takes a deep breath. "Don't worry, I've booked an appointment with my old therapist. I'll get my head fixed. Again."

"You're going back to New York?"

"Yeah. Just for a bit. I've got things to… sort."

"When?"

"In a few days."

He hesitates. "What are they about, your nightmares?"

She looks at him. His hand is laid on the mattress palm up, available for her to take it at any point. But how can she? How can she tell him she repeatedly sees him dying, maimed, crying out in pain, then take his hand and expect him to make it better?

"I'm not ready to talk about them. Not yet. Okay?"

His hand twitches. "Okay."

She takes a deep breath. "So, you going to quit drinking while I'm gone?"

"Dunno. I might-"

"Caleb."

"-Or I could come with you? You could keep an eye on me."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He looks dejected.

"It's not that. It's…" she sighs. "Caleb, what are we?"

"What do you mean?"

"So much happened… in there. Everything with us, it wasn't just- you know, just a way to survive?"

"It wasn't for me."

The tension falls from her shoulders. "It wasn't for me either," she says.

They both turn their heads at the same time, their eyes lock and he hits her with a searching gaze. They're both so good at masking their emotions, even from each other at times, but she knows without doubt that his face is as open and vulnerable as hers. Slowly, his lips curve into a smile.

She mirrors it, but only for a moment.

"The reason you can't come to New York with me," she says, "is because I'm going to break up with Jordan."

He exhales. "Perhaps that's why I should come? In case things get messy."

"It'll be fine. I'm more worried about Spencer."

"Yeah. I kinda screwed that one up."

"What exactly did you guys talk about last night?"

He shrugs. "She knows. About us, I mean. That I'm in love with you."

"Say that last bit again."

"I'm in love with you."

This time she takes his hand, squeezing it tight. "I'm in love with you too."

He gently runs his thumb across her hand.

"I want to wait, though," she says. "Until I've told Jordan and we've spoken to Spencer, properly this time, I mean. Then we can be together. Until then, we have to keep our distance, okay?"

He looks down at their joined hands and she knows what he's thinking. She gives his hand a last squeeze and then slips hers out of his grasp. It pains her to do so, but she knows it's the right thing to do.

"Caleb?"

"Whatever you want," he says.

They rest in comfortable silence, only broken by the ringing of Hanna's phone. She rescues it from buried beneath her leg and checks the screen. She looks up at him in panic.

"It's Spencer."