Tapestry of Scars

Scars of Yesterday

A/N: This is just a reminder that Alison and Emily are both very damaged and not in a healthy place at this point. This story is extremely character driven (with a bunch of dark twists and turns in the plot) and it really pushes the emotional toll. Remember to continue to be good to yourselves.

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Chapter 9:

Scars of Yesterday

Emily played with the business card in her hand, flipping it over and picking at the edges. She hadn't called the number on the back. She didn't want anyone to know that she was trying to follow a trail. She knew she needed to fly under the radar. It was the safest way to do to things.

She'd researched the number, but it had come up empty. So she was going to find a payphone and dial it. If someone answered she'd have a voice to follow. If no one answered she'd hang up and make it seem like it was just another wrong number.

She heard a thump upstairs. It wasn't the dog. She'd gotten pretty good at distinguishing the difference between Lupo jumping off of the bed and Alison dragging herself to the bathroom.

She slipped the business card into her bag and walked into the kitchen to finish preparing the breakfast she'd made for Alison. Ethan had given her some great hangover cures over the years. She knew that Alison was going to feel like shit. And she wanted to help her. It was the least she could do.

Lupo came trotting into the room first. He stopped at the stove and lifted his head to get a better whiff of the bacon. Emily reached into a jar on the counter and pulled out a dog treat. She handed it to him and he walked away, happily wagging his tail.

Alison moaned as she walked into the kitchen. She felt like hell. She was certain that she looked like death. But Emily didn't see anything less than her perfection. Alison didn't miss the way Emily looked at her. It's like she saw all the darkness, but it didn't faze her. Emily understood darkness. She accepted Alison's darkness.

It made Alison feel guilty, because she hadn't been honest about herself. She'd told Emily bits and pieces of her life...bits and pieces that she'd edited.

Emily put a plate of food down on the table and smiled at her.

"Morning sunshine." Emily teased, putting a cup of freshly brewed coffee next to her plate.

Alison took one look at the kitchen and felt a wave of guilt washing over her. She'd opened up her house to this woman...to help her, to be there for her. She was supposed to be the one taking care of Emily.

"Em, you didn't have to..."

"I know. But I've had my fair share of wild nights. Grease does wonders for a hangover. Trust me."

"Grease, eh?" Alison looked at Emily, a cheeky expression on her face. "Is it the word?"

"The...word?" Emily looked at her in confusion. "What word?"

"You've never seen Grease? It's a classic! John Travolta at his prime. And Olivia Newton John..." She purred. "What a woman."

"I think you might still be drunk."

Alison chuckled as she sat down at the table. Emily had made her an omelet with diced ham, tomatoes, and cheese. Next to the omelet there was a side of roasted potatoes and toast with an avocado spread.

"Thank you. This looks really good."

Emily had gone all out. She had coddled her all night and had still gotten up early enough to make her a wonderful breakfast.