Summary: Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the one person you really didn't want to see tonight. Except that's a complete lie, because the chance of running in to Emily Fields is the only reason you came to this thing. It's been ten years since you left Rosewood behind you, since you picked up the shattered pieces of your heart and tried to move on with your life.
Disclaimer: I don't own PLL, or anything related to the show.
A/N: This was originally meant to be a Paily one-shot, just trying out a different style of writing, but it turned out longer than I expected. I'm working on the second part now, and it'll probably end up being about 3 chapters.
Cheap whisky burns the back of your throat as you knock it back in one long gulp. The ice cubes in your empty glass clink together as you put it down on the makeshift bar that spans half the length of the gymnasium. The bleachers have been pushed back, and there are chairs and tables covering most of the floor. A section has been left empty for people to dance to the cheesy house music that the DJ in the corner has been playing non-stop. It's like prom, only everyone attending is old enough to drink.
You kick at one of the balloons littering the floor as you order a beer. The whisky was just to steel your nerves; too many of those and you'll be on your ass before the night has even started. So you stick to bottles of tepid beer, and sip at them cautiously as your try to mingle with people you haven't thought about in years. It's your ten year reunion. You hadn't wanted to come, but it's been a long time since you've been home to see your folks, and you felt guilty enough to come for the weekend. You try not to come to Rosewood very often if you can help it. You got out of this town before the ink on your high school diploma was even dry, and you've never looked back.
Four years at Stanford was amazing; it was your chance to reinvent yourself. Your skin still has the soft, sun-kissed glow that comes from living in sunny California, even though you've been a New Yorker for the last few years. You fiddle nervously with the label on you beer bottle as you move around the room, making small talk with people whose name's you've long forgotten; that's if you even knew them in the first place.
Out of the corner of your eye, you spot the one person you really didn't want to see tonight. Except that's a complete lie, because the chance of running in to Emily Fields is the only reason you came to this thing. It's been ten years since you left Rosewood behind you, since you picked up the shattered pieces of your heart and tried to move on with your life.
It's been ten long years, and Emily isn't the girl you fell in love with any more. She's a woman now, and more striking than ever. She's wearing a figure hugging black dress, that stops just above her knees and showcases her long, lean legs. Her hair frames her face in soft, silky curls and her lips are curled up in a smile as she talks to some girl who might have been on the swim team; you can't quite remember. Sometimes, when you close your eyes at night, you can still remember the smell of Emily's shampoo. There are even times when you roll over and, just for a second, you catch her lingering scent beside you on your pillow. You might have moved across the country, but you never really moved on.
You're still watching your ex when she looks up and catches you in the act. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to drop your eyes and duck your head. You're not sixteen any more though, so you force yourself to keep looking and even manage a hesitant smile. Emily returns it with a small nod of her head. Suddenly she's touching the arm of the girl in front of her and excusing herself to make her way over to you. Panic starts to bubble up in the pit of your stomach, and you start to wish you'd been able to have another shot of whisky or two before she'd spotted you.
"Paige, hi." The way she says your name still has your toes curling. You think of all the other times you've heard your coming from those lips, some good, some bad. It seems like a lifetime ago now.
"Emily." You nod at her, trying desperately to keep your cool. It's funny how ten years of progress can vanish in the blink of an eye when Emily Fields is smiling at you. You've come a long way since she first said goodbye.
You're a successful entrepreneur, working as a life coach in the big apple. Sometimes it seems pretty ironic that your job is to help people put their lives together, but it's something you're good at and you enjoy it; it helps that people pay you a ton of money for your services too. You're not sure what Emily does. You made a point of cutting her out of your life, like a heroin addict going cold turkey; right now you feel about ready to break in to a cold sweat.
"I saw you at Rio, you were incredible." Emily compliments you while wearing an easy smile, like you're just another one of the nameless faces at this reunion. "You totally should have gotten that third gold. That Australian swimmer definitely had a false start." You took home two gold medals at the Rio Olympics, for the 200m and 400m team relay, but you only managed silver in your individual 100m freestyle race. It's the story of your life, always coming second. Part of you wants to tell Emily that your consolation prize for losing out on the gold was getting to fuck the Australian who stole it from you, just to spite her; but too big a part of you worries that she won't care.
"Thanks. It was a crazy experience even making the national team." You go for bashful instead of spiteful, because that's just who you are. You wanted to hate Emily when she broke up with you over outing Allison DiLuarentis to the police, but you just couldn't. You've never been able to hate Emily. Everything you did was to protect her.
You feel a twinge of pain in your left knee, a cruel reminder of why you'll never make it to another Olympic games; not as an athlete anyway. Two years ago your career as a professional swimmer ended when your mountain bike snapped in half on a particularly perilous trail, and sent you crashing in to the dirt. Your left knee was the first thing to hit the ground, taking most of the impact and shattering your kneecap. You ended up with a load of metal screws in your knee to keep it together, and a ton of physical therapy to get you walking again. Even now you still end up with a slight limp when it's cold outside and the pain flares up.
There's an ugly three inch scar running across the length of the front of your knee. It's the reason you're wearing a suit tonight, and not a dress. The pants are black and fitted, and the matching jacket is a tux, tailored for a woman's body. A crisp white shirt completes your ensemble. You have to admit you looked pretty good, standing in front of the mirror in your childhood bedroom before you left for the party. Of course you don't look anywhere near as good as Emily does, but at least the suit is designer. It's by some up and coming New York design company who are the hottest thing right now. It might have cost a small fortune, but it's like you keep telling your clients: You have to dress for success.
"So what are you doing now?" Emily probes. She's making all the effort to keep the conversation going, while you just stand there and gawk; it's like history repeating itself. You clear your throat and take a sip of your beer before answering, sure she's going to laugh in your face when she finds out you're a life coach. She doesn't. She seems genuinely fascinated, as you tell her about the work you do. "Wow, that sounds so cool. You should totally take Hanna on as a client!"
"Em, I'm a life coach, not a miracle worker." You both share a laugh. Emily doesn't seem to notice the way her nickname just slipped out; or maybe she does and she just doesn't mention it.
"Well you should have a go anyway. Our apartment is total chaos thanks to her!"
Our apartment? So she's living with Hanna. Either her best friend has changed teams over the years, or Emily's not seriously involved with anyone. As if picking up on your thoughts, she elaborates. "We're kind of doing the whole spinster thing and living together. She's a nightmare to live with, but it's totally worth it. We have this loft in Soho, it's a total cliché I know, but it's so gorgeous."
She lives in New York. You're both living in the same city and you never even knew it. That's the anonymity of city life for you. "Awesome. What is it that you do?" It seems a little easier to talk to her now that you've finished off half of your beer, and you know she's not married or anything. You ask her what she does for a living, and almost choke when she tells you she and Hanna design their own clothing line. The jacket you're wearing is actually one of theirs. Half of your wardrobe must be their designs. You're not sure why you're surprised though; Emily always knew what looked good on you.
"Wow, I'm wearing you tonight!" Of course, you're Paige McCullers, and articulation isn't your strong suit. "My tux!" You quickly add, trying not to come across as a complete dork.
"I thought it was." Emily laughs, and it lights up her whole face. God, you've missed her laugh. She spots Hanna over by the bar, talking to Sean Ackard. You spoke to him when you first got here an hour ago. He's married to his college sweetheart, and they have two blonde haired, blue eyed boys. He insisted on showing you the pictures in his wallet. You expect Emily to leave to go and join her friends, but she surprises you by waving Hanna over instead.
"Paige!" Hanna Marin is as bubbly as ever as she throws her arms around you. There's a faint smell of tequila about her that could also explain her friendliness. She pulls back, and grins as she runs her hands down the front of the lapels of your jacket. Maybe she has changed teams after all. "I told you these would look great long and narrow! They totally feminise it." Emily gives the blonde the same kind of patient smile that you'd give to a three year old sticking out their tongue, and you bite back a smile. You can only imagine how fun it must be to work and live with Hanna.
You somehow end up spending the rest of the night by Emily's side. Every time you try and slip away, Hanna just drags you back in. She even follows you to the bathroom. Twice. You think you might be standing a little too close to your ex-girlfriend, but after a couple more beers you stop caring. Your hand finds the small of her back, and she doesn't pull away. So you keep it there. It's an ingrained instinct, to stick close. To try and protect her.
There's nothing to protect her from any more. A is long gone. There are no more texts, no more threats. The last you heard, Allison is on the other side of the world, so Emily is even safe from her poisonous influence. You're glad that she's happy, that she's in a good place; you just wish that you could have played a bigger part in that happiness.
What could have been a painstaking reunion, turns out to be a pretty fun night. Before long you realise it's almost midnight and the party is winding down. You feel a little sad at the prospect of leaving and never seeing Emily again. It's like you've drank an entire bottle of vodka after ten years of sobriety, and you're expected to just go right back to being stone cold sober tomorrow; but when Hanna finds out you live in New York now, she lets out a squeal of delight and insists you all have dinner some time. You swap numbers, but you don't expect either of them to call. Tonight's been nice, but you're sure Emily is going to go right back to forgetting all about you once she walks out of the door.
You head outside as a group, and the cold night air instantly hits you, making you feel a little light headed. You stumble a little in your heels, you think you must be more drunk than you realised. Emily keeps you on your feet. Her arm is linked through one of yours, keeping you steady. You're grateful for the support, since your knee is aching and just about ready to give out on you. The heels were a bad choice.
Sean hasn't been drinking, so he offers to drive everyone home. You politely decline the offer. You've already called a taxi, and you're not quite sure you could handle being pressed up against your ex in the back seat of his car. Emily lets go of your arm so Hanna can give you a hug goodbye. She makes you promise to call about dinner soon.
Emily waits until Sean and Hanna are in the car before she turns to you. She's wearing a strange expression, one that you can't quite pin down. It's a shock when she steps in close and wraps her arms around you in a lingering hug. Your body feels on fire everywhere she's pressed against you, and it takes every ounce of willpower that you possess not to bury your face in her hair; you're sure her scent is going to haunt you forever. "Hanna's right about dinner. You have to come over to the loft. Soon."
You nod at her, not trusting yourself to say anything. You didn't even expect her to speak to you tonight, never mind invite you over to her place. "Goodbye, Paige." She squeezes your hand with a smile, pulls away, and climbs in to the waiting car. Even after all these years, it never gets any easier to watch her walking away from you.