fic: she's the sea i'm sinking in, emily/paige
Title: She's the Sea I'm Sinking In
Rating: PG
Length: 1517
Summary: Pre-show. Paige notices Emily during tryouts.
Spoilers: vaguely 3x11
A/N: This is the first part of what will be a series following what happens with Paige off-screen. (I'm hoping that calling it a series instead of a chaptered fic will mean I actually finish it.) I might post this on tumblr? Since that seems to be where this fandom hangs out.
Paige notices Emily during tryouts. She has a strong kick, good form on her strokes, and the shiniest hair Paige has ever seen.
They both make the team, the only freshmen selected for varsity. Paige thinks it’ll be nice - maybe they can be friends, deal with things together.
When Paige tells her father, this is what he says: she’s your competition, that girl. Never forget it. Scouts don’t recruit the second best.
The first day of practice the team circles up before hitting the water. The older girls know each other already; they laugh and tease, introduce themselves via inside jokes.
Emily seems to be shy: her voice is soft during icebreakers, and she never says more than is required of her. She’s polite, unfailingly so, but it’s hard to engage her in conversation.
Her times speak for themselves, anyway.
They win their first meet. Paige sets a couple personal bests, but Emily out-touches her in freestyle.
Afterwards there’s a team gathering at a senior’s house, with pizza and ice cream and a Mean Girls showing. There’s a karaoke machine, too, and when it’s Paige’s turn she jumps on the coffee table and belts out Britney Spears. She can’t sing for her life but it doesn’t matter, she shimmies and twirls and makes a fool of herself in at least twelve different ways. It’s the best time, and when she’s done she gets enthusiastic applause.
She bows, still up on the table, catching Emily’s eye as she straightens. Emily is smiling at her but it drops as soon as Paige points the microphone her way.
She shakes her head, shrinks back into a corner.
“She seems kind of stuck up,” one of the juniors says Monday, before Emily gets to the locker room.
“She could just be reserved.”
“I don’t know. It feels like she sits there judging all of us.”
“Paige, what do you think? You probably know her better than we do.”
Paige shrugs.
“We’re not really close.”
The door swings open and Emily is there; all conversation ceases abruptly. Emily must notice, must know what’s implied in that kind of silence. It’s not obvious, her reaction, but it’s definitely there: her back straightens and her shoulders tense, like she’s bracing herself for enemy fire.
There’s a lurch in Paige’s stomach.
After practice, she packs up slowly. Coach Fulton kept Emily late for something, and Paige wants a chance to talk to her. The rest of the team is gone by the time she appears, a grin illuminating her features. She’s more unguarded than Paige has ever seen her, and it strikes Paige how pretty she is.
“Good news?”
Emily startles, her grin fading.
“I’m swimming butterfly in the medley this week.”
“Congratulations,” Paige says, and she means it - it’s a big deal for freshmen to break into the relays.
(Her father’s words prick at the back of her mind.)
“Thanks.”
Emily’s looking at the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Discomfort radiates out of her, and it reminds Paige of her purpose here.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. It’s not something people should do, talk about teammates behind their back.”
“I doubt you were the one who started it.”
“I didn’t stop it, though. And I should have.”
Emily’s eyes lock onto hers. The strength of her gaze surprises Paige, who had taken her passivity for weakness. That’s wrong, she sees now - Emily may be quiet but there’s fire in her. She won’t be easily beaten, Paige realizes, equal parts thrilled and apprehensive.
“It’s ok.” Emily sighs, sinking down on the bench beside Paige. “I just wish I were better with new people. I never know what to say.”
“You’re doing pretty well now.”
“There’s only one of you. That’s easier.”
Emily smiles; an answering grin pulls at Paige’s lips. Neither of them speaks for a moment, and a charge builds in the air between them. Paige breathes it in, feels her body tingle.
She clears her throat.
“I don’t think it’s about you being good with people,” she says. “I think the upperclassmen feel threatened."
Emily makes a face.
“No, I’m serious. You’re improving really quickly, your times are already better than half the seniors’, and, I mean. You’re gorgeous. It can be kind of intimidating.”
Paige can’t quite decipher the look Emily gives her then. There’s a calculation happening in Emily’s eyes, and Paige wishes she knew its variables, the means by which it might be solved. Then, without warning, Emily’s face goes blank. Her eyes shutter, emptied of meaning. The change is sudden and total and Paige feels it like a fist to the gut.
She wonders what has so sharpened Emily’s defenses.
“Thank you, I think,” Emily says, and then she’s moving to her locker, moving away from Paige.
Paige hangs around, keeps conversation going through sheer force of will. She has Emily laughing by the time they walk out into the hall, and it’s the same kind of satisfying as shaving a second off her race time.
“I’ve been waiting, Emily,” a voice says. Paige turns to see Alison Dilaurentis.
The humor drains from Emily; she lowers her eyes, submissive, contrite. A puzzle piece falls into place for Paige - if you’re used to Alison, of course you won’t know how to interact with actual human beings.
When Alison notices Paige her expression sours.
“What’re you looking at, no-neck,” she growls.
Paige rolls her eyes.
“Lovely to see you, too,” she says, and heads off down the hall.
They’re friendly after that, though Emily still feels more like acquaintance than friend.
She waves at Paige in the hall, says “good morning” in the locker room and “great race” when Paige places in backstroke at the county meet. She never hangs out longer than she has to, though, always hurrying off to the people who get to know more than just her surface.
Paige watches Emily with those people, with Alison and the others caught in her gravity. She watches without conscious decision - occasionally at first, then more and more, until one day at lunch Emily catches her, returns her gaze from across the room with raised eyebrows and a curious smile. Paige looks away, cheeks burning red.
That spring Paige has gym with Alison.
It’s fine, at first. Better than fine. Paige is good at gym; she’s trained her body to move fast and far and with precision, and it shows in whatever sport they happen to play.
Alison isn’t unathletic, but she shrinks down to size on a playing field. Elsewhere, propped up by friends and clothes and cutting words it’s hard to get the measure of her. She seems larger than life, a force of nature; you duck your head and hope to survive. In gym, though, she’s just a body - a body that isn’t practiced to perfection, that betrays weakness, frustration, incompetence.
Paige hasn’t experienced the worst of Alison; there are more obvious targets, and Alison’s never been one to pass up easy prey. Still, she’s had it bad enough to relish blocking Alison’s shot in basketball, scoring on her in soccer or finishing a mile ten seconds faster. Her grin is cocky whenever that happens, and she does nothing to keep it from being seen.
She’s had it bad enough, too, to be wary when Alison starts changing next to her in the locker room. It’s a conscious move by Alison - locker rooms are the part of gym Paige doesn’t like, and she always camps out alone in a corner. Or she was alone, at least, until one day Alison walks in and throws her bag down two feet from Paige. She flashes Paige a smile, honeyed and vicious.
“I needed a change of scenery,” she says, and takes off her shirt.
At the end of swim season dinner Emily sits next to Paige. They’re crowded into a booth, pressed tight together. Paige can feel Emily’s every movement, the rise of her chest and the rumble of her laugh. As they eat their arms brush against each other.
Heat settles low in Paige’s stomach. When she excuses herself to the bathroom her face is flushed.
A boy asks Paige to the spring dance. His name is Sam. They’re lab partners in biology.
He has warm brown eyes and an easy smile. Girls seem to like him, generally.
“I have to ask my dad,” she says instead of an answer.
Her father says no, as she knew he would. You deserve better than a C-average student with no discernable ambition. He’s strict, but there are ways around him for the things she really wants. It’s worrying that Sam is not one of them.
The night of the dance she sits at home with her history book. She tries to imagine what it would be like, slow dancing with Sam, feeling his hands settle on her waist. She can conjure the image but not the sensation, like she’s watching a movie of someone else’s life.
When she thinks of the kiss she’d get at the end of the night his brown eyes shift into Emily’s.
Rating: PG
Length: 1517
Summary: Pre-show. Paige notices Emily during tryouts.
Spoilers: vaguely 3x11
A/N: This is the first part of what will be a series following what happens with Paige off-screen. (I'm hoping that calling it a series instead of a chaptered fic will mean I actually finish it.) I might post this on tumblr? Since that seems to be where this fandom hangs out.
Paige notices Emily during tryouts. She has a strong kick, good form on her strokes, and the shiniest hair Paige has ever seen.
They both make the team, the only freshmen selected for varsity. Paige thinks it’ll be nice - maybe they can be friends, deal with things together.
When Paige tells her father, this is what he says: she’s your competition, that girl. Never forget it. Scouts don’t recruit the second best.
The first day of practice the team circles up before hitting the water. The older girls know each other already; they laugh and tease, introduce themselves via inside jokes.
Emily seems to be shy: her voice is soft during icebreakers, and she never says more than is required of her. She’s polite, unfailingly so, but it’s hard to engage her in conversation.
Her times speak for themselves, anyway.
They win their first meet. Paige sets a couple personal bests, but Emily out-touches her in freestyle.
Afterwards there’s a team gathering at a senior’s house, with pizza and ice cream and a Mean Girls showing. There’s a karaoke machine, too, and when it’s Paige’s turn she jumps on the coffee table and belts out Britney Spears. She can’t sing for her life but it doesn’t matter, she shimmies and twirls and makes a fool of herself in at least twelve different ways. It’s the best time, and when she’s done she gets enthusiastic applause.
She bows, still up on the table, catching Emily’s eye as she straightens. Emily is smiling at her but it drops as soon as Paige points the microphone her way.
She shakes her head, shrinks back into a corner.
“She seems kind of stuck up,” one of the juniors says Monday, before Emily gets to the locker room.
“She could just be reserved.”
“I don’t know. It feels like she sits there judging all of us.”
“Paige, what do you think? You probably know her better than we do.”
Paige shrugs.
“We’re not really close.”
The door swings open and Emily is there; all conversation ceases abruptly. Emily must notice, must know what’s implied in that kind of silence. It’s not obvious, her reaction, but it’s definitely there: her back straightens and her shoulders tense, like she’s bracing herself for enemy fire.
There’s a lurch in Paige’s stomach.
After practice, she packs up slowly. Coach Fulton kept Emily late for something, and Paige wants a chance to talk to her. The rest of the team is gone by the time she appears, a grin illuminating her features. She’s more unguarded than Paige has ever seen her, and it strikes Paige how pretty she is.
“Good news?”
Emily startles, her grin fading.
“I’m swimming butterfly in the medley this week.”
“Congratulations,” Paige says, and she means it - it’s a big deal for freshmen to break into the relays.
(Her father’s words prick at the back of her mind.)
“Thanks.”
Emily’s looking at the ground, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Discomfort radiates out of her, and it reminds Paige of her purpose here.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry for earlier. It’s not something people should do, talk about teammates behind their back.”
“I doubt you were the one who started it.”
“I didn’t stop it, though. And I should have.”
Emily’s eyes lock onto hers. The strength of her gaze surprises Paige, who had taken her passivity for weakness. That’s wrong, she sees now - Emily may be quiet but there’s fire in her. She won’t be easily beaten, Paige realizes, equal parts thrilled and apprehensive.
“It’s ok.” Emily sighs, sinking down on the bench beside Paige. “I just wish I were better with new people. I never know what to say.”
“You’re doing pretty well now.”
“There’s only one of you. That’s easier.”
Emily smiles; an answering grin pulls at Paige’s lips. Neither of them speaks for a moment, and a charge builds in the air between them. Paige breathes it in, feels her body tingle.
She clears her throat.
“I don’t think it’s about you being good with people,” she says. “I think the upperclassmen feel threatened."
Emily makes a face.
“No, I’m serious. You’re improving really quickly, your times are already better than half the seniors’, and, I mean. You’re gorgeous. It can be kind of intimidating.”
Paige can’t quite decipher the look Emily gives her then. There’s a calculation happening in Emily’s eyes, and Paige wishes she knew its variables, the means by which it might be solved. Then, without warning, Emily’s face goes blank. Her eyes shutter, emptied of meaning. The change is sudden and total and Paige feels it like a fist to the gut.
She wonders what has so sharpened Emily’s defenses.
“Thank you, I think,” Emily says, and then she’s moving to her locker, moving away from Paige.
Paige hangs around, keeps conversation going through sheer force of will. She has Emily laughing by the time they walk out into the hall, and it’s the same kind of satisfying as shaving a second off her race time.
“I’ve been waiting, Emily,” a voice says. Paige turns to see Alison Dilaurentis.
The humor drains from Emily; she lowers her eyes, submissive, contrite. A puzzle piece falls into place for Paige - if you’re used to Alison, of course you won’t know how to interact with actual human beings.
When Alison notices Paige her expression sours.
“What’re you looking at, no-neck,” she growls.
Paige rolls her eyes.
“Lovely to see you, too,” she says, and heads off down the hall.
They’re friendly after that, though Emily still feels more like acquaintance than friend.
She waves at Paige in the hall, says “good morning” in the locker room and “great race” when Paige places in backstroke at the county meet. She never hangs out longer than she has to, though, always hurrying off to the people who get to know more than just her surface.
Paige watches Emily with those people, with Alison and the others caught in her gravity. She watches without conscious decision - occasionally at first, then more and more, until one day at lunch Emily catches her, returns her gaze from across the room with raised eyebrows and a curious smile. Paige looks away, cheeks burning red.
That spring Paige has gym with Alison.
It’s fine, at first. Better than fine. Paige is good at gym; she’s trained her body to move fast and far and with precision, and it shows in whatever sport they happen to play.
Alison isn’t unathletic, but she shrinks down to size on a playing field. Elsewhere, propped up by friends and clothes and cutting words it’s hard to get the measure of her. She seems larger than life, a force of nature; you duck your head and hope to survive. In gym, though, she’s just a body - a body that isn’t practiced to perfection, that betrays weakness, frustration, incompetence.
Paige hasn’t experienced the worst of Alison; there are more obvious targets, and Alison’s never been one to pass up easy prey. Still, she’s had it bad enough to relish blocking Alison’s shot in basketball, scoring on her in soccer or finishing a mile ten seconds faster. Her grin is cocky whenever that happens, and she does nothing to keep it from being seen.
She’s had it bad enough, too, to be wary when Alison starts changing next to her in the locker room. It’s a conscious move by Alison - locker rooms are the part of gym Paige doesn’t like, and she always camps out alone in a corner. Or she was alone, at least, until one day Alison walks in and throws her bag down two feet from Paige. She flashes Paige a smile, honeyed and vicious.
“I needed a change of scenery,” she says, and takes off her shirt.
At the end of swim season dinner Emily sits next to Paige. They’re crowded into a booth, pressed tight together. Paige can feel Emily’s every movement, the rise of her chest and the rumble of her laugh. As they eat their arms brush against each other.
Heat settles low in Paige’s stomach. When she excuses herself to the bathroom her face is flushed.
A boy asks Paige to the spring dance. His name is Sam. They’re lab partners in biology.
He has warm brown eyes and an easy smile. Girls seem to like him, generally.
“I have to ask my dad,” she says instead of an answer.
Her father says no, as she knew he would. You deserve better than a C-average student with no discernable ambition. He’s strict, but there are ways around him for the things she really wants. It’s worrying that Sam is not one of them.
The night of the dance she sits at home with her history book. She tries to imagine what it would be like, slow dancing with Sam, feeling his hands settle on her waist. She can conjure the image but not the sensation, like she’s watching a movie of someone else’s life.
When she thinks of the kiss she’d get at the end of the night his brown eyes shift into Emily’s.