"Ahem," a man clears his throat at the brunette working behind the counter. The Brew is having a busy morning—well, every morning is a busy morning—and Emily has already just about had it with work. So far she has dropped two coffees on her new pair of Chucks, jammed her fingers in the cash register, and tripped while carrying a tray of supreme chocolate chip brownies.

Emily turns, plastering what is possibly the fakest smile in all of human history on her face for the customer waiting impatiently for his morning caffeine fix. He's dressed in a black business suit—probably some uptight corporate bigwig—and she already can tell this interaction will not go well.

"What would you like, sir?" she asks.

"Coffee. Black. That's it," the man grumbles. Emily resists the urge to role her eyes. Suits, she thinks bitterly as she makes his drink.

"One coffee, black. That'll be $3.45, sir."

The man whips out a credit card slides it through the machine—and nothing happens. He tries again, but the screen is still frozen. Emily tries not to flinch under his irate glare.

"Why isn't it working? I have things to do, girl," he says almost threateningly.

"I'm sorry, this thing acts up sometimes. Give me a second, I'll try it back here," she apologizes, taking the card and swiping it through the machine on the cashier side. Again, nothing. Emily takes a deep breathe, before smiling again.

"Do you by any chance have cash?" she asks politely—well, as politely as she can. The man's gaze turns even darker.

"Do I look like I have cash? Where is the manager‽ I don't have time for this," he nearly shouts. This time, Emily does wince, and turns around to go find Ezra as her day and mood both get impossibly worse.

"So, Rick, how's your shift been? Still stuck babysitting the DiLaurentis bitch?" Emily's ears perk up at the sound and she whips her head to two men sitting by the window. Her ears fill with blood as she realizes that they're police officers.

Of course, she thinks, these assholes are the ones that are supposed to be protecting her.

"I hear she likes older guys too. Maybe I could get some of that—I mean, she's hot. Is she legal yet?" asshole number one snorts.

"Who cares, man. She'd probably be into it. Fuckin go for it, the whore deserves whatever comes to her," asshole number two replies, laughing.

"Oh fuck this," Emily mutters under her breath, stepping over to the men in a couple of strides. Her lips pull up, tight and snarling, as she stares at them.

"Excuse me, officers, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I have to let you know we don't allow that kind of talk in this establishment, so either end that discussion now or leave," she says, steam quite possibly coming out of her ears by now.

She spots Ezra looking very concerned out of the corner of her eye, but ignores him. She's too old for this shit. The men immediately go on the defensive, chests up and eyebrows turning downward.

"You think you have the right? We can say what we want, lady. Back off," Officer Douchebag says.

"Besides," Officer Asshole snarls, "a nice girl like you shouldn't defend that bitch-," but he doesn't finish his sentence.

Because Emily might have just decked him in the nose. And yet, she doesn't feel guilty.

That's the thing about the whole A thing, Emily thinks as she shakes her hand out, I have zero tolerance for assholes these days.

Officer Asshole holds his nose, and she could swear she sees a tear come from his eye. Ezra rushes over to the three of them, Emily folding her arms and glaring the men down, and Officer D-bag looking like he was about to start reading her Miranda Rights right then and there.

"Hey, hey, guys, let's all just calm down and take a step back. What happened?" Ezra asks.

"What happened is your employee just assaulted an officer. We're going to have to take her down to the station," Officer D-bag grunts as his partner nods his head. Emily's eyebrows narrow.

"You're obviously off duty. Besides, the bitch deserved it," she snarls, nodding her head at the officer she punched.

That's how Emily lands herself in a cell at the local precinct twenty minutes later.

"Time for your phone call," an officer tells her.

Emily stands up and walks over to the mandated phone, realizing that nowadays she has two numbers memorized—her mother's, who she knows she can't call about this-and the DiLaurentis home landline, from when she was a kid and would stay up talking under the covers to Alison about everything and anything.

She realizes she has no choice, and her cell phone is dead anyway if she wanted to look up a number, so she swallows her pride, punches in the ten digits, and waits.

Ali picks up on the first ring.

"Hello?" Emily hears from the other side of the line.

"Hey, Al. It's Emily," she says sheepishly. She can almost hear Ali blink in surprise.

"Em? Why on Earth are you calling from the police station? Is everything okay? Is it A?" Ali rambles, mind reeling. Emily shakes her head before realizing Alison can't see her.

"No, it's not that. Look, I've been arrested and I could only remember your phone number and I just need you to come pick me up. Please?" she begs, face growing red as she thinks about how she'll explain why she was arrested.

"Be there in five."

"Em," Ali breathes, relieved, as she goes to hug Emily when she sees her at the station.

Emily relishes in it. She forgot how nice Alison's hugs were—warm, tight, and smelling slightly of vanilla. She breathes in before pulling away, realizing how much she missed Ali in the past few weeks.

"Hey," she smiles, and the blonde girl giggles before her expression turns to worry.

"Okay, what the hell happened? They told me you assaulted an officer? That's a misdemeanor, but…why? Did he bring up A or something? Is he homophobic?" she rambles.

Emily shakes her head, "No, it's not—," she smacked her forehead with her palm, "God, it was so dumb. Just, ugh. Don't ask."

Alison puts her hands on her hips, "Emily Fields I just bailed you out of jail now tell me why on Earth you thought it would be a good idea to connect your fist with a cop's face."

Emily sighs, realizing there was no way out of this.

"He...uh, he uh, well," she stutters, blushing beat red and rubbing the back of her neck with her hand.

"Spit it out," Alison prompts.

"He insulted you!" Emily shouts, before snapping her hands up to cover her mouth and looking down bashfully.

Alison's gaze softens, her head tilting and the corners of her lips turning up slightly.

"You were defending me?" she asks, quietly. Emily nods, still not looking at her.

"Em, hey, look at me," she says, laying her hand on the blushing girl's cheek and leaning down to meet her eyes.

"You didn't have to do that, you know," she begins, shushing Emily as she opens her mouth to protest, "But it was really sweet," she finishes, smiling.

Emily grins so wide her face could burst as Ali wraps her arms around her neck and presses their lips together, soft and slow. The kiss is chaste, but Emily still feels the same butterflies she felt when she was thirteen, fluttering around her stomach a hundred miles an hour. Ali pulls away, eyes closed, and Emily can't help but smile at how adorable she looks post-kiss.

"Next time you want to call me, promise not to get yourself arrested. That's no way to pick a girl up," Ali says, and Emily grins, knowing she'd defend Ali's honor any day.

"Promise."