So this is my Pretty Much Completely Accidental fic that was supposed to be a oneshot based on a friend's tweet ("Sometimes the guitarist in an all girl punk band gives you her neon sunglasses and then you call the night a success") but then spiraled into something completely different, because Fabrastings rarely ever behaves. This will have three parts, all of them already finished; I'll post one each night, or every other night, depending on feedback/demand.

Slightly AU, as Spencer is not dating Toby and there's no mention of -A (and Quinn isn't clinically depressed), but there are multiple references to season four.

This was tons of fun to write, and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. Title from "Dance, Dance" by Fall Out Boy, though "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett and "Sex" by The 1975 are far more relevant. Ahem.

"Tell me again what Hanna and Emily said they had going on tonight?"

Aria rolls her eyes as she continues looking for an open parking space. "Em's taking her dad to a movie, and Hanna's going to some book signing for one of those crime novels she read." She makes a U-turn at the end of the row and moves on to the next one. "But even if they had been free, I think this'll be good for you."

"Good for me?"

She shrugs. "You know. To get out and do something fun."

Spencer crosses her arms over her chest. "You think I don't get out enough?"

"No, no, of course not. I just—ooh, there's one!" she announces, then pulls sharply into the smallest nook Spencer's ever seen, tucked behind a Hummer that's about twice the size of Aria's sedan.

"Feel free to finish that sentence any time," Spencer grumbles as they unbuckle their seatbelts and get out of the car.

Aria doesn't look up from the map she has on her phone. "So if we go out that way," she says, pointing toward one end of the parking lot, "then take a right at the Taco Bell, it should be just past the bank and the pawn shop." She begins to lead the way, going on and on about how much she loves this band and how she never thought they'd finally play on a weekend instead of a school night.

Spencer wishes there were at least one visible police car, or maybe a few more street lights. "You realize this is how most episodes of CSI start off, right?" she asks, triple-checking that her phone still has service and a good chunk of battery left. "How do you know this show is even happening? We're probably walking right into a human trafficking recruitment scheme."

"Y'know, I take back what I didn't even actually say before. You definitely need to get out more often." Aria links her arm through Spencer's and speeds them both up, and within a few minutes they're finally in front of… well, a very small, deteriorating structure that Spencer otherwise would've walked right past.

She blinks at the clumsy brickwork and the front sign that's so faded she can't even read the name. "This is it?"

"This is it," Aria echoes.

"You genuinely expect me to believe that there's room for a stage in there? Aria, my garage is bigger than this place."

"Shut up and take your ticket," she replies, handing Spencer a slip of paper and heading for the front doors, and Spencer has no choice but to follow her her inside, even though she's genuinely afraid the building might collapse at any second. "Ooh, we're just in time! They're already onstage, let's find a good spot." Aria pulls her through the crowd of tattoos and facial piercings and multicolored hair, not stopping until they're right up against one side of the stage.

"Do we really have to be this close?" Spencer mutters, but Aria's busy watching the band prepare their equipment as if it's the most fascinating thing she's ever seen. Spencer rolls her eyes and crosses her arms again, and it takes her several moments to realize the guitarist is looking at her.

"You don't want to be here, do you?" she guesses as she tunes the strings, the tendons in her wrist straining beneath a small tattoo that Spencer can't quite make out, and her silver nose ring glints beneath the merciless stage lights.

Spencer just stares back at first, because this girl probably smokes a pack a day and could murder her in a back alley if she really wanted to, but even as she takes in the wild pink hair and ratty-black-t-shirt-turned-tank-top, she finds it surprisingly easy to be honest. "Not particularly."

The girl smiles playfully and reaches behind an amp, then tosses something to Spencer, and she catches it out of reflex before she realizes it's a pair of neon pink sunglasses.

"So you can roll your eyes all night without anyone noticing," she explains, then takes a sip from her water bottle, and Spencer swallows hard. "But here's hoping you won't need them." She starts strumming her guitar in a steady rhythm and cheers fill the room, and Spencer forgets to be irritated that they're standing this close to the speakers.

The lead singer, sporting long, deep blue hair and a frayed denim vest, steps up to the microphone. "We're The Skanks," she calls out to the crowd, "and we hope you're ready to party."

The room explodes with sound as the first song begins, and Spencer unfolds the sunglasses and sets them on her forehead.

(Readily accessible, just in case.)

.

By the end of the show she's discovered that the guitarist's name is Quinn, and that she doesn't mind loud music nearly as much as she thought, and that she might definitely have a thing for sleeveless shirts. She should know this already, given that Alex always wore them at the country club and that they're basically Toby's entire construction wardrobe, but… here, tonight, it feels like a revelation.

"I'll be right back," Aria tosses over her shoulder when she spots the singer talking to some fans by the bar, leaving Spencer alone to—

"You know they're supposed to go over your eyes, right?"

She whips around to find Quinn leaning against the stage, lips curled into half of a smirk as she pushes hair out of her face, both her skin and the pink locks damp from sweat. Spencer's hand flies up to her face, and when her fingers hit plastic, she realizes she completely forgot she was even wearing the sunglasses. She snatches them off her head, folds them up, and holds them out for Quinn to take. "Thanks for letting me borrow them."

"Keep 'em," Quinn says, twisting open a bottle of some bright red energy drink Spencer's never heard of. "They look hotter on you anyway." She takes several gulps of the drink and Spencer is so focused on the movements of her throat that it takes a beat for the words to sink in.

"Wait, what?"

She's not sure if any sound even made it out of her throat, because Quinn doesn't respond. "What's your name?"

"Spencer," she answers without thinking, and wonders why it didn't even occur to her to lie.

"You busy?"

"I—um—" Spencer glances toward the bar, but Aria has vanished. "Can you just… hang on a second?" she manages, then pulls out her cell phone and calls her first speed dial. "Where the hell are you?" she demands as soon as Aria picks up. "You didn't actually get sucked into a human trafficking ring, did you?"

"Oh my god, Spence, relax," she replies, and Spencer can practically hear the eye roll. "I'm safe and sound in my car. I'm even going the speed limit right now, you should be proud."

Spencer frowns. "What are you talking about? Did you leave without me?"

"Of course I did."

She blinks. "Why?"

"Are you kidding me? You spend the entire show openly staring at that guitarist. I assumed you would want to hang out with her after the show."

"Aria, that's—that's completely—"

"Don't even worry about it," she interrupts, "I already texted Hanna explaining everything, and if anyone asks, we both spent the night at her place. Call us if you need a ride back. Love you!"

The line goes dead and Spencer stares at the screen in disbelief, wondering why she ever bothers trying to be friends with writers; all they ever do is romanticize, see fantastical potential narratives that aren't even there—

"Everything okay?"

Her eyes snap back to Quinn, who's now sitting on the edge of the stage. "Yeah, everything's—um. My ride left without me, so that's… great."

"Sucks," Quinn agrees, taking another sip of her drink.

She takes a deep breath, and her heartbeat is going kind of crazy, for some reason. "But I guess that means I'm not busy," she manages, fiddling with the sunglasses, and when she dares to look at Quinn again, the smirk is full-blown.

"C'mere," she says, jerking her head back a little, and there are some really weird things going on in Spencer's throat.

She looks around to find the room mostly empty, just the staff gathering empty bottles and cans, and she's running out of reasons why she shouldn't follow these instructions. She swallows hard and forces her feet to move, and then the distance between her and Quinn is much smaller.

When Quinn moves her legs apart just a little, Spencer's entire cardiovascular system nearly shuts down. She finds herself stepping even closer, until she's standing in between Quinn's knees, and she's kind of shocked that she can't smell any cigarette smoke on her clothes.

Quinn reaches down to Spencer's hand and takes the sunglasses, then unfolds them and slowly slides them onto Spencer's face, until the bridge rests firmly on Spencer's nose and her world is about twice as dark as it was a second ago. Suddenly she's thinking about what it might be like to kiss Quinn in the dark; a bedroom with no lights on, maybe, or even just a really well-ventilated closet—

And then it's… well, happening. Quinn connects her lips with Spencer's, and she can't decide if she's more surprised about that or the fact that she finds herself kissing back. The moment tastes like artificial cherry flavoring, which only gets stronger during the third (or maybe tenth?) kiss, when Quinn's tongue slips into her mouth and does this thing that has Spencer melting against her.

"I never do this," she mumbles against Quinn's lips.

Quinn chuckles into the next kiss. "What is it that you're doing?"

Spencer's hands are on Quinn's hips now, apparently. "Making out with a complete stranger." Hands slip into her back pockets and her mouth falls open a little. "I don't know anything about you," she breathes.

"Well," Quinn murmurs between kisses along her throat, "if it makes you feel any better, I promise I'm not involved in human trafficking."

"Oh god," Spencer groans, probably just in response to Quinn's words, but also maybe because of Quinn's teeth against her skin. "You heard that?"

Quinn laughs again. "Little bit."

"If you kids don't leave within the next ten minutes, you're spending the night in here," someone shouts from the other side of the room. "We need to lock up."

"Thank you, Tom," Quinn calls back sweetly, then gently tilts Spencer's sunglasses up so they're resting on her head again. "So, what's your alibi for tonight?"

Spencer licks her lips and they still taste like fake cherry. "What makes you think I need an alibi?"

Quinn arches an eyebrow. "You don't seem like the type who can casually tell your parents you're not gonna be home by curfew because you're hooking up with a girl in a punk band."

"Alright, fine," Spencer surrenders, because Quinn's hands are still in her back pockets and she doesn't have the mental capacity for a witty comeback. "Sleepover at a friend's house."

The corner of Quinn's mouth twitches. "So you're covered until tomorrow morning, then."

Chills shoot down Spencer's spine and she clears her throat. "You busy?"

"Wow, that was smooth," Quinn replies with a playful, only slightly mocking smile. She slips off the stage so she's on her feet again, and for a split second they're so close together that Spencer can barely breathe; finally Quinn removes herself from Spencer's pockets and takes her hand instead. "Let's get out of here," she says, walking backwards as she pulls Spencer toward the door.

"Where are we going?"

Quinn shrugs. "As long as I'm not luring you into a human trafficking ring, does it really matter?"

Spencer finds she can't really argue with that.