Author's Note: This fan-fiction is something I have been mulling over for a while. In the books, Emily recalls how Ali/Courtney would always speak of running away together, so this is a speculation off that 'what if'; although it is set in the tv universe, I will borrow some ideas from the books. The story takes place shortly before Alison is hit on that fateful night when wearing the iconic yellow top.
Alison is a little soft and gushy in this chapter, but only because I wanted to show Ali with genuine emotions, faced with the somber prospect of losing everything in her life. The arrogant Ali and the confident cadence in her voice will be back, after she gets over the initial shock.
Since most of the readers will probably Emison fans I should note: while the story contains Emison, it is primarily an adventure/mystery. It is not a fluff piece, or focused primarily on romance. Ali is still the old Ali, so do not get too upset when things between her and Em are cruel and highly disappointing at times. It's a process, and you should just enjoy the ride with Alison in all the dimensions of her character, both the good and the evil — unlike King, I promise it will actually be a meaningful process with Emison.
I own nothing. All rights to Pretty Little Liars belong to ABC Family and Sara Shepard. This is merely my little tribute to the unimaginably wonderful world they have created.
Tick tock, princess. You're time is running out. Spend your last days wisely, because soon your only friends will be the worms. Love Ya — A.
Ali stares at the message on her iPhone display. A lump forms in her throat that she cannot swallow. This is merely the latest in a series of increasingly threatening texts from the mysterious A. All the eventualities flash before Alison's eyes. How will this end? There is no way it is an empty prank. A intends to put her in the ground sometime soon. It was not a phantom that choked her last Halloween. With the sins she has committed, this is all frighteningly real. She knows what is coming.
And just like that, Alison Lauren DiLaurentis decides to leave town. She turns on her heel and opens the closet door. There is no safe harbor with the police. She'd incriminate herself and spend too many good years of her life behind bars, or in an insane asylum. Even death would be so much sweeter than a deathless death in the nut house, where she is plied with pills and gruel. No, there is no doubt this is the only way to escape a grisly fate.
Yet, tearing herself from everything she knows is not going to come easily. Though she would never admit it to the girls, life was so much more plain before Aria, Hanna, Spencer and Emily came into it. Alison never had this level of control over other people. The four are wrapped tightly around her little finger. To be perfectly honest, it is an ego-rush; an intoxicating mix of fear and adoration. Even sex cannot be this good. But, she also never had this much love in her life. It is their love which pains her heart at the thought of leaving.
Alison teases, blackmails and dominates, but the four are her girls. She pulls a darling sweater off the hanger Spencer gave her last Christmas. A sad smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, recalling when Spencer told the story of how she had to fight this orange-tanned, Jersey shore bitch for what actually turned out to be the perfect gift.
Speak of the devil, a text comes in from Spence: "I've got a free period tomorrow at 2:15, wanna grab a mocha?" And she doesn't know why she does it, but Alison replies with a sweet: "I wouldn't miss it, my darling." She tosses the phone on top of the bedspread and presses a frustrated palm to her forehead.
The blonde pulls a purple suitcase from under the bed and begins to stuff it with everything from undergarments to her favorite gray hoodie. Only the finest clothes and the ones with memories make the cut. Ali opens the top drawer on her nightstand and grabs her black Italian Tactical Stiletto Switchblade, flipping it into attack position—a gift from her second cousin when he returned from duty in Afghanistan a couple years back. She lifts the French poster off the wall and proceeds to skin it. A white envelope reveals itself, marked "Last Resort". She peals the seal off and removes a thick stack of hundred dollar bills, holstering the switchblade in her Tory Burch belt. Ali fans out the yards and tucks them underneath the bright red bra she packed. She inconspicuously re-hangs the poster as if nothing had ever changed.
Her Dad sidles up to the doorpost, but kindly alerts his presence by knocking his knuckles gently against the hardwood. "Hey baby girl," he ejects softly, nudging the door open a little more, "You getting ready to get some sleep?" His eyes snap to the suitcase and then back to his daughter's pale face. "Is there a vacation coming up that I forgot about?," he questions, knowing that he works too much at the office and commonly fails to remember even the big family plans.
Ali taps a finger on the top of the suitcase. "Oh, no Dad, you didn't forget a trip this time," she jests, "Spencer said her Mom and Dad might be going upstate to the Poconos this weekend and she said I could tag along if I wanted to. Sorry, I didn't tell you guys, but I wasn't sure if I was going. I have a lot of homework but I wanted to have everything ready if I decided to go with the Hastings."
Kenneth nods his head up and down, non-verbally agreeing to what she said, without really listening to all of the details. "It might not be a bad idea to get away," he says, resting his head against the door, "You seem awfully stressed lately, and a break might be good for you."
His daughter simply mimics his half-listening nods. "Okay," Kenneth announces, "Your Mom is already in bed, so I think I'm gonna hit the hay." He stands up straight and says in his best parental voice, "You should be getting to bed too."
Before Kenneth fully turns to leave, Ali piques, "Dad," causing him to turn back around. She looks at him with sadness in her big blue eyes, biting her bottom lip. She pauses, praying it is not her asking this for the last time, "Could I have a hug good night and a kiss on the head like you used to do?"
Kenneth smiles and lumbers over to his daughter. "Of course, pumpkin," he replies, wrapping his arms around her. For the first time in a while, she really hugs him. Not one of these quick, light touches. Ali squeezes him tight like it is the last time and for a second considers telling him the truth, telling him everything. He presses a kiss to her scalp and chuckles. "I love you too, Ali," he whispers, "I know you have to grow up and live your own life someday, but I wish it could be like this forever."
"Me too, Dad," she mutters, choking back tears. When she finally pulls back, she quickly wipes her eyes so that he cannot become suspicious and realize his heart is about to be torn out. She really doesn't want to leave, but A is giving her no choice. It is safer for all of them this way, she reasons. If she runs away, nobody she cares about will get caught in the crossfire. And, who knows, maybe in a year or two, she can figure out a way to come back. Hope springs eternal, they always say.
"Good night," her Dad says as he knocks twice against the door frame for good luck. And with that he shuffles out the room and down the hall to be in his own bed with his loving wife. "Knock on wood," Ali mumbles to herself. She would repeated the words every time he conducted the silly superstition up until she was eight years old, finishing what he started to absorb some of the luck.
Alison checks her wrist for the time, feeling the tension spread through ever part of her extremities. It is only 11pm. Dad will not be drifting off to Neverland for at least another hour. The wait is unbearable. That is why terrorist attacks happen in the morning or early afternoon. If you are going to blow yourself up, or die in a shoot out, you do not want to hang around all day. No! You want to get up and get it over with. No use waiting to die, or get to your heaven of 72 virgin girls.
Maybe one last shower. God knows when she will have an opportunity for a decent one. Her future looks full of flee-bag motels that Sam and Dean might stay at. A whore's bath might be less gross than stepping inside those icky tubs where the drains are clogged with some fat bastard's back hair.
She slips out of the white summer dress that is much too cold for the weather they have been having lately and grabs a towel from the bathroom closet. She pushes the door shut, and, for extra protection, clicks the wobbly lock into place. She takes off the remaining unmentionables and hops into the shower, slipping a little before gripping onto the shower curtain. The warm water feels divine against her scalp. She massages some conditioner into her long blonde locks and makes a mental note to take that small bottle of conditioner she still has from vacation in Atlantic City with her.
Breathing out a sigh, the muscles in her shoulder begin to relax. Yet, the faces of her girls worm their way into consciousness, no matter how hard she fights to block them. Spencer is the only one who can match Alison on an intellectual level. She rarely likes to talk about it, but there is a little bit of a nerdy side to the DiLaurentis vixen. Sometimes there is nothing better than curling up with a good Hegel book; perhaps the Vorlesungen über die Geschichte der Philosophie. She can even read a book in German as well as Spencer can read a book in French.
Then there's Hanna who practically worships the blonde goddess. She views Ali as the pretty, skinny version of herself. And, even though Alison never pulls any punches with Hanna, dumping on her whenever a bad mood strikes, a certain feisty spirit and unfiltered tongue will be lacking in her life without the pudgy friend.
Aria has a big heart and the soul of the artist. Ali would not be surprised if she ends up traveling continental Europe someday with some bourgeoisie painter named Xavier. The doll-faced brunette is kind of the baby of the group, spending way too much time with her stuffed Pigtunia, but whenever life feels too overwhelming, Aria's youthful spirit is just the drug Alison needs. Plus, the stuff she knits is super soft. You wouldn't think it, but that black and white mohair bra is simply amazing, even if it is ugly as hell. It is like being snuggled by a cloud. Lodged in her suitcase, it will be something to remember the girl by.
Alison shakes her head, not wanting all these warm thoughts right now. She grasps her temples and tries to physically push them out of her soul. But there is one last face that is going to come to the surface sooner or later.
Emily's caramel face crashes through the barriers erected, and presents itself to her spectral vision. A slight smile cross the Filipina's lips and Ali squeezes her eyes tightly to make the image even more real. Out of the four, Emily is the most special. Ali knew that Emily was into girls long before she did. Em's love for Ali extends beyond the mere fangirling of Hanna. She notices the way Em's heart rate rises and the way her cheeks become flushed every time they touch. It is cute. And, it is thrilling to have that much power over another person's body. It is nice to have somebody look at you not only with lust, like the older men of Rosewood, but with tenderness.
God! Alison collapses to the shower floor and lets the hot tears roll down her cheeks. She stifles her sobs after the first few escape her lips in loud gasps. She contents herself with miming the gasps, her mouth silently contorting into heartbreaking shapes. The sobs shake her body for a good ten minutes, before the wells finally run dry. But, her legs do not have the strength or the will to rise, so she just stays like that, kneeling with her hands braced against the sides of the tub.
Dressed and all packed, this is it. She slips into a gray zipped hoodie and stares at her reflection in the mirror. "You can do this," Ali mouths to her inverted self. The skin is still puffy below her eyes, but she did not bother to put any concealer on. You cannot really tell if she's been crying or if she is merely tired.
Alison drags her feet to the printer and takes the bus ticket from the tray—a one way ticket to Trenton, NJ. The family used to make trips down the Jersey Shore every summer. Her grandmother owns a condo that has enough room for the whole family, and she hid something very precious under a floorboard behind one of the beds there that she desperately needs. Alison snaps the locks on her purple suitcase and eases it down gently onto the ground, her hand sweaty against the cold metal. She nods a little and shuffles out the door with her head hanging low. There is just one thing she has to do before she leaves.
The queen bee finds herself standing outside the Fields' household, stretching the sleeves of her jacket over her fingertips. Emily is surely asleep by now, but Ali wants one last glance before she says goodbye for what might be forever. Wayne was painting the side of the house before he went back to Afghanistan (again), but forgot to put the ladder away. Perfect! Ali picks it up from the damp grass and places it as quietly against the side of the house as she can manage. The street is dead, every light out. Everybody must have turned in for the night. Nobody on this street likes to party. She climbs all the way to the top of the rusty ladder, until she can see into Emily's bedroom. The glass is a little foggy, so Ali wipes away some of the moisture with her elbow. She cups her hands around her eyes and presses her face up against the glass.
Emily sleeps on her side, facing the window, hair drawn back into a ponytail. Alison watches her chest move up and down with each breath. And she doesn't know why she does it, but Ali raps her knuckles against the glass. She instantly regrets it when Emily jolts awake. She rubs her sleepy eyes and glances around the room not finding anything amiss, the blonde hidden in the dark of night, frozen in place. Em takes her hair out of the ponytail and tosses the scrunchy on the nightstand. She settles back down on the pillow, but her eyes happen to travel over to the window, hoping to catch sight of the moon. Emily fights to stifle a sharp squeal. Ali simply responds with a lazy smile.
In seconds, Em is off the bed and at the window. She forces the stubborn window open and steps back to let Alison hop inside. The pale girl rubs her hands up and down her sides, blowing hot air onto her palms, "It's chilly outside." All the sadness that was visible on her face has been replaced with a façade of confident nonchalance.
"What's going on?," Emily immediately asks, "What's wrong, Ali?" Her voice trembles from being started not a minute before. There is only one other time Alison climbed a ladder and woke Emily up in the middle of the night, and that was when her new puppy died from complications. Ali never shed a single tear, but Emily could tell she was breaking apart inside. Em tried to help her through the grieving process by sharing the story of when her labrador was hit by a car when she was only eight, but All just wanted to fall asleep with Emily holding her close.
"Ummm…," Alison stalls for time, deciding whether or not to tell her the truth of the matter, "I'm uhh… leaving, and I just needed to say goodbye." The brunette's eyes go wide with fear, not quite sure what the hell she is talking about. Knowing it cannot be good, goosebumps spread like lightening up the length of her arms. Ali smiles wistfully and shifts her eyes to the side sharply and then back again, as if to shrug with her baby blues.
"What do you mean you're saying goodbye?," Em ejects with a mix of anger, shock and sadness altogether, "What do you mean you're leaving? How are you…?" She doesn't care if she wakes her parents. Maybe they will stop this madness. She move closer to the blonde and grabs onto her forearm, ready to put up a fight if she decides to bolt.
Before Em becomes hysterical, Ali intertwines her hand in Emily's and rocks it back and forth. The truth is dangerous. You are always better off with a really good lie, and that is exactly what Ali decides to give Emily. "You know how we're always talking about running away and seeing the world," Ali says forcing her voice so it is airy and light, as if this is fun for her, "Well, I'm gonna do it." Her eyes sparkle with what looks like genuine excitement, "I am so tired of this boring old town. I wanna have real adventures, beyond worrying about what new designer bag is coming out next month, or which stupid jock has a crush on me this week. There is so much out there that you can't find in safe and predictable Rosewood."
Emily swallows hard, as if her heart were trying to force its way up and out of her throat. "Those were just silly fantasies, Ali," she objects. What is she supposed to say to convince Alison to stay. She cannot lose her, not now, not ever. She can never lose the feeling of Ali's warm hand in hers. Em's mind rushes through a million different things to say to the blonde, but it ends up freezing in the flood of nervous energy and going blank. All she can say is, "So you're really going to leave, all of us, your parents, your brother, Spencer, Aria, Hanna, and me? What aren't you telling me?"
Alison rolls her eyes in response to the sadness radiating off of Emily's body. "Ugh, don't put that guilt trip on me," She pushes past the brunette and quickly swings back around to face her. "I came to say goodbye to you, and only you, not Spencer, not Aria, not Hanna, but you! But nothing is ever good enough for you." She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest, expecting a fight, but all she gets are tears welling up in the Filipina's eyes. "God, fine!," Ali lets out, "I'm leaving because I cannot take living home any longer. My parents told me that I messed up one too many times and that I can't even see you guys. School and home, that is what they say my future looks like. Either that or my Mom is threatening to send me off to military school. And, I am not gonna live in some fascist dictatorship where even the girls hold onto their rifle like its their penis."
"But Ali," Emily pleads with her best friend, "Running away is not the answer. We can fix this. We can talk to your Mom and Dad, convince them not to send you away." She latches onto the hem of Ali's gray hoodie and pulls her close.
The blonde simply shakes her head. "Even Jason's on their side," she coos, "Their minds are made up. They even have military academy brochures siting on the coffee table."
Emily leans forward and drapes herself around Alison, burying her face into her shoulder. "But I don't want you to go," she begs, the sound muffled, "We can't lose you. We love you. I love you."
Alison pulls back to look into the other girl's brunette eyes. She takes a thumb and wipes the water building up in the corner of her eyes. "It'll be okay," Ali comforts, rubbing her thumb in circles on Emily's chipmunk cheek. "It sucks but it'll get better. You've got the girls. Don't let go of them. You have to be strong for me, okay?" Emily shakes her head "no", refusing to pretend she is all right with this. She goes to speak, but Ali shushes her, and continues, "You have to be my rock. I am counting on you to take care of the others. You're the strongest. I need you to be strong."
The blonde cups Em's face with both hands and leans in closer. "I'm gonna miss you the most," she declares, "Remember that, my darling." Alison closes the distance between them and presses a chaste kiss to her lips for at least a few breaths. Emily tastes like the Crest 3D White mouthwash she must have rinsed with before drifting off.
Emily's eyes close expecting more, but when she reopens them, Ali is already standing at the window, one foot raised and resting on the windowsill. She smiles sheepishly back at the brunette, her eyes heavy. Em's mouth hangs open slightly about to speak but too afraid. The moment hangs heavy in the chilled air.
And she knows that this is the most selfish decision, but Ali cannot help but say these words, "You wanna come with me, Em?" She shrugs at the swimmer, as if to lessen the seriousness of the suggestion; as if it were only a passing thought, instead of a hanging question about to stop her heart from beating. She needs to say "yes." She can't be alone.
"What?," Emily mutters innocently, unsure if she heard the other girl right, advancing closer to the pair of windows on the frontside of the house.
"I don't have to leave you all behind," Ali continues developing the thought, "You could run away with me." She pulls her leg back in the room and sits down against the window, folding her hands in her lap. "Honest to God, Em, I don't want to do it alone," Ali almost begs the girl, leaning forward for emphasis, "But with you it doesn't have to something I simply have to endure, the lesser of two evils." Ali stands back up and clasps one of Emily's hands in both of hers, "It could be the best year of our lives. It doesn't have to be like running away, it could be like a vacation." She tucks herself a little closer to Emily and drops her voice to a husky purr to make what she has to say that much more enticing and seductive, "Just you and me, together, traveling the country. I could even take you to Paris. We could hang out in small Parisian, drink wine by the Seine, whatever you want."
Emily's eyes wobble with fear, but with the blonde so close, and the offer so inviting, she only wants to jump into her arms, kiss her and never let go. She bites her lip and listens to Alison sweeten the offer, "We could even stay there forever." But the rational side of her brain has to protest, "I can't leave my family. I can't just leave everything behind."
"You're parents are the same as mine," Alison tries to rebut, weaving truth and fiction together, "But they're better at pretending they're not." There is no response from Emily, so she decides to push the envelope, finding her Achilles' Heel, "Come on, Em. You know what it's gonna be like when they find out about you." She gives her a knowing look, but Emily is still having trouble forming an appropriate response.
"I understand," Ali says sadly, slowly nodding her head up and down, and realizing that this was a hopeless wish, "Bye, Em." She can't expect Emily to leave a loving family and friends for some crazy adventure with her, where the future is wholly uncertain and most likely perilous. No, it is better that Emily stays behind. It would not be fair to her. Ali slides her feet to the window once more, not looking back. If she does, she might not be able to tear herself away from home and everything the girl represents.
Emily dashes forward and grabs Ali's wrist before she can fully slip through the window. "Wait!," she shout-whispers, pulling the blonde back inside, "I'll go… I'll go with you." Her lower lip is still quaking, but she steels her grip and tries to keep her words from breaking apart. "I'll go with you," she says again trying to convince herself more than Alison.
And the biggest grin you can imagine breaks its way onto Ali's face. "You're serious?," she asks just to make sure. A nod is all she gets in reply, but it is enough. "Well come on then," she almost shouts all excitedly, pulling the girl twined in her fingers towards the ladder.
"Wait, wait," Emily clamors resisting the feeble strength of the pale girl, who is not weak by any measure, but not nearly as strong as the girl who spends hours and hours practicing strokes in the pool after classes. For a second, fear radiates off of Ali's body as every muscle tenses, thinking that Em may have already begun to regret such a snap decision. But Emily simply informs her, "I can't go without packing some clothes."
Ali breathes a sigh of relief. "My suitcase is hidden in the bushes down there, so I'm all set."
"What are we gonna do about money?," Emily questions as she opens the doors to the armoire, scoops up few pairs of bras and underpants, and throws them onto the bed.
"Oh, don't worry about that, sweetie," Ali reassures as she flops backwards onto the bed and proceeds to neatly fold the garments Em keeps throwing, "I have more than enough money saved up to last us at least a year. And that includes having fun on the road, not just skimping by on ramen noodles." Emily pulls her wheely-suitcase out of the closet and opens it on the bed. Ali arranges a few of the pieces inside, opening the inner zipper, "I'll take care of you."
Emily turns her back so Alison cannot see the blush dominating her cheeks. "Uh, let me just write up a quick letter," she mumbles, waiting for an objection that never comes from the blonde, "I want them to know I'm safe." She hates to admit it, but Ali is right. Perfect Mr. and Mrs. Fields will never tolerate a gay daughter sullying their 1950s picturesque image around the Rosewood community. They'd probably send her off to one of those gay conversion camps, and like military camp that is not a future she wants to endure. As Emily grabs a pen and paper and begins writing the words, "There's something I have to tell you. Mom, Dad, I'm Gay," her heart skips a beat. This is the first time she has ever fully admitted to herself that she actually is gay. She tricked herself into believing that it was only Ali who made her heart go pitter patter. And that might be true, but she knows what she feels towards her is a thousand times greater than what she has ever felt towards Ben. Ali is the girl she knows she can never have. She is not stupid. She knows that kiss before was only out of pity, and that the other were either for practice or because she was bored. Yet, even knowing it is futile, she rather be by Ali's side as a friend than with Ali gone running around God knows where.
She lifts her head and gives Ali a small sad smile.
After another half-hour of dawdling, the girls finally climb down the ladder and cross to the other side of the street, so that their voices have no chance of waking Mr. and Mrs. Fields. "The cab should be here any minute to take us to the bus stop," Ali announces, checking her cell phone, "I told them not to beep." She notices the slouching of Em's shoulders and she wraps an arm around them.
The cab pulls up on the curb next to them after Ali flags it down. She takes the two suitcases to the back of the cab, not wanting Emily to have to do any of the work, considering she is already making this tremendous leap for her. Em uncharacteristically stands there idly watching as Ali pops the trunk and lifts the suitcases. The dark-haired girl's arms and soul are too heavy to help. The full weight of the decision is starting to hit every part of her body. She merely watches everything unfold, as if in a dream, as Ali leads her by the hand into the cab.
Next thing Emily knows, they are somewhere inside Philadelphia. She gazes hypnotically at all the lights of the city streaking by the foggy taxi window. Alison has not said a word since they got in the cab. "Look who dozed off a little," Ali dispels the illusion that she was awake the whole time. Emily pushes herself up to sit up straight against the cushion. "How long was I out?," she questions, bringing her attention back inside the cab. Even the driver looks tired at this time of night.
"About a half-hour," Ali replies, "We're almost at there." She places a hand on top of Emily's and asks her for one last time, "Are you sure you're still okay with this? If you don't wanna do this with me, we can still drive you home and tear up that note?" The Filipina is the one person she is capable of extending this much leniency to. Emily is so sweet, so innocent, she almost feels bad for teaching Bambi there are hunters in the woods—feels bad for being the hunter in the woods.
Em shakes her head and murmurs, "I don't regret coming with you. It's just hard… it's a lot to take in… a lot to give up." Ali gives her a wry, understanding simper, and squeezes her knuckles for courage.
The taxi pulls over to the side of the road, and the cabbie informs the blonde, "Miss, we're here." Ali pulls a crisp Ben Franklin out from her jeans pocket and responds with a confident, "Keep the change."
Emily slides out first and this time grabs the two suitcases from the back, shooing away Ali when she makes a play for them. The taxi lights disappear into the cold night, leaving the rest of the street practically deserted. Only the Greyhound Bus with its rumbling engine remains. The two walk side-by-side up and into the bus. Ali hands the driver her ticket and then buys another one for Emily. They lumber through the small aisle and plop their luggage on an empty seat across from them. The only other souls onboard are an old lady in the back and a Korean business man reading the stock pages.
The engine eventually starts and the journey becomes totally real. Ali casts a kind glance towards Emily and tells her, "You look exhausted." Em blinks a few times, "Yeah, I had a tough set of swim practices today." Ali shifts a shoulder so that it is facing the other girl, "Get some sleep. I'll watch our bags." Emily looks to fight her, but Alison stares her down with her I'm-so-not-negotiating glare.
Em slouches down in the seat and tucks her head into the pale girl's shoulder, rubbing it up against the softly conditioned hair which smells like pomegranates. "Good night, Ali," she whispers, closing her eyes. Ali snuggles a little further into the brunette, staring out the window, "Good night, Em."