Author's note: New to the Paily and PLL universe (circa. February 2017) I have to say you guys are pretty awesome. I loved the show but I have to say this - sorry Emison fans - that ending was a complete betrayal of the characters Emily Fields and Paige McCullers.
There are so many great stories on here, some finished and some abandoned. I would encourage you all to keep writing, keep Paily alive, and look to give them the ending the deserved but were so cruelly robbed of.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with Pretty Little Liars
Rating: M for future chapters
I hope you enjoy Liberty.
"Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the Liberty Bell. 27° 27' 47.2096 North, 83° 7' 21.2109 West... We are flooding, we are taking on water…can you hear me? Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the Liberty Bell...Paige, look out!"
She shot up in bed fighting for air. Chocking as the oxygen began to fill her lungs, she wretched forward and grasped furiously at her chest. Pulling at the sweat-soaked vest that clung to her body like a second skin she fought to break free from the sodden bed sheets tangled around her limbs. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she rubbed the tears furiously from her eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the light that was making its way over the horizon and in through the curtains.
Stretching to open up her chest she takes a deep breath and rolls her shoulders, loosening the muscles straining in her back. Closing her eyes she sits up straight and rests her palms on her knees, beginning the all too familiar ritual of reminding her body how to breathe, in….and out. In…...and out. In….and out; focusing on the feeling of the solid ground beneath her feet - forcing her body to slow down, to remember where she was.
Coming back to her surroundings she quickly becomes aware of another presence in the room; nails and paws scratching lightly across the hard wood floor, making their way towards her. Opening her eyes to see her 2yr old Alsatian, Jack, looking at her with a lob-sided grin, she scratches his head and moves to stand watching him as he dances around her feet, "I'm OK boy."
Stripping out of her wet clothes she grabs some sweats and a clean t-shirt from the drawer before heading into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee. Jack, her ever-present shadow following closely at her heels.
Sliding the balcony door of her Connecticut waterfront home open she steps out into the cool, crisp air of the morning, wrapped in a blanket and grasping the steaming cup of black coffee to her like her life depends on it. Running down on to the beach, Jack jumps in to the surf, barking at the waves as the roll on to the sand. Pulling up a chair she watches the sunrise, smiling at Jack as he runs back up the steps to her side, sitting patiently until she leans across and runs a hand across his head and scratches behind his ears.
Taking a deep breath she glances back in to the house and looks at 3 boxes stacked by the front door. She hadn't realised how little she had kept in storage, how little she actually owned. But in all honesty, what did she actually need? Nothing. She didn't need nor did she want, anything.
She had just over 2hrs before she had to head to her meeting. Throwing on her trainers and a beanie and calling out for Jack she began her run along the Greenway trail. With the sun now over the horizon she could feel the warmth on her back. Stripping off her jumper and tying it around her waist, the cold air hits her skin and surges her forward. When she reaches the lighthouse she begins to feel the familiar burning sensation in her leg. She hasn't quite recovered yet – can still feel the ache deep in the tissue of her right thigh – but she would get there. All she needed was time.
Back at the house she pulls open the garage door to see the tattered bag waiting for her. Wrapping her hands she begins to go to work; circling the bag throwing off light punches - she had excellent technique. But so she should - she was a machine - a well trained, well oiled, machine. Stepping up the pace, a succession of powerful right hooks met with creaking leather; it took everything she had to give as she extended through her powerful legs and obliterated her imaginary opponent time and time again.
Pushing herself away from the bag, she looks up before jumping and grabbing the bar above her head. Glancing across at her watch she has 15 minutes before she needs to hit the shower. Crossing her feet at her ankles and taking a deep breath, she hoists herself up before lowering herself back down. Breathe, up. Exhale, down. Breathe, up. Exhale, down. The sweat runs furiously down her body to the floor.
After a hot shower, the sting of overused muscles began to subside. She has 30 minutes to get to her meeting. Looking in the mirror she traces the jagged scar that marred the otherwise perfect, creamy white skin of her right thigh. Her body was a map of just how deadly and fearless she'd had to be over the years - from the car wreck she'd been in at 12 years old that fractured every bone in her left arm and cracked 2 ribs, to the scars she'd accumulated through the 4 years in Afgan...the list went on.
She didn't have time for this. Looking to the side of the mirror she had two options: her service uniform or civvies. It was difficult to know what to wear - on the one hand, Sergeant Major Wilden had called in a pretty big favour to get her this meeting. She wanted to honour him and the efforts he had made to get her to this moment. On the other hand, that uniform had never felt more foreign to her. Where once it had signified a new life, a family, belonging…now it symbolised pain and regret.
Settling on civvies, she tugged the black leather jacket over her plain white t-shirt before pushing her way out of the house. Striding around to the back yard, where Jack was waiting patiently, she pulled the tarp from her ride - her means of freedom - a black, Ducati Streetfighter 848. Swinging her leg over putting the key in the ignition she felt the beast purr like a kitten beneath her. Looking back she called out to Jack, "I won't be long" before kicking off and roaring out on the main road. Opening up the throttle, she sped up Ocean Avenue towards her destination.
A loud and authoritative knock shook him out of his reverie, "Yes!"
The door pushed open to reveal a young and handsome officer stood with a concerned and inquisitive expression on his face, "you asked to see me Commander."
"Yes Ezra, please, close the door."
After a beat, Ezra entered the room and closed the door behind him. Making his way in front of the imposing figure behind the desk, Ezra stood to attention and saluted the highly decorated and distinguished US Coast Guard's Command Master Chief, Wayne Fields.
"At ease Ezra. Have a seat."
Ezra sat down and in the same chair for what must have been the millionth time in the 12 years he had known this man. Every time he was in this office he was hit with the overwhelming respect and reverence he had for the man sat in front of him, the man who had single handed given him his career. This whole office was a living, breathing, testament to the man Ezra Fitz had looked up to most of his life. Surrounding them were walls of commendations and memories; cadets who had achieved the impossible, miraculous and inexplicable saves, pictures of him in the White House shaking the hand of the then presidents, Clinton, Bush and Obama. He remembered being in this office and trying desperately to stifle a laugh as Commander Master Chief Wayne Fields and refused to entertain a visit from the newly elected President Trump. And there, close to him on his desk, where pictures of his family.
He could see the Commander was deliberating something. Leaning back in his chair, Wayne looked across to the window in time to see the sky darken and thunderclouds roll overhead. His fingers tapped on the thick folder in front of him. He was waiting for something. Looking to the clock on the wall he watched as the hour hand ticked over. She had 2 minutes. Taking a deep breath, he focused his eyes on Ezra, "I have a decision to make, and for the first time in what I would consider a long time, I don't know the right course of action."
Ezra was curious. He had only ever known Wayne Fields to question his own judgement once - just once - in his entire career. Leaning forward and looking at the folder he cleared his throat, "what do we have?"
Outside, a loud screech of tyres breaking could be heard across the academy grounds. Killing the engine, she leapt off the bike and took off running. Taking the stairs two at a time she lunged through the front doors of the building.
Wayne Fields opened the folder. Lifting the first few pages his eyes skimmed the information in front of him, trying desperately to find the answers he had missed the first time he read her file. And the 7 times that followed that, "US Marine Lance Corporal Paige McCullers, 29 years old. Born to Nick and Elaine McCullers, raised in Key West, Florida. Parents were killed in a boating accident in 2005 along with a family friend. Paige the only survivor. No siblings. "
Paige bounded along the corridor; her heart feeling like it was about to explode out of her chest. She felt thoroughly disheveled, could feel the sweat running down her back. Damn it, there goes the option to remove my jacket.
Ezra shifted a little in his seat, causing Wayne to pause but not look up as he took a beat and continued through Paige's file "…All star swim champ at Stanford, she could've gone pro but was kicked out at the end of her freshman year for drunk and disorderly behaviour. Went to live with her uncle, John McCullers, in Bristol CT. Within a year she was and enlisted in the Marine Corps. Served two tours in Afghanistan until she pulled from active duty in 2014 and then…" Wayne looks up at Ezra, who has his fingers resting against his lips in anticipation of what's to follow.
"Sir?"
"And then nothing," Wayne sits back in his seat, interlocking his fingers before resting them against his chest, "the next two years are redacted until September 2016, when Sergeant Major Darren Wilden assigns her to Operation Enduring Freedom…for the past 6 months, Paige as been part of a combined joint task force combating militant Islamism and Piracy in the Horn of Africa."
Wayne stands up from his chair and walks to the window and looks out on the academy grounds, watching the cadets in the distance run their drills. A crackle in the sky has him turning around and leaning back against the wall, looking to Ezra.
Ezra stands and takes the three paces required to at his Commander's side. Wayne takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose before being interrupted by the telephone on his desk ringing. Striding back to his desk Wayne picks up the receiver, "Yes…OK, thank you."
Placing the receiver back down and turning back to Ezra, Wayne once again takes his seat.
Ezra knows this man better than he knows his own father - he already knows what he wants to do. Problem is, he also knows why he doesn't want to do it. Turning to look out the same window Ezra's attention is pulled by the black Ducati parked idly next to his Land Rover. He can feel a change coming, "Sir, if I can speak freely?"
Wayne gestures with his hands to do so.
"Why now?"
"Wilden," was all Wayne would offer up.
"Sir?"
"We…we grew up together – he was, is, one of the very best men I have ever had the privilege of knowing and serving alongside. Let's just say, he called in a favour and leave it at that."
"So, McCullers is the favour?"
Wayne looked down at the open file in front of him and brought it to a close, "something like that."
It wasn't a satisfactory answer but Ezra guessed that was all he was going to get, for the time being. He watched as Wayne clenched and unclenched his fists several times before once again picking up the telephone.
Sat, sticking to the chair in the waiting room of CMC Wayne Fields office, Paige began to wonder what was taking so long. Wayne Fields was keeping her waiting. Paige knew this tactic all too well - designed to throw new recruits off their game, make them nervous, and allow the self-doubt to creep in. But this wasn't her first rodeo or even her second, and she sure as shit wasn't some rookie cadet.
"Excuse me," Paige looked over and in to the kind eyes of the woman who had been keeping her company, for all intents and purposes for the past 10 minutes, "he will see you now."
Lifting her fist to knock, Paige steadied herself and took a long, slow breath before her fist met wood in three successive knocks. A loud voice, beckoning her in from the other side, had her twisting the handle and pushing the door open. Looking to the two men stood to attention in front of her, Paige stepped in to the room and closed the door behind her.
"Lance Corporal Paige McCullers?"
"Yes Sir."
"I am Command Master Chief Wayne Fields and this is Master Chief Petty Officer Ezra Fitz. Won't you sit down."