A/N:

Okay, so I've been writing Emison ficlets on my tumblr (ofendlesswonder if you want the url), for about three weeks now and figure it's easier for people to read and keep track of them if they're all in one place.

This will be updated fairly quickly right away with all the ones I've written so far, and then more slowly as I add more.

The rating of each story is likely to be different, so I'll put that at the beginning of each one, along with the prompts used.

Title: Stay

Rating: T

Prompt: The kissing scene from 5x05 in Alison's POV.

She hadn't thought that it would be this difficult, coming back. She wasn't naive, she knew that it wouldn't be easy, that it wouldn't be like she never left at all, because two years is a long time, but she hadn't… She just never thought that it would be like this.

She doesn't have anyone, not really. Her Mom is gone, ripped away from her, before they had the chance to reunite – and yeah, okay, maybe they didn't exactly leave things on a good note, what with her ending up buried in the backyard by her own Mother but, well… she was still her Mom. She still loved her.

And she was gone.

Gone, too, were the friends that she'd had. She'd had her claws in all of them, before – and she knew that was a shitty way to treat the people that she was supposed to love, but she just… It was just easier, because she wouldn't ever have to be alone if she could make them stay.

She didn't have that anymore. And she liked to tell herself that even if she did have the means to make things go back to how they had been before, where she'd traded in secrets as if her very life depended on it, that she wouldn't let it happen, because she was different, now (and maybe that was just a lie that she told herself so that she could sleep at night, maybe it was, but it didn't matter because she doesn't have to worry about that right now, because her 'friends' don't trust her anymore, and she knows that it's irrational to be angry about that but she is and it's… it's a white hot rage that makes her want to lash out, to bring them all down, burn them to the ground, make them feel like she does, but that's not… that's not who she is anymore – and maybe if she keeps repeating it like a mantra then it might come true).

She hates that she feels so lonely. Even now, with Emily Fields lying asleep less than a foot away from her, she feels completely and utterly alone. Which sucks, because Emily is the only one – the only one – that ever mattered.

She'd thought that telling her that – trying to let her know that she was trying to change, that she really, really wanted to be a better person – would maybe make her want to stay, instead of going off with Paige McCullers instead, and if that's not the biggest insult in the entire world then she really doesn't know what is.

But Emily isn't the same girl that she used to be, scared and so far in the closet that it was a wonder she'd ever been able to fumble her way out. She's not the same girl that had been in love with her best friend, who would have jumped at the chance to do whatever Alison asked of her.

Just like Alison isn't the same girl who had been so deeply, deeply scared of admitting to herself that she'd loved her, too (in as much as Alison felt she could love, which isn't very much at all, because maybe she's not meant for that, she doesn't feel… she doesn't feel good enough for that, especially not… she just doesn't deserve to have the love of someone like Emily, so pure and good and light), and now it's too late, because Emily doesn't want her anymore (well – maybe she does, but she doesn't want to want her, Alison knows, because Emily avoids her whenever she can, she can't look her in the eye for too long, and every one of their interactions is tinged with the heavy hand of sadness, and Emily is timid around her, now, and not in the way she'd used to be, when she was too scared to touch Alison in the fear of what might happen), and it stings, much worse and much more deeply than she'd ever thought it could.

She knows she's selfish, to say things that Emily probably doesn't want to hear – about her regrets, about the fact that she wished every day, for so long, that she hadn't been so callous, that she hadn't dismissed away Emily's feelings with a cruel laugh, and some days she hates herself for it, for all the things she's done – but she can't help it, because it hurts, to know that the brunette is distancing herself, and she wants to cling to what they'd used to have, even though it was probably the most unhealthy thing they could both possibly be doing.

Emily's voice interrupts her brooding, and it's so unexpected that she nearly starts, and the silence is heavy for several heavy seconds as she decides what to do, because she's not sure she can face Emily now, like this, in the muted darkness of a bedroom that no longer feels like her own, because there's no hiding now – there's just the two of them, and suddenly Alison's bed feels much too small, and she's suffocating – but she's moving anyway, rolling until they're facing each other, and her breath catches for just a brief second as their eyes meet because it's been so long since Emily's looked at her so openly, and she can't quell the hope that springs in her chest, much as she tries to quash it (because she'd learned a long time ago that she wasn't destined for good things, only pain and horror and heartbreak, and it was always better, in the end, to stop things like this before they can ever truly begin).

Emily's eyes find hers, and she aches to know what the brunette is feeling – she'd used to be able to read her like a book, and some days she had felt like she knew Emily better than she knew herself – but she can't anymore, has no idea what emotions are swimming behind dark eyes.

When Emily moves, surging forward so that she can press their lips together, Alison is frozen because this isn't… this wasn't supposed to happen (even though maybe she wanted it too, maybe that had been one of the reasons why she'd all but begged Emily to stay, because she craves her, now, more than she ever had before, and that's just a cruel twist of fate, in the end, to only appreciate something when it's gone, to want the things that you can never have again, because she'd thought she was giving Emily up, on the day that she'd left town, giving her up forever), and she doesn't know how to react, and then there's a hand sliding to her hip, and Emily never used to be so bold, and it makes her heart race in a way that it never has before.

When Emily pulls away, her hand instead brushes across Alison's cheek before she presses their lips together again, and Alison makes a decision, then – she wants this, and she can have it, she can have this one thing, even if it's only for a night, even if Emily doesn't want her in the morning (she knows that it's not implausible, after everything, knows that Emily probably hates that Ali still has a hold on her; she wonders if Emily hates herself even now, as her fingers curl in blonde hair, as a soft sigh escapes Alison's lips as she kisses her back, harder than she'd ever dared to before, and then she decides that she really doesn't want to know what's on Emily's mind, after all).

It's an easy choice to make, really – it's much simpler than she ever would have thought it would be, to just kiss Emily back, to slide one hand across to rest on the brunette's ribs and use it to ease her back against the mattress and let herself settle over the top of Emily's body, her knees on either side of the brunette's hips.

It's never been like this, before – Alison was always careful, whenever they'd 'practiced' anything, that it had been somewhere semi-public, somewhere where she couldn't let things get out of hand, and right now she's regretting that choice deeply because they could have had this so much earlier, but at least she has it now, and it's… exhilarating, the way Emily's hips shift beneath her, the hand in Alison's hair tightening to hold the blonde close, and there's another hand clutching tightly at her hip, and Emily's fingers feel like fire against her skin, setting her alight and leaving her to burn ( and she would, gladly, if it meant she could keep feeling like this).

Emily kisses her back with an intensity that surprises her, though she supposes it shouldn't – it's been a long time for Emily, too, and she wonders just how much times the brunette has thought about this, how long she's wanted this for – and Alison's breathing is already ragged, as she pulls away from Emily's lips and instead rests their foreheads together, keeping her eyes closed, because she doesn't want to look at Emily's eyes and wonder if she's going to be rejected, if she's pushed things too far (even though she knows that's stupid, Emily had kissed her), and she can feel Emily's heavy breaths ghosting across her lips, feel the thrum of the brunette's pulse against the palm of her hand where it rests, curled around Emily's neck.

"I don't want to talk about it," Emily murmurs, breaking the silence, and her voice is pleading and when Alison finally opens her eyes, the brunette's expression is pleading too. "Not until… I can't talk about this yet."

"We don't have to," she hears herself replying, and she hates the way her voice trembles, because even though it's Emily (sweet, good-natured Emily, who would never do anything to purposely hurt her), she hates to show even the faintest hint of vulnerability in-front of others. "We don't have to, not yet."

She means it, too – she knows they need to talk about things, properly, because they just do, but now isn't the time, or the place, and she knows that, if they're not going to talk about what… whatever it is they're currently doing, that they should stop, that Alison should roll to the side and try to sleep, because not doing that is just going to complicate matters even more.

But she's absolutely powerless to resist as Emily's mouth finds hers again, her tongue slipping past Alison's lips and stroking against her own in a way that coaxes a moan from the back of the blonde's throat, and when she thinks of all the mistakes that she's – that they've both – made in the past, she thinks that maybe just one more won't hurt.