fic: i've been a student of delusion, spencer/paige
Title: I've Been a Student of Delusion
Rating: PG
Length: 1039
Spoilers: 3A
A/N: prompted by immortality for the ALL THE LADIES:PLL ficathon. Hope you like it.
Spencer is sure it’s Paige. The evidence is there, stacked against her. It makes sense - it all fits together. Means, motive, opportunity.
It makes sense until the moment it doesn’t, until reality explodes the neat narrative lines in Spencer’s head. When that happens, when it turns out Paige is no less a pawn than the rest of them Spencer has no idea what to say. There’s nothing to be said - Caleb’s in the back of an ambulance, Emily is stained with blood and Paige with bruises and all Spencer can do is hold Hanna’s arm, stranded outside the police tape.
Paige isn’t in school on Monday. Or Tuesday, or Wednesday.
“Is she ok?”
Emily sighs. She’s forgiven Spencer, provisionally.
“I don’t know. Her parents won’t let her talk to me.”
And she doesn’t say it, but it’s there in her eyes: I’m here with you instead of with her and isn’t this just what you wanted.
In AP Euro, Spencer stares at Paige’s empty desk.
(Paige may hate math but she’s good with words, good enough that she and Spencer have always shared classes. She was even decent competition, back before swimming became the thing that would get her through college.)
“You can pick partners,” Mrs. Miller says. “I suggest you all get started soon, though. I expect these presentations to be good.”
It’s almost too easy, the kind of coincidence Spencer has learned to be wary of. Wariness doesn’t preclude taking advantage, though, and it’s not like the universe doesn’t owe them one.
Paige’s father answers the door. He seems a decade older than when Spencer last saw him, having lunch at the club a month ago.
“She’s not to have visitors.”
“I’m her partner for a history project. It’s due next week.” Spencer looks him in the eye. “I’m sure you don’t want her grades to drop.”
He lets her inside, leads her up to Paige’s room.
(Sometimes it helps to be Spencer Hastings, she of the perfect 4.0.)
“One hour,” he says and disappears.
Paige’s door is open. She’s on her bed, listening to music. Spencer gets a few steps into the room before Paige notices her presence - she jumps, panic flashing across her face.
Spencer freezes.
“Sorry.”
“What’re you doing here?”
The tone is more curious than accusing, but there’s a definite edge to Paige’s voice. Unease is there in the way she’s sitting, too, curled in on herself, defensive. Regret pricks at Spencer: they’re losing the battle to contain A, and she wonders how many more lives this nightmare will bleed over into.
“We’re partners for that oral report in Mrs. Miller’s class.”
Paige shakes her head.
“How do you still manage to care about school?”
“I don’t always. It can be nice to have something else to think about, though.”
Spencer moves closer, settling on the edge of Paige’s bed.
“So, our topic is Renaissance Italy. We’ll need to narrow that down, obviously, but I picked up some books from the library that looked interesting. We can split the reading, if that sounds ok.”
Spencer rummages through her bag; when she looks up, Paige is smiling at her.
“Works for me.”
They read in silence for a while. Spencer jots down notes, tags useful pages, but her mind is only half on the books.
Paige’s presence is distracting her, which is odd because she’s usually great at tuning things out. She can study even when Hanna’s in the room, singing off-key to the radio and flipping through magazines more loudly than should be possible.
Paige isn’t anywhere near that level of disruptive but Spencer can feel her there, is conscious of her breathing and her body and the way she taps her pencil against her notebook every time she goes to write something. Spencer can’t block her out, for some reason, and she’s going a bit crazy with how aware of Paige she is.
And it shouldn’t be a thing but - maybe it’s that Paige is gay. Spencer didn’t think anything of it, sitting on Paige’s bed, but now that she’s started thinking and can’t seem to stop there’s a weight accruing to it, sharing a bed with a girl who likes girls. It’s never an issue with Emily, but Spencer’s known her too well for too long for there to be any weirdness. She’s just Emily, case closed, full stop.
Paige is different: they’ve never spent time together outside of school and sports and the intimacy of being here alone in Paige’s room is doing strange things to Spencer’s head.
(It could also be that not long ago Spencer was accusing Paige of murder.)
Regardless, Spencer notices the second Paige looks up from her book, though it’s another minute before Paige breaks the silence.
“How’s Emily?”
“She’s worried about you.”
“I’m - I’ll be ok. Will she?”
Who knows, Spencer thinks. Who knows about any of us.
“She misses you.”
“I miss her, too.”
Paige’s eyes are wet and her voice is rough. She looks right at Spencer, though, open and bold and breathtakingly sincere and Spencer doesn’t know how she thought Paige capable of anything but love for Emily.
“I’m sorry. For the way I treated you.”
They’re not enough, those words, but Paige takes them with grace.
“Fresh start, right?”
“Right,” Spencer says, and it sounds like thank you.
She comes back on Saturday. This time Paige answers the door.
“I got through the books you left. Well, except for that one on Florentine architecture, which - interesting? Really?”
Spencer takes Paige’s hand (her expression is priceless) and deposits car keys into it.
“Your parents are out, right?”
“Yeah, they just left. They went for lunch at the country club.”
“I’d say you have an hour and a half, considering how busy it is on weekends. I wouldn’t keep Emily waiting.”
Comprehension dawns in Paige’s eyes. She smiles, lovely and wide, and Spencer gets it, what Emily sees in her.
“I don’t know what to say, Spencer.”
“Don’t say. Go.”
Paige is halfway down the stairs before she’s finished talking. She stops, though, bounds back up to the porch to kiss Spencer’s cheek. Her lips are soft and warm and Spencer’s eyes close and oh, she gets it, definitely.
Rating: PG
Length: 1039
Spoilers: 3A
A/N: prompted by immortality for the ALL THE LADIES:PLL ficathon. Hope you like it.
Spencer is sure it’s Paige. The evidence is there, stacked against her. It makes sense - it all fits together. Means, motive, opportunity.
It makes sense until the moment it doesn’t, until reality explodes the neat narrative lines in Spencer’s head. When that happens, when it turns out Paige is no less a pawn than the rest of them Spencer has no idea what to say. There’s nothing to be said - Caleb’s in the back of an ambulance, Emily is stained with blood and Paige with bruises and all Spencer can do is hold Hanna’s arm, stranded outside the police tape.
Paige isn’t in school on Monday. Or Tuesday, or Wednesday.
“Is she ok?”
Emily sighs. She’s forgiven Spencer, provisionally.
“I don’t know. Her parents won’t let her talk to me.”
And she doesn’t say it, but it’s there in her eyes: I’m here with you instead of with her and isn’t this just what you wanted.
In AP Euro, Spencer stares at Paige’s empty desk.
(Paige may hate math but she’s good with words, good enough that she and Spencer have always shared classes. She was even decent competition, back before swimming became the thing that would get her through college.)
“You can pick partners,” Mrs. Miller says. “I suggest you all get started soon, though. I expect these presentations to be good.”
It’s almost too easy, the kind of coincidence Spencer has learned to be wary of. Wariness doesn’t preclude taking advantage, though, and it’s not like the universe doesn’t owe them one.
Paige’s father answers the door. He seems a decade older than when Spencer last saw him, having lunch at the club a month ago.
“She’s not to have visitors.”
“I’m her partner for a history project. It’s due next week.” Spencer looks him in the eye. “I’m sure you don’t want her grades to drop.”
He lets her inside, leads her up to Paige’s room.
(Sometimes it helps to be Spencer Hastings, she of the perfect 4.0.)
“One hour,” he says and disappears.
Paige’s door is open. She’s on her bed, listening to music. Spencer gets a few steps into the room before Paige notices her presence - she jumps, panic flashing across her face.
Spencer freezes.
“Sorry.”
“What’re you doing here?”
The tone is more curious than accusing, but there’s a definite edge to Paige’s voice. Unease is there in the way she’s sitting, too, curled in on herself, defensive. Regret pricks at Spencer: they’re losing the battle to contain A, and she wonders how many more lives this nightmare will bleed over into.
“We’re partners for that oral report in Mrs. Miller’s class.”
Paige shakes her head.
“How do you still manage to care about school?”
“I don’t always. It can be nice to have something else to think about, though.”
Spencer moves closer, settling on the edge of Paige’s bed.
“So, our topic is Renaissance Italy. We’ll need to narrow that down, obviously, but I picked up some books from the library that looked interesting. We can split the reading, if that sounds ok.”
Spencer rummages through her bag; when she looks up, Paige is smiling at her.
“Works for me.”
They read in silence for a while. Spencer jots down notes, tags useful pages, but her mind is only half on the books.
Paige’s presence is distracting her, which is odd because she’s usually great at tuning things out. She can study even when Hanna’s in the room, singing off-key to the radio and flipping through magazines more loudly than should be possible.
Paige isn’t anywhere near that level of disruptive but Spencer can feel her there, is conscious of her breathing and her body and the way she taps her pencil against her notebook every time she goes to write something. Spencer can’t block her out, for some reason, and she’s going a bit crazy with how aware of Paige she is.
And it shouldn’t be a thing but - maybe it’s that Paige is gay. Spencer didn’t think anything of it, sitting on Paige’s bed, but now that she’s started thinking and can’t seem to stop there’s a weight accruing to it, sharing a bed with a girl who likes girls. It’s never an issue with Emily, but Spencer’s known her too well for too long for there to be any weirdness. She’s just Emily, case closed, full stop.
Paige is different: they’ve never spent time together outside of school and sports and the intimacy of being here alone in Paige’s room is doing strange things to Spencer’s head.
(It could also be that not long ago Spencer was accusing Paige of murder.)
Regardless, Spencer notices the second Paige looks up from her book, though it’s another minute before Paige breaks the silence.
“How’s Emily?”
“She’s worried about you.”
“I’m - I’ll be ok. Will she?”
Who knows, Spencer thinks. Who knows about any of us.
“She misses you.”
“I miss her, too.”
Paige’s eyes are wet and her voice is rough. She looks right at Spencer, though, open and bold and breathtakingly sincere and Spencer doesn’t know how she thought Paige capable of anything but love for Emily.
“I’m sorry. For the way I treated you.”
They’re not enough, those words, but Paige takes them with grace.
“Fresh start, right?”
“Right,” Spencer says, and it sounds like thank you.
She comes back on Saturday. This time Paige answers the door.
“I got through the books you left. Well, except for that one on Florentine architecture, which - interesting? Really?”
Spencer takes Paige’s hand (her expression is priceless) and deposits car keys into it.
“Your parents are out, right?”
“Yeah, they just left. They went for lunch at the country club.”
“I’d say you have an hour and a half, considering how busy it is on weekends. I wouldn’t keep Emily waiting.”
Comprehension dawns in Paige’s eyes. She smiles, lovely and wide, and Spencer gets it, what Emily sees in her.
“I don’t know what to say, Spencer.”
“Don’t say. Go.”
Paige is halfway down the stairs before she’s finished talking. She stops, though, bounds back up to the porch to kiss Spencer’s cheek. Her lips are soft and warm and Spencer’s eyes close and oh, she gets it, definitely.