Disclaimer: Disney does not belong to me in any way, shape, or form. This fic is canon-compliant, which means it does not directly contradict any aspect of canon - at least, not to my knowledge.
There was quite a bit of commotion at the palace tonight; apparently, the guards had finally apprehended one of Agrabah's most wanted criminals. As quietly as he could, a little boy crept down the stairs to the dungeons to investigate. He knew he shouldn't be there, but – as usual – his insatiable curiosity got the better of him. It really wasn't that big a deal; nobody had ever caught him before…
Luck was not on his side this time, however, as his foot hit a pebble, which skittered across the flagstones. The echoing clatter it created almost rendered inaudible the gasp of a young girl. "Who's there?" she cried.
The boy froze, unable to believe his ears. This place was a prison for bad guys, so why would a he hear a girl's voice? Drawing closer, he saw that there was indeed a girl about his age there in the nearest cell.
"What do you want?" the girl asked as he stepped out of the shadows, a plain brown cloak wrapped tightly around him.
"I was just wondering," he muttered, "what you're doing here."
"My father did something wrong," she replied, glancing at the floor.
"If that's the case, what are you doing here?" the boy asked.
The girl looked up at him confusedly and repeated, "My father did something wrong."
"Shouldn't he be the one down here, then?"
"It doesn't work like that," she told him sadly as she turned to face the wall adjacent to the one she was chained to.
"Well then, how does it work?" he pressed.
"You sure ask a lot of questions," the girl spat ruefully, staring now at the high stone ceiling far above them.
"Would you answer just one more before I leave?" the boy whispered as he turned his back to her.
"Ah–" The girl looked at him speechlessly.
"What is your name?" he asked shyly.
The girl paused a moment, stunned, before telling him, "It's Jennifer." When the boy started to walk away, she called out, "Wait! What's yours?"
He stopped with one foot on the bottommost step and said over his shoulder, "Promise not to tell anyone you saw me?" The girl nodded, so he continued, "My name's Al," then sprinted up the stairs.
As she watched his retreating figure, Jennifer blew her bangs out of her eyes, leaned back, and muttered contemptuously, "Nice to meet you, Al."
When Al reached the top of the stairs, he quickly shed his cloak and stuffed it into a niche in the wall before he opened the sliding door a crack and peered cautiously through it.
There was no one to be seen in the lavishly furnished room before him, but as he entered and slid the door closed, he heard footsteps approaching. When the door was shut, it was indiscernible from the wall it was set in on this side, but he didn't want to draw suspicion to that spot so he quickly leapt toward the large bed nearby and slid underneath it.
"Al? Al, answer me!" came the worried voice of a woman as she entered through the obvious doorway at the far end of the room.
"I'm here, Mom," Al called out innocently, clambering out as though nothing happened.
"What were you doing under there?" she asked.
"Um… playing hide-and-seek?" he said uncertainly as he stood up.
"How in the world did you get so dirty?" Al's mom fussed, patting his clothes in an attempt to clean them off. "There's no way there's that much dust under your bed!"
Al was saved from having to make up an excuse by a man's voice calling down the hall, "Did you find him, Jasmine?"
"Yes, Aladdin, he was under his bed," Jasmine called back. Picking up Al's hat, which lay discarded on the bed, she turned back to him and tutted, saying, "Just look at you, son… What would your grandpa say if he saw you in this state?"
Aladdin walked in a moment later, a stern look on his face. "Albert…"
"Yes, Dad?" Al muttered sheepishly, looking up at him as his mom placed the hat on his head and straightened it meticulously.
Aladdin's face softened and he said calmly, "Albert, your mom and I were so worried about you."
"I'm perfectly fine, Dad," Al said.
"Perfectly filthy is more like it," Jasmine interjected, patting his clothes once again.
Al sighed and shook his head resignedly. This was the norm, so he was used to it by now; his parents always lost their heads whenever he did anything that he wasn't specifically told to. He just couldn't abide being told where to go and how to dress every second of every day. Was it too much to ask for him to be free to make his own choices?