Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Rosewood air was heavy that night—thicker than secrets, quieter than lies.

Alison DiLaurentis stood on the front steps of the church, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to keep her breath steady. She wasn't the girl she used to be—not the manipulative queen bee who toyed with people's hearts like pawns in a game. At least, she didn't want to be. But staring into Lorenzo Calderon's eyes as he delivered his final words, Alison wondered if anyone would ever believe she'd changed.

"You used me, Alison." His voice was low, raw, laced with disappointment that cut deeper than anger ever could. "I should've seen it sooner. To you, I was just a badge. Just another way to get what you wanted."

The accusation stung. Not because it wasn't the kind of thing she might've done once—but because this time, she hadn't.

Alison opened her mouth, desperate to explain, but the words tangled in her throat. She'd never been good at vulnerability, never learned how to bare her soul without hiding behind a smirk or a lie. The door closed behind him before she could force anything out.

And just like that, he was gone.

Alison sank onto the cold steps, her composure breaking in the shadows where no one could see. For the first time in a long time, her heart ached for something real. She had loved him—not for the badge, not for what he could offer, but for the quiet safety he gave her, the belief that she could be better than her past. And now he thought she'd destroyed it.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the screen lighting up with Hanna's name. Then Spencer's. Then Emily's. Then Aria's.

They would ask where she was. They would ask what happened. They would see right through her walls like they always did.

Alison wiped her eyes, drew in a shaky breath, and whispered to herself:

"Don't let them know. Not yet."

But deep down, she already knew the truth. If anyone could help her fight for him, it was the girls who had fought for her a thousand times before.

Lorenzo hated the way her name tasted on his tongue that night—like betrayal, like disappointment.

"Alison." He kept his tone steady, but inside, his chest felt hollow. "You used me."

The words landed heavier than he expected. Her eyes widened, lips parting in shock. For a split second, he thought she might laugh it off, deny it with that razor-sharp wit she always carried like a weapon. But she didn't.

Her silence was worse.

"I thought you were different," he continued, forcing himself to hold her gaze. "But to you, I was just a badge."

The words hurt to say. God, they hurt. Because he wanted so badly to believe otherwise. But the emails—her questions about cases, her requests for details no civilian should know—they felt undeniable. And in Rosewood, you learned fast that trust was a luxury no one could afford.

She tried to speak, but nothing came out.

For a moment—just a moment—he saw something raw in her eyes, something that looked like fear, like heartbreak. But Lorenzo had been fooled before. And Alison DiLaurentis was nothing if not convincing.

So he walked away.

And with each step, something inside him cracked.

Chapter Text

Alison wasn't used to feeling small. For most of her life, she had been the one in control—the girl with the cutting remarks and the dangerous smile, the one people bent around like the sun. But sitting in Spencer's living room, curled up on the edge of the Hastings' pristine sofa, Alison felt like she was seventeen again, raw and exposed, waiting for someone to remind her she wasn't alone.

The girls were already there, gathered like gravity had pulled them into the same orbit. Aria perched on the armchair with Ezra's sweater draped over her shoulders, Hanna sprawled on the rug with Caleb leaning against her side, Spencer pacing with her arms crossed tight, and Emily—Emily was the first to notice.

"You've been crying."

It wasn't a question. Emily's voice was soft, but sure, the way it always was when it came to Alison.

Alison stiffened, fingers digging into the hem of her sleeve. "Don't start."

But of course they did.

"What happened?" Spencer demanded, her tone clipped but not unkind. "You don't just show up at my door after dark looking like—" she gestured vaguely at Alison's tear-stained face—"that."

Alison's throat closed. She had rehearsed what she might say on the drive over—something casual, something biting enough to keep them from digging too deep. But the moment she saw their faces, the moment she realized how much she wanted someone to hold this weight with her, the words dissolved.

"It's Lorenzo," she whispered, the name barely holding itself together.

Hanna sat up straighter. "What about him?"

"He…" Alison swallowed hard, nails biting into her palm. Say it, just say it. "He broke up with me."

The room went still. Even Spencer stopped pacing.

"What?!" Hanna blurted, indignant on her behalf. "Why? Did he—" She cut herself off, glancing at Caleb, then back at Alison. "What did he say?"

Alison laughed bitterly, the sound brittle and sharp. "He thinks I was just… using him. For information. For his badge."

Emily's eyes softened instantly, her whole body leaning forward like she might close the space between them. "Alison, that's not true. You—"

"I know it's not true," Alison snapped, then winced at her own harshness. She lowered her voice. "But he doesn't. He looked at me like I was the same girl I've always been. Like I was just playing him."

Aria shifted uncomfortably, but her voice was steady. "Did you tell him how you feel?"

Alison froze, shame crawling up her spine. Of all the terrifying things she had faced—the lies, the trials, the endless manipulations—nothing frightened her like the thought of saying those three words aloud.

"No," she admitted. "Not really."

"Alison…" Emily's voice cracked in a way that made Alison's chest ache. "He deserves to know. And you deserve to be believed."

For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the Hastings' grandfather clock. Then Spencer's resolve snapped into focus like glass hardening.

"Okay," she said firmly, standing straighter. "Then we'll fix this."

Alison blinked at her. "Fix it?"

"Yes." Spencer's eyes narrowed with determination. "If 'A' planted this idea in his head—and I'd bet money they did—then we find the proof, we show him the truth, and you get your chance to actually tell him how you feel."

Hanna grinned, already energized. "Operation Make Lorenzo Eat His Words. I'm in."

Caleb sighed, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. "Why do I feel like I'm going to end up hacking something illegal again?"

"Because you are," Hanna replied sweetly, nudging him with her shoulder.

Aria leaned forward, her expression thoughtful. "Alison, if you can't say it face to face yet, maybe write it. A letter. Something he can't ignore."

Alison felt her chest tighten, the walls around her heart shaking under the weight of their conviction. For years, she had been the one pulling strings, bending people to her will. Now here they were—fighting for her, believing her, refusing to let her lose someone she loved.

She had to swallow twice before she could whisper: "You'd really do this? For me?"

Emily reached out, brushing her fingers gently against Alison's hand. "Always."

And in that moment, surrounded by the people who had once doubted her the most, Alison believed—for the first time—that maybe she could fight for something real.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Spencer Hastings had already turned her dining room table into a war room. Stacks of files, color-coded notes, and her laptop screen glowed like some kind of tactical mission headquarters.

"We need to figure out exactly how Lorenzo got the idea Alison was using him," Spencer said briskly, stabbing a pen at her notes. "This has 'A' written all over it. They thrive on isolating us."

Hanna flopped into a chair with a groan. "Or Lorenzo's just insecure. Cops don't usually fall for girls with reputations like Alison's, you know?"

"Han," Caleb murmured, sitting down beside her. He brushed his fingers against hers, grounding her with the kind of casual intimacy that Alison envied. "Not helping."

Hanna winced. "Right. Sorry. It's just—Alison's not exactly… expressive with her feelings."

Alison, sitting at the far end of the table, bristled. "I can be expressive."

Spencer arched an eyebrow. "Name one time."

Alison opened her mouth, then shut it again. Across from her, Emily's lips curved in the faintest smile, though her eyes were soft with concern.

"Which is why the letter idea makes sense," Aria interjected, sliding a notebook across the table toward Alison. "Write him something he can't misinterpret. Tell him what you couldn't say last night."

Alison stared at the notebook like it was a ticking bomb.

Ezra appeared from the kitchen, balancing mugs of coffee. He set one in front of Aria before offering the tray to the rest of the group. "Sometimes words on a page are easier than words out loud," he said gently. "And sometimes they're stronger."

Alison hated how much that made sense.

By noon, the group had split into tasks.

Spencer and Toby left with matching looks of determination, murmuring about tracking Lorenzo's shifts at the precinct. "If A meddled with his email or phone records, there'll be a trail," Toby promised as he steered Spencer out the door.

Hanna and Caleb retreated to the couch, laptops balanced between them. Hanna was terrible at tech, but she was excellent at providing sarcastic commentary while Caleb typed at lightning speed. Alison overheard Hanna tease, "If you love me, you'll hack into the police database faster," followed by Caleb's patient sigh and muttered, "That's not how love works, Han."

Emily and Maya had claimed the porch, sunlight pouring over them as they strategized in softer tones. Alison caught glimpses through the window: Emily leaning close, Maya's hand brushing over Emily's wrist as she spoke. There was laughter, low and warm, and Alison felt a pang of something she couldn't name.

Meanwhile, Aria perched beside Alison at the table, coaxing words out of her like she was drawing a sketch.

"What did you feel when you were with him?" Aria asked quietly.

Alison hesitated. Her first instinct was to roll her eyes, to deflect with something biting, but Aria just waited. Patient. Expectant.

"…Safe," Alison admitted finally, her voice so small it barely carried. "Like maybe I could be… better. That he saw me as more than the girl I used to be."

Aria's expression softened. "Then write that."

By the time evening fell, the beginnings of a letter sat scrawled across the page in Alison's looping handwriting. The words weren't perfect—they never were—but they were honest.

I know you don't believe me. I know you think this was just another game. But for once, I wasn't lying. I wasn't using you. I wanted you. I still do.

Alison read the sentences over and over, her chest tight. Vulnerability had never been her armor—it was her undoing. And yet, here she was, ready to hand someone the sharpest knife and hope he didn't cut her with it.

Spencer swept back into the house with Toby trailing behind, their expressions grim but focused. "We found something," Spencer announced. "Lorenzo's emails were tampered with. Messages he thinks he got from Alison… they were fakes. Definitely A's handiwork."

Emily leaned against the doorway, Maya close behind. "So now we prove it to him," Emily said firmly, eyes sliding toward Alison.

Alison folded the letter carefully, her fingers trembling.

For the first time in her life, she wasn't plotting revenge. She was planning to fight for love.

Chapter Text

The Hastings dining room felt like command central again, though this time the tension in the air was sharper—more urgent.

Spencer spread printouts across the table. "Here," she said, jabbing at one with her pen. "This is the original server log from Lorenzo's precinct email. And here—" she tapped the second page—"is the version A doctored."

Toby leaned over her shoulder, jaw tight. "Someone rerouted the messages through a dummy account before they landed in his inbox. To him, it looked like Alison was sending questions about active cases."

Alison flinched, her hands curling into fists. "So he really thought I was… prying."

Spencer's voice softened, but only slightly. "Which is exactly what A wanted him to believe."

Across the room, Hanna huffed. "So basically, A catfished you with yourself. That's low, even for them."

Caleb's fingers flew over his laptop keys. "I can trace the reroute back. It's going to take some time, but if we can show Lorenzo the fake account, he'll know it wasn't Alison."

Hanna leaned over, chin propped on his shoulder. "My hacker boyfriend, ladies and gentlemen."

Caleb smirked. "Don't distract me, Han."

She grinned anyway, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Alison rolled her eyes, though a pang of jealousy twisted in her chest. Everything seemed easier when you had someone who believed in you.

Meanwhile, Aria sat cross-legged on the sofa, Alison's folded letter in her hands. "I can get this to him," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "If he won't answer your calls, maybe he'll read this when he's alone at the station."

Alison's eyes widened. "You'd break into a police precinct for me?"

Aria shrugged, a hint of a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "I dated Ezra Fitz. Breaking rules for love isn't exactly new to me."

Ezra, seated in the corner with a book, didn't even look up. "Not sure how I feel about being the benchmark for bad decisions, but she's not wrong."

For the first time that day, Alison laughed—a small, brittle sound, but real.

On the porch, Emily and Maya had drifted into quieter conversation, their heads bent together.

"She's really trying," Emily whispered, watching Alison through the window.

Maya smiled gently, brushing Emily's hand with her thumb. "And so are you. You still care about her."

Emily's throat tightened. "I do. But not the way I used to. I just… want her to have what we have."

Maya leaned in, her forehead resting against Emily's. "Then she will. Because she has all of you fighting for her."

By nightfall, the plan was set.

Spencer and Toby would compile the digital evidence. Caleb would run the trace on the dummy account. Aria—against every shred of common sense—would slip Alison's letter into Lorenzo's desk at the precinct.

And Alison?

Alison's job was the hardest: waiting. Waiting for him to read her words. Waiting to see if love was strong enough to stand against years of lies.

She sat by the window long after the others had gone, staring at the folded letter in Aria's hands. It looked so small, so fragile. Yet inside it was everything she'd never said aloud.

Please believe me, she thought. Please see me for who I am now, not who I was.

For once, Alison DiLaurentis wasn't orchestrating a game. She was laying her heart on the line.

And the scariest part? She had no control over what happened next.

Chapter Text

Days later, Lorenzo sat alone in his office. The precinct was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights his only company.

That's when he saw it: a folded piece of paper, slipped between the files on his desk. He knew it was hers before he even opened it. The handwriting—looped, deliberate, elegant but a little messy at the edges—was unmistakable.

He told himself not to read it. Told himself it was another game.

But his hands betrayed him, unfolding the page with a trembling he hadn't felt since his rookie days.

I know you don't believe me. I know you think this was just another game. But for once, I wasn't lying. I wasn't using you. I wanted you. I still do.

His throat tightened. He read it again. And again.

The words weren't polished like her usual charm. They weren't designed to manipulate. They were uneven, almost desperate. And for the first time, Lorenzo wondered if he'd gotten it wrong.

He leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face. Every instinct told him to guard himself, to stay objective, to remember who she was and what she was capable of.

But then he thought of the nights they'd spent walking the quiet streets, her laughter softer when she thought no one was listening. The way she'd asked about his family, not out of strategy but out of genuine curiosity. The way she'd kissed him like she wasn't sure she deserved it.

He stared down at the letter, his chest aching.

God help me, he thought, but maybe this is real.

Alison paced the length of Spencer's porch like a caged animal. Every sound—the creak of the wood, the chirp of a cricket—felt magnified against the drumbeat of her heart. Aria had delivered the letter hours ago, slipping it into Lorenzo's desk at the precinct with all the quiet confidence of a girl who had once broken into Radley for her best friend. Now, all Alison could do was wait.

And waiting had never been her strength.

The screen door creaked open behind her. Emily stepped out, arms folded against the evening chill. "You're going to wear a hole in the porch if you keep pacing."

Alison stopped, exhaling sharply. "What if he doesn't believe me? What if he reads it and just… throws it away?"

Emily tilted her head, studying her. "Then at least you'll know you tried. That you were honest."

Honest. The word tasted foreign. Vulnerability had never been her shield; it had always been her weakness. But Emily was right. If she wanted Lorenzo to see her for who she was now, she had to stop hiding behind who she used to be.

The crunch of gravel cut through her spiraling thoughts. Headlights flickered in the driveway.

It was him.

Lorenzo stepped out of his car, the letter folded in his hand. His expression was unreadable—part storm, part something softer. Alison's chest tightened.

"Ali," he said quietly, as if her name itself carried weight. "I read your letter."

Her pulse roared in her ears. "And?"

He looked at her for a long moment, eyes searching. "I don't know what to believe. Everything in me tells me I should walk away. But then there's this—" He lifted the letter slightly. "And it doesn't sound like the Alison everyone warned me about."

She stepped closer, her voice trembling. "Because it's not. Lorenzo, I've lied more times than I can count. I've hurt people. I've played games I should've never started. But with you…" Her throat closed, but she forced the words out. "With you, I wasn't pretending. You make me feel safe. Like I can be better. Like maybe I am better."

His gaze softened, though doubt still lingered. "How do I know this isn't just another game?"

Alison's eyes burned. She'd never begged before—not for forgiveness, not for love—but the truth stripped her bare. "Because for once in my life, I don't want to win. I just want you."

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the hum of summer air.

Then, faint footsteps approached from behind. Spencer, Hanna, Aria, and Emily had gathered on the porch, watching. And Alison realized—they'd orchestrated this moment. They wanted Lorenzo to see what she would do when given the chance to manipulate for her own gain.

Because right before Lorenzo arrived, Caleb had pulled up an email trace: a direct lead on A's dummy account. It was the kind of intel Alison once would've pounced on. But she hadn't. She'd chosen to wait, to risk everything on honesty instead.

Spencer stepped forward, holding the printed log. "Lorenzo, Alison didn't send you those messages. A did." She handed him the evidence, Toby standing firmly at her side.

Lorenzo skimmed the page, his brows furrowing. Caleb added quietly, "It's real. I traced it myself."

The weight of the truth settled over them. Lorenzo looked from the papers to Alison, his defenses faltering.

Alison's eyes brimmed with tears she couldn't swallow down. "I told you the truth. For once, I told the truth."

Something shifted in his expression—a crack in the armor of suspicion, letting the man she'd fallen for shine through.

And then he closed the space between them, one hand cupping her face as if she might vanish if he let go. "God help me," he murmured, before pressing his mouth to hers.

It wasn't a kiss of passion or desperation. It was something steadier, more fragile. A promise.

On the porch, Hanna let out a triumphant whisper: "Told you this would work."

"Shh," Spencer hissed, though her smile betrayed her.

Emily watched, quiet pride flickering in her gaze. And for the first time in a long time, Alison didn't feel like she was standing alone in the fire. She had them—and she had him.

That night, lying awake with Lorenzo's arms around her, Alison realized something she never thought she would:

For once, she wasn't afraid of being known.

Chapter Text

The storm had passed. For once in Rosewood, the air felt still—almost kind.

Alison sat on Spencer's porch swing, watching the sun bleed into the horizon. Lorenzo's jacket was draped over her shoulders, the faint scent of his cologne grounding her in a way nothing else ever had. For the first time in what felt like forever, her heart wasn't clawing against her ribs. It was quiet. It was full.

The screen door creaked, and Spencer stepped out with two mugs of tea. "Peaceful, isn't it?"

Alison accepted a mug, smiling faintly. "Almost makes you forget we're constantly stalked by a faceless psychopath."

Spencer smirked, sliding onto the swing beside her. "Almost."

Inside, the others had sprawled across the Hastings' living room like it was their natural habitat. Hanna was curled against Caleb, their laughter low and constant as they teased each other about his "illegal hacking skills."

"You're basically a superhero," Hanna said, poking him in the ribs.

"More like a criminal," Caleb muttered, but his arm tightened around her anyway.

"Hot criminal," she corrected, earning a groan and an affectionate kiss on her forehead.

In the corner, Aria leaned against Ezra's shoulder, his arm looped around her as they read over a scribbled page of her notes.

"I'm telling you," Ezra said, "the letter was the perfect choice. It forced him to sit with your words instead of running from them."

Aria smiled softly. "Sometimes writing is braver than speaking."

Ezra kissed the crown of her head. "Exactly what I've been trying to tell my students for years."

On the porch, Emily and Maya had claimed the steps. Maya's head rested against Emily's shoulder, her laughter spilling out like music as Emily recounted Hanna's reaction to Caleb's hacking.

"She really called him a superhero?" Maya giggled.

Emily nodded, grinning. "In Hanna's world, sarcasm is affection."

Maya turned, pressing a kiss to Emily's cheek. "Good thing yours is honesty."

Emily's gaze softened, sweeping back toward Alison on the swing. "I just want her to have what we have."

Maya squeezed her hand. "She will. She's on her way."

Later, when the sun had fully dipped and the sky glowed with stars, Lorenzo returned. He walked onto the porch, his eyes immediately finding Alison. For a heartbeat, everything else—the chatter, the laughter, even the threat of A—faded into the background.

"You stayed," Alison said quietly, almost disbelieving.

"I'm not going anywhere," Lorenzo replied, settling beside her. His hand found hers, warm and steady. "Not if you'll have me."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her heart aching in the best way. "I've wanted you all along."

The swing rocked gently beneath them, and for once, Alison didn't feel the need to perform or protect or manipulate. She simply was.

And she wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

Weeks later, the girls gathered again—different house, same energy. Spencer and Toby had traded investigative files for a chessboard, their playful rivalry easing into something sweeter when Toby leaned across to steal a kiss.

Hanna and Caleb argued over movie choices, their bickering ending only when Hanna snatched the remote and Caleb pulled her into his lap, both laughing.

Aria and Ezra worked quietly side by side, scribbling ideas for a new story that blended truth and fiction the way only they could.

Emily and Maya danced barefoot in the kitchen, music low, laughter higher.

And Alison?

Alison sat with Lorenzo on the couch, his arm draped protectively around her shoulders. She caught the girls watching her more than once, their smiles soft and knowing.

For so long, Alison had been the girl who played games, who wore masks, who wielded power like a weapon. But here, in this messy, chaotic living room full of love, she was simply herself—no lies, no armor.

And somehow, that was enough.