Chapter 9

A/N: Look who's up from the dead. It's me. Sorry guys. I can't even try to start find an excuse for the wait. Although it wasn't even a wait, I kind of abandoned the story. I had so many problems with this chapter, because i knew what I wanted to happen, but didn't know how, so I just .. stopped. But then i got a review a few days ago by Pancakes8.9 and I looked through my old stuff and suddenly the chapter just kinda worked.

A short summary for everybody who forgot what this is about:

Spencer is an attorney in an abusive marriage with Ian. Ian nearly rapes her while beating her. Spencer flees but comes back. She meets a handsome new client, Mr. Toby Cavanaugh, who she can't help but flirt with. They happen to meet in a café and Spencer thinks Ian saw them together.

Let's go people!

You sit in your car and wait for your body to stop trembling. Shit. Why did you have to be so stupid and create such an incriminating scene practically right on your own bloody doorstep? And why did Ian have to drive by, when he was supposed to be at work? Maybe it wasn't him. You didn't see the driver and you didn't think to check the license plate in your frenzy. Maybe it was just some other blue Volvo. There had to be hundreds of them in the area. Yes. It probably wasn't even Ian. He did have to work, it was nine o'clock after all. When your brain registers the time you kick in the gear and speed forward. You are late for work.

"Mrs. Randall, please tell me I didn't have appointments before nine thirty."

"You didn't have appointments before nine thirty."

"Good."

You open the door to your office and a man in a tailored suit sits in it giving you a slightly pissed off look. You turn to glare at your secretary with accusation. She shrugs and you could swear you saw a gleeful expression dart across her sour looking face. You fully intend to double her paperwork today. For now you just shake your head and enter your office to take on the storm. At least Ian vanishes into the back of your mind.

The buzzing of the intercom jolts you out of your concentration.

"Ms. Hastings?"

"Yes?"

"Your husband is here."

You swear you can feel your heart missing a beat. Your fingers shake again when they reach for the intercom again.

"Let him in."

The door opens and your husband steps inside. He wears a jeans and a white button down shirt. For the first time you think he doesn't look that bulky, not even particularly muscular.

"Hi Ian." To your own surprise you sound calm. But inside everything is upside down. If he really saw you with Cavanaugh he is going blow up, no matter the reprieve the last beating earned you. Well at least he won't blow up in here.

"Hey sweetheart."

You try to read his expression but it's unreadable. You decide to play it safe and act innocent.

"What's up?"

He looks you in the eyes, not blinking. You ask yourself if he'd believe it, if you explained. Just a client, Ian. A handsome, kindhearted, quick-witted client. Focus, Hastings.

"I was wondering..."

He makes a theatrical pause. If he doesn't come out with it you might have a heart attack.

"Yes?"

You impatiently try to usher him to speak faster with a gesture of your hand. He scowls for a moment but schools his features immediately.

"If we could have dinner tonight."

He smiles warmly at you, but you eye him warily. Why would he make such a show out of that?

Before you can answer, Ian states "At home. I cook. Just the two of us."

The last sentence makes you shudder a bit and fear settles in your gut. You swallow.

"I don't know, Ian." You try to get out of it. You think that three days before you were ready to divorce his ass. You start to shake your head. No.

"Come on, babe. Just give it a chance. If you still want time after that, I swear I'm going to give you as much as you need."

You look into pleading grey eyes and feel your resolve crumble. His offer is tempting indeed. It would mean you wouldn't have to see him and you wouldn't have to fight for it.

"Fine. One chance. You give me time after that."

He nods eagerly. "If that is what you want, love."

The whole day you feel the dread like little splinters in your stomach. You feel the weight behind every breath weighing on your lungs. You can't concentrate. What was the Forlington case about again? You think you had an idea for that one but you just can't remember what it was. Was it something about the definition of "cat litter"? It wasn't, was it? And what did Ian want? Did he just want to lure you into your home alone? No, he could've done that last night if he wanted to. Maybe he didn't have any ulterior motives. Maybe he just wanted to make up. It wouldn't be the first time. The thing with Cavanaugh this morning just freaked you out beyond measure. But maybe you were exaggerating. Maybe there was nothing to it. You look at the clock. Great. You spent 9 hours staring into space, caught in your own fucked up mind. No work done at all. That meant double shifts for the next few days. You sigh and pack while unsuccessfully trying to shake the dread that tightens your throat.

Click. Your key unlocks the door and you take a shaky step inside. It smells like coq au vin. The flickering light reflected on the living room wall says: candles. He really went all out.

"Hey Spencer." He comes out of the kitchen, wearing a – can you believe it – apron. Your eyebrows shoot upwards in surprise and he shoots you a boyish grin. You feel a pull in your chest. This expression is one of the things you fell in love with.

"Hi." You say and walk towards him. "Nice apron." Your voice is quiet. Cautious. Not sure if his mood is good enough for you to make that joke, but on the other hand he did decide to wear this.

He smirks and twirls in the doorway.

"You like?" He asks with a girlish flip of his imaginary long hair. You can't help the giggle that escapes your mouth. His grin broadens at the sound.

"Your table is available, Madam." He offers you his elbow and you take it, letting him lead you towards the romantically lit living room. He pulls back a chair and you sit down. Eyeing the tastefully decorated table.

"Wine?" You shake your head before you can even ponder it. You just know deep in your gut that you don't want to drink with him here. As much as you like being treated like this by him, you know that you still don't trust him. You feel guilt rise up at the thought.

"Maybe a little."

It has the wished effect, and earns you a warm smile from your husband. "Great. Red or white?"

"White please." He nods and turns towards the kitchen. On his way out he turns on the hi-fi system.

When your legs don't work like they used to before

and I can't sweep you off of your feet

will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

Ed Sheeran. Well played.

He comes back with the open wine bottle and fills your glass. Then he lifts his gaze to yours and takes off the apron. He offers his hand.

"May I have this dance, Mrs. Thomas?"

You can't remember the last time you danced with Ian. Probably your wedding. You nod shyly and he helps you up. He takes your right hand into his warm left and lays the other carefully onto your hip. You rest yours on his strong shoulders. Then you start to sway.

Darling I will be loving you

till seventy.

Baby, my heart

could still fall as hard

at twenty-three.

He hums lowly. "Do you remember when we were in Philly in that one steak restaurant?"

"You mean where the owner was this enormous asshole?"

He grins. "Yeah. And you told him, you were from the finance authority."

I'm thinking about how

people fall in love in mysterious ways.

Maybe just the touch of your hand.

Me, I fall in love with you every single day.

And I just wanna tell you I am.

You chuckle. "Well, he really was a disrespectful jerk."

"He all but fainted. Especially when you said, that you were there to control the procedures."

"I think I've never been so carefully attended to."
He kisses your forehead.

"You are an evil genius."

You can't help the proud smile that grazes your features. He smiles that boyish grin again and twirls you.

Cause honey you're a soul

that could never grow old,

it's evergreen.

Baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory

It's evident what he's doing. The cooking, the humorous apron, the music, the trip down memory lane. And although you're aware of this, you think it's sweet. You feel like he's wooing you, courting you. You don't think of it as manipulative, although of course on some level it is, but isn't every courting? And he looks so handsome with his grey eyes and sharp jaw. Your inner admiral is silent but you can feel his disappointment.

I'm thinking about how

people fall in love in mysterious ways

maybe it's all part of a plan.

I just keep on making the same mistakes

hoping that you'll understand

"I do that you know."

"huh?" you murmur

"Making the same mistakes..." You stay silent. "I wanted to apologize again." he continues. You look up to him. "I … god Spencer, I messed up. I know. And I keep doing that and I keep apologizing and then I mess up again." his voice is quite and rough with emotion, he lays his cheek on top of your head while you sway. You are surprised. It's the first time he admitted to the repetitive nature of his abuse despite it being obvious.

"I don't know what to do." he sounds desperate, like he might cry. You swallow. Your own desperation bubbles up your chest and in this moment, you and Ian are in the same place. You feel a bond to him. You're together in this fucked up situation, neither knowing how to proceed.

"Me too." You whisper and he tightens his embrace just slightly.

But baby now, take me into your loving arms

kiss me under the light of a thousand stars

Oh Darlin'

place your head on my beating heart.

I'm thinking out loud.

That maybe, we found love right where we are.

Oh maybe we found love right where we are.

And we found love right where we are.

The song fades out and a quite piano song that you don't recognize begins to play.

"I … I signed up for an anger management course." he admits after a minute. You stop cold and take a step back to look at him.

"What?" You say in disbelieve.

His eyes are big and watery, his eyebrows pulled up in a begging manner.

"I'm really trying. I know I tried to ignore the problem for way to long and that you were the one who had to suffer because of that. I just used to think that it was a one time slip up, which I know is probably ridiculous if you look at the amount of times I messed up. But I just-" he breaks off and takes a deep breath, evidently searching for words. You stay silent and stare at him in disbelieve. "Shit, Spence. I promised to honor you the day we got married and I broke that promise and I take the blame for that."

It irks you a little the way he says that so grandly. Who else is supposed to be to blame for him hitting you? But you slince the voice because this is something you've been waiting for. This could be the turning point in your relationship.

"I love you, Spencer Thomas. Let's make this work again? Together?"

You smile tentatively. They could get out of this situation.

"Yeah.." You say hoarsely, feeling a little guilty for not reciprocating the sentiment.

Nevertheless he gives you a blinding smile. 'It lacks dimples' the little voice in your head whispers and you feel even more guilty. Ian was trying. So you lean up and kiss him. Because you're grateful. Because you do love him. Because you're working on a solution. Because you never felt so hopeful.

And then you go to bed in your white house with the picket fence and the husband who is trying.

A/N: I'm honestly very torn about this chapter. Not because I don't like it, surprisingly I do. But I'm torn about Spencer's choice. I kinda just wrote what felt natural for the characters. Tell me what you think, lovely people.

P.Z.