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Chapter Text

Spencer doesn’t think she actually takes a full, deep breath until Aria’s arms are wrapped around her.

She didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to go back. It’s not like she’s been away for a full five years, not like she just packed her bag for college, hopped in her car, and never looked back. But it’s been a while, a long while, and when she has returned, she’s always made some deliberate choices. Avoid the church. Avoid the Radley. Avoid the Brew. Avoid town in general, really. Make a beeline for home—which no longer really feels like home—and stay there. If you need something, drive out of your way to get it. Town leads to memories, and memories are a trap. And Spencer can’t afford to trap herself, right now, not when she’s working her ass off and trying to find a new apartment and has a million other things to juggle. Not when she’s spent so much time trying to forget.

And then Alison called—or wrote, because of course she had to make this as dramatic as possible—and Spencer very seriously considered ripping the letter up and doing her damnedest to move on. But Aria called her, asking if she was going in a way that meant she wanted her there, and Spencer started thinking about her own time spent at Radley. About how it didn’t really take all that much, really, for her to end up there, and how awful it would have been if she hadn’t gotten out.

So. Now she’s here, back in Rosewood. Not avoiding town, because she doesn’t want to have to explain why she’s doing it, and ready to speak at Charlotte’s hearing.

Well. Not ready, exactly. She isn’t sure really what she’s going to say. But she’s planning to say something. Alison can’t expect much more, not after everything. Though that’s never stopped her before.

Spencer is mulling all this over—on the plane, in the car, as she walks through town and feels her skin prickle at the sound of a text tone—when she walks into the Brew. And then Aria hugs her, and for half a second Spencer’s brain stops whirring.

Because that’s when she realizes: for the first time in five years, she isn’t alone. Aria and Emily and Hanna, they feel the exact same way. Maybe to varying degrees or in different ways, but still.

Spencer finally feels like she’s home.

--

“Any hints about the fall collection?” Spencer asks Hanna. She’s working hard to seem grounded, to resume their patter in its normal way. She thinks she’s actually pulling it off, and it’s not like she’s nervous. But it’s been five years since the four of them were all together, in the same place, sitting at these tables. And being back here again makes Spencer feel like she’s had one too many cups of coffee.

Hanna shakes her head. She looks beautiful, all New York glamour. Her hair is long again, her makeup is perfectly in place. Still, Spencer can see something behind her eyes. “My non-disclosure is eight pages long,” she replies. “Claudia would literally chase me down the runway with an ax if I let anything slip.”

Spencer smiles and turns her attention to Emily, who’s been awfully quiet, almost closed in on herself. Spencer feels a stab of guilt run through her. She’s been so busy since Mr. Fields passed away. At the beginning, she was good about checking in, but lately…

“How’s the Salk Institute?” she asks as brightly as possible.

“Uh, good,” Emily replies. A beat too late. “I’m still trying to find my way around.”

Spencer wrinkles her brow. Emily never has been a great liar. “All that great Louis Kahn architecture,” she continues. “I want a tour.” It’s not her most direct approach, but she’ll give Emily some time.

“They’re not doing tours right now,” Emily quickly explains. Another lie. Hmm. They are definitely talking about this soon.

Aria takes a sip of her coffee, sets it down deliberately enough to catch Spencer’s attention. That’s another thing she’s been avoiding. Not checking in on. 

“How’s…uh…Liam?” Hanna asks Aria, briefly shooting a questioning glance at Spencer.

“Oh, that’s over,” Aria tells them. Her expression is nearly unreadable. “It wasn’t built to last.”

“I’m sorry,” Hanna says quietly. “Anyone else?”

Aria shakes her head. “No.” Okay, they’ll need to talk about that later too. Spencer hasn’t really had a deep conversation with Aria, not since it happened. Aria hasn’t seemed to want to talk about it. And, Spencer has shamefully realized, she’s been all too glad to follow Aria’s lead.

“Who’s Spencer seeing?” Aria asks. There might be a slight note of challenge in her voice, or perhaps Spencer’s guilt makes her imagine it.

“Spencer is too busy to see anybody,” she replies. It isn’t a lie.

“Wait, what about the ambassador’s son?” Hanna asks.

“Regime change,” she says simply.

“You realize what this means?” Hanna posits. “We’re all single at the same time.”

Emily frowns. “When was the last time that happened?”

“Probably when we were all too young to date,” Spencer realizes. She’s smiling, but there’s a definite tension, thick and nearly impenetrable. The look on Aria’s face and the slouch in Emily’s body make it hard to deny.

“So this court thing,” Emily begins. “Are we going to be under oath?”

“No oath,” Spencer attempts to reassure her, “it’s just about how we feel about Charlotte getting out.”

“No, tell the truth,” Aria cuts in fiercely. “It is about A getting out.”

“Five A-free years,” Hanna murmurs. “You have to admit that felt good.”

“Just because A hasn’t been around, it doesn’t mean everything has gone our way,” Aria points out.

“I mean, a lot has happened, good, bad and ugly, but all of it was uncontaminated by A,” Spencer states.

Emily takes a deep breath. “And now A wants to go home.”

--

Spencer has barely talked to Alison in the last few years. Her own busyness combined with Alison’s commitment to Charlotte’s rehabilitation—no matter the cost to her personal relationships—has made it easy for that friendship to fall by the wayside, for their communication to be reduced to clipped phone conversations and vaguely impersonal text chains.

Still, seeing Alison again brings a flood of emotions that Spencer works very hard to clamp down. At one point, Alison was like the axis this whole town spun around. Like the axis Spencer’s very world spun around.

She looks so different now, here in her full skirt, leaning against her desk. Spencer doesn’t know how she feels about it; she always pictured Alison’s future as being filled with fantastic adventures, incredible travels, devastating love stories. To see her here, in Ezra’s old classroom…

And that thought will drag her into a wormhole that she definitely can’t afford to go down.

Alison does her best impression of a level-headed and pleading woman, as though she doesn’t know exactly how this has going to go. She and Charlotte have always been excellent conductors. Spencer can’t help a biting remark or two slip from her lips. 

Still, they all agree. They will be there. To speak on Charlotte’s behalf.

On A’s behalf.

--

One advantage of coming home is being able to check in on her mom’s campaign. Spencer is so incredibly proud of her mom, and there’s a definite thrill in watching her give a speech in front of a crowd.

Even if she spends half the time chatting with her friends about what tomorrow will bring. She’s getting ready for her own little speech—hastily written on the airplane, but still pretty strong, if she says so herself—when a familiar flash of dark hair catches her eye.

“Mona!” she calls out.

Mona whips around and walks toward her. She’s smirking, just slightly, but her eyes look distracted. “Your mom’s doing very well in the polls for such an untested candidate.”

“What are you doing here?” Spencer asks, not bothering to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

“Did you forget about our time together underground? You weren’t the only one compelled to testify.”

Spencer folds her arms. “That’s the only reason?"

Mona shrugs. “I wasn’t aware I needed another.” She glances over Spencer’s shoulder. “Excuse me a moment.”

Spencer turns around. Melissa has left the podium and is convening with Mona near the edge of the crowd.

Spencer feels her jaw tighten. Just what she needs, those two teaming up.

As if she doesn’t have enough to worry about.

--

All of their statements sound incredibly rehearsed—coached, even—but that likely doesn’t matter to the judge. The important part is that they come out in favor of Charlotte’s release. Even Aria, who seemed most resistant to anything straying from the truth (rather ironic, considering how she spent her teen years, though maybe, Spencer realized, that was precisely the point) pulled out a statement of support in the end.

Afterwards, they all meet at the Radley, which Ashley Marin has refurbished into a fabulous new hotel. It’s weird, it’s really weird, but Spencer pushes the feeling down, cracks a few jokes, and gamely orders a drink with Emily. They get the news then, about Charlotte, and Spencer works hard to take it in stride. This was always a possibility. Made more possible with Spencer’s help.

Hanna arrives with Aria, announcing that the coven of the sacred cocktails is in session, and Spencer is all too happy to oblige. Drowning their sorrows in alcohol seems like a most excellent idea. 

“I miss your faces,” she says giddily at one point. Her eyes drift to each of them, finally landing on Hanna. “You all have such excellent faces.”

Hanna smiles and takes another sip of her drink. Spencer is overcome by how grown up and pretty she looks.

“Why didn’t things work out with Jordan?” Spencer asks randomly.

Hanna shrugs, her cheeks pinking slightly. “I’m busy and distracted.”

“Sounds familiar,” Spencer says. “But from what you told me, he seemed like a good guy.”

She may be tipsy, but she doesn’t miss the way Emily and Hanna share a moment of eye contact. “What?”

Hanna sighs, leaning forward in her chair. “Jordan wasn’t a good guy. I mean, Jordan was good. Just…Jordan wasn’t a guy.”

“What?” Aria asks.

Hanna nods. “Yep. I’m bisexual. We did actually break up because I was busy and distracted, though. I just didn’t exactly tell the truth about the other part. Except to Emily.”

“Why?” Spencer asks, setting her drink down. It suddenly isn’t tasting as good.

“I don’t know,” Hanna tells her. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, exactly. It’s just that we never see each other. And when we do, there’s other stuff to deal with. There was never a perfect time.”

“But you guys were together for a while,” Aria points out.

“We were,” Hanna says. “In fact, she asked me to marry her.”

“Whoa,” Spencer breathes.

“It just wasn’t right,” Hanna explains. “But I did love her, very much.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Han,” Aria states quietly.

“Me too,” Spencer murmurs. “But also, I’m happy for you.” Her skin is prickling slightly again, and she’s not sure why. “I love each one of you,” she adds, feeling it all the way to her bones.

“I think…maybe we don’t know each other as well as we used to,” Emily says softly. “But for tonight, could we just go somewhere and dance?”

Hanna grins. She looks a little relieved. Spencer knows that telling the truth can do that. “That’s why God invented the minibar, Em. We can go back to my suite. ’Tis but the crank of the evening!” she says in a faux-posh accent.

Spencer nods. She doesn’t feel quite ready to move, wanting to marinate momentarily in this moment of honesty. “You guys want to hear something funny?”

“I’d love to hear something funny,” Emily replies.

Spencer stirs her drink as she keeps talking. “I thought it wouldn’t matter what we said to the judge, because I thought they would never let her out. I thought that we could just lie for Ali one more time and it wouldn’t matter. But it did.” She smiles crookedly. “They let A out.”

Aria shakes her head. “Wouldn’t it just be the biggest cosmic joke ever if Charlotte gets to live happily ever after?”

Emily squares her shoulders. Spencer thinks she sees a bit of that old optimism seeping in, and it comforts her immediately. 

“If she can do it, so can we.”

Chapter Text

Emily wakes up in the softest bed she’s slept in in years, her phone buzzing away. She opens her eyes, before her hungover brain realizes what a terrible idea that is. Eyes firmly shut once more, she gropes for her phone, not even bothering to check who’s calling.

“Emily, it’s me,” Alison says urgently.

Emily feels her stomach start to roll. She was expecting a call from Ali, but not this early. And not when her brain feels like it’s crammed with cotton balls. 

“Hi Ali,” she murmurs.

“Did Charlotte come to your hotel room last night?” Ali asks, some definite panic in her tone.

Emily’s eyes fly back open and she sits up. Hanna and Spencer are chatting near the counter in the suite, and they whip around to face her. “Mm, no she didn’t,” Emily replies, trying to keep a measured tone. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know where she is.”

Emily tears the covers off her legs and lurches out of bed. “You don’t know where Charlotte is?!” Hanna’s eyes get huge and Spencer smacks a hand against her forehead, mouthing, “Shit.”

“We talked for hours,” Alison continues. “She was grateful to be out, but she seemed agitated too. Like she didn’t want to be there. And then when I woke up this morning, all her stuff was gone and so was she.”

“Did you call the police?” Emily asks.

“She left a note,” Alison tells her. “It’s in her handwriting. She just said that she’ll be away for a while. As part of the terms of her release, she isn’t allowed to have a phone.”

Thank God for that, Emily thinks darkly.

“She isn’t allowed to leave the state, either,” Alison adds, sounding pretty desperate.

Emily blinks, trying to get this straight. She thinks she’d need about eight cups of coffee to even begin dealing with this situation. “So if she leaves Pennsylvania, she could be recommitted?”

“Yes,” Alison sighs. “But Charlotte is so smart, I just can’t imagine she’d risk her freedom like that.” There’s a beat, one in which Emily feels like she should offer words of comfort, but she has none to provide. “Oh god, Em, no one from Welby can find out, okay? If they do, or if they find her before I do…Charlotte’s already spent so much of her life on the run or locked up. I don’t want her to disappear on me again.”

Emily sits back down on the bed. Hanna and Spencer are still eyeing her warily, and Aria has awakened from her spot on the couch and is looking around in confusion. 

“You want us to help you find her,” Emily realizes.

“If you can think of any place she would go, please check there,” Alison begs. “I’m going to drive through town, and I’ll call you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” Emily says after a breath.

“Thank you,” Alison replies. “And Em? I’m really glad you’re home.”

Emily doesn’t let herself think about the implications of that as she hangs up the phone. Hanna, Spencer and Aria look at her expectantly.

“Well,” Emily says tightly. “Sounds like Ali has another assignment for us.”

--

The four of them do take a look around, as promised, but Alison manages to cover most of the town solo. Emily isn’t sure whether she should be praying for Charlotte to show up, or just counting her lucky stars that she hasn’t run into her yet. By late afternoon, the search party is temporary called off in favor of Alison waiting at home for Charlotte to reappear. In true Rosewood fashion, she wants to avoid getting the cops involved. Emily understands why; it’s not like the Rosewood PD has a stellar track record with behaving responsibly. She can’t blame Toby for quitting the force and heading to Maine a few years back.

Emily goes home, even though it hasn’t totally felt like that since her dad died. It’s strange—he spent so much time away from the house, but there was always the knowledge that at some point he’d return. And somehow losing that security makes Emily feel like her home no longer exists, like it’s just one of the many lies that currently make up her life.

Still, despite the guilt that seems to shroud their every interaction, it’s nice to see her mom. Pam seems significantly happier than the last time Emily saw her, more grounded. Emily’s been home for a couple of days, but today is the first time that she doesn’t have somewhere to rush off to. Her mom seems delighted by that fact, and has prepared a whole array of Emily’s favorite finger foods and baked goods.

“You know it’s just me, right?” Emily comments when she sees the spread.

“I wasn’t sure how hungry you’d be,” her mom replies sheepishly, already starting to dish out the food.

Emily nibbles on her lip, not liking how accidentally critical she sounded. “No, it’s good. I know you’re just trying to take care of me.”

Pam beams. “That’s right. You may be all grown up, but I’ll never stop being your mom.”

Emily nods, accepting the plate her mom hands her and heading toward the table. They start eating in silence. It isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but Emily can already feel tension mounting in her shoulders. 

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Greg,” she says after a while.

Pam raises an eyebrow. “Honey, I appreciate that, but Greg and I broke up over a year ago.” She doesn’t sound accusatory, but Emily feels it, anyway. She’s been bad at checking in these past few months. And at keeping track of things, apparently.

“Is there anyone new in your life?” Emily asks.

Pam sets her fork down, folds her napkin neatly into quarters. “As a matter of fact, there is.”

Emily grins. “Mom, that’s great! I can’t wait to meet him.”

“You actually already have,” Pam states, delicately. “A number of times.”

Emily frowns. “It’s not Mr. Montgomery, is it? Because I’m not sure—”

“No,” Pam clarifies. “It’s not Byron. Not any of your friends’ dads, so you don’t have to worry about that.” She takes a deep breath. “It’s Barry Maple.”

“Officer Maple?”

Pam nods. “Yes. We’d worked together, you know, at the station, and we reconnected a while ago. I wasn’t expecting anything, but—”

“Is it serious?” Emily cuts in.

Pam smiles fondly. “Yes, I think so. After your dad died, I couldn’t imagine getting involved with someone in a serious way. But then Barry…he took me by surprise.” She meets Emily’s eyes. “How is this for you?”

“I don’t know,” Emily answers honestly. She really doesn’t. She’s happy for her mom, she truly is, but hearing Pam talk about a man other than Emily’s dad feels wrong. Pam’s dated since Wayne died, but never anything significant. Never anything Emily believed could stick.

“How long have you two been together?” she asks softly.

“A while,” Pam tells her. “I wasn’t trying to keep it from you, honey, I just didn’t want to upset you.”

“How serious is it?”

Pam is quiet for a moment, then replies, “We’re talking about moving in together. I—I wanted to talk about this with you too.”

“Talk about what with me?”

Pam chews her lip. “Well, this house is awfully big for just two people, and it’s filled with memories of your dad. Beautiful, wonderful memories. I’m just not sure how it would feel to live here with someone else. And Barry’s been offered a position teaching at the police academy. It’s safer work, and he’s seriously considering taking it.”

Emily feels herself starting to get nauseous. “The police academy is in Harrisburg.”

“It is,” Pam acknowledges. “And we’ve been talking about moving there.”

“You mean selling the house?” Emily murmurs.

“Or possibly renting it,” Pam tells her. “Like we did when you were in high school.”

“But you came back, then,” Emily points out.

“We did,” Pam says gently. “And we absolutely still could.” 

“After Dad died, you said you couldn’t imagine selling the house,” Emily murmurs. She can feel tears starting to form, and a slow anger starting to burn in her stomach.

“I couldn’t, then,” Pam replies, a bit of strain in her voice. “Certain things have changed. But nothing’s a done deal. We’re just talking about it, and I wanted you to know.”

“Oh, now you wanted me to know?!” Emily bites back. She stands up, blinking rapidly. She isn’t really sure why, but she feels blindingly mad at her mother all of a sudden.

“Emmy,” Pam tries. “Let’s talk about this.”

“No!” Emily snaps. “I—I don’t want to talk about this right now. I have a lot on my mind already, and this is just…it’s too much. Go sell the house I grew up in, or don’t. I don’t care. There’s no need to include me in the loop.”

She stomps up to her old room, grabbing her unopened suitcase off the floor.

“Emily!” her mom calls up the stairs.

“I’m leaving,” Emily announces. “I’ll talk to you soon. I just need some time.”

She drags her bag out the front door, slamming it behind her. She makes it halfway down the street before she lets herself stop, sagging against a tree and starting to cry.

Everything is changing, and not for the better. Her father is six feet underground and her mother is leaving and A is out, probably preparing the next bunker. All of her friends have shiny, beautiful lives to return to, but what does Emily have? A dead-end bartending job, a string of unpromising hook-ups, and an ever-growing mountain of debt.

No real home in California, and now no home in Rosewood.

Her phone buzzes and she wrenches it out of her pocket, expecting it to be her mom.

It isn’t. It’s Alison.

“What it is, Ali?” Emily answers harshly.

“I heard from Charlotte,” Alison replies. Emily hears tears in her voice too. “She apparently found the last payphone in all of Pennsylvania, and she found a place to stay just outside of Rosewood. She doesn’t want me to see her.” Ali’s voice starts to break. “After everything I did for her. She’s my only family, and she doesn’t even want me. And now…now I’m alone. Again.”

Emily rubs a hand under each eyes, considers her luggage. Considers the pain in Ali’s voice. Considers the choices she could make.

“Ali, could I come stay with you?”

Chapter Text

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Spencer asks.

“Not too early,” Aria tells her, balancing the phone between her ear and shoulder as she shoves a cropped leopard print jacket into a garment bag. “I think around eleven.”

“Okay,” Spencer says. “Do you want to grab coffee in the morning?”

“Mmm, negative,” Aria replies. “I have to drop some books off for my dad in the morning.”

“Oh.” Spencer sounds disappointed, but Aria shoves the guilty feeling down, mentally locks it in the box containing every other emotion she hasn’t let herself feel in a while.

“What are you doing tonight?” Spencer asks hopefully.

Aria sighs, tossing her leather boots on the floor and plopping down on the bed. “Spence,” she says softly. “I—we’ll see each other some other time soon. You can come stay with me in Boston.”

“You say that,” Spencer murmurs. “But you get busy and I get busy and suddenly a year has passed. I mean, we still haven’t really talked about—”

“I know,” Aria cuts her off. “But I’m okay, really. It was a shitty situation, but I’m moving on.”

“Have you talked about it? To anyone?”

“You mean like a therapist?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Or anyone else in your life.”

“I’ve been to therapy,” Aria tells her. Though not recently, she thinks to herself. “And as for other people, I suppose I’ve just tried to make a fresh start.”

“I get it,” Spencer replies. “Believe me, I do.” She’s quiet for a second, and Aria thinks she hears the sound of her drinking something. Aria stands up again, surveying how much more packing she has left. Why did she bring so many clothes for such a short trip?

“Oh!” Spencer finally says. “Did you know that Caleb is here? He interviewed for my mom’s campaign.”

Aria inhales sharply. “I knew he was thinking about that,” she says in as measured a tone as she can manage. “But no, he didn’t tell me he was here.”

“Really? That’s funny. Don’t you guys see each other all the time in Boston?”

“Not all the time,” Aria lies, too quickly. “But yeah, we see each other around sometimes.”

“Hmm. Well, he’s here if you want to call him up. Not that you have any extra time on your hands,” Spencer replies, perhaps with a trace of passive aggression. “It was nice to see him.”

“Did he get the job?” Aria asks.

“Between you and me, I think he will,” Spencer tells her. “My mom could use someone like him on her team.”

Aria runs a hand through her hair. She thinks about the breathing exercises she practices in yoga class: inhale four seconds, hold four seconds, exhale four seconds. Calm breath, calm body, calm mind. 

“Spence, I gotta go,” she says.

“Wait, Aria!” Spencer admonishes. “Will I even see you before you leave?”

“Maybe,” Aria replies. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk soon.”

She ends the call without another word, not even letting herself think before she’s dialing Caleb’s number.

“Hey there,” he answers, voice warm. “How’s it going?”

“You’re in Rosewood?” Aria says by way of greeting. “And you didn’t even bother to tell me?”

“Aw, Spencer gave me away, didn’t she?” Caleb replies, sounding vaguely disappointed. “And to think I almost made it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Wait, like, fifty seconds, and then open your door,” Caleb tells her.

“Caleb, what are you doing?” Aria demands.

“Just wait,” Caleb implores. “Only thirty-five seconds to go.”

Aria doesn’t wait, instead opening her hotel room door and leaning against the doorframe, phone in hand. Sure enough, when the elevator doors clang open at the end of the hallway, there’s Caleb, looking slightly rumpled from his travels, but mostly just frustratingly handsome.

“You don't follow directions very well,” Caleb says with a smirk into the phone.

“Yeah, well, I’ve been known to have a complicated relationship with authority figures,” Aria replies, before ending the call. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Caleb says, leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe. Aria kind of wants to hug him, and smack him, all at once. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

“I suppose you could call me an undecided voter, when it comes to that question,” she quips, slight venom in her tone. It’s not her strongest comeback, but she can blame it on the short notice.

Caleb sighs. “You know about the job.”

“Did you really think Spencer would keep it from me?” Aria asks.

“No,” Caleb says. “And I didn’t ask her to. I just forgot how fast you guys move.”

“We’re back in Rosewood,” Aria says by way of explanation. “Old habits. So, you’re staying here?”

“Well, that depends on a few things,” Caleb replies. “Like, if I get the job.”

“Oh, you’re getting the job. Spencer told me. And then asked me not to tell you.” Caleb arches an eyebrow and she shrugs. “What? I figure it might influence your decision making.”

“It does,” Caleb states. “But there are other factors too. Can we please go inside?”

Aria lets him dangle for one more second before nodding, pushing herself off the doorframe and walking into the room. It’s pretty spacious—Ashley Marin gave her a great deal—and she notices Caleb looking around in admiration. 

“Where are you staying?” Aria asks.

“At the Bradbury,” Caleb replies. “I thought it might be weird if I was here. Y’know, because of Hanna.”

“She doesn’t know you’re here,” Aria surmises, another stab of guilt rushing through her.

“No,” Caleb responds. “But I’m planning on telling her.” Aria motions for him to take a seat. Not on the bed, because that carries far too many implications, but on the desk chair. “Why aren’t you staying with your dad?” he asks.

Aria frowns, plopping down on the ottoman. “He has a lot of questions. About Ezra and—”

“I get it,” Caleb cuts in. That’s one thing he has going for him: he doesn’t make her talk about Ezra.

“So, the other factors,” Aria prompts.

“Yes.” Caleb rubs his palms against his legs, takes a breath, and that’s when Aria realizes: he’s nervous. She feels a sudden wave of affection wash over her, that damn locked box of emotions starting to pry itself open.

“Continue,” Aria instructs, working hard to keep her face neutral, to not give away how warm she’s starting to feel.

“Okay. Well, I’ve realized that I’m going to get much more of an opportunity for hands-on work in a place like Rosewood, at least right now. And depending on how Veronica’s campaign goes, I could remain a part of her team.”

“So you’re thinking of moving back?” Aria murmurs, her stomach dropping.

“Maybe,” Caleb says. “At least temporarily. But I was thinking about you.” Aria wills herself not to gulp at that statement. “And I was thinking about everything you were saying in Madrid, how what you wanted more than anything was to write.”

“I still do,” Aria acknowledges. “It’s just hard to find time.”

His eyes are bright, but Aria still sees a fair amount of nervous energy behind them. “Exactly. So, here’s my pitch: what if we both stayed here in Rosewood, at least for the duration of the campaign? You could focus on your writing, and I could work, and then we could reevaluate if it made sense to stay or head back to Boston.”

Her stomach lurches. “Caleb, are you asking me to live with you?”

“Maybe,” Caleb replies with some forced casualness. “Or we could figure something else out. But Aria, doesn’t it sound nice to get away from the city?”

It does, Aria thinks to herself. But… “I spent so much time trying to get away from this place,” Aria tells him. “And you’re asking me to come back and stay—indefinitely?”

Caleb nods. “I understand it might sounds crazy.”

“And we would potentially, what, get an apartment together?”

“As friends,” Caleb says in a rush.

Aria straightens up. “Right. Of course. As friends.”

“What do you think?”

Aria pauses, actually letting herself consider this. “I have been really unhappy with my job,” she admits. “I do miss working on my own stuff, it’s true.”

“I have enough money to keep us afloat for a while,” Caleb tells her.

Aria frowns. “Oh, I don’t want to take your money. You don’t have to—”

“This is my idea,” Caleb cuts in. “I wouldn’t suggest it unless I wanted to do this.”

“Why do you want to do this?”

Caleb shrugs. “Honestly? Hanging out with you in Boston is kinda the highlight of my week.”

Aria can’t help the smile that blooms on her face. “Mine too,” she says softly. 

A memory rushes in, unbidden. A warm night in Madrid. The two of them walking around the city, talking about art and literature. Caleb finding vegan ice cream for Aria. She was so lost, then, but when she saw him on that train platform…

And then, later, he’d opened his wallet and a picture of Hanna fell out. He’d forgotten to remove it after the breakup. And suddenly, Aria felt lost, but in a different way.

“I’ll think about it,” she tells him, noncommittally. But in her heart, Aria knows: she wants this, badly. 

Almost as much as she wants him.

Chapter Text

Hanna isn’t terribly surprised when she opens her hotel room door to see Caleb standing there. “I was wondering when you’d show up,” she says by way of greeting.

He smiles, just a little. “Who gave me away: Spencer or Aria?”

“Neither,” she replies with a frown. “My mom saw you in the lobby. But it’s great to hear that they knew before I did.”

“I’m sorry, Han.” 

She crosses her arms, willing the guilty feeling to go away. She didn’t really mean to make him feel bad. She gets it; it’s an awkward situation, for them both.

“Do you want to come in?” she offers.

He nods and she steps back from the doorway. “All these rooms look the same,” he comments.

“You were just with Aria?” she pieces together.

“Yeah.”

Something about the look on his face is off. Hanna’s noticed without even meaning to the way Aria will change the subject if Caleb ever comes up. But she hasn’t put too much thought into it. She’s just stopped mentioning him around her.

“How does she seem to you?” Hanna asks.

Caleb shrugs, still not meeting her eyes. “I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about certain things with me.”

“Join the club,” Hanna replies, smiling sympathetically. “I’m glad she has you there.” It’s the truth. After everything, the thought of Aria being all alone in the big city would break Hanna’s heart.

Honestly, the thought of Caleb being alone would break her heart, too.

“So, are you moving back?” she asks.

“Maybe for a little while,” Caleb replies. “I’m pretty sure I’m getting a job on Spencer’s mom’s campaign. But I need to think about it.”

Hanna nods. “Not sure if you’re ready to be back?”

“Something like that.” 

He’s not telling her everything, which instinctively annoys her. But all the same, they aren’t together anymore. They haven’t been for a long time. He doesn’t have to tell her everything. Or anything, honestly.

“You sticking around?” he asks.

Hanna shakes her head. “No, I have to get back to New York. Work.”

Caleb nods in recognition. “Still a roadie for a bunch of dresses?”

At one point that would have stung, but Hanna takes it in stride. “That’s me.”

She studies his smile. In the immediate aftermath of their breakup, Hanna spent so much time thinking about all the things she wanted to talk to him about. Apologies and explanations and questions about their relationship, to be sure, but also totally mundane stuff. Funny stories about her new neighbors, anecdotes about Claudia, what he thought about this new song, if he remembered the time they ate at that restaurant.

But now, as Caleb stands in front of her, Hanna doesn’t have anything to say. She isn’t mad anymore, or even hurt. She’s just done. Not necessarily with him, even, because she does like having him in her life. But with them.

Caleb must sense it too, because he slowly starts heading for the door. “Well, if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah.” She pauses for a second, then turns around to face him. “Caleb, we can still be friends, right?”

This time, his grin looks more genuine. More like the old Caleb. “Absolutely.”

As if on cue, Hanna’s work phone starts to ring. That sound was the period on so many conversations and fights, to the point where their life started to feel like a less glamorous version of The Devil Wears Prada.

But this time Caleb isn’t upset. He merely chuckles, offers a small salute, and slips out the door.

--

Hanna doesn’t bother calling first; she just shows up at the Hastings barn, a bottle of cheap vodka in hand, and hopes that Spencer is home.

She is, in fact, and she answers the door with a confused half-smile. “I thought we already did the coven of the sacred cocktails thing. Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

“That was a double negative,” Hanna announces, scowling. “And I just got fired. Can I come in?”

“Han, I’m so sorry!” Spencer ushers her inside immediately, sliding the bottle from her hand and motioning toward the couch. “What happened?”

Hanna shrugs sadly. She feels totally bewildered; despite Claudia’s unpredictability, she thought they were finally hitting their stride. Well, apparently she thought wrong. “Claudia called and said she didn’t know I’d be gone for more than a day, despite the fact that I blocked out these four days as soon as I got Ali’s letter. I tried to explain, but she wouldn’t hear it. She said I could either get back today, or my job was toast.”

“You didn’t feel like high-tailing it back to New York?” Spencer surmises.

“I didn’t feel like being bossed around anymore!” Hanna states with frustration. “And then I kind of told her to shove it. And now I’m here.”

“Ah,” Spencer says knowingly. “So you weren’t so much fired, as—”

“She left me no choice!” Hanna cuts in. “A person has limits, y’know?”

Spencer holds her hands up. “Hey, I get it. Sometimes you just have to say no.”

Hanna nods, but already she can feel regret starting to set in, the implications of her attitude starting to hit her. “Oh god,” she groans. “That job was supposed to be a stepping stone. And now I totally blew it. Can you please pass me the vodka?”

Spencer does so, before standing up and heading toward the kitchen. “I’m sure I have shot glasses around here somewhere.” She starts opening drawers but Hanna merely waves her off, uncapping the bottle and taking a hearty swig.

She grimaces, her eyes starting to water. “No need,” she mutters, wrinkling her nose. “God, this is disgusting.” She takes another sip.

Spencer smirks. “I like your style.” She sits back down on the couch next to Hanna and takes a straight pull for herself. “Ugh.” Spencer looks at the bottle disapprovingly. “I’m pretty sure this is just nail polish remover with a fancier label. You couldn’t have at least brought juice or something?”

Hanna shrugs defensively. “It was a panic purchase, okay?” She leans her head back against the couch, wordlessly tugging the bottle from Spencer’s hands. “Spence, what am I going to do?”

Spencer leans back as well. “Hey, there’s a million jobs out there. You’re way too smart to be doing…whatever it is you’ve been doing. You’ll find something.”

“I don’t want to go back to New York like this. Jobless and single. I mean, it’s hard enough living there, as it is.”

“Are you thinking of moving?”

“I don’t know,” Hanna murmurs. “It’s been tough, y’know, since the breakups. Everywhere I go, there’s a reminder of Jordan. And then if it’s not a reminder of Jordan, it’s a reminder of Caleb. Every restaurant we went to. Every store we shopped at. Every bathroom we had sex in.”

Spencer raises her head. “Caleb?” she says in surprise.

“No. Jordan,” Hanna clarifies, looking up at Spencer. “She kinda had a thing for public sex.” Spencer raises an eyebrow. “It was pretty hot, actually.”

Spencer shakes her head. Her cheeks look a little pinker. Probably the vodka. “You could always move home,” she suggests. “Your mom would love that.”

“Is Rosewood even home anymore?” Hanna asks.

“I think it always will be, in a way. Whether we like it or not.” 

Hanna considers that for a moment. She knows what Spencer means. They’ve been back for just a few days, and already there’s a strange little part of Hanna that can’t imagine leaving again. “It’s like that illness,” she realizes aloud. “Swedish syndrome, or whatever.”

“Stockholm,” Spencer corrects. “And that is a real thing. Not for people in towns, though. For people in captivity.”

“Not really a difference, in Rosewood,” Hanna remarks. She turns to more directly face Spencer. “Do you ever think about moving back?”

“Sometimes,” Spencer admits. “When things are hard in D.C., or when I feel alone.” She takes another swig of vodka and passes the bottle back to Hanna. “Which is kind of all the time.”

Hanna frowns, taking Spencer’s hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Spencer intertwines their fingers. The contact feels really nice; Spencer’s skin is warm and really soft, and the alcohol is already starting to make Hanna feel a little floaty. “You know about Caleb, right?”

Hanna nods. “Yeah, he came to my hotel.”

“I should have called you right away,” Spencer murmurs, chagrined. “I just didn’t want to get in the middle of anything.”

“There’s nothing to get in the middle of anymore,” Hanna tells her. “But it’s okay.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if we all ended up back here?” Spencer asks with a small smile. “After everything?”

“Yeah,” Hanna replies. “But you wouldn’t. You’re going to be a big shot in D.C.”

“I don’t know about that,” Spencer says. “I haven’t even booked a return flight yet.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Spencer confirms. “I was planning on heading right back, but I kind of get the feeling my boss isn’t so excited about me returning.” She pauses, pondering. “I think I scare him a little. And my mom could use some extra help on the campaign. And…” 

She trails off, and Hanna gives her a questioning look. “What?”

“Well,” Spencer says softly. “There might be some other reasons to stick around. I mean, if you’re not heading back right away, either.”

Hanna knows how Spencer means it, but for some reason the statement makes her belly feel fluttery and warm. She’s about to ask a follow-up question when she hears voices outside. 

Spencer must hear them too, because she pulls her hand away and stands up. Hanna instantly misses the contact, but she doesn’t have time to reflect on that because Spencer gasps.

“What is it?” Hanna asks.

Spencer raises a finger forward, and Hanna follows her line of sight out into the Hastings yard. A few feet from the front door of the main house are Melissa Hastings and Mona. Which would be totally alarming on its own, but it’s made weirder by what they’re doing.

Not planting a listening device, or plotting revenge, or even talking. 

Oh, no. Instead, the two of them are engaged in a passionate kiss.

Chapter Text

Alison doesn’t ask Emily any questions the evening she shows up. It’s for both their sakes, really. Alison is still a wreck after her interactions—or lack thereof—with Charlotte, and Emily seems pretty rattled by whatever went down with her mom. Besides, Ali has learned from past mistakes; she’s not going to push Emily into a conversation that neither of them are ready to have.

But the following morning, after making and plating a breakfast that would have made her mother proud, she can’t take it anymore.

“So,” Alison begins as Emily sips her orange juice.

“So,” Emily repeats, setting her glass down. Her expression is nearly a poker face. Or, as close to a poker face as Emily can get.

“What’s the plan, here?” Alison asks diplomatically.

“I wasn’t aware I needed a plan,” Emily replies. Her tone is cool, almost flinty, and it’s like a knife to Alison’s heart.

“I just think we shouldn’t make any assumptions,” Ali continues. “Y’know, after last time.”

Emily bites her lip. “I don’t think the problem last time was assumptions. I think it was timing.” She pauses, considering. “Or maybe that was the problem the time before last.”

Alison sighs. It hurts, more than she can ever admit, when Emily shuts her out. But then again, she’s put Emily on the other side of that equation. More than once.

“What do you want, Em?” she asks in a gentler tone.

Emily sits back in her chair. “I want…I want to feel like I have someplace that’s mine,” she murmurs. “Someplace where I’m not just a failure.”

Alison wants to reach for Emily, but it doesn’t seem like a smart move. So instead she says with all the conviction in her heart, “You are not a failure. Not one bit.” She hesitates. “Have you told your mom about—”

“No,” Emily says sharply.

“And the other girls?”

Emily smiles ruefully. “They all think I’m at the Salk Institute. Though I don’t think Spencer’s buying it.”

Alison takes a deep breath. “My offer still stands. If you want to stay here while you get back on your feet, you absolutely can. I would love it, in fact.” There was never any doubt in her mind about that. She knew it was true from the minute Emily called.

“Really?” Emily murmurs. “Even after everything I said? And after I disappeared on you?”

Alison shrugs. “How many times have I disappeared on you?”

“I guess we could call it even.”

Alison takes a bite of her scrambled eggs. They’re nearly cold, but she doesn’t really mind. “You should probably talk to your mom,” she says as casually as possible. “I’m not sure what you two are fighting about, but—”

“I will,” Emily promises. “I just need some time.”

“I’m not going to pretend like I’m not a little bit grateful you two are arguing,” Alison admits. “As long as you can fix it.”

Emily doesn’t look surprised by that revelation. She’s probably just glad Ali’s being honest with her. “I would have talked to you either way,” Emily assures her, but Ali isn’t so sure.

Em sets her fork down. “What about Charlotte?”

“I understand if you don’t want to stay here with her, but God knows if she’ll ever even want to see me again,” Alison states.

Emily nods. There’s a lot behind her eyes, at the mention of Charlotte, but Ali isn’t going to press her on it. She isn’t even sure she wants to know how Emily feels on the matter, at least not just yet. 

“I don’t want to go to back to California,” Emily says softly.

“Do you want to stay here then?” Alison asks, trying to keep her voice as neutral as possible.

“Maybe for a little while, if that’s okay,” Emily murmurs.

Alison grins. “It’s more than okay. It’s wonderful.”

For the first time since Emily arrived, Alison actually sees her smile. And it makes Alison think about the first time they had a version of this conversation, just a couple years ago.

“Here you go,” Emily murmured, dropping a kiss to Alison’s bare shoulder as she handed her a cup of coffee.

Alison gratefully took a sip, tilting her body to nuzzle against Emily’s as Em climbed back into bed. “I could get used to this,” Alison sighed.

“I know what you mean,” Emily replied. Alison pulled the covers up tighter around them. It wasn’t particularly cold—they were in Southern California, after all—but it was December, and years of East Coast winters had conditioned Alison to seek out coziness.

Emily nonchalantly slid the coffee cup from Alison’s hand and took a sip. The action, simple as it was, made Ali smile; she’d been here for nearly two weeks, and in that time she and Emily were getting more and more comfortable with one another. It was like they were finally standing in the same place at the same time, after years of missing one another by minutes.

Of course, she wished it hadn’t taken an event like this—Wayne’s death—to bring them closer together. And Emily was clearly not at her best, understandably so. Wayne had died nearly three months ago, which meant it had been nearly a month since Emily dropped out of school. No one knew that part, though. No one except Ali.

When Emily had come home for the funeral, ashen and nearly silent, Alison had done everything in her power to be there for her. She brought over alcohol, Bring It On and Mean Girls, and even Emily’s favorite cheat-day snacks from her days as a Rosewood Shark. When Emily went back home, Alison checked in regularly. But she couldn’t force herself into Emily’s life, and she wasn’t about to make Emily’s grief all about her. Alison remembered, after her own mom’s death, how much she craved being alone, away from people asking how she was doing for the millionth time. 

So when Emily finally returned one of Alison’s dozens of calls, offering an invitation for Ali to come visit, Alison booked the first one-way ticket she could get her hands on, not sure exactly when she’s be heading home. When Emily picked her up from the airport, she admitted with shaking hands that they would not be heading to Emily’s old off-campus apartment, because, in fact, Emily was no longer enrolled at Pepperdine. And Alison, who had made far too many mistakes to offer judgment—especially when it came to Emily—merely took the news in stride.

Which is how they ended up here, twelve days into Alison’s visit, curled up in Emily’s bed in her cozy-slash-crappy apartment, trading kisses and old stories, and pointedly avoiding the fact that Alison would need to go home pretty soon.

That was, until Emily said, ”What if you just stayed here?"

Alison scoffed, involuntarily. ”You know I can't do that."

"Why not?”

“Why not?” Alison repeated, incredulous. “Emily, I love you, but…"

Emily sighed, shifting her body slightly away from Ali’s. “There's always a ‘but,’ isn’t there.”

"Hey, stop,” Alison said insistently, setting her coffee down on the nightstand. “This isn't like last time. Or any of the other times. I’m not afraid to be with you. I love being with you. You know that this is real. But so is my life in Rosewood. I like my job, and I have the house, and—”

"And Charlotte,” Emily noted with a dash of bitterness.

"Yes. And Charlotte,” Alison confirmed. “She needs me there.” She took a breath, trying to keep the panic at bay. “You and I running off together isn't going to solve anything."

"That's funny. You used to think it could solve everything,” Emily said softly.

"I know.” Alison could feel herself starting to lose hold of this situation. But she wasn’t going to let Emily walk away. Not again. 

“You could come home,” she suggested. “Now that you're not in school, you could even come live with me. You could enroll in Hollis, if you wanted, or—”

“Ali, I can't just uproot my life here.”

"What life?” Alison snapped, automatically. She winced when she saw the look of hurt on Emily’s face. “Em, I'm sorry,” she amended. “I didn't mean it like that. It's just, this could be a fresh start for you."

Emily snorted. “Since when is Rosewood a fresh start?"

"I know it sounds crazy,” Alison acknowledged, “but it’s been that for me.” She gently wrapped a hand around Emily’s wrist, only for Em to flinch away.

"I'm sorry, Ali, but I can't go backwards,” Emily stated, voice resolute. “Not after everything."

"This wouldn't be going backwards!” Alison insisted.

"It would be for me.” Emily bit her lip. Clearly something else was on her mind. “Besides, if Charlotte gets out, what happens then?"

"She would most likely come live with me,” Alison murmured. She’d been half-dreading this conversation ever since she arrived.

Emily’s jaw grew tight. ”Well, I'm glad you have that figured out,” she retorted.

"Emily, try to understand where I'm coming from,” Alison pleaded. “She’s my sister!"

"I do understand,” Emily said softly. There were tears in her eyes, but Alison knew her well enough to see that her mind was most likely already made up. “I understand that we don't really fit in each other's lives anymore."

"Don't say something you can't take back,” Alison demanded. She could feel her own throat starting to get scratchy, her eyes beginning to sting.

"What's there to take back?” Emily murmured. “It's the truth.” 

She was silent for what felt like a long time, before saying, “I love you, Ali. But I think you better go home.”

Alison booked a flight out for that evening. Emily barely spoke to her on the way to the airport. Alison tried to call her a few times when she got back, but she never got any response.

She wouldn’t talk to Emily again until three days before Charlotte’s hearing.

Chapter Text

“No,” Spencer says emphatically, shaking her head. “This is not happening. There were hallucinogenics planted in that awful vodka you brought over. Tell me that’s what’s going on.”

Hanna bites her lip. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Spencer feels like she’s seventeen again, and not just because she and Hanna are currently crouched behind the couch—an instinctual response for them both, after a brief moment of staring at the entirely unwelcome sight of Mona and Melissa making out. No, multiple parts of this scenario feel all too familiar. The Mona and Melissa of it all. The secrecy. Maybe Hanna was right; maybe Rosewood is less of a town and more like some terrifying, all-consuming captor, holding Spencer and her friends in its grasp to eternally spin in the same circles of self-destruction.

Or maybe the vodka is making her feel a little fatalistic. Either way, she wants answers. Now.

“If I go out there, will you go with me?” she asks Hanna.

“To what, pry their mouths apart?” Hanna asks, shifting in her squatted position. “Ow. My ankles are starting to hurt. How much longer do we have to stay down here?”

“We’re getting up now,” Spencer decides, standing before she can talk herself out of it. Without looking, she reaches a hand down for Hanna, her fingers stuttering a little when confronted with the smoothness of Hanna’s skin. She pulls her hand away, so quickly that Hanna nearly stumbles as she stands. “Sorry,” Spencer mumbles, glancing down to the space between them.

Hanna frowns. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “Look.” She nods toward the window, where Mona and Melissa are no longer kissing, thank god, but are currently talking. Which, all things considered, could be even more terrifying. 

“They have to know we can see them,” Hanna states.

“Oh, they know,” Spencer insists. “With everything the two of them have gotten up to over the years, I’m pretty sure they have the peripheral vision of goats.”

“What?”

“Goats can see almost all the way around themselves without having to move their heads,” Spencer explains.

“And why do you know that?”

Spencer sighs. “Never mind. Let’s go.”

“Spencer!” Hanna yelps, grabbing her arm. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“No,” Spencer replies. “But if I don’t go now, Melissa will sneak off to London again before I get another chance.”

“It’s true,” Hanna acknowledges. “She probably keeps an extra passport sewn into her bra.”

Spencer nods approvingly. “You with me?”

Hanna hesitates for one more second before relenting and rolling her eyes. “Always,” she says around a sigh.

Spencer grins. “Okay.” They head outside.

She’s wondering whether Melissa and Mona actually want to be confronted, because they’re still hanging out in front of the Hastings house, like they’re waiting for the damn ice cream truck or something. And, Spencer notices as she and Hanna approach, they’re actually holding hands.

“Well, hello there,” Spencer says with mock-cheerfulness. “Fancy seeing you two together.”

Melissa scowls but Mona has the audacity to smile, still keeping their hands entwined. “Hi Spencer. Hanna,” she greets, tone both bright and icy. “Can we help you with something?”

Hanna loudly clears her throat, nodding toward Mona and Melissa’s hands.

Spencer picks up her thread. “Are you two huddling for warmth?”

“With your mouths?” Hanna adds.

“No,” Melissa replies, acidly. “We’re together.”

“Why?” Spencer asks.

“Why? ” Melissa repeats. “You wasted your entire high school career on a dropout carpenter with an ever-evolving series of bad haircuts. And you, Hanna, spent most of high school and beyond mooning over a boy who at one point left you for a literal ghost.”

“How does she know about that?” Hanna whispers to Spencer.

“And yet, did I ever once barge into your relationships? Did I ever offered unsolicited advise?” Melissa continues. “No. And do you know why? Because it was none of my business. Just like this is none of yours.”

If possible, Mona’s grin gets wider, her body angling more deliberately into Melissa’s.

“You’re just doing this to piss us off,” Spencer accuses.

Mona’s grin drops, her mouth getting tight. “Shockingly, Spencer, who I love has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“Love?” Hanna echoes. 

“Yes,” Mona replies, looking satisfied. “Love. And not just that. We were going to wait to tell you, but...” She nods at Melissa. “Show them.”

Melissa finally pulls her left hand away from Mona, thrusting it in Spencer and Hanna’s direction. On her ring finger gleams an enormous cushion-cut diamond, at least two carats.

“You’re getting married?” Hanna breathes in disbelief. 

“We sure are,” Mona chirps. “That’s why we’re back in town, for our engagement party.”

“Mom thought having it in Rosewood would be best,” Melissa explains. “What with the campaign, and all.”

“Mom—” Spencer manages to get out. She feels dizzy, and it isn’t from the alcohol.

“Yes, Mom knows,” Melissa confirms. “She took it better than I ever could have imagined. Dad too.”

“But—but—” Spencer sputters.

“We weren’t trying to keep it from you,” Melissa tells her. “I mean, clearly.” She nods toward the barn, almost coquettishly. “We’ve just all been so busy.”

“What with the hearing, we didn’t want to spring it on you,” Mona continues. “We understand that this was unexpected. Although the parade of accusations was pretty unnecessary.”

“Though not entirely unsurprising,” Melissa remarks.

“No,” Mona agrees. She glances down at her watch, which appears to have diamonds on it. Just how much money do the two of them have? “My love, we have to go. Lunch with your mom.”

Melissa nods. “Right. Don’t want to be late.” She grins at Spencer. “You know how Mom hates to be left waiting.”

“Yeah,” Spencer replies numbly. 

“I’m sure we’ll see you soon!” Mona says cheerfully as the two of them head back into the Hastings house. And then the door is closing, Mona offering a little wave as she shuts it.

“Um,” Hanna says. “What—what—”

“What the fuck!” Spencer explodes. “What is happening?!”

“They seem—kind of—happy?” Hanna murmurs. “Like, maybe they’re not plotting to kill us?”

“Oh, they’re plotting!” Spencer announces, starting to pace. “Even if it’s just to drive me up a wall, they’re plotting something. Did you see the way Melissa showed off that ring? And how Mona mentioned the hearing? It has to mean something. I can’t believe my parents are okay with this! They can’t be, right? Melissa probably made that up. Okay, I’ll just go in there, and ask my mom. Calmly, y’know, but firmly. I don’t need to make a scene—”

“Spencer!” Hanna cuts in, grabbing her arms. “Take a breath! Look, I’m not too happy about the two of them shacking up either. And we should probably find out more information about their relationship at some point. But could we just consider, for a second, that maybe they’re telling the truth? That maybe they could actually be in love?”

Spencer snorts. “Love. Melissa doesn’t even know what that word means. All of her relationships are entirely transactional.”

“Maybe,” Hanna will allow. “Or maybe what she and Mona have is real. Just think about it. Give it some time.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at her. “Since when are you the voice of reason?”

Hanna shrugs. “Since you started acting all Ezra-is-A again.” A shadow briefly crosses her face. “Okay, forget I said that.”

“It’s forgotten,” Spencer assures her. “Y’know, I probably would have done something really stupid if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, well, don’t worry,” Hanna says, tucking some hair behind her ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Text

“So, what do you think?” Caleb asks. “Too small?”

Aria shakes her head as she walks around the empty apartment. “No, I actually really like it. Lots of natural light.”

“Good for taking pictures,” Caleb remarks.

Aria narrows her eyes. “You know I don’t do that anymore.”

“You could always start again,” Caleb replies with a shrug. “This place is actually under budget.”

Aria smiles. She’s surprised by how much she likes the apartment; whenever she thinks of Rosewood real estate, her first thought is creepy mansions and dilapidated doll hospitals. But this building actually feels new and promising, like it could maybe even provide that fresh start she’s always desperate to find.

“There’re still a few others we could look at,” Caleb offers. “There’s a place a little closer to town—”

“No,” Aria states, definitively. “I like this one. What do you think?”

Caleb grins. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I like it too.” He walks a few paces closer, and Aria wills her breath to not catch in her throat. “You know what this means, right?”

She can almost smell his cologne, a toasty, warm scent that she actually picked out for him a few months ago. “What?” she asks, her voice involuntarily dropping to a whisper.

“We’re going to have to tell people that we’re staying in Rosewood. Together,” Caleb murmurs.

Aria nods. “I know.” She’s been thinking about that a lot lately, about how she’s going to broach that subject. Her locked box of emotions has become so stuffed and complicated lately. She isn’t even sure Hanna would truly mind all that much, after all this time, but still.

She doesn’t want to talk about Caleb, because talking about Caleb could lead into talking about other stuff, and, well…

There are certain things Aria avoids talking about at all costs, now. But that doesn’t mean the memories don’t flood back on their own.

Aria was exhausted. She’d spent the last few hours attempting to take some halfway decent pictures at a party, after being dragged there by her friend Trina. Well, “friend” was pretty generous; Trina was her roommate, courtesy of the campus bulletin board, and she and Aria had very little in common. But Trina thought that a party would do Aria some good, and she coaxed Aria out of the house with the promise that maybe she could get a few good shots out of it.

Aria should have clarified that she meant pictures, not jello shots.

But now she was home, if her off-campus apartment could be called a home, and ready for a shower and bed. She could still smell the cheap perfume and spilled beer. God, college parties were the worst.

Aria was just toweling off when her phone began to ring. She checked the number: unfamiliar and with an area code she couldn’t identify. Still, it could have been one of Trina’s friends, needing Aria to come pick her up if Trina had gotten into another fight. So she answered.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice said. “Is this Aria?” Soft, with an accent, and almost recognizable.

“Yes,” Aria replied. “Who is this?” She crossed the room, quickly, and flicked on the fan near her bed. Already the mugginess in the air was starting to take over, her skin getting slick with sweat instead of just water. She decided to keep just her towel around her.

“This is Nicole Gordon. Ezra’s—”

“Oh,” Aria breathed. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. She hadn’t thought about Ezra in at least a month, and for Nicole to call her— “What’s going on?”

“I have some news. Not good news,” Nicole murmured. Her voice sounded strained, like maybe she’d been crying. Aria’s heart began to beat faster. “But I need you to listen to me.”

“Nicole, what—”

“Aria, please,” Nicole begged. “It is very important that you let me tell you everything. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aria agreed. What choice did she have?

“Thank you,” Nicole exhaled. “Alright. So, as you may or not know, Ezra and I were recently in Colombia working on Habitat for Humanity.”

“I knew,” Aria replied. She had seen Ezra’s Instagram post a few months ago, showing their plane tickets. The picture hadn’t hurt to look at, and at the time Aria had considered that progress.

“Yes. Well. We were there for a while,” Nicole continued. “The group was relatively small. The two of us, another couple, a few single people, and a father and daughter. The Johnstons. Daniel and his fifteen-year-old daughter Laura.”

Aria didn’t know why, but her pulse started to race at the mention of the girl.

“Ezra and I almost didn’t go,” Nicole said. “We’d been having problems for a while, and I was pretty sure we were going to break up. But we’d made a commitment, and there was so much to do once we got there that I barely had time to think about our relationship. But I was noticing things.”

“What things?” Aria breathed.

Nicole sighed. “Changes in Ezra’s behavior. He was distant. Disinterested. It was like nothing I said or did meant anything to him anymore. I was confused. And then I noticed the way he was around Laura.” She paused. “Aria, I’m very sorry that I have to tell you this.”

“What do you have to tell me?”

“Laura—she’s bright. Witty. An avid reader. But her father was very conservative. Controlling, but also preoccupied. I think Ezra saw that. And he used it to his advantage.” Nicole inhaled audibly. “Ezra and Laura were together, all the time. He would teach her things, recommend books. At first I thought she might have a crush on him, and he was just humoring her. It didn’t seem that outlandish. But one day, Laura came to me. She had tears in her eyes, and she told me that Ezra had—had tried to force himself on her. He’d stopped, eventually, but not before she got scared and upset.”

Despite the warm air, Aria started to feel a chill going down her spine.

“I told Laura I would talk to him, and I did,” Nicole continued. “When I first brought it up he denied it. Said she must have misread the situation. But then I finally wore him down, and he said that they had real feelings for one another. That she was just scared because of what her father might think, but that what was between them was real.”

Nicole was silent for a second. “Aria, I couldn’t help but think about you. The way Ezra had always discussed the two of you, I assumed he’d sort of fallen into the relationship. That it had been this unstoppable romantic thing.”

“It was,” Aria insisted, automatically.

“Maybe so,” Nicole allowed. “But there’s more to the story. I told Ezra that what he was doing was wrong. That Laura didn’t feel comfortable, and that in fact he was the one who had misread the situation. I said that he needed to back off, that if he didn’t I would tell her father and the police. That made him mad, and I saw a side to him that I’d never seen before. He said that no one would believe me, that I couldn’t prove a thing. I honest-to-god thought he was going to hit me. So I left, and I did tell her dad, and you know what he said?” She scoffed. “He said that Ezra was a good man. That Laura was too precocious, always wanting attention, and that she’d probably made the whole thing up.”

“That’s awful,” Aria murmured.

“It is,” Nicole agreed. “I was so mad. I just kept thinking, men can get away with anything. And it isn’t fair. And something had to be done. I thought I’d go and talk to Ezra one more time. Try to reason with him. And if he didn’t listen, I’d get the police involved. It made sense to me. But I wanted to scare him a little. So I—” She faltered slightly. “I brought my gun.”

Aria’s heart sank. “Nicole, what did you do?” she whispered. Tears were starting to run down her cheeks, and she absent-mindedly wiped them away.

“I wasn’t going to hurt him, I swear,” Nicole replied, her own voice starting to sound a little tearful. “I just wanted to scare him. Like he’d scared me. Like he’d scared Laura.” She took a breath. “Like he’d probably scared you.”

An image flashed through Aria’s mind of her running away from Ezra’s cabin, willing her phone to stop ringing. Of jumping on the ski lift only to turn around and find him there. For one brief moment that night, she’d thought he might kill her.

“I went to his tent. He had asked for his own at the beginning of the trip. He said it was because he wanted to stay up at night writing, and didn’t want to disturb me. But now I wasn’t so sure. When I got there—Laura was inside. I could hear her. She was trying to tell him no, that she didn’t want to be with him. That she was only a kid. But he kept insisting otherwise. His voice was so loud I could hear it from outside. I demanded he let me in, and he did, thankfully. He probably didn’t want anyone else in the camp to know what was going on. Laura was terrified, I could see it on her face. I told Ezra that he and I needed to talk, that he needed to let Laura go back outside. But he just held her tighter. She started to cry. I think I did too. I was so mad, and scared, and I pulled out the gun.”

Aria thought she might have gasped, or maybe inhaled. She couldn’t be certain, not when her whole body was numb.

“Ezra wouldn’t let go of Laura,” Nicole said soggily. “We were both begging him to stop. I got closer and he tried to grab the gun. But then a shot went off.”

Aria was trembling, and her body didn’t feel like her own as she asked, “Is Ezra dead?”

An eternity seemed to pass before Nicole answered, “Yes. Yes, Aria. Ezra is dead.”

Aria closed her eyes, letting the tears spill freely. She was shaking like a leaf and all she wanted to do was lie down, but she had to hear the end of the story.

“Laura and I got our story straight. Self-defense, defense of another. We were both in fear for our lives. At least that’s what the police believe.” Nicole hesitated, her voice catching on a sob. “But I think—I think I probably had enough time to make another choice. Still, I can’t say that I regret it. Not after everything. Not when I finally knew what he was.”

“When did this happen?”

“Three days ago. I’m back in the States now,” Nicole replied. “So is Laura. But I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else. He spoke about you all the time. I know—I know he meant a great deal to you. And I’m sorry. Not for him. But for you. For everything that you’ve been through. If you ever want to talk—”

Aria hung up the phone. She ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet, then put herself to bed. She didn’t go to class the next day, told Trina she was hungover from the party.

Two weeks later she made arrangements to transfer to Boston University. She threw away the camera Ezra gave her and stopped taking pictures. She called each of her friends individually and told them in as few words as possible what had happened. They all kept calling, wanting to check in, to come visit, offering Aria a couch to sleep on. Aria started letting the calls go to voicemail, and eventually she stopped listening to the messages altogether. She planned a trip to Madrid over summer break, wanting to spend as little time in Rosewood as possible. 

She wouldn’t talk to anyone about what had happened until the evening after Caleb Rivers called her name across a train platform.

“We do need to tell them,” Aria murmurs, trying to let the memory go, to allow the past to stay in the past. “But there’s someone else I need to talk to, too.”

“Who’s that?” Caleb asks.

Aria takes a deep breath. “I think I need to call Nicole Gordon.” 

Chapter Text

Alison, for her part, doesn’t nag Emily too much about reaching out to her mom. It’s probably because Alison doesn’t want Emily to leave—for reasons Emily works hard to not think too much about—but all the same, she’s grateful. It’s been a week since she moved in, and so far things have been smooth sailing. Emily and Ali are mostly acting like polite roommates, not quite like former best friends or former…more than friends, but it’s miles ahead of where they were mere weeks ago.

Spencer, Aria and Hanna are all still in town, which Emily only knows from a series of vague text messages. Hanna has lost her job, but Emily suspects that there’s more to each of their stories. Still, she’s certain that any probing would lead to questions about her own reasons for staying, and, well. She’s not particularly eager to go down that route. Not just yet.

Or at least, not until Alison mentions a few days past a week into Emily’s stay, “I’d like to have a dinner party.” Who is Emily to argue, when Alison is offering up her home and her fortune, barely pressing Emily about her future beyond an application for Hollis slid beneath Emily’s bedroom door?

Alison calls it a coming home party, which sounds a little too cheery to be of much comfort to Emily, but when she mentions that, Ali just announces that branding is everything. Emily is tasked with inviting the girls (plus Caleb—an Ali idea that seems destined to bring awkwardness) while Alison will take care of the meal.

Emily has been out all day running errands, and on her way back to the house she decides to stop by Spencer’s barn for the invitation, not bothering to call first. 

She isn’t expecting Hanna to answer the door.

“Hi,” she says with surprise. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

Hanna shrugs. “My mom kicked me out of the hotel. She had a big wedding party coming through.”

“So you’re staying with Spencer?”

“Yeah,” Hanna replies. “My mom offered her house, but she has a million questions about…everything going on in my life.”

Emily smiles, just a little. “That sounds familiar. I didn’t realize this place was big enough for two.”

“Melissa and Ian made it work,” Hanna points out. “And didn’t she live here with Wren too?”

“Yeah, but they were couples,” Emily counters. “As opposed to you and Spencer.”

She isn’t really invested in this debate, just means it as an observation, but Hanna’s body visibly tightens at the comment. “Right!” she says, a bit too loudly. “Anyway, we’re making it work. What’re you doing here?”

Emily quirks an eyebrow. “Well, weirdo,” she says good-naturedly. “Ali is having a dinner party.”

“Don’t you mean you and Ali?” Hanna asks with a slight smirk. Emily hasn’t really been able to gauge the other girls’ reaction to her staying with Alison—she’s been stressing that it’s temporary, lying that she plans to head back to the Salk Institute soon—but it seems that Hanna has something in mind.

For now, Emily ignores whatever that something might be. “You’re invited. And Spencer too, of course. And, um.” She scratches the back of her neck. “Could you let Caleb know?”

“Caleb’s invited?” Hanna crosses her arms, clicking her tongue. “Ali always needs drama at a party, doesn’t she?”

“I don’t think she’s trying to be—”

“A puppet master?”

“Difficult,” Emily clarifies. 

“She doesn’t have to try,” Hanna murmurs. “She’s Ali.”

Emily feels her discomfort growing. “We’d—I mean, she and I would love it if you'd come. It means a lot to her, I think.” 

Hanna narrows her eyes, looking vaguely suspicious. 

“Don’t say what you’re probably thinking,” Emily implores.

“What am I probably thinking?”

Emily bites her bottom lip. She can hear the echoes of past conversations ringing in her ear: her justifying Ali’s actions, Hanna correctly calling her out on it. “That I’m back to defending Ali’s honor, or something.”

“You said it, not me,” Hanna replies, leaning against the door. 

Emily clears her throat. She’s ready for this conversation to be over. “So will you be there?”

Hanna smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

--

As it turns out, all of the few invited guests can attend. Emily doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or not; on the one hand, Alison is happy, but on the other hand, Emily’s been pretty much avoiding all the people in question.

She’s just glad Ali didn’t insist on adding her mom and Barry Maple to the guest list.

Emily is trying to help Alison with the cooking, mostly just succeeding at getting in the way, when the doorbell rings. It’s still two hours before the party, so she’s surprised to find Aria at the door.

“Hey,” Aria says with a bit of nervous energy. “I’m sorry I’m early. I just—can I come in?”

“Sure,” Emily replies. She almost asks if Aria’s okay, but she knows from experience how tiresome that question can be, so instead she wordlessly leads Aria into the kitchen, where’s Ali’s working away.

“I thought maybe I could help?” Aria offers.

“It’s just going to be the five of us, plus Caleb,” Alison reminds her, twisting away from the sauce she’s stirring to fix Aria with a curious look. 

Aria nods. “Right. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be in the way.” She looks anxious in a way that Emily can empathize with.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Emily assures her. “Maybe you could help with the flowers?”

Aria beams. “I could totally do that. Dining room?” Emily nods.

“Will you please assist her?” Alison asks in a whisper once Aria’s gone.

“You don’t think Aria can arrange flowers by herself?” Emily asks, slightly bemused.

Alison sets down the spoon she was stirring with, slinking around the other side of the counter to stand closer to Emily. “She seems a little—”

“I know,” Emily murmurs.

“Plus, she’s Aria. You never know what she’ll come up with,” Ali adds, a little conspiratorially. “I just don’t want any bat wings at my dinner party.”

Emily laughs, in spite of herself. She glances down at Ali’s hand resting on the counter, resists the urge to place her own hand over it. “I’ll talk to her,” she promises.

“Thank you.” Alison actually winks as she heads back to her sauce, and Emily shakes the feeling it gives her away as she walks into the dining room.

Aria is carefully studying the piles of flowers on the table. Alison, in a fashion that would have made her mother proud, has arranged the flowers by color, with three empty vases ready to be filled in front of them.

“Ali’s mad that I’m here,” Aria says softly. “She asked you to kick me out, didn’t she?”

“No,” Emily says emphatically. “She’s just worried about you. What’s going on?”

Aria bites her lip. “I haven’t been staying with my dad, like I said,” she admits. “I mean, I have, since I checked out of the Radley, but I’m not going to be.”

“Because you’re heading home?”

“No.”

Emily furrows her brow. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

Aria picks up a rose and inelegantly tosses it into a crystal vase. “I’m not going home. I’m staying in Rosewood. In an apartment. I’m going to try and give this whole writing thing another try.”

“Aria, that’s wonderful!” Emily says brightly. “I’m so glad to hear you’re writing again.”

“I’m not finished,” Aria murmurs, an edge of warning to her voice. “I’m not staying alone. I’m staying with Caleb.”

Emily squints at the azalea in her hand. “Like as roommates?”

“Yes,” Aria confirms. “As roommates.” She sighs, giving up the attempt at flower arranging and flopping into a chair. “But it’s weird. I don’t know what’s going on with me, or with him. And he wants to talk about, like, what kind of plates we should buy. Like it’s totally normal that I’m living with my friend’s ex-boyfriend.”

“But he’s not just your friend’s ex-boyfriend, right? He’s also your friend.”

“Right,” Aria says on an exhale. “He’s my friend.”

Emily has spent enough of her own life caught in the confusing space between friends and something more to know what the look on Aria’s face means. She sets down the flowers and sits down beside her. “You and Caleb?” she says with a small smile.

“It’s complicated,” Aria replies, not quite looking at her.

“I thought that was Caleb’s line.”

Aria starts making loops with her finger on the table. “He was there for me, after the whole—everything. That counts for a lot.”

“It does,” Emily acknowledges, her brain frustratingly conjuring a memory of holding Ali’s hand as they walked on the beach, of sun glinting through blonde hair. 

“It’s not just that, though,” Aria continues. “I think there could be something. And us living together feels like playing with fire. But maybe, like, good fire.” She sighs. “I haven’t quite worked out the metaphor yet.”

“Does Hanna know about any of this?” Emily asks.

“No,” Aria replies. “I pretty much just change the subject if he ever comes up.”

“You know she’d love you, no matter what,” Emily states, her stomach starting to flip under her own hypocrisy. “You should talk to her.”

“I know. It’s just.” Aria looks at her seriously. “You guys are kind of like my four limbs. And if something happened, and I lost one of you…”

“I get it.”

Aria reaches a hand forward and Emily gratefully takes it in her own. “I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA,” Aria murmurs. “It’s just been really hard.”

“I am the last person you need to apologize to,” Emily replies. “Look, I know after my dad died, I hated people asking me all the time if I wanted to talk. So, just know that I’m here, okay?”

“I do,” Aria assures her. “And same here. About anything.”

Emily takes a deep breath. This feels like as good a moment as any. 

“Actually, Aria, there is something I should probably tell you…”

--

By the time everyone else has arrived, Aria seems to feel a bit better. Emily does too; Aria took the news of her drop out very well, and while Emily doesn’t exactly want to give a toast explaining her situation, she feels more ready to tell the rest of her friends what’s going on.

The flowers finally have been arranged, the food is prepared, and Spencer is already uncorking some wine. Emily and Alison are finishing up in the kitchen, Emily working hard to seem helpful rather than a bother.

“You can put the pasta in that big serving dish,” Alison instructs. Emily does as she’s told, realizing with surprise that she actually recognizes the serving dish in question.

“Hey, we filled this thing up with ice cream for your fifteenth birthday party!” she says with a smile. “Your mom was so mad—remember?”

“I do,” Alison replies warmly. “We used those little porcelain cups of hers, too. We thought we’d invented the world’s most elegant ice cream bar. God, she was furious.” 

She takes a few steps closer, gently pulling the dish out of Emily’s hands. She looks up at her through thick lashes, adding, “I remember everything about that day.”

Emily feels a shiver go all the way up her spine; that very day, Ali had looked at her in much the same way as she is right now. Emily recalls the time she spent laboring over Alison’s birthday card; the way Ali teased her about it in front of their friends, but privately thanked Emily with a long hug and a kiss which landed perilously close to her mouth.

“That was a long time ago,” Emily murmurs.

Alison nods, stepping away. “It was.”

Emily shakes her head. She’s about to head toward the living room and the sound of their friends’ laughter when Ali softly says, “Emily.”

She turns back around, one hand on the doorway. “Yeah?”

Alison meets her eyes, looking so vulnerable that for a second Emily can’t imagine ever feeling powerless in her presence. 

“Oh,” Ali says with a wave of her hand, like she didn’t actually expect Emily to respond. “Never mind.”

Emily surprises herself by not accepting that, instead pressing, “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Alison replies, but she continues talking, “It’s just that when I imagined us living together?” She pauses, tucking some hair behind her ear. “This is how I pictured it.” She looks around the room, a bit helplessly. “With a few differences, of course. But. Well.”

At one point Emily may very well have considered that statement a manipulation. But now, she can feel nothing but affection for Alison. The kind that leaves her without words. And so, before she can think too much about it, she crosses the room in a few quick steps and drops a kiss to Ali’s cheek. 

When she pulls away, Ali has tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling.

Emily leaves the room without looking back.

Chapter Text

Alison seems a little on edge and Aria is visibly anxious, but all in all the dinner party is pretty okay. Hanna mostly just sticks with Spencer and avoids Caleb, and it ends up being less awkward or dramatic than she expected. Sure, dinner itself is a little odd, but by the time Emily is serving coffees, Hanna is actually having a good time. 

“Come sit with us, Em!” Hanna insists, gently tugging Emily down onto the couch beside her and Spencer.

“Okay,” Emily says with a small giggle, getting comfortable. “You guys having fun?”

“Yeah,” Spencer says. “Though I’m not sure anyone else is.” She gestures toward the dining room, where Aria and Caleb are wordlessly helping Alison clear the table.

Emily bites her lip. “Everyone has something going on.”

Hanna arches an eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?” She’s wanted to ask that for a while, but it hasn’t been the right time. This might not be it either, but she has enough wine in her to not care too much.

Emily sighs. “Things are complicated with my mom. And Ali.”

Spencer quirks a half-smile. “Too many questions, no perfect answers?”

“Something like that,” Emily replies. She looks at them seriously for a beat, before taking a deep breath. “I’m…I might not be going back to California.”

“For how long?” Spencer asks.

“I don’t know,” Emily answers, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Maybe not as all.”

Hanna frowns. “What about the Salk Institute?”

“It’s not real.” Emily waves her hand. “I mean, the place is. I just don’t have a job there.”

“What?” Spencer murmurs.

“The last couple of years have just been a lot harder than I made them sound,” Emily says softly. “I left school and I blew through most of the money my dad gave me. So I may not be staying with Ali in Rosewood temporarily. I might enroll at Hollis and finish up my credits, and I'm looking for a job here.”

Hanna crosses her legs. “You and Ali…”

“We’re friends,” Emily replies, too quickly.

“Just friends?” Spencer says, skeptically.

Emily’s body wilts. “Honestly, I don’t entirely know what we are. It just—it feels good to be here. In this house.” She shakes her head. “Doesn’t that sound crazy?”

“A little,” Hanna acknowledges. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out. God knows I don’t." She takes Emily's hand. "I’m glad you told us.”

Spencer nods. "Me too."

“I’m sorry I kept a secret,” Emily says. She looks relieved to be talking about it. “I hadn’t told anyone but Ali until today, but then earlier when Aria came over and told me about her and Caleb—”

She claps a hand over her mouth, eyes going wide.

“What?” Hanna breathes, her stomach immediately tightening. 

“Nothing,” Emily insists. “Nothing, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“What’s going on?” Spencer asks.

“You should talk to Aria,” Emily tells Hanna.

“What does that mean?” Spencer asks.

“It means that Hanna should talk to Aria.”

Hanna feels like she could throw up. She also feels incredibly sober, all of a sudden.

“Are they together?” she whispers.

“No! No,” Emily says, a bit frantically. “But—”

“Emily, what?” Hanna demands.

Em closes her eyes. “They’re staying in Rosewood.”

“Together?” Spencer mutters.

“Talk to Aria,” Emily begs Hanna. “Please.”

Hanna takes a deep breath and stands up. Without a word, she walks toward Aria and Caleb. They automatically spring apart, like they’ve been caught discussing a murder coverup.

“Can we talk?” Hanna asks lowly. Aria nods, looking terrified, and follows Hanna out of the room.

Hanna says nothing as they make their way out onto the porch. Her head in swimming, but she tries to breathe. A part of her knew it was going to come to this. She just didn’t think it would happen tonight. 

She leans her elbows against the porch rail, staring down at her nails. Aria stands next to her, eyes focused on the cars in the driveway. The silence stretches on, uncomfortably, until Hanna is able to speak.

“So,” she says. 

“So,” Aria repeats.

“You and Caleb are staying in Rosewood, I hear,” Hanna states. Her tone sounds vaguely bitter and definitely pissed off, but she can’t really blame herself right now.

Aria audibly gulps. “Emily told you?”

“She did,” Hanna answers. “Are you moving in together?”

“Yes,” Aria says very quietly. 

“You should have told me,” Hanna murmurs. “First. You should have told me first.”

“I know,” Aria replies a bit brokenly, before falling silent again.

Hanna lifts her gaze, studying Aria’s profile. “Are you just going to keep staring straight ahead and barely talking, or are we going to have a conversation about this? Because if we’re ever going to be normal around each other again, I think both of us need to talk, here.”

Aria takes a deep breath. “That’s kind of what I’m afraid of. That if we talk, things won’t be normal.”

“We kind of have to take that risk,” Hanna points out. “Our friendship can’t be reduced to one-word interactions, right?”

“Right,” Aria agrees, finally turning to face Hanna. “Do—do you want to start?” Her voice is nearly shaking, and Hanna instinctually reaches forward and squeezes her shoulder, her hurt thawing just slightly.

“You’re so nervous,” Hanna comments. She leans her hip against the rail. “You know nothing you say could change anything permanently, don’t you? I just want you to be honest with me.”

“Haven’t you heard that that isn’t my strong suit?” Aria replies ruefully. “Especially here.”

Hanna nods. “It’s the Rosewood Effect. Happens to all of us, I think. At least we aren’t, like, finding masks of someone’s face, or burying a body.”

Aria snorts. “Give us time.” She crosses her arms, moving to mirror Hanna’s body position. She looks to be shivering a bit, but Hanna has a feeling it isn’t just because of the wind chill.

“You’re moving in with Caleb,” Hanna says slowly. This time she works to keep her tone measured, free of accusations. “So you’re clearly closer with him than I thought. But how could I really know anything about your relationship, when you avoid talking about him whatsoever?”

“You're right,” Aria acknowledges. Her face betrays nothing.

“Aria, c’mon,” Hanna pushes. “You’re not going to make me put this puzzle together all by myself, are you?”

Aria closes her eyes, then opens them with a quick nod. “Okay. But if you get super mad, can you just give me a ten second warning before you punch me?” Hanna rolls her eyes in response, motioning for Aria to get on with it. “We ran into each other in Madrid.”

“Wait, right after—”

“Yeah,” Aria answers. “It wasn’t…anything, really. It was just nice to talk to someone. Someone who knew the cast, but wasn’t, like, a main character in my life. He’s a great listener.”

“I know,” Hanna murmurs.

“He was so kind to me,” Aria continues. “So different from everything I was used to. And I never realized how smart he is.  We went to museums, theaters. It was nice.”

“Sounds very romantic,” Hanna remarks, more cuttingly than intended.

Aria blushes slightly, her eyes widening. “It wasn’t, I swear. Not…not then, at least. I mean, you two had just broken up, and I had…” She clears her throat. “Anyway, I told him I was moving to Boston, and he said he’d actually been thinking about moving there too. He’d been offered a job and felt ready to leave New York.”

Hanna feels a fleeting stab of guilt, aware that Caleb’s distaste for the city is likely partially her own fault. She pushes the feeling down as Aria keeps talking. “I moved there first, and then a few months later he called me up. Said he had a place downtown, and he’d love to meet for a drink.” Aria ducks her head. “It turned into a weekly thing. And before I knew it, hanging out with Caleb had become the highlight of my whole week.”

Hanna blinks rapidly. She can pretty well tell where this is heading, has half-known it in her gut for months. Still, to hear it out loud, spoken almost like a fairytale, makes her feel weirdly off-balance. Like she’s trying to walk on land after finally earning her sea legs. 

“How long?” she manages to get out.

Aria bites her lip. “Well, I moved to Boston about three years ago, so…”

Hanna swallows. “And you two have—”

“No!” Aria cuts in. “Hanna, I swear to you, nothing has happened.”

“But you want it to.”

Aria is silent, scuffing her shoe against the porch, not quite looking at Hanna. 

“Aria,” Hanna pleads.

“I suppose I do,” Aria replies very quietly. “But you are so much more important. Believe me, Han, I need you in my life. Way more than I need a guy.”

Hanna forces herself to nod. “Do you love him?”

“No. Maybe.” Aria sighs. “I think that I could.” She looks at Hanna earnestly. “But I will always love you more.”

That makes Hanna smile, just a little. She can’t deny that she still feels slightly nauseous, kind of out of her body. And yet Aria’s words hold a certain amount of comfort. She thinks about Caleb’s huge heart, about how deserving Aria is of that kind of love. 

“Have you two talked about this?” Hanna asks.

“I’ve been making a point not to,” Aria says. “He wants to, though, I can tell.” She pauses. “I’m not even sure he feels the same way.” She looks so vulnerable as she speaks that Hanna steps forward until she can lean her body into Aria’s. She almost links their arms together, before stopping herself. She’s not quite there yet. Not too far from it, though.

“Of course he does,” Hanna murmurs. “But I think you should find out for sure.”

Aria tentatively tips her head onto Hanna’s shoulder. “I don’t want you to say that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not,” Hanna assures her, not entirely certain if it's the truth. She’s quiet for a second—her mind wandering to Ezra, to that awful phone call she’d gotten from Aria right after he died—before admitting, “Okay, maybe a little bit. Doesn’t change things, though.”

“Are you sure?” Aria whispers.

“Yes,” Hanna says with conviction. “Nothing can ever really come between us.”

“Cross your heart?”

Hanna smiles, despite the tears in her eyes. Once again they’re not looking at each other, but they are looking in the same direction, and that feels like something. “Hope to die.”

“Careful,” comes Spencer’s voice from behind them, mingling with the sound of the door opening. “Those are dangerous words in Rosewood.”

Hanna laughs lightly, and she and Aria turn to face Spencer. “Sorry,” Spencer murmurs when she sees their serious expressions. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” Aria says softly, wiping at her eyes. “We’re okay.” She looks at Hanna for confirmation. “Yeah?”

Hanna nods. “Yeah.” Spencer’s eyes bore into hers, as though she doesn’t quite believe her, but she stays quiet.

“I’m going to go inside,” Aria states. She brushes a hand lightly against Hanna’s arm, and then Spencer’s, as she walks toward the door. She stops before she opens it, swiveling back around to face them. “Thanks, Han.”

“Anytime,” Hanna replies. She presses her weight back against the rail, exhaling through her mouth. 

Spencer stands beside her, their bodies nearly touching. The energy feels different than with Aria. Hanna can’t quite pinpoint why.

“That looked intense,” Spencer comments. 

“Mmm hmm.” Hanna sniffs. “Aria and Caleb.”

“Ah,” Spencer says knowingly. “Not just soon-to-be-roommates?”

“No. Nothing’s happened yet, but…” 

She trails off and Spencer nods. “Are you okay?”

Hanna truly considers that for a second. Once they really started talking, she was so wrapped up in Aria’s own emotions that she barely let herself acknowledge her own, instead carefully reciting the questions she couldn’t contain. But now she lets herself breath, before answering, “I will be.”

“Good.” Spencer stretches her arms back behind her onto the rail. Hanna thinks about stretching her own arms back, about how it might feel if their pinkies brushed. The thought seems strangely dangerous.

She keeps her arms tightly crossed instead.

“You want to know something funny?” she asks. Spencer nods. “I always sort of thought if one of my friends was going to date Caleb, it would be you.”

Spencer chuckles. “Really? Now see, my money would have been on Emily.”

Hanna grins. “Caleb does kind of dress like a lesbian.” Spencer laughs, and they fall into a comfortable silence. Hanna forgot how quiet it is out here, as though the air isn’t quite so full. Like there’s more space for her thoughts to roam.

“Spence?” she murmurs after a while.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad it wasn’t you.” She’s staring straight ahead, and she can feel more than see Spencer turn to face her.

“Why?” Spencer breathes.

“I just am,” Hanna replies, willing herself not to blush. She doesn’t know if she could explain it, right now; she just knows that the mere thought of Spencer wanting to date Caleb makes her heart ache, inexplicably. And not for the reasons it seems like it should.

“Han, I—” 

And then Spencer cuts herself off, spinning around as another car angles into the DiLaurentis driveway. Hanna turns as well, spying a totally normal-looking black sedan. It doesn’t park, just idles as a figure steps out of the passenger side. The person appears to have long hair, but they’re shrouded in shadow so Hanna can’t see much else.

As the person steps toward the light, the car speeds away. Once the figure reaches the bottom step Hanna can see who it is, and in spite of herself, she gaps.

“Why, Hanna, Spencer,” Charlotte DiLaurentis remarks with a wicked grin. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Chapter Text

When Spencer and Hanna walk back in with looks of utter shock painted across their faces, Alison almost makes some crack about Spencer finally making a move. She stops herself, though, when she sees who’s walking in behind Hanna.

“Charlotte?” Alison gasps. 

Charlotte smirks, nodding. As though her physical presence isn’t enough to confirm that she’s actually here. “Hi, sis. Did you miss me?” Her tone is confident, but there’s an uncertainty in her eyes that Ali wouldn’t have recognized five years ago.

Alison dimly registers that the previous noises of chatter have been replaced by silence, the attention of everyone in the room definitively refocusing on the front door. A part of her longs to greet Charlotte’s question with an enthusiastic “Yes!” and a tight hug. But she remains solidly planted instead, her brain swimming with confusion and hurt and relief, all that once.

“You guys threw me a welcome home party,” Charlotte comments, surveying the scene around her. “How thoughtful.”

That remark seems to snap everyone back to action. “We most certainly did not,” Hanna says acerbically, as Emily jumps up from the couch and rushes to Alison’s side.

Her hand finds Alison’s, without looking, and the feeling almost makes Ali cry—for the second time today, pathetically—when added on top of everything else. 

“What do you want me to do?” Emily whispers.

Alison’s gaze is still frozen, studying Charlotte’s face, and she doesn’t miss the eyebrow raise she gets in return when Emily comes close. She rips her eyes away from Charlotte’s, turning to look beside her instead. 

Emily’s expression is so full of loving concern that it nearly takes Alison’s breath away. The words from earlier echo in her head: This is how I pictured it.

Well, the universe certainly has one hell of a sense of humor.

“Ali?” Emily prompts.

Alison shakes the feeling off. “I want everyone out,” she replies firmly. “Party’s over. I need to talk to Charlotte.”

Emily nods. “I can do that.” She claps her hands together, and—in a voice much too loud for the amount of people in the house—announces, “You heard her! Thanks for coming, but time to go!”

Spencer mouths, “You sure?” in Alison’s direction, and Ali nods. She knows that Spencer probably has a million questions, and she isn’t the only one. But Alison can’t deal with a Hastings interrogation, on top of her own.

And, she realizes with a stab of sadness, Charlotte shouldn’t have to deal with that tonight, either.

Everyone files out of the house, leaving just Emily, Alison and Charlotte. 

Charlotte, who has barely said anything, who hasn’t really moved from her spot by the door. Like she’s already planning an escape route, still deciding if she’s going to stay or go.

“Do you want me to stay?” Emily asks Ali.

Alison shakes her head. “I’m fine. We’re fine. You can head upstairs.”

“Call me if you need anything,” Emily says fiercely, shooting one last withering stare back at Charlotte as she leaves the room.

“Upstairs, huh?” Charlotte murmurs with a quirked eyebrow once she’s gone. “You’re welcome.”

Alison feels her stomach swoop, her hurt giving way to anger. “Excuse me?”

Charlotte puts her hands up. “I’m just saying, with me gone, it looks like you and Sporty Spice have finally rekindled the flame. Congrats.”

Alison blinks, her jaw tightening. “How can you make jokes now? After everything you’ve put me through?”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ali,” Charlotte admonishes. “I’m just trying to lighten the mood.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Mom always hated that, remember?”

“Don’t bring up Mom right now,” Alison snaps. “Do you know how much trouble I could have gotten in? You’re lucky the people at Welby don’t do their jobs properly and haven’t been checking in, because otherwise we’d both be in jail.”

“Aw, but you looked so cute in an orange jump suit!” When she’s met with a glare, Charlotte adds, “Still too soon to joke about Mona’s not-murder?”

“You mean how you framed me?” Alison replies tightly. “I’m pretty sure that one lives on the ‘no jokes allowed’ list.”

Charlotte’s smirk shifts into more of a genuine smile, and Alison has flashes of the Charlotte she’s spent the last five years getting to know. “You sound like Mom,” Charlotte murmurs. Her voice is softer, fonder. “I missed you.”

Alison bites her lip. “I missed you too,” she admits. “But I’m still upset, and confused. Will you please come talk to me?”

Charlotte glances back at the door once before nodding. “Okay.”

“Let’s sit down,” Alison suggests, leading them over toward the couch. “No jokes, no riddles. I want you to tell me why you left. Why you would ruin our one chance to be a family.”

“That’s exactly why,” Charlotte tells her. “I’ve never been good with pressure or ultimatums. I needed a week or so to just be by myself. To be free and away from Rosewood. And you needed to figure out who you are when you’re not taking care of me.” She slides her gaze up the stairs, then back down. “Apparently a stone-cold ladykiller.”

“No!” Ali says sharply. “You don’t get to act like you did this for me.” She feels tears starting to sting the corners of her eyes. “I was out of my mind with worry. Even after I heard from you, I didn’t know what was going on.”

“Ali, I was gone, like, less than two weeks. And I called you right away!”

“That’s not the point!” Alison insists. “When you were in there, all you talked about was how much you wanted to rebuild a relationship with me. How excited you were that we were finally going to be together.” She furiously wipes at her eyes. “But was that all an act? Just so I’d be your advocate and get you out?”

“No,” Charlotte says seriously. “I swear to you, it wasn’t. But being in there, and then being out… I guess a part of me forgot what it was like. When you’re out, you’re out. Suddenly you have the whole world at your hands. No limits. I’m telling you, there’s nothing like it.”

“Bullshit,” Alison scoffs. “You’re Charlotte. You don’t forget anything.”

Ali half expects a smirk and a witty comeback at that comment, but Charlotte’s face remains grave as she shakes her head. “You can’t understand it. Being locked up for years at a time… it’s like your mind starts playing tricks on you. Time becomes this loose, weird mess. You go through the motions, but you’re never really living. When I would leave Radley, I could be anyone I wanted. Charlotte DiLaurentis was trapped, but Cece Drake? She could do anything.”

She’s quiet for a second, and Alison instinctively reaches for her hand, grateful when Charlotte doesn’t pull away and continues talking. “That night on the roof at Radley, I wasn’t playing a trick. In that moment, I thought, maybe this is for the best. Maybe jumping is better than another lifetime behind bars. And maybe it’s what I deserve, in the long run.”

“It isn’t,” Alison tells her, voice soft but firm. “Charlotte, I am so, so happy that you came down from that ledge. Because you deserve to live. No matter what happens, I know that you deserve to live.”

Charlotte looks at her for a long moment. Her expression doesn’t give much away, but Ali is pretty certain that she’s being truthful now.

She supposes part of what makes Charlotte Charlotte is that you never really know for sure.

“It was maybe a little bit of an act,” Charlotte admits. “The whole reformed thing. But wouldn’t life be incredibly dull if I went all Sandra Dee on you?”

“I don’t need totally reformed,” Alison tells her. “As long as you aren’t hurting people I love. I just want you. The real you.”

“Well, you’ve got her,” Charlotte says, ruefully. 

Ali smiles. “Warts and all.”

“Hey, now!” Charlotte warns in a mock-offended tone. “I may be a little crazy, but I definitely don’t have warts! That’s disgusting!”

Alison giggles, before studying Charlotte again. “You know I still have questions, right? And Spencer’s probably got a whole book of them for you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Charlotte replies. “Maybe the next time I see her I should slip a sleeping pill in her—” When Ali shoots her a stern look, she announces, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!”

“We don’t have to get through it all tonight,” Alison tells her.

“Good,” Charlotte sighs. “Because frankly, I’m exhausted.”

Alison’s eyes widen. “You mean you’re staying?”

“Why do you think I came back?” Charlotte says, standing to stretch. “I’m ready to be here. With you. If you’ll still have me.”

Alison’s thoughts drift, as they often do, to Emily. The three of them together under one roof: it’s what Ali has wanted for so long. But it may not be built to last.

Still, at least now they have the opportunity to figure it out, together.

“Don’t sneak off this time,” Ali instructs as she stands up.

“I won’t,” Charlotte promises.

Alison nods, and finally reaches forward, pulling her sister into a hug. The tears that have been threatening her all evening start flowing in earnest at the contact. This time, Alison doesn’t fight them. 

“Welcome home, Charlotte.”

Chapter Text

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?” Spencer asks Hanna as she pulls on her shoes.

“Think of it as an investigation,” Hanna offers from her spot on the couch. “An investigation with an added side of sisterly bonding.” She wrinkles her nose. “That doesn’t sound very enticing, does it?”

“Good effort,” Spencer replies, considering a small bottle of Excedrin Migraine before tossing it into her bag. She might need it today.

It’s been three days since Alison’s ill-fated dinner party, and, predictably, Ali has done her classic move of only revealing enough to keep Spencer away. Just as predictably but more disappointingly, Emily is right in there with her—with them, Alison and Charlotte—to the point that the DiLaurentis house is starting to seem as hulking and insurmountable as it did in Spencer’s youth.

Spencer would be focusing all her energy on that situation—planning “accidental” run-ins at the mailbox, or stealing a page from Jessica DiLaurentis’s playbook and bringing over a basket of muffins along with her laundry list of questions—but her own mother called, detailing her desire for Spencer to make nice with Melissa.

“Mona isn’t going anywhere,” Veronica told her. “So you might as well get on board now.”

Spencer put up a bit of a fight, stretching the argument out for nearly ten minutes, before eventually relenting. As much as she may feel something between confusion and disapproval regarding Melissa and Mona’s seemingly whirlwind engagement, the two lovebirds aren’t likely to break up anytime soon. And she might as well find out more information while she can.

So this is where Spencer finds herself on a Saturday morning: not drinking coffee and reading the news while Hanna distracts her with funny observations and too-loud music and her general presence, but instead, getting ready to help Melissa plan her wedding gift registry.

Yes, Spencer is positively delighted.

“Chin up,” Hanna urges. “It’ll be okay.”

“I just want to stay home,” Spencer whines. The spot beside Hanna is looking awfully inviting, and already she longs to be back in her slippers.

“I know,” Hanna replies, rising from the couch. When she stands, her sweatshirt rides up and Spencer finds herself staring at a patch of smooth-looking skin at Hanna’s side. She clears her throat and looks away.

Hanna frowns, grabbing Spencer’s scarf off the kitchen counter. “Don’t forget this,” she instructs. Spencer expects Hanna to hand it to her, but Hanna loops the scarf around Spencer’s neck instead. 

Something in Spencer’s belly twists at the domesticity of the moment, and then it’s twisting in a different way when she realizes just how close their bodies are. Close enough that she can feel Hanna’s breath on her skin, can smell the conditioner in her still-damp hair.

“Oh,” Hanna breathes, like she surprised herself. The ends of the scarf are still in her hands, and Spencer is recognizing without intending to that she likes this height difference. Like, it seems pretty optimal, if she was going to kiss Hanna.

It’s a weird thought, and she swallows, hoping the action will inspire her to move away. It doesn’t, so she clears her throat again, and that’s when Hanna drops the scarf.

“I should—” Spencer murmurs, her voice sounding way too gravelly even to her own ears.

Hanna nods, effectively cutting her off. “Yeah. I’ll be here. Or…I’ll be out. I’ll be somewhere.”

Spencer smiles and heads toward the door without another word. She doesn’t really trust herself to say anything right now. 

“Good luck!” Hanna calls out. 

Spencer closes the door as though she didn’t hear her.

--

Of course Melissa is the type of person to have her own barcode scanner. Of course.

“Mona bought it for me,” Melissa tells her proudly. “They have ones on the phone, but they never work right.”

“Mona always knows what’s best,” Spencer comments, not even trying to mask her sarcasm.

Melissa frowns. “Spencer, if you’re going to join me today, you could at least be civil.”

“I am!” Spencer protests. “But this news is still working its way out of the bombshell stage. Can you cut me some slack?”

Melissa merely huffs, walking toward the bathroom section. Spencer sighs, following behind her. They’ve been in this store for less than five minutes and already Melissa is annoyed with her. Great.

“So,” Spencer tries in a softer tone as Melissa inspects her pores in a display of magnified mirrors. “Are you guys heading back to London?”

“No,” Melissa says, still studying her reflection. “I quit my job. Didn’t Mom tell you?”

“Mom doesn’t tell me much, these days,” Spencer reports flatly. “You’re moving in with Mona?”

“She has a place in New York,” Melissa tells her. “Not near Hanna, in case you’re concerned. Though it doesn’t seem like Hanna’s in any rush to get back. Or you, for that matter.”

Spencer wrinkles her brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Melissa frowns in the mirror. “The lighting in here in terrible,” she remarks. “And it’s merely an observation. Anyway, Mona and I have been going back and forth, but yes, we’re going to stay in her apartment in New York after the wedding. It won’t work longterm, of course, once we have kids, but it’s quite tasteful.”

“Kids?” Spencer echoes, eyes bulging.

“Well, of course,” Melissa replies. “We are getting married, after all. After they’re born, I’ll probably stay at home, at least for a little while, while Mona will work full-time.”

“Seems like you have it all figured out,” Spencer mutters.

Melissa scans the barcode on an attractive glass scale, before frowning at it. “A scale might be gauche,” she murmurs. “Hmm. Mona has most everything we need, truthfully, but I do want the place to feel like ours.”

“I’m sure you do.”

Melissa continues studying the scale as she speaks, “Y’know, Spencer, if you have something to say, I wish you’d save me the trouble and just come out with it. You’re not possibly upset that I’m in love with a woman, are you?”

“No!” Spencer insists. “Of course not.” For some reason that makes her think about Hanna and Jordan, and the mental image makes her falter.

“Then what is it?”

“It’s Mona,” Spencer says emphatically. “I mean, why her, of all people?”

Melissa looks up at her, eyes flinty and posture impossibly straight. “If you say one cruel thing about her, I swear to god…”

“I’m confused,” Spencer cuts in. “I’m not being cruel. Can you just explain it to me?”

Melissa rolls her eyes. “We met in London, we fell in love. The rest is history.”

“Melissa!” Spencer says in annoyance.

“Alright,” Melissa sighs. “It’s like when I taught you how to tell time.” She runs her hand over a stack of cream hand towels. “Do you think our monogram would suit these?”

“No,” Spencer replies sharply. “And you didn’t teach me how to tell time. I taught myself.”

Melissa scans the barcode anyway before looking up at Spencer with a small smile. “That’s what I let you think. But I taught you.”

“No, I taught myself,” Spencer repeats. “I found that old clock in the alley. After our neighbor died—”

Melissa nods. “Mrs. Addams. Her son left a box of her things in the alley. Mom told us not to touch it, but you saw the broken clock and wanted it. So I got it for you.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“You were so frustrated, because you just couldn’t understand how it worked,” Melissa continues, ignoring Spencer’s comment. “Mom had been trying to teach you how to read a clock, but you kept getting the minute and the hour hands mixed up, and then insisting your way was right. But you were obsessed with figuring it out. So the afternoon we got the clock, I helped you take it apart and then put it back together, and I explained how it worked. How there were sixty seconds in a minute, and sixty minutes in an hour.”

Spencer frowns. The memory is coming back, piecemeal. Mostly she remembers the argument when their mom found the clock in her room, Melissa insisting it had been Spencer’s idea to take it. “What does this have to do with Mona?”

Melissa sighs again. “You’re always so impatient. I’m getting there.” She scans the barcode on a luxurious-looking bathmat before picking up the story. “At one point—I don’t know how long we’d been at it, by then—your brain was so fried. I was tired too, but at the same time, it was interesting. I liked getting to help you with something. And then, I’ll never forget, you just looked up at our old grandfather’s clock in the dining room, and you said, ‘Hey, it’s already three twenty-five!’ It just clicked for you.”

“I remember that,” Spencer says softly.

Melissa walks a few paces, and, despite her many complaints, Spencer wordlessly follows her. Melissa picks up a glass soap dispenser, frowns, and sets it back down. Spencer blinks at her. 

Without looking up, Melissa murmurs, “That’s what it was like with Mona. After all of these wasted years, all of this exhaustion and frustration, I finally got it. Everything clicked. I just…looked up at the clock—”

“And you knew what time it was,” Spencer fills in.

Melissa lifts her head, a ghost of a sincere smile at her lips. “Exactly. Spencer, there is precisely one reason why we’re getting married right now, and believe me when I say it has nothing to do with you.” It’s essentially the same sentiment Mona told Spencer outside the Hastings house, but this time it’s said without any bite. “The reason is simple: we love each other, and we don’t want to wait. I mean, god, haven’t I spent enough of my life with people who don’t matter?”

“Yes,” Spencer acknowledges, thinking of Ian, of Wren, of all the other smart, attractive boys throughout the years who only liked Melissa for her pretty face and family name. “Melissa, you have to understand that this is kind of weird for me.”

“Sure,” Melissa will allow. “But is it weirder than anything else that’s happened in our family? Than you and Wren? Than Jason and I? I didn’t expect to get involved with anyone else from this town. But I did, and you need to deal with it, because I’m happy.”

“You are?” Spencer has heard Melissa say those words before, a few times in relation to Ian, and definitely during the time she spent with Wren—and then, later, by herself—in London. But never has she been so convinced by them.

“I am,” Melissa confirms. She raises her gaze above Spencer’s shoulder, seeming to spy something of interest. “Let’s go look at wine glasses.”

Spencer grabs Melissa’s arm before she can walk past her. “I'm definitely still getting used to it," Spencer murmurs truthfully. "But I'm glad that she makes you happy. That’s—that’s all I really want for you, in the long run.”

Melissa scowls. “Spencer, don’t be mawkish,” she chides. But as Melissa twists away, Spencer would swear that her eyes are shimmering.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for meeting me,” Aria says softly. 

Nicole Gordon smiles, but there’s still a guardedness behind her eyes. “I was surprised to hear from you. I almost called you when I moved to Philadelphia, but…”

“I didn’t exactly encourage you to stay in touch,” Aria recognizes. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

Nicole shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

They’ve been seated at the Mermaid Café for the last five minutes, because the Brew seemed too weird for this particular meeting. Aria can hang out there with her friends and more or less put Ezra out of her mind, but to be there with Nicole…

It would all be too much, she decided when they set this meeting up. She’s certain the tension would have choked her, made her unable to speak.

As it stands, the Café isn’t exactly making this conversation easy.

“Are you still writing these days?” Nicole asks.

Aria narrows her eyes. “How did you know that I—” Realization dawns, then. “Ezra.”

Nicole nods. “He talked about you a lot,” she murmurs. “I think he was very proud of you.” She hesitates, brow furrowing. “I don’t know if that’s okay for me to say.”

“It’s okay,” Aria assures her, not entirely sure if she believes it herself. “I am still writing. Or, trying to." She clears her throat. "Do you know how the girl is doing? Laura?”

“I heard from her a few months ago, actually. She’s doing quite well. Just started college.”

Aria nods. “That’s good.”

Nicole looks up at her. “Aria, why did you want to meet with me?”

Aria clasps her hands together on the table. “I’m not exactly sure.”

“Okay,” Nicole replies. “But it’s been over three years, so I’m thinking there must be a reason.”

Aria sighs, focusing her gaze on the coffee in her cup. “I’ve been blocked,” she admits. “Emotionally, romantically, creatively. Ever since you—” She hesitates. “Ever since Ezra died. It’s like there’s this insurmountable boulder in my way, and the more I try to ignore it, the bigger it gets.” She chances a glance at Nicole. “But it’s not like I can talk to just anyone about this.”

Nicole smiles sadly. “Believe me, I completely get that.”

It’s then that Aria notices how closed in on herself Nicole seems. As though she doesn’t quite fit into her own skin. Aria knows that feeling well.

“Is it wrong to say I miss him sometimes?” Aria asks.

Nicole tilts her head to one side. “I don’t think it’s wrong. There are moments when I feel that way too.”

“I want him to be proud of me,” Aria remarks ruefully. She hasn't admitted that to anyone since Ezra died. “How messed up is that?”

“Aria, men like him, they’re smart. They’ve manipulators. He needed you to want his praise.”

“I know,” Aria says. “It’s just, when I graduated high school, I left this town and didn’t think I would ever look back. I felt like my life could finally begin, once I left Rosewood in the dust. But here I am, back home again. And sometimes I think Ezra is like that too. Like no matter how many times I think he’s firmly in my past, he sneaks his way back into my present.”

“But there’s a difference between Rosewood and Ezra,” Nicole tells her. “This town is here and alive and full of people who care about you. And Ezra is six feet underground. He can’t touch you anymore.” She shakes her head. “I suppose I made sure of that.”

“Do you think about him a lot?” Aria asks.

“Every night when I go to sleep. It’s the same dream, over and over again. He’s kissing me, and then suddenly he’s pressing a knife to my back. But when I pull away, he’s the one who’s bloodied and dying.”

“You’ve been to counseling?” 

“Yes, and it absolutely helps,” Nicole states. “But it doesn’t make the nightmares go away.”

“Yeah,” Aria agrees. She’s been to three different therapists since leaving Rosewood, two just since Ezra died. They have helped, some. But there’s so much to get through, and Aria’s never been able to put her whole story on the table without feeling like a freak. It was one thing when she had her friends close by, when they could share their experiences together. But in this situation, she has to walk alone.

“Have you ever thought about sharing what happened?” Aria asks. She remembers Nicole’s words from the phone call: We were in fear for our lives. At least that’s what the police believe. “Or, a version of it?”

“Sometimes. I wouldn’t know how to start, though.” Nicole runs a hand through her hair. She gets it, too. Aria can tell.

“I know what you mean,” Aria says. “I used to think Ezra and I had the most incredible love story, the kind people would write novels about.”

“There still might be a novel there. Just not the one you imagined.”

“I’ve thought about writing something,” Aria answers honestly. “It’s just—it’s a big story.”

“A lot to get through,” Nicole acknowledges. 

Aria nods. “Yeah. Especially by oneself.”

Nicole opens her eyes a little wider, and Aria sees a warmth there that she’d missed previously.

“Well,” Nicole says with a small smile. “I might just know someone who could help you.” 

--

“Is it totally insane?” Aria asks Caleb. “I mean, yes, objectively, of course it is. But is it the kind of insane that might also be a good idea?”

“Just crazy enough to work?” he says teasingly. 

Aria shrugs. “Something like that.” She absent-mindedly picks up a frog-shaped desk lamp and adds it to her cart. The two of them have been furniture shopping for the last half hour, though Aria has mostly just succeeded in chattering away to Caleb about her meeting with Nicole.

“Are you sure about that lamp?” Caleb asks. “I think it’s meant for a kid’s room.”

She considers it for a moment before quickly pulling it out of the cart. “Good call. I shouldn’t be allowed to shop when I’m this wound up.”

“I think you’re holding up pretty amazingly, actually,” Caleb remarks. “Especially given the circumstance. Want to calm down with wall decor?” He gestures at a nearby display of cheap canvases. “We could stare at that concentric circles painting until you chill out.”

Aria laughs, just a little. “Sure.”

She takes a deep breath as they stand in front of the display. There’s nothing here worth purchasing, but it’s nice to stand still.

“So,” she says after a beat, eyes still trained on the artwork. “Writing a book about Ezra with Nicole. What do you really think?”

Caleb is quiet for a moment, until he says softly, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, honestly. It could tear you apart. But it could also help heal you, or open you up. I know how hard this has been for you.”

“It’s a good story,” Aria murmurs.

“Yeah. But it’s not just a story. It’s your life. The only obligation you have is to yourself. If you want to keep it private, that’s your right. And if you want to share it, that’s your right too.”

Aria doesn’t say what she’s thinking: that this advice is the opposite of what Ezra would say. He would try to convince Aria to share the story. Well, not this particular one. Not one about him.

Then she thinks of what Nicole said, about Ezra being unable to touch her anymore.

“I don’t want to write something because I feel like I owe it to anybody,” Aria says quietly. “I think—I think maybe I felt that way for a while. Like, I owed the story to Nicole, or the world. Or Ezra, somehow.”

“You don’t,” Caleb tells her.

“I know. But when I think about really telling it, the actual truth, and doing it with someone who knew him? Someone who actually understands?” Aria takes a breath. “It’s kind of exciting. And it scares the hell out of me, all at once.”

Caleb turns to face her, so she does the same, realizing with a sinking clarity that her words apply to more than just this potential project.

“God knows you don’t need my approval, or my two cents,” Caleb says. “But I think most of the time, the things that scare the hell out of us are the things most worth going after.”

“You kind of sound like a writer,” Aria replies with a grin.

Caleb snorts. “I don’t know if our apartment could handle two of those.” Aria looks at him warmly, and he must notice because he says, “What?”

“Our apartment,” she states. “I like the sound of that.”

Caleb holds her gaze long enough that one of them should probably say something, before he turns back to the canvases. He starts leafing through them and Aria peers over his shoulder.

A sunset. An inspirational quote. A birch tree. A lion. 

“There’s a reason these are on clearance,” she mutters.

“Just hang on a sec,” Caleb instructs. “Maybe there’s a gem in here.” After a few more seconds of looking he announces, “Aha!”

“What?”

“It’s a sign. Literally,” Caleb tells her. He raises up the canvas in his hand, and Aria reads the quote printed on it:

Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

“Wordsworth,” she comments.

“What do you think?” Caleb asks. “For above your desk?”

Aria considers for a moment. “I like it,” she decides, placing the canvas in the cart. “And hey, at least it’s not freaking Fitzgerald." 

She moves down the aisle with the authority, smiling at the sound of Caleb’s laughter following behind her.

Chapter Text

When Alison walks into the kitchen with that particular expression on her face, Emily knows she has something in mind.

“What is it?” Emily asks, setting down her bowl of cereal.

“I didn’t say anything,” Alison defends, putting her tea cup in the dishwasher.

“You don’t have to,” Emily replies. “It’s written all over your face. You need something, or want me to do something, or you have bad news to share.”

Alison’s mouth softens in a pleased half-smile. “I didn’t realize you still knew my expressions so well.”

“Well, I do,” Emily says. “So, out with it.”

“Alison!” Charlotte calls from the other room, her voice getting louder as she heads toward the kitchen. “I changed my mind. I would like—” She stops when she sees the two of them talking, Ali’s smile probably giving her all the wrong ideas. “Oh, sorry, ladies." She waggles her eyebrows. "I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You weren’t interrupting a thing,” Emily insists, cursing her cheeks for already starting to get warm.

“Emily’s right,” Alison adds. “We were just making tea.”

Charlotte swans over to the kitchen island and sits down on a bar stool. “Right. ‘Making tea.’” She doesn’t use quotation marks, but Emily can hear them in her tone. Charlotte sighs dramatically. “I remember ‘making tea.’ Not many good prospects for that in the nuthouse. I mean, I had offers, don’t get me wrong. But, I don’t know, having sex with someone in a terrycloth robe when you’re on libido-demolishing medication lacks a certain je ne sais quoi, don't you think?”

“You shouldn’t say nuthouse,” Emily chides. “Isn’t that an offensive term?”

“Probably, but I spent over half my life there,” Charlotte tells her. “I’ll call the place whatever I damn well please.” She fixes them both with a serious look, then nods when she gets no pushback. “So, where were we? I need to get back out there, and you two need to get over yourselves and get under each other. Seriously, it’s starting to feel like season two of The L Word around here.”

“You watched The L Word?” Emily asks.

“Of course!” Charlotte says with a scoff. “You’re Carmen in this scenario, of course, which I guess makes Ali Shane, what with all the unresolved sexual tension between you two?”

“Wouldn't that make you Jenny?” Alison points out, smirking.

“How dare you!” Charlotte pronounces. “If I’m anyone, it’s Bette Motherfucking Porter. Or season two Helena, before she got all poor and pathetic.” She glares in Alison’s direction. “You are not looking very Shane today.” 

With that, Charlotte waltzes back out of the room.

“She certainly makes life around here more exciting,” Emily comments.

“How are you doing with her here?” Alison asks. “Honestly.”

Emily considers for a moment. It’s been six days since Charlotte moved back in—Emily knows, because Spencer texted to remind her of that fact this morning—and in truth, it’s been much easier than Emily anticipated. For all of her biting remarks and love of meddling, Charlotte keeps to herself a surprising amount. And when she doesn't, well... Cece was always a fun person, so Charlotte is too.

And Emily has to admit that she’s glad to see Alison so happy. She can tell that Ali’s been trying to clamp down on it, likely for Emily’s own sake, but there’s been a lightness in her that Emily hadn't seen in a long time.

“I’m doing okay,” she replies. “I didn’t think I’d be living here with the two of you, but it’s nicer than I expected.”

“That’s good,” Alison says softly. “If you feel weird about anything, you can tell me.”

Emily crosses her arms. “The only thing I feel weird about is the way you were looking at me earlier.”

“I look at you a lot of ways,” Alison replies nonchalantly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Emily doesn’t let herself examine the implications of that statement, instead imploring, “C’mon, Ali.”

Alison sighs. “Your mom called me. Twice.” Emily’s belly coils at the words. “She says she’s a day away from showing up here. Will you please just talk to her?”

Emily bites her lip. She knew her avoidance would put them here, eventually. But she still feels a mixture of many different emotions: guilt for the way she’s mishandled this and for the things she still hasn’t told her mom or Ali, embarrassment for putting Ali in this situation in the first place, and lingering anger. Not even at anyone in particular. Or if it is at anyone, it's at herself.

“Did she tell you why I left?” Emily asks, half-dreading the answer.

“No,” Alison replies. “But I have to say that my politeness is dwindling and my curiosity is rising. You’ve never been this upset with her.”

“That’s not true,” Emily murmurs. “After I came out…” She doesn’t finish the sentence. They both know why that story wouldn’t come to Ali’s mind, and it has everything to do with those awful two years when she was dead but then not. “Anyway, I’n not upset. Not really. There’s just a lot going on.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

Emily exhales heavily. There's really no point in hiding this, now. “She’s with Barry Maple. Like, with him with him. And they want to sell the house and move to Harrisburg.”

“Oh,” Alison breathes, sounding genuinely stunned.

“Yeah. And I didn’t take it well, but I don’t really have any excuse to be mad at her, since I’ve pretty much been lying about…everything in my life.”

“Em,” Alison says gently. She takes a few steps forward and puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “I think it’s perfectly understandable that you would have some feelings about your mom moving on. But all things considered? She could do a lot worse than Barry Maple. There’s certainly no shortage of awful dudes here.”

Emily smiles, just a little. “That’s true,” she acknowledges. “I always was kind of grateful God or whomever made me gay. I mean, it’s more likely I’ll get shot with a stay bullet, and there was a lot of internalized homophobia to get through—”

“I didn’t exactly help with that,” Alison adds, looking chagrined.

“Anyway,” Emily says deliberately. “I think I just feel guilty. And I’m sorry if you feel put in the middle.”

“I don’t,” Alison assures her. “But she’s worried about you, and you aren’t going to feel any less guilty the longer you take to talk to her.”

Emily frowns. “You’re right,” she has to admit. “I don’t want you to be, but you are.”

Alison beams. “You can thank me later.” 

She walks out into the living room then, and Emily hears Charlotte cheekily murmuring in response, “She will definitely be 'thanking you later.'”

Emily just rolls her eyes, takes a breath, and picks up her phone.

--

“I’m sorry,” Emily says when her mom answers the door.

“Me too,” Pam replies. “Can I give you a hug?”

Emily nods, melting into her mom’s embrace. When they pull apart she gets fully inside the house, grateful to not see any signs of moving, at least just yet.

“I could have eased you into that whole situation better,” Pam tells her, leading them over towards the couch. “That was way too much information to spring on you.”

“I didn’t handle it well,” Emily acknowledges. “That isn’t on you. But I have news for you too. And I really hope you won’t react the way I did. Though if you do, you totally have a free pass.”

Pam quirks an eyebrow as she sits down. “You can tell me anything, Emily.”

“Okay,” Emily replies. She takes a deep breath, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap. “Well. I’ve been lying about some stuff. I—I don’t work at the Salk Institute. I work at a bar. Or at least, I did until about a week and a half ago, when I called and quit my job. I’m staying in Rosewood, and I’m enrolling in Hollis.”

“Why are you enrolling in Hollis?” Pam asks.

Emily chews her lip. “Because I didn’t graduate college.”

Pam tilts her head to one side and blinks at Emily. “Yes, you did. I have your graduation pictures.”

“They’re not real,” Emily says very quietly. She can’t even look at her mom as she speaks. “They’re fake. It’s all fake—the job, my awesome apartment, everything I’ve told you about my life. I don’t really have anything in California. Which is why I’m starting over here.”

Realization dawns on Pam's face. “That’s why you’ve stuck around,” she puts together. She blinks a couple more times and shakes her head. “But why? You could have told me what was happening. Why didn’t you tell the truth?”

“I was ashamed,” Emily admits, feeling her eyes start to sting with tears. “I thought the last thing you needed was me falling apart. I was such a mess, but all I wanted was to be strong for you.”

Pam reaches a hand across the couch, clasping Emily’s fingers in her own. “Sweetheart, I don’t need you to be anything but yourself. If you’re having a problem, we can figure it out together. I don’t want you keeping things from me. And I certainly don’t want you coming up with elaborate lies to tell me.”

“I’m sorry,” Emily says earnestly. 

“I can tell,” Pam replies. She doesn’t look angry, just surprised. But still full of love. More than Emily feels like she deserves right now. “This may take me a while to process, but I’m glad you told me. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me until now.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Oh, we both know that’s not true,” Pam murmurs. “But I suppose there is a silver lining. We’ll be close to each other again. I’ll actually get to see you more than twice a year.”

“And Harrisburg?” Emily asks softly. 

It’s Pam’s turn to bite her lip. “Barry took the job. I just have to decide if I’m joining him.”

“What’s holding up your decision?”

Pam shrugs. “You, mostly. Not that it’s up to you. But I can't move away if it's going to devastate you.”

Emily shakes her head. “It’s not,” she assures her mom. “I promise. I want you to do what’s going to make you happy.”

Pam gazes at Emily inquisitively. “And what’s going to make you happy?”

“You following your bliss,” Emily answers. “And, weirdly, being back here. I never would have thought it, but I’m really excited to go to Hollis.”

“What else?” Pam asks.

Emily frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Emily,” Pam presses gently. “You know. What else is going to make you happy?” She pauses. “Or should I say, who else?”

The image is in Emily’s mind before she’s even fully processed the question: Alison. Incredibly beautiful, endlessly complicated, frustratingly unforgettable Alison. And Emily feels it, heavy like a rock in her stomach. A clarity that she didn’t know she was still able to experience.

Dammit.

Nearly a decade later, and she’s still hopelessly in love with Alison DiLaurentis.

Chapter Text

Hanna wouldn’t expect anything else, but Melissa and Mona’s engagement party is super fancy and tasteful, even by Hanna’s New York standards. It’s being held at the prestigious Cottonwood Manor, just outside of Rosewood, and Hanna is almost surprised to not see paparazzi and a red carpet out front.

“I understand the black tie dress code, now,” Hanna mutters as she and Spencer drive up to the valet station. 

Spencer nods. “Well, only the best for Melissa,” she says icily.

“And Mona,” Hanna adds. They step out of the car and approach the hulking staircase leading up to the Manor. “Okay. You ready?”

“Wait!” Spencer says, grabbing Hanna’s elbow. Hanna looks down at Spencer’s hand, her eyes trailing along Spencer’s bare arm, across her collarbones and up her long neck, until they finally rest at her face. Spencer is wearing a floor-length sleeveless burgundy gown, her hair loose and flowing and her makeup just a touch smoky.

She looks incredible, which isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the way looking at her makes Hanna feel, as though her body is being slowly spun on a spit over a fire like a rotisserie chicken. 

Which may not be the perfect metaphor, but whatever. Spencer looks hot, and Hanna’s hungry. For more than just food, it seems.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Remember our code word?” Spencer prompts.

“For if you’re about to start passive-aggressively asking Melissa questions about her relationship?” Hanna replies. “Yeah. It’s ‘cauliflower.’”

Spencer nods. “Good.” She inhales, squaring her shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

--

Hanna was admittedly a little concerned about being at a party that included not only Charlotte, but Melissa and Mona, too. However, she quickly discovers that those concerns weren’t warranted in the slightest, because there are easily upwards of two-hundred people inside the Manor.

“I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else,” Spencer remarks. Hanna can tell that she feels kind of overwhelmed, but is working hard to mask it. “I should try to find my mom.”

“Don’t leave me here!” Hanna pleads. “Lucas is probably lurking around a corner, waiting to take my picture and ask me out.”

Spencer snorts. “You think Mona would actually invite him?” She shakes her head. “Oh, who am I kidding, she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to rub her success in his face.” 

She surveys the scene, and Hanna follows her gaze. No sign of Lucas, but she does notice a couple of other people from Rosewood High. Bridget Wu is over by the bar, slurping down what’s sure to be her second or third martini, and Cindy and Mindy are chatting near an ice sculpture of a giant M. Thankfully, they aren’t wearing matching outfits.

“Come on,” Spencer urges, starting to move with authority through the crowd. “You can stick with me. If Lucas does show up, I’ll swat the camera out of his hands.”

“My knight in shining armor,” Hanna comments fondly, following behind her.

They manage to find Spencer’s family, and Hanna kind of zones out for a while Spencer and Veronica talk logistics. Spencer has to give a toast at some point—a fact which she’s loudly complained about for the past few days—and knowing Melissa and Mona, everything needs to be perfectly planned to the last second.

Hanna is just considering joining Bridget Wu over at the bar when she feels a hand on her elbow. She turns around to see Mona standing in front of her, wearing a stunning silver sheath dress and an enormous grin.

“Hello, girly girl,” Mona says warmly. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Mona,” Hanna replies with a tight smile. 

“Were you hoping we wouldn’t run into each other?”

Hanna shakes her head. “No,” she answers honestly. “I’m glad to see you. There are just a lot of people here.”

“I know.” Mona twists her head around, playing at a sheepishness that Hanna is certain she doesn’t actually feel. “I’d say it got out of hand, but honestly, it’s kind of exactly what I pictured.”

A memory floods in then, of the two of them planning their dream weddings as teenagers. It was going to be Justin Timberlake and Matt Damon, in those days. Of course, Hanna later realized who Mona was probably really dreaming about.

“I’m glad you’re getting everything you wanted,” she tells Mona, meaning every word.

The light catches Mona’s engagement ring as she looks down. “It isn’t what I always wanted,” she says softly.

Hanna nods, a stab of sadness rushing through her. “I know.”

“But sometimes dreams change,” Mona continues. “And now I can’t imagine my life without Melissa in it.” 

Hanna follows Mona’s gaze to the other side of the party, where Melissa is snapping at a cater waiter. 

“She’s certainly one hell of a woman,” Hanna says with a chuckle.

“She is,” Mona agrees, pride evident in her tone. She turns back to Hanna, leaning in conspiratorially. “Those Hastings women always keep us on our toes. Good thing they’re cute, huh?” She tilts her head in the direction of Spencer and actually winks.

Hanna straightens back up, clearing her throat. “Uh…” she gapes.

“Don’t worry, Han,” Mona assures her, squeezing her arm as she moves toward another guest. “Your secret’s safe with me."

--

Their other friends do show up, but Hanna mostly stays by Spencer’s side throughout the evening. It’s weird, and kind of annoying, but lately it’s like Spencer has some kind of gravitational pull, and Hanna finds it hard to stay away. Once dinner rolls around they have to split up to their respective tables, but not before Spencer runs through the game plan once more.

“You’re going to be my focal point during the toast,” Spencer tells her. “Because if I look at either Melissa or Mona, they’ll probably do some mind trick on me and I’ll mess up.”

“They’re not supervillians,” Hanna points out. “And weren’t you kind of cool with Melissa after your heart-to-heart?”

“When have Melissa and I ever been cool?” Spencer replies. Veronica is handed a microphone and starts directing people to sit down. Spencer rolls her eyes. “It’s go-time.”

Spencer is up first, and Hanna would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about this toast of hers. Spencer’s been practicing all week, but she hasn’t let Hanna hear even one word. Hanna sits down at the table with Aria, Emily, Alison and Charlotte, but she only dimly registers the four of them as Spencer lifts her champagne flute.

“It’s wonderful to be here with all of you,” Spencer begins, eyes trained on Hanna. “What a beautiful atmosphere for us to celebrate these two incredible women in. And I do mean incredible.” She pauses, taking a breath. “Melissa and I have always been encouraged to be the best. Not just to do our best, but to be the best. I would get frustrated when we were younger, because it seemed like Melissa constantly had me beat. While I was trying, she was simply being, and being perfect, at that. Perfect grades, perfect job, perfect apartment, perfect boyfriends.”

Alison chuckles, likely thinking about Ian, while Hanna’s own mind flashes to Wren.

“Melissa’s life always had a very clear course,” Spencer continues. “So when I heard that she was getting married to Mona, I was surprised. This seemed like it didn’t fit with everything I understood about my sister. But then I talked to Melissa, and I realized something: being the ‘best’ doesn’t have to just apply to grades or jobs, to medals or apartments or boyfriends. It can also apply to happiness. Because Melissa finds herself here, being the best at being happy. Once again she has me beat. She is living her life, proudly and authentically. And she has found joy and partnership in a world that frequently encourages us to put our heads down and get used to loneliness. I’m imagining a lot of us could learn a lesson from that.” 

If possible, Spencer’s gaze becomes more piercing. “I know I could.” She raises her champagne flute high. “So here’s to Melissa and Mona! I wish you a lifetime of being the best, for and to each other.”

“To Melissa and Mona!” the crowd echoes.

“Their wedding should really be sponsored by the m&m corporation,” Aria comments.

Hanna nods distractedly, digging into her starter salad and more or less tuning out the conversation until she’s finished eating. As soon as she is, she hops up from her seat and heads over to the wedding party’s table.

Spencer has just finished up as well and is looking fidgety. There’s going to be another cocktail hour before the main meal, and Hanna can tell that Spencer desperately wants it to start so she can get another drink.

Hanna kneels down beside her, tapping Spencer on the shoulder. “Wanna explore?” she murmurs.

Spencer frowns. “What about dinner? We won’t have much time.”

Hanna shrugs. “We can order a pizza when we get home, or something. What do you say? You did your duty. When’s the next time we’re going to be in a place like this?”

Spencer hesitates, glancing down at the table. Hanna knows that she does want to go, but already Melissa is glaring at them from a few seats down. But then Mona catches Hanna’s eye and nods ever so slightly, waving a hand in encouragement.

Hanna bites down on a smile. “We’ve gotten the all-clear,” she tells Spencer.

“From who?” Spencer asks with a raised eyebrow. “God?”

“Yes,” Hanna replies. “Or, the Rosewood equivalent. Let’s go.”

Spencer seems to consider for one more second before nodding. “Okay. Let’s do it. But I’m blaming you if Melissa or Mona come after me.”

“Deal,” Hanna says with a grin. She has the urge to take Spencer’s hand—a weirdly frequent desire, these days—but she doesn’t, instead staying close as they work their way through the crowd of people heading for the bar.

Spencer locates a side door out of the main room, and it leads them down a narrow hallway. Everything seems so much quieter with just the two of them, and Hanna finally feels like she can breath. She and Spencer walk in silence, until Hanna bumps Spencer’s shoulder.

“Your speech was really nice,” she murmurs.

Spencer looks over at her. “You think? Melissa didn’t seem pleased.”

“Oh, whatever,” Hanna dismisses. “Nothing pleases her. It was good. Moving, even.”

“It moved you?” Hanna can hear the slight smirk in Spencer’s voice.

“Maybe a little,” Hanna replies mildly. 

They walk a little further down the hallway until they come to another door, open ajar. Hanna peeks her head inside, seeing a small room with a baby grand piano in the center. She turns back to Spencer.

“You feel like playing some music?” she offers.

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, looking curious, and follows Hanna into the room. It’s very simply decorated, with no furniture other than the piano.

“You suppose they haul this out to the main room for concerts?” Spencer posits.

Hanna shrugs. “Beats me.” She glances down at the piano. “Play me something?” she asks softly.

Spencer’s cheeks pink slightly. “What would I play?”

“I don’t know,” Hanna replies. “But it’s been a while since I heard you play. And you do it so well.” She thinks about the one Christmas Spencer spent with her in New York, when they both got completely trashed on eggnog and Spencer commandeered the piano at the jazz bar they were at.

Then she remembers later that night, when the two of them ended up underneath some mistletoe and Hanna very nearly kissed Spencer before thinking better of it at the last minute. The whole next day she’d replayed the moment over and over again in her head.

In retrospect, that should have been her first clue that something was changing between them. 

Spencer considers the piano for a moment, before sitting down and flexing her fingers. “I’ll play something,” she says. “But will you sit with me?”

Hanna nods, coming to sit beside Spencer on the piano bench and doing her best not to get in the way.

Spencer settles her fingers over the keys. “Okay. Hmm.” She plays a scale before readjusting her position and nodding. “I’ve got one.”

She begins playing something slow and vaguely familiar. Hanna doesn’t realize what it is until Spencer starts to sing:

“Like a flower

Waiting to bloom

Like a lightbulb

In a dark room

I’m just sittin’ here

Waiting for you

To come on home

And turn me on”

Hanna breathes in shallowly. Spencer’s voice is simultaneously gravelly and soft—so incredibly sexy—that it takes her a second to register the words she’s singing. But then she does, and her brain starts whirring.

“Like the desert                         

Waiting for the rain

Like a school kid 

Waiting for the spring

I’m just sittin’ here

Waiting for you

To come on home

And turn me on”

Spencer briefly slides her gaze up to Hanna’s, something unreadable in her eyes. 

“My poor heart

It’s been so dark

Since you’ve been gone

After all you’re the one who turned me off

You’re the only one 

Who can turn me right back on

My hi-fi is waiting 

For a new tune

My glass is waiting

For some fresh ice cubes

I’m just sittin’ here

Waiting for you

To come on home

And turn me on

Turn me on”

Spencer plays a couple more notes to finish out the song, before letting her hands drift off the keys. 

Hanna swallows, hard. She’s hyper-aware of their proximity, hyper-aware of the lyrics Spencer just sang, hyper-aware of everything. 

“So,” Spencer says softly. She’s still staring down at the piano. “How was that?”

“Were you—was that about—” Hanna says in a whisper. Her stomach is swooping, and her heart is pounding so hard that she’s sure Spencer can hear it.

“Han.”

Hanna lifts her eyes to Spencer’s face. “Please, Spence.” She’s not entirely sure what she’s even asking for.

“Yes,” Spencer sighs, raising her gaze. “Of course it was about you.”

Hanna inhales shakily. If she moved a fraction of an inch, she and Spencer would be touching; already they’re close enough that Hanna can feel the heat radiating off of her. Spencer's body has become more tilted in her direction, Hanna notices, and her eyes keep flicking down to Hanna's lips. There’s so much anticipation in the air that Hanna’s certain she would choke on it if she could remember how to breathe. 

When Hanna can't take the tension anymore she raises a hand to Spencer's check. “Finally,” Spencer exhales. Hanna agrees completely with the sentiment. It feels like her whole life has been ticking down to this moment, like everything beforehand has been a dress rehearsal, and it’s only now that she realizes it's opening night. 

She really doesn't think she's ever been more ready for anything to happen, ever. 

“Spencer? Hanna? I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys!”

The sound of Alison’s voice crashes through the moment like a wrecking ball. Spencer hangs her head and chuckles humorlessly as Hanna regretfully pulls her hand away. Alison is at the doorway, and when Hanna looks up she sees Ali’s mouth has gone wide.

“Oh,” Ali murmurs, as though she just put together what she nearly witnessed. “I—I should have realized.”

“There’s nothing to realize,” Spencer replies tightly, putting a bit more space between her and Hanna. “What’s up?”

“Melissa wants pictures with the whole family before dinner,” Alison explains. “I was told to come get you. Now.”

Spencer stands up from the bench and wriggles her way out from behind the piano. “I’ll be right there,” she says, her tone implying that Ali should give them a minute.

Alison nods, raising her eyebrows but saying nothing as she backs out of the room.

Hanna swivels around on the bench so she can look up at Spencer. She has to giggle, just a little, at this whole situation. Even as she’s working very hard to shake off whatever the female equivalent of blue balls is.

“The universe certainly has interesting timing,” Spencer comments dryly. She smooths a hand down the front of her dress. She looks pretty flustered, which Hanna finds supremely satisfying.

“It does,” she agrees, standing up in front of Spencer. Hanna places her hands around Spencer’s waist to help adjust her belt, earning a slight gasp in return.

Hanna looks up at Spencer with a small smile as her hands drop back down. “You look fine.”

“Just fine?” Spencer teases.

“You look amazing,” Hanna amends, rolling her eyes.

Spencer grins, pleased, and starts moving toward the door. But not before reaching a hand back to intertwine Hanna’s fingers with her own. 

Hanna breathes in deeply as they reenter the hallway.

Screw the universe. If it’s the last thing she does, Hanna is going to kiss Spencer tonight.

Chapter Text

Alison expected to spend much of the engagement party playing mediator between Spencer and Charlotte, but as the evening wears on, Spencer is mostly occupied with Hastings’ family obligations and Hanna, and Charlotte spends most of the night holding a small group captive (not literally, thankfully) spinning her various tales. 

Alison is all too happy to lean back in her chair and watch the party unfold around her. A couple hours in and she’s lost track of what cocktail hour they’re on, but the event is definitely still in full swing, the dance floor nearly full with various giggling couples. But already she’s starting to feel fatigued. It’s weird; when she was younger, the idea of being at a party like this—chock-full of the best and the brightest from Rosewood and beyond—would have thrilled her. She would be in Charlotte’s position: finding the most interesting person here and learning their story, then trying to one-up them with fabulous tales of her own. By the end of the evening a crowd would have formed around her table, all of them eating out of the palm of her hand.

But now, Alison finds herself feeling quiet, perhaps a bit restless. She’s ready to be out of this mob of people, out of her fancy dress and uncomfortable shoes, and back home. Her house used to feel so lonely, but it hasn’t lately. 

And one of the reasons why is standing over by the bar in a perfectly-fitted black cocktail dress, talking to Hanna. Maybe that’s part of why Alison isn’t as enthralled with this party as she once might have been: she’s finding it difficult to keep her eyes on anyone but Emily.

She dimly registers the sound of a chair being moved beside her, and then a voice is saying, “You should ask her to dance.” 

Spencer. Alison tears her gaze away from Emily to face her. “You should ask her to dance,” Ali replies, nodding toward Hanna.

Spencer’s eyes briefly flick over to where Hanna is standing before refocusing on Alison. “Maybe, but we’re not talking about me. Besides, I already played her a damn song.”

“We weren’t talking about me, either,” Alison points out. “You started this conversation. I was just content to keep—”

“Staring longingly?”

Alison sighs. She’s been had, but there’s no real point in denying it anymore. “Something like that.”

“So? What’re you doing all the way over here?” Spencer asks. “Go talk to her.”

Alison narrows her eyes. “Since when are you a romantic optimist?”

“I’m not,” Spencer insists. “I am and always will be a realist. But…I don’t know.” She chuckles under her breath. “We’re at the engagement party for my sister and Mona freakin’ Vanderwaal. If they can find love, I figure the rest of us can too.”

Alison considers that for a second. “I don’t think it’s about finding love,” she says quietly. “That’s never been my problem. I always knew…I mean, with Emily, there wasn’t much confusion about where I stood, in her eyes. I know she can’t say the same about me.” She chews her lip. “But letting yourself have love—that’s where things get more complicated, I think.”

“Now who sounds like a romantic?” Spencer remarks.

Hanna must make a funny comment because Emily throws her head back in laughter, dark hair spilling down her back. Something tightens in Alison’s belly at the sight, desire mixed with an incredible amount of affection. Her expression likely gives the feeling away, because she can actually feel Spencer look at her pointedly.

“My poker face isn’t what it used to be,” Alison grumbles.

“Maybe you don’t need it anymore,” Spencer muses, slowly rising from her chair. “Ask Emily to dance.” She smiles down at Alison. “What do you have to lose?”

--

Alison doesn’t ask Emily to dance. She asks if she’d like to go home, instead.

Emily says yes right away. Maybe it’s because she’s tired or maybe it’s because there are too many people here or maybe, just maybe, she wants to be alone with Alison the same way that Alison wants to be alone with her. Charlotte announces that she’d like to stay—Alison notices her making eyes at a man who looks an awful lot like Eric Kahn—so Alison and Emily head home together.

The car ride back feels longer. Alison remains virtually silent, keeping her eyes trained on the road while her mind buzzes. She thinks about Hanna and Spencer on that piano bench, how even from the doorway she could feel the weight of their shared anticipation. And that dot connects in her mind to another memory: lying in bed next to Emily not long after her mother died, the tension thrumming between them in the seconds before Emily kissed her. 

In a way, Alison feels like she’s still suspended in that moment, waiting for Emily to close the gap between them. Alison wonders if maybe this is when it will actually happen. If perhaps her whole life could actually have been leading to tonight.

“It was a fun party,” Emily comments sleepily as they get inside. “More fun than I expected.”

“I know what you mean,” Alison replies, setting down her keys and slipping out of her heels. “I was a little worried, to be honest.”

Emily turns to face her, quirking an eyebrow. “About Charlotte?”

Alison nods. “About Charlotte. About Mona.” She tucks some hair behind her ear. “About you.”

“Why me?” Emily asks.

“I wanted you to have a good time,” Alison tells her truthfully. “I know things have been hard for you lately.”

Emily shrugs out of her coat and sits down on the sofa. “Actually, I’d say that lately, life has been pretty good. Better than it’s been for a long time.”

Alison comes to sit beside her on the sofa. “And why’s that?”

“Ali,” Emily says softly. “You know why. You’ve given me a place to stay and a second chance, when everything felt like it was falling apart. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Alison breathes in slowly, working hard to keep it all together. “Of course, Em. I’ll always be here for you.”

Emily looks up at her, a little shyly, and it’s like they’re teenagers again. Alison thinks about her fifteenth birthday, about how awful she felt after teasing Emily over her beautiful card, and how badly she wanted to kiss her after reading it.

“I know why else things feel better,” Emily continues. “It sounds cheesy, but I think it’s because I’ve started telling the truth more.”

“For someone who isn’t particularly good at it, you sure have spent a lot of time lying,” Alison notes.

“I know,” Emily acknowledges. “And I’m sick of it. It feels good to be honest. Telling my mom and everybody that I’d dropped out of school scared me so much, but I feel a lot better now. It’s—it’s kinda like when I came out, I guess. It was hard and messy and terrifying, but once it was done, I didn’t have to worry about it anymore. And I want to continue doing that.” Emily looks at her seriously. “With everyone in my life.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

Emily looks up, and that’s when Alison notices that her eyes are shimmering. “Maybe. I’m just not sure how to say it.”

Alison nods heavily. It feels like the walls around her heart are cracking open inside of her. But for the first time in her life, she isn’t afraid.

“What if—what if I say it for you?” she offers.

Emily’s eyes go wide. “What do you mean?”

Alison inhales deeply. She’s sure that her voice will be trembling, but she doesn’t care. This is what she’s been waiting for. 

“What if I tell you that I’m in love with you, more and more every day? What if I tell you that I can’t imagine my life without you in it, and that I know it’s going to be hard, and messy, and terrifying, but that it doesn’t really matter, because I’m certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are the love of my life?”

Emily raises a hand to her mouth, tears starting to spill down her face. “Well,” she breathes soggily, wiping at the mascara on her cheeks. “I guess the only thing I can say to that is, ‘What took you so long?’”

Alison grins, despite the lump in her throat, and reaches for Emily. Or maybe Emily reaches for her. Either way, they meet in the middle, and when Emily kisses her Alison tastes every truth she’s ever tried to run from on her tongue. 

Emily pulls her close, kissing her fervently, without reservations or uncertainty. Alison’s hands slide around Em’s neck as she hums into her mouth, and yes, Ali’s sure now: her life has always been building to this moment. 

To the moment when Emily gently pulls back, cups Alison’s face in her strong hands, and whispers, “By the way, I love you too.”

Chapter Text

If it were up to Spencer, she and Hanna would be home already. Out of their dresses…and she won’t let herself take that thought any further, because otherwise she won’t be able to focus on anything else. Not that she’s succeeding at that, anyway; most of Spencer’s brain is still back on that piano bench waiting for Hanna to kiss her.

But the party is still very much happening, and Spencer knows they won’t be leaving anytime soon. Hanna is talking to Ashley Marin, so Spencer heads to the bar. She’s just collecting the cocktails she ordered for her and Hanna when a different blonde is suddenly standing beside her.

“Hello, Spencer,” Charlotte says, a little too warmly. “You’ve been busy tonight.”

Spencer blinks, turning to face Charlotte and plastering a tight smile on her face. “I’m glad to know you’re still keeping tabs on me.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Oh, hon, don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to start a conversation.”

“And why is that?” Spencer replies icily. “I was perfectly content for us to stick to our respective corners.”

“No, you weren’t,” Charlotte tells her. “You’ve been wanting to talk to me ever since I got back. You just didn’t want to cause a scene here.”

Spencer sets the drinks down on the bar. Charlotte isn’t wrong, which is incredibly frustrating. “So? You haven’t answered my question. Why are you talking to me now?”

Charlotte shrugs. “Alison left with Emily.” When Spencer’s eyebrow involuntarily flicks up, Charlotte smirks. “Oh yeah, at least those two will be getting lucky tonight. I figured, you and I will never be able to really talk when Ali is around. Or Em, for that matter. So, let’s chat.”

Spencer internally bristles at Charlotte’s use of Emily’s nickname. More than that, a big part of her is certain that this is a trap. Even after Mona stopped being A, she never gave up the game, not completely; that would have meant giving up on being Mona. Surely Charlotte operates the same way.

Still, an opportunity is an opportunity. Charlotte isn’t going to kidnap Spencer in a room people. At least, Spencer would bet money that she won’t.

“Alright,” Spencer says, motioning to a table. “Let’s sit.”

Charlotte does so, but not before elegantly plucking the two drinks off the bar. She hands one to Spencer and holds up the other. “May I?” she murmurs, not waiting for a response before taking a sip.

“That was for Hanna,” Spencer says sternly.

“I know,” Charlotte replies. “A Cosmopolitan? That’s obviously Hanna’s drink. By the way, I saw you two sneak off together earlier. Mazel tov.”

Spencer frowns. “Are you just bored, or something, so you’re trying to rattle me? Because I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot more than stealing a drink and commenting on my love life to do that.”

“I know.”

“You made sure of it,” Spencer points out.

“No,” Charlotte says emphatically. “This is not a game to me, Spencer. This is my life. And I know more than anyone just how strong you are.”

It sounds an awful lot like double-speak. Like the way Mona used to hide threats in innocuous statements, then make Spencer feel crazy for calling her out on it. 

Well, screw that. Spencer has spent too much of her life trying to piece together cryptic clues. She’s ready for the truth.

“Why?” she asks.

“Why what?”

“The Dollhouse,” Spencer says directly, folding her arms. “And don’t tell me that you were mad at us for not mourning Ali properly. We all knew she was alive. And regardless of that, we were already going to jail for Mona’s—” She cuts herself off, rephrasing, “For what you did to Mona. We were going to suffer plenty. So, why the Dollhouse?” 

Charlotte’s face gives nothing away, and Spencer wills her heart rate to slow down. She just barely made it through her question without her voice shaking. 

Charlotte is silent for an unnerving amount of time, before stating quietly, “It isn’t going to make any sense to someone like you. You had everything growing up: parents, a sister, a home. I had none of that. I wanted it, believe me, I did. More than anything. But I was completely alone.” She flicks her hair over one shoulder. “Until I figured out a way not to be.”

“It wasn’t like I didn’t think of you as human,” she continues. “It wasn’t even that I hated you. It was that—if I kept you there, if I had you, you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t that I wanted you to suffer. It was that I wanted you to be mine.”

“No,” Spencer insists, the blood in her brain starting to feel hot. “The things you did to us—the things you made us do to each other—” She stops, trying to breathe, to push away the memory of that horrible room with the switches, of waking up covered in blood. “You don’t get to do those things and then claim loneliness.”

Charlotte sets her jaw. “How long did you last in Radley?” she challenges. “Before you flipped on your friends? A week? Maybe more? Imagine an entire childhood spent there.”

“It was a lie,” Spencer says sharply. “I was gaining Mona’s trust. None of it was real.”

“I don’t know, Spencer,” Charlotte replies. “It seemed pretty real when you kidnapped a seven-year-old. Admit it: you liked it. You were good at it.”

Spencer shakes her head. There are a million things she could say to that, but she knows that Charlotte is trying to get her off target. “Tell me the truth,” she murmurs in as measured a tone as she can muster. “Charlotte, you came to talk to me. After everything, I think there was a reason for that. I think it’s because you want to be honest with me.”

“You’d make a good cop,” Charlotte comments ruefully. She places her hands flat against the table, closes her eyes, and when she reopens them, Spencer thinks her guard may have slipped a bit. 

“The world is a shitty, shitty place,” Charlotte says. “It’s a shitty place where a bunch of old white dudes with cigars hanging out of their mouths hold all the power. If you had gone to prison, you would have been just another cog in that horrible machine. At least if you were with me, I knew exactly how bad you were getting it. I could control what was happening to you.”

The hairs on the back of Spencer’s neck stand at attention. “You can’t possibly expect me to believe you thought you were protecting us.”

“Not protecting,” Charlotte will allow. “Preparing, maybe. In the only way I knew how.” She holds Spencer’s gaze. “I know better now. I’m not sure if you believe that, but it’s true. I’m not saying that I want to sing Kumbaya and be best friends—”

“Really? Your multiple attempts to murder me made me think otherwise.”

Charlotte leans back against her chair. “Emphasis on attempt. I didn’t murder you. Didn’t even come close, really. Just enough to get you where I needed you. But Spencer, I don’t have those urges anymore. I don’t want to hurt you, or your friends. Alison is a very important part of my life. And I know she’s an important part of your life, too.”

“She is,” Spencer says automatically, before she even has a chance to completely register the words. “Despite everything that’s happened, she is still my family. And Emily is like—” She steadies her breath, working to keep her emotions in check. “She is a part of me.”

“You don’t want to lose them,” Charlotte surmises.

Spencer is too on-edge to know how to take that. “Is that a threat?”

“No,” Charlotte replies. “It’s a statement. I don’t want to lose them either. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Because we both love Alison, and Alison loves Emily. So if we’re going to be in their lives, we’re going to be in each other’s, as well.”

Spencer narrows her eyes. “That’s…uncharacteristically logical and mature of you.”

Charlotte shrugs. “I’ve been to a lot of therapy.”

“I still don’t trust you,” Spencer says honestly. “I don’t think I ever will.”

“Well, you know something?” Charlotte grins. “I’ve been told I have trust issues. Spencer Hastings, we just might have something in common after all.” She holds her hand out. “Truce?”

Spencer considers that. She didn’t lie to the judge: Charlotte in her current form doesn’t pose a threat. If Spencer didn’t feel that way before this conversation, she does by now. Trust is another thing, but there are very few people whom Spencer genuinely trusts. The memories of what Charlotte did, the scars that will never fully heal—that’s a different story. Spencer will likely spend the rest of her life working through those in one shape or another. But she’s also made plenty of mistakes that she wouldn’t want to spend a lifetime being punished for.

It’s all very complicated, but when has anything in her life ever been simple? 

Despite everything that’s come before, Spencer shakes Charlotte’s hand, and says, “Truce.”

--

The party finally winds down sometime after the fifth cocktail hour. Veronica insists that Spencer stay until the bitter end, which Spencer dutifully complies, only heading toward the coat check once the last guests are leaving. It takes every bit of willpower to not leave earlier, though, especially when Hanna spends the last forty-five minutes of the party hanging close with a flirty expression on her face.

Melissa smiles lazily when Spencer goes to say goodbye. “Your speech was wonderful,” she tells Spencer, and oh yeah, she’s definitely had a few. “Thank you for everything.”

“I didn’t do much,” Spencer replies.

Melissa shakes her head. “Without you, I may never have met Mona in the first place.”

Spencer shrugs. “I guess that’s true.”

“It’s totally true,” Melissa says. She takes a slightly sloppy step forward and pulls Spencer into her arms. “And I totally love you.”

Spencer laughs a little against Melissa’s shoulder, so thoroughly taken aback by the entire encounter, before wrapping her arms around her sister. “I totally love you too,” she murmurs.

Melissa pulls back and smiles. “Let’s see each other more, m’kay? Now that all the weirdness is in the past, we should hang out more.”

“Absolutely,” Spencer replies bemusedly. “You’re not going to remember this conversation tomorrow though, are you?”

“Probably not,” Melissa says with a chuckle. “But I’m still glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Spencer says truthfully. “Goodnight, Melissa.”

She locates Hanna and they finally make it outside after that. “You okay?” Hanna asks as they get in the car.

“Yeah,” Spencer replies. She shakes her head. “My sister just hugged me and told me she loves me.”

Hanna nods. “It’s been a weird night.” She looks over at Spencer, her expression so soft and lovely that Spencer doesn’t think she can contain it anymore; she’s so overwhelmed by just how tremendously fond of Hanna she is in this moment.

“Can we—can we not go home yet?” Spencer asks.

“Sure. But where are we going?”

Spencer bites her lip. The valet guy is motioning for them to keep driving, so instead of answering she drives back into the lot and puts the car in park. 

“Spence?” Hanna murmurs.

“I don’t want to wait any longer,” Spencer pronounces. “I just—I have feelings for you, and I want to kiss you.”

“Oh, thank god,” Hanna exhales. “I didn’t want to wait, either. But I didn’t want to be all ‘you just had a breakthrough with your sister, now please make out with me!’” She pauses. “You like me?”

Spencer chuckles, her whole body feeling tingly and her heart feeling full. “I’m not sure if the word ‘like’ does it justice,” she admits. “It just kind of…happened, all of a sudden, and now you’re kind of all I can think about.”

Hanna bites her lip, grinning. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Like you just walked out of your house one day and the sky turned orange.”

Spencer wrinkles her brow. “I think I get what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m completely into you, Spencer.”

That might actually take Spencer’s breath away. She definitely doesn’t have any words at her disposal, so she does the only thing she can think to do: she twists in her seat and strokes a hand along Hanna’s cheek. Hanna shivers slightly, raising a hand to tuck some hair behind Spencer’s ear. And then Hanna’s mouth is on Spencer’s, this time without any interruptions or second-guesses. 

And it’s like that action lights a fuse, because before Spencer knows it Hanna is up on her knees, half-straddling Spencer as she tries to scramble across the center console. Spencer does her best to hold Hanna steady, gripping at her hips, wishing she was touching skin instead of fabric. Hanna’s mouth is hot and open against hers, and one of them is moaning, but Spencer isn’t sure who. Spencer’s hands are all over Hanna’s back, pulling her as close as possible. It’s cramped and not terribly comfortable, but Spencer doesn’t think she’s ever felt better. Not when Hanna’s arms are around her neck, and not when she pulls away just slightly with a soft gasp.

“I take it back,” Hanna pants. Her makeup is completely smudged, her hair is unfurled, and she looks amazing. “This isn’t a weird night. It’s a fucking awesome one.”

Chapter Text

It isn’t the first time Emily has woken up in Alison’s arms, but it is the first time that the feeling hasn’t felt bittersweet. Every time before, she’s been filled with a mixture of panic and uncertainty, her mind jumping from question to question: Does Ali regret this? Is this the last time? What happens now? And, inevitably, When is Ali going to leave again? Because she always did, and at a certain point, Emily stopped expecting anything else.

Not now. This morning, she smiles at the feeling of Alison’s fingers skimming along her midsection. “When did you become big spoon?” she murmurs, not minding her current position one bit.

“Sometime in the night,” Ali replies. Her breath is warm against Emily’s shoulder, but it still makes her shiver. “I wanted to hold you.”

Emily grins as she rolls to face Alison. Ali smiles back, trailing her hand along the back of Emily’s neck.

“Hey,” Emily whispers.

“Hey,” Ali echoes. Emily doesn’t think she’s ever seen so much softness on Ali’s face. It makes Emily feel so certain about their future that she can almost see it stretching ahead of them in her mind’s eye. 

“I just realized something,” she states.

“What’s that?”

Emily bites her lip. “I never want to wake up without you again.” At one point that would have been the scariest thing Emily could say. She would have kept that thought locked firmly inside, for fear that it would send Ali running for the hills. But now she trusts that Ali is here. Solidly, doubtlessly here.

“Really?” Ali breathes. “What about Charlotte?” 

“I can handle Charlotte,” Emily replies, truthfully. “What I can’t handle is losing you again. Ali, I’m in this for the long haul.”

“I am too,” Alison says softly, before musing, “That kind of sounds like a marriage proposal.”

“Hey, when I propose you’ll know,” Emily retorts automatically. The implications of the statement take a second to reach her, but by the time they do Alison’s grin has already grown wider.

“Not if I get to it first.”

--

“Morning, lovebirds!” Charlotte trills once they're downstairs. “I thought you two would never get out of bed.”

“Hello to you too, Charlotte,” Emily replies. “You’re awfully chipper this morning. When did you get home?” She moves over toward the coffee maker but Charlotte shoos her away, producing from behind her a cardboard coffee holder with three cups inside.

“Americano, straight.” She hands a cup to Emily. “Well, the coffee, at least,” she adds with a wink.

“What’s up?” Alison asks, reaching for her own coffee. “You seem like you’re scheming.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte replies noncommittally. “But that’s a hell of a way to thank me for the coffee I bought you.”

“Thank you,” Emily offers. 

“You’re welcome,” Charlotte says, directing a pointed eyebrow raise at Alison. “And to answer your question, Emily, I got home late. I was chatting with your mother, actually.”

Emily frowns. “And why is that?”

“Well, truth be told, she wasn’t too happy to talk to me at first,” Charlotte replies. She takes a long sip of her coffee and settles down on one of the kitchen bar stools. “But after a couple of drinks she opened up a little, and she told me that your house is going on the market in a few weeks.”

“Yeah,” Emily acknowledges. She’s been trying to put it out of mind, because despite the truth in everything she told her mom, the idea of the house she grew up in—the house her dad once came home to—no longer being theirs still aches in ways she can’t totally describe.

“Well, it was news to me,” Charlotte tells her. She grins widely. “But it did give me an idea.”

Alison puts it together a second before Emily does, she always has. Her eyes get huge, and she breathes, “Charlotte.”

“I didn’t make an offer or anything!” Charlotte insists. She shrugs. “Maybe I would have, before. But I thought I’d talk it over with you two first instead.”

Emily thinks she knows where this is going, but she wants to be completely sure. “Talk what over with us, exactly?”

“Buying the house,” Charlotte says brightly. “I know your mom would be happy for it to stay in the family. And Ali, you could really stand to get out of our illustrious family home.”

“So…you’re offering to buy my house for me?” Emily pieces together.

Charlotte nods. “Consider it an early birthday present.”

“How do you know—” Emily starts before realizing. “Never mind.”

“You want to sell this house?” Alison asks. “Just so we can move practically next door?”

“No,” Charlotte replies. “I want to buy that house for you and Emily. And I want to live here.”

“Why would you want to live here?” Emily asks automatically. Charlotte and Ali both shoot her a look. “Sorry,” she adds sheepishly.

“This may come as a shock to you, Emily, but once upon a time I dreamed of living in this house,” Charlotte tells her. Emily feels a little guilt sloshing around inside her. 

“I thought you didn’t want to live alone,” Alison comments. 

Charlotte shrugs. “I wouldn’t really be alone, though. You guys would be nearby. And I’m sure Mom’s ghost would pop by now and again.” When Emily and Ali look at her blankly, she rolls her eyes. “I’m kidding. God, and here I thought getting some would have lightened you both right up.”

“This is a pretty serious conversation, Charlotte,” Emily points out. 

“I know,” Charlotte acknowledges. “And if you’re not into it, whatever. But think about it: the three of us living together isn’t going to work, long-term. You two need your own space, and I do too.”

Alison’s brow furrows. “I don’t like the idea of you being by yourself,” she says softly.

“What I want—what I’ve always wanted—is a family,” Charlotte murmurs. The vulnerability in her statement takes Emily by surprise. “I have that now. I don’t need to be with you 24/7 for that to still be true. But I’m never going to be able to stand on my own two feet if I’m not…standing on my own two feet.” She reaches across the counter, catching Ali’s hands in her own. “And besides, don’t you want to get out of here?”

“I do kind of hate this house,” Alison admits. She turns to Emily. “Your place has always felt like home. What do you think?”

“Emily, let me do this for you,” Charlotte chimes in.

Emily closes her eyes and considers this. When she found out her mom was selling the house, it felt like everything was crashing down around her. Like no matter where she looked, she had nothing resembling a home. But now, she has the opportunity for two of them. Maybe more; maybe home isn’t just a place. Maybe it’s about letting love in wherever you can find it.

When Emily opens her eyes, Alison and Charlotte are looking at her expectantly, and their resemblance catches her off guard. She doesn’t know how it happened, but somewhere along the way these two both became part of her family.

Emily nods. “Okay.”

Charlotte grins. “Wonderful!” She pulls her hand away from Ali’s, already reaching for her cellphone. “I should make some calls. Get my money in order.”

Alison walks over to Emily, leaning into her side. “You good with all this?” she asks.

“I think so,” Emily replies. “It isn’t what I expected, but then again, nothing really is, I guess.”

Alison kisses her cheek. “It’s kind of like a fairytale, in a way. But, like, one of those really dark ones.”

“Hopefully we’re in the good part now,” Emily says, though she’s already pretty certain they are.

“Yeah,” Alison adds. “I know you’ve always been big on happy endings.”

Chapter Text

Aria stretches her arms overhead, frowning when her elbows make a loud popping sound. She’s been writing for nearly three hours, and it might be time for a break. 

It’s been four days since the engagement party, and Aria’s been in full on work-mode since then, exchanging emails with Nicole multiple times a day and writing more than she has in years. Writing like this feels amazing—Aria can’t remember the last time she was so inspired. It’s as if the words are flowing out of their own accord, and Nicole, despite having little writing experience, has proved to be a wonderful partner. 

But now Aria’s brain is feeling a little fried, and she knows she needs some rest. As if on cue, the door unlocks behind her.

“Hey,” Caleb calls out. “How’s it going?”

Aria twists in her desk chair to face him. She knows she probably looks a mess—she hasn’t showered or brushed her hair today, has just barely managed to wash her face and put on fresh underwear. Still, she feels really good. 

“It’s going well, I think,” she replies.

“Have you been writing ever since I left?” Caleb asks. He has a bag of takeout in hand, and the sight of it makes Aria’s stomach grumble. She may have forgotten to each lunch today.

“Yeah. I just got on a roll.” She rises out of her chair and heads toward the kitchen, where Caleb is already dishing out vegan pad Thai onto two paper plates. “Mmm. That smells amazing.”

He hands her a plate. “You know what I’m looking forward to?” he posits. “Actual plates.”

“And real silverware,” she adds as she digs into her meal with a plastic fork.

Caleb shrugs. “I guess it cuts down on dishes.”

“Do you think four days in Boston will be enough?” Aria asks. They’re heading back in a week to pack up their apartments and finalize a few work things. Aria is very much looking forward to being on the other side of the trip; she’s ready to officially settle into their life here.

“Yeah,” Caleb replies. “I don’t really have that much in my apartment.”

“You’ve seen my closet,” Aria points out. “That'll be no small feat to tackle.”

“I’ll help,” Caleb offers. “We’ll get you packed up in no time.”

“We’ll see,” Aria replies skeptically. “How’s the campaign going?”

Caleb sets his plate down on the counter, and Aria’s eyes are drawn to his hands as they rub at his neck. “It’s going pretty well. Veronica’s confident.”

“And Spencer?”

He tilts his head to the side, smirking slightly. “I think she’s been a little distracted.”

“Hanna,” Aria supplies, and Caleb nods. 

“It’s weird,” she continues. “Or, actually, I guess it’s weird how not weird it seems to me.” She considers that for a second. “I don’t know if you feel the same way.”

“I do,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, it took me by surprise—”

“Me too,” she cuts in, truthfully. The last thing she expected when arriving back in Rosewood was for Spencer and Hanna to get together. But she’s seen the way they look at one another. There’s something pretty special there.

“They’re happy,” Caleb murmurs. “Or at least, they’re on the way to happy.”

“What about you?” Aria asks softly.

Caleb looks up at her with a small smile. She can’t help but smile back in return. “I think I’m on the way, too.”

--

“Oh my god!” Aria exclaims the following morning as she hangs up the phone.

“What?” Caleb asks, walking out of their tiny kitchen with two mugs in hand.

“Oh my god!” Aria repeats. “You won’t believe the conversation I just had!”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Caleb replies. He offers her one of the mugs and she absently takes a sip, pleased to discover that he’s sugared her coffee just perfectly. “Spill.”

Aria takes a deep breath, exhaling through her mouth. Her whole body feels like it’s buzzing, like she’s already drank the coffee in her hand as well as a couple of extra shots. “Okay. Well, that was Jillian.”

Caleb nods. “Yeah, I figured. You were using your ‘I’m talking to my boss, who is very difficult and demanding’ voice.”

Aria frowns. “I didn’t know I had a voice for that. Anyway, I told her that I’d love to continue working for the publishing house remotely, but that after we come back from Boston, I’ll be staying here indefinitely.”

“And she agreed to that?”

“Negative,” Aria replies. “She said they’re barely getting enough manuscripts as it is to keep me on, even if I came back to Boston. In fact, she’d pretty much thought I’d quit already.”

Caleb settles himself against the arm of the couch. “So, what’s the good news?”

Aria points a finger at him. “Right. Getting there.” She still can’t believe that the previous conversation took place. “I mentioned the project with Nicole. I mean, it’s not anything yet, of course. But it could be down the line. I didn’t think she’d say anything about it, I just wanted her to know that I wasn’t leaving to go, like, hike through a jungle in Africa.”

“You don’t have the shoes for that,” Caleb acknowledges.

“Hey, I could totally put together an awesome safari ensemble!” Aria proclaims, before waving a hand dismissively. “Whatever. Not the point.” 

She takes a step forward, setting her mug down on the table beside the couch. “Caleb. She liked the idea.” Aria shakes her head. “No, not just that. She loved it.”

“She wants to publish the book?” Caleb asks, eyes wide.

Aria can’t contain her grin as she nods. “Of course, she wants to look at some pages first. But she’s actually interested! Like, super interested! She said it sounded brilliant!”

“It will be brilliant,” Caleb insists. “Because you’re brilliant.”

“I’m brilliant?” Aria echoes softly.

Caleb shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, you know that. You don't need me to tell you.”

Aria bites her lip. “I don't. But I still like when you say it.”

Caleb stands back up and takes a step forward. They’re close enough now that Aria could touch him if she tilted her body just slightly. 

“You’re brilliant,” Caleb says. “And awesome. And I know this book is going to go somewhere. I’m really happy for you, but I’m not surprised, because I always knew you were destined for something incredible.” He pauses. “And I just feel super lucky that I get to be your friend right now.”

Aria feels the adrenaline of her phone call give way to a different type of excitement. “It’s not just right now,” she tells him. She looks up into his eyes and sees nothing but support and warmth and maybe a little bit of desire shining back down at her. “And you’re not just my friend.”

With that, Aria closes the gap between them, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. He hesitates for just a second, before sliding his arms around her waist and deepening the kiss. She in turns wraps her arms around his neck, and maybe he picks her up off the ground, or maybe she’s just floating, she can’t really be sure. It feels so right to be here that she doesn’t know why she spent so long trying to talk herself out of it.

Caleb pulls back with a smile, his eyes searching hers as he holds her close. “I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits. “But I just didn’t know—I never wanted you to feel—”

“Shh,” Aria cuts him off, rubbing her thumb along his cheek. “I know. It’s okay. It’s good now.”

“Hanna cornered me at the engagement party,” Caleb murmurs. “Told me to make a move already.”

Aria chuckles. “Sometimes she gets things really right.”

“Yeah,” Caleb replies. “Sometimes she does. And I guess sometimes things work out.”

Aria closes her eyes for a second. She thinks about the phone call with Nicole in her dorm room in Savannah, about throwing away her camera, about bearing her soul to Caleb in that little café in Spain. She thinks about coming back to Rosewood, hugging Spencer, helping Ali, venting to Emily, confessing to Hanna. She thinks about Caleb’s seemingly ridiculous plan for them to stay here, a plan that she can’t imagine walking away from, now. She thinks about how simultaneously hard and wonderful it felt to talk to Nicole, about the inspiration that's found her in the last week, and about that damn locked box of emotions that she’s kept such a tight lid on for all these years.

It might be time to throw the lock away. She’s pretty sure she doesn’t need it anymore.

“Yeah,” Aria says. “Sometimes they do.”

Chapter Text

“So, when are you going back to New York, again?” Emily asks.

Hanna smirks. “Trying to get rid of me already?” When Emily rolls her eyes, she answers, “On Wednesday. The same day that Aria and Caleb leave, actually.”

Emily nods and flips through a rack of shirts one-handed. She’s being a good sport; Hanna can tell that Emily isn’t really in the mood to go shopping. But Alison is escorting Charlotte to a state-mandated therapy session, and Spencer is helping her mom with the campaign, so that leaves Emily, Hanna and Aria with a bit of time for themselves. Time that Hanna decided should involve shopping.

Aria pops around from behind a rack of jeans, holding up a teal sweater with a melting purple skull on the front of it. “What do you guys think of this?”

Hanna tilts her head to the side, considering. The sweater is truly hideous, while being simultaneously very Aria. “I think you might be the only person in the world who could potentially pull that thing off.”

Aria beams. “I was hoping you’d say that. You guys should come look over there! They have a lot more by this designer.”

Hanna exchanges a look with Emily. “I think we’re good,” Emily says. “But I’ll come, uh, stand with you while you look, in a few minutes.”

“Suit yourself,” Aria replies, bouncing back in the direction of the ugly sweaters.

“She seems happy,” Emily observes.

Hanna nods. She’s noticed that too. “We’re all having sex on a regular basis now. I think we’ve all been a little happier.”

Emily flushes and swats at her arm. “Hanna!”

Hanna shrugs defensively. “What? It’s the truth. And it’s science. Sex makes you happy. Look it up!”

“It’s not just that though,” Emily tells her. “I mean, it certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s more than that.”

“I know,” Hanna acknowledges. “Of course it’s more than that.” She smiles involuntarily, her body flooding with that warm, fond feeling that seems to come over her whenever she thinks about Spencer these days.

Emily smirks at her in return. “What is it?” Hanna asks.

“Nothing,” Emily replies with a knowing look. “I can just tell where your mind is at. Or should I say who.”

“Yeah, well,” Hanna says weakly, not even trying to deny it. “You’re the same way, you know.”

Emily chuckles. “I guess I am.” Her gaze grows softer. “It’s not just Ali, though. She’s a huge part of it, for sure. But it’s been really nice to be around you guys again.”

Hanna nods. “I know. I feel that way too.”

“Who knew Rosewood could actually make us happy?” Emily posits.

Hanna moves away slightly at that, pretending to be super interested in a beaded top that she wouldn’t be caught dead in. Emily must notice, because she follows behind her. “You okay?”

Still turned away, Hanna replies in a small voice, “I’m not looking forward to being back in New York. Away from you guys. Away—”

“From Spencer?” Emily supplies. “Have you talked to her about that?”

“She’s coming to stay with me for a couple days before she heads back to D.C.” Hanna tells her. Every time she’s thought about this plan in the past few days, her stomach has sloshed with dread at the image of saying goodbye to Spencer at the airport. But things are so new and fresh and wonderful between them, after weeks of uncertainty. She doesn’t want to ruin it. “I just—I just don’t want to put too much pressure on things.”

“Are you saying you want to move in with her?” Emily asks. “Because I feel like there’s a U-Haul joke in there somewhere.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Hanna states, trying to sound as logical as possible. “We’ve been dating for, like, a week. And it’s not like I have a job opportunity or anything, and Spencer’s apartment is pretty small, and I probably wouldn’t even like D.C.! I mean, I totally hated House of Cards!”

“Hanna?” Emily says softly, finally angling into her line of sight.

“Yes,” Hanna exhales. “Okay? Yes, I want to U-Haul, or whatever! I want to move in with Spencer. I’m tired of being all lonely and sad in New York. I just want to wake up and go to bed with the woman I love.” She gasps and claps a hand over her mouth, the words catching her off-guard. “Oh my god, I haven’t said that out loud before.”

“The love part?” Emily asks. 

Hanna nods, hand still over her mouth. Her heart is racing.

Emily takes a step forward, gently clasping Hanna’s shoulder. “Look, Han, you don’t have to judge yourself about any of this. Think about Ali and I, or Aria and Caleb. None of us did it the way everyone says you’re supposed to. In fact, we moved in together before we even got together. But it’s okay, because at the end of the day, what matters is that we know and love each other. I think maybe you and Spencer have been moving toward this for a while.”

“Maybe,” Hanna murmurs, thinking back to that Christmas a few years back. When she and Spencer finally kissed in the car, it did feel like it had been a long time coming.

“I think you should talk to Spencer,” Emily tells her. “You know she’ll make a pro/con list or something.”

Hanna frowns slightly. “I don’t sound like Glenn Close in that gross, sexist movie Aria made us watch that one time?”

“Fatal Attraction?”

“That’s it.”

“No,” Emily says. “Not at all. You know who you do sound like?”

“What?” Hanna asks.

Emily smiles. “You sound like a woman in love.”

“What’s that about love?” Aria asks, heading back over with three more sweaters in hand.

Hanna nods toward Emily. “Dr. Phil here seems to think I’m in it.”

“In love?” Aria whispers.

“You’re the one who said it, Hanna,” Emily points out. Hanna rolls her eyes, not quite ready to concede that point.

“Han, that’s wonderful!” Aria says brightly. “I’m really, really happy for you.”

“Yeah?” Hanna murmurs. “It isn’t weird? Or moving way, way too fast?”

“I don’t think so,” Aria replies, and Hanna can tell that she means it. “And weird? I’m the last person who would judge you on a relationship being weird. Especially, with, y’know…"

“Caleb,” Hanna states. There’s no use in talking around it, and any negative feelings she had about that situation have all but worn off by now.

“Yeah,” Aria says, perhaps a touch bashfully. “I don’t think anyone could have predicted where we’d all end up.”

“You could say that again,” Emily mutters. “I mean, I’ve been living with Charlotte.”

“Talk about weird,” Hanna says.

“And yet, it’s not,” Emily replies. “Isn’t that the strangest thing of all?”

Aria shrugs. “Well, if we’re getting our happily ever after, why shouldn’t she?”

--

Spencer is already home by the time Hanna gets in. The whole drive back Hanna felt jumpy, thinking about the conversation ahead as well as the revelations of the afternoon. But walking into the barn, Hanna instantly feels herself start to calm down. It’s warm inside, and it smells like pizza and coffee. And best of all, Spencer is there.

“How was your day?” Spencer asks, after greeting Hanna with a kiss.

“Good. Aria and Emily are doing well,” Hanna tells her. “How was yours?”

Spencer nods like she’s pleased. “I think my mom is actually going to win this thing, Han.”

“That’s awesome,” Hanna says, moving toward the kitchen and the smell of pizza. “Mmm, thanks for picking this up.” She opens the box and helps herself to a slice.

“No problem.” Spencer sidles up behind her, wrapping her arms around Hanna’s waist. Hanna can’t help but melt into the embrace, especially as Spencer plants a couple of kisses along the side of her neck.

“You know, this might actually be heaven,” Hanna murmurs. “My super hot girlfriend kissing me while I eat the pizza she bought us.”

Spencer makes a noise in the back of her throat that Hanna feels all the way up her spine. “Girlfriend. I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” Hanna says softly. She takes another bite of pizza before setting the slice down and turning around. She loops her arms around Spencer’s neck. “Are you sad to be heading back to D.C. before the campaign is done?”

Spencer shakes her head. “Not really. I think if I take any more time off, we’ll both be jobless.” She winces, likely hearing how that sounds. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hanna tells her. She nuzzles her nose into the crook of Spencer’s neck, so enjoying the feel of having Spencer close, of Spencer’s hands running along her back. 

“I’m not looking forward to leaving you in New York, though,” Spencer says after a beat. Hanna raises her head at that, seeing genuine sorrow in Spencer’s eyes.

“Me neither.” Hanna bites her lip. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. I wanted to ask—”

“Yes,” Spencer cuts in, emphatically.

Hanna frowns, putting a bit more space between their bodies. “I didn’t get to the question part yet.”

“You were going to ask about moving in with me, right?” Spencer asks.

Hanna’s mouth drops open. “How did you know that?”

Spencer shrugs. “I’m a pretty good detective, Han,” she tells her. “Plus, there’s an inquiry about Washington D.C. fashion-related jobs in my Google search history.”

“Oh.” Hanna rubs the back of her neck, a bit sheepish. “I forgot I did that on your laptop.”

“Well, you did, and I think it’s a great idea.”

Hanna’s heart starts to race again. “You do?”

Spencer nods, her eyes bright and excited-looking. “I do. I know it’s soon, but I don’t really care. I just want to be with you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Spencer confirms. She kisses Hanna deeply, tenderly, then tilts their foreheads together as they part. “Do you remember the Christmas I spent in New York with you?”

“Of course I do,” Hanna says.

“I’ve been thinking about that lately.”

“Me too,” Hanna replies. “Spence, I just want to be with you, too. And I can get my own place, if it doesn’t work out.”

“Okay,” Spencer murmurs. “But I’m thinking that it will.”

“I think so too,” Hanna admits. She slides a hand to the back of Spencer’s head, bringing her mouth to the shell of Spencer’s ear. “I’m pretty sure I love you,” she whispers.

Hanna relishes the sharp intake of air she gets in reply. “Hanna Marin,” Spencer whispers back. “I’m pretty sure I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Alison is unloading the last of her groceries from the car when a voice across the street calls out her name. She follows the direction of the sound; it’s Pam Fields, looking a bit winded from her morning jog.

“Hi Mrs. Fields,” Alison greets, waving her over.

Mrs. Fields takes a second to catch her breath before smiling at Alison. “I don’t want to keep you,” she says. “But I never thanked you for getting Emily to talk to me.”

Alison frowns. “I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, but you must have,” Mrs. Fields insists. “I didn’t like getting you involved, and I did feel like I might have crossed a line by calling you. But as soon as I did, Emily showed up. She listens to you.” Mrs. Fields quirks her head to the side. “Well, I suppose that’s no surprise.”

Alison studies the woman in front of her. For years Emily’s mom seemed like both the easiest mark and an unending killjoy—Alison could lie to her without much trouble at all, but there was never any fun in it. Not like lying to Mrs. Hastings, which always provided an interesting challenge. And yet, Mrs. Fields is smarter than she lets on, Alison can tell. More resilient too.

And, most importantly, she had a large part in making Emily the person she is today. That counts for a lot, in Alison’s book.

“Do you want to come in?” Ali offers on a whim. “I could make us some tea.”

Mrs. Fields shakes her head slightly, in the same way Emily does when she’s worried about being too much trouble. “I don’t want to interrupt your day—”

“You wouldn’t be,” Alison tells her truthfully. “The rest of my day involves a stack of badly-written essays on To Kill a Mockingbird. If anything, you’re improving my day.”

Mrs. Fields hesitates for one more second before nodding. “Okay. But only if you’ll let me help carry your groceries.” She eagerly takes the bag that Alison hands her and follows her into the house. “Rosewood High really likes To Kill a Mockingbird, huh? Seems like Emily was working on that book forever.”

Alison laughs as she leads Mrs. Fields inside. “You have no idea. Come in. I’ll get us that tea.” She encourages her guest to sit down before making quick work of putting away the groceries and getting a pot of water on the stove. In a fashion that would have made her mother proud, Alison has a tray of tea, sugar, cream and even a couple of cookies to present in a matter of moments.

Mrs. Fields’s face grows bright as she sees the spread. “This is lovely, Alison. Thank you.”

“Well, you’ve always been such a wonderful hostess,” Alison tells her. “I figure it’s time I return the favor, at least in some small way.” She blows on her tea, setting it down on the table beside her. “And I owe you a thank you as well.”

“For what?”

“For the house,” Alison says softly. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’d let Charlotte purchase it for us.”

“I’m doing it for Emily,” Mrs. Fields replies, a touch of sternness in her tone. “It isn’t about Charlotte.”

Alison nods. “I know that. But nonetheless, I thank you for it.” She hopes that after everything, Mrs. Fields can hear the sincerity in Ali's tone.

Maybe she does, because her expression softens. “You know, I remember the first time you came over to that house.”

“You do?”

“I do,” Mrs. Fields confirms. “Emily was so excited. She’d been talking all about this new friend of hers. Alison. When I realized you were a DiLaurentis, I admit I felt a bit nervous about you coming over, too. And then you walked through the door, full of attitude, like at the age of fourteen, you knew everything about how the world worked.”

Alison hangs her head slightly, a bit of shame creeping up as she remembers those old days and how she used to act. 

“You seemed so unlike Emily,” Mrs. Fields continues. “I thought we might never see you again. But you kept showing up. It took me a long time to realize exactly why.” She clears her throat and takes a sip of her tea. “I think it’s right that you two get the house. Emily’s father would be very pleased that it’s staying in the family.”

Alison chews her lip, mulling over her next question. “And you’re—you’re okay with me being there?”

Mrs. Fields offers her a small smile. “You’re part of the family I’m talking about, Alison. And you’ve been part of Emily’s heart for even longer.”

Alison feels that all the way to her bones, so strongly that her eyes start to prick with tears. “Thank you, Mrs. Fields.”

“Pam,” she corrects gently. “I think it’s about time you started calling me Pam.”

“Pam, then,” Alison says with a nod.

“You know, you and Emily should come over to the house this week, just the two of you,” Pam suggests. “You’re going to want to make some changes, I’m sure, and you should get some time to think about those changes without me standing over your shoulder.”

“I would like that very much,” Alison replies gratefully. 

Pam nods. “Wonderful. We’ll set something up.” Her watch beeps and she glances down at it, her eyes widening. “Oh dear, I completely spaced on the time! I hate to dine and dash—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alison assures her, rising from her seat. “We can always do it another time.”

“And then you can play hostess at my house,” Pam says. It could sound a bit cutting, but Alison can tell Pam means it warmly.

Alison walks her to the door, and Pam studies her for one last moment before opening it. “Alison DiLaurentis,” she states, leaning in a little closer. “You aren’t going to run away again, are you?”

“Never,” Alison replies immediately. “Emily’s stuck with me for good, now.”

Pam grins. “That’s what I like to hear.” She pulls Alison against her for a quick hug, and it makes Alison fleetingly miss her own mother, even though she can count on one hand the number of hugs Jessica DiLaurentis doled out.

Pam heads out the door and down the stairs, then turns back around. “I think your mom would be pleased about how everything turned out for you girls,” she remarks.

“Emily and I?” Alison asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“You and Emily. You and Charlotte,” Pam tells her. “All living together on the same block. Taking care of one another.” Even from here Alison can see a bit of a sparkle in her eyes. “I suppose it was bound to all work out in the end.”

--

On Wednesday, Aria and Caleb head back to Boston to finish up a few things, while Hanna and Spencer are going to New York. The plan is for everyone to meet for lunch beforehand, then Emily will drive them all to the airport. And afterward, she and Ali will do a walkthrough of the Fields house. Or the DiLaurentis-Fields house, as Emily’s been referring to it recently.

“Why does this feel like a big goodbye?” Aria ponders as she munches on her salad. “I mean, we’re coming back here in just a few days.”

“But when’s the next time all of us will be together again?” Spencer murmurs. “Think about it. Last time it took five years.”

“Then let’s make a promise that it won’t be five years,” Emily says with authority. “It’s just a four hour drive from D.C.”

“Easy to say now,” Hanna muses. “But life gets busy.”

“No,” Alison tells her. “People without jobs do not get to claim busyness.”

“Ali!” Spencer says sharply.

Hanna puts a hand on Spencer’s wrist. “It’s okay. It’s true. No excuses.”

“Twice a year, at least, right?” Aria suggests. “Like, bare minimum.”

“And we’ll all be back here for the wedding,” Spencer reminds them.

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “Melissa and Mona are getting married in Rosewood?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear?” Spencer says, her tone taking on a dramatic flair. “They were so pleased about the warm reception they received that they couldn’t imagine getting married anywhere else. And that was just the engagement party! Can you imagine what the actual wedding will be like?” She rolls her eyes. “That party was ridiculous.”

“You also got lucky in the parking lot of that party,” Hanna mutters, to which Spencer immediately flushes. “So don’t bad-mouth it too much.”

Alison chuckles. “You really couldn’t wait, Spence, huh?”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow at her. “Like you two were much better?”

“We at least managed to make it home first,” Ali retorts.

“What are you two even arguing about?” Aria asks.

“I think it has something to do with sex?” Caleb murmurs.

“They’re not arguing,” Hanna announces. “They’re just being Ali and Spencer. Right?”

“Right,” Spencer confirms, eyes softening in Alison’s direction. Ali nods in reply. Any tension between them is mostly just for show, at this point.

“How’s Charlotte?” Spencer asks.

Alison frowns. “Do you really want to know?”

“Sure,” Spencer says with a shrug.

“She’s doing well,” Alison tells them. “She has some great ideas for renovating the house. I think she’s really looking forward to finally having her own space."

“Did you tell them about Noel Kahn?” Emily asks.

“I thought it was Eric,” Hanna says.

Alison shakes her head. “Apparently Eric got her back in touch with Noel, and he’s coming to town to visit her.”

“Do they have a history?” Spencer asks.

“I'm not sure,” Alison replies honestly. “Noel has secrets, too.”

“Who would have thought?” Aria muses. “Although, it’s somehow not that surprising.”

“I know,” Alison agrees. “It’s like the more things change…”

“The more they stay the same?” Emily offers, taking her hand.

Alison smiles. “Something like that.”

Spencer checks her watch, scowling at what she sees. “We should get going,” she says regretfully.

Caleb nods. “Okay. I’ll go get the check.” He heads off in the direction of the cashier.

Alison sighs. She feels oddly verklempt, all of a sudden. Even though she knows it won’t be five years. Even though she knows that the next reason they’re all together again will be a happy one.

“I feel like I should say that Winnie the Pooh quote again,” Spencer murmurs, sounding a little choked up herself.

“It’s not really goodbye, though, right?” Aria says. “It’s more like, ‘see you soon.’”

Hanna smiles. “I like that better.”

“Me too,” Spencer replies, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Thank you all for coming,” Alison says softly. “Seriously, if you guys hadn’t showed up for me and for Charlotte—” She cuts herself off, feeling her emotions start to get the better of her. “It just all would have been so different.”

“Yeah, it would have,” Hanna acknowledges. “But I’m glad it isn’t.”

Emily squeezes Alison’s hand. “I’m glad too.”

A couple of hours later—after the admittedly tearful goodbyes, after the promises to see each other soon and after Emily has taken everyone to the airport—Alison and Emily let themselves into the soon-to-be DiLaurentis-Fields house. It’s about half-empty, Pam and Barry having gotten a considerable amount packed up in the last week.

Alison walks around the living room slowly, taking it all in. It feels different, knowing that this will be her home. It means more.

“What are you thinking about?” Emily asks.

“I’m thinking that I can’t believe we get to live in this house,” Alison tells her. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m thinking that I’m really glad I get to make more memories here,” Emily replies.

Alison nods. She gets that completely. She thinks about everything that will happen here: parties and birthdays, cozy evenings at home, maybe a dog and definitely a couple of kids, if she has anything to say about it. Spencer and Hanna staying upstairs in the guest room, filling the house with the sound of their laughter in the early mornings. Emily being here when Alison gets home at the end of the day, telling Alison about everything she learned, everything she’s excited about. The two of them climbing the stairs hand-in-hand at the end of the evening, Alison still feeling giddy that she gets to share a bed with Emily after all these years. 

They’re going to be okay here, Alison’s sure of it. 

Better than okay. They’re going to be happy.

She’s lived in this town nearly her entire life, for better or for worse. But for the first time in what feels like a small forever, Alison finally knows that she’s home.