Hi again! I'm glad y'all are still reading. Thank you for the comments and compliments. It's a little short for my taste, but I'm not sure how much time I'll have to write in the next few days. I did take some liberty with one of the flashbacks on the show, but I made it better. Enjoy!

Emily flipped open a book while lounging in a chair outside The Brew in Rosewood. She plucked out a sticky note, which functioned as a bookmark, from between pages thirty two and thirty three. The yellow square read: "Books completed in last two years: 0!". She scoffed at her passive aggressive attempt to convince herself to finish a book. The scent of fresh paper and ink still clung to the pages. "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep" didn't thrill her as much as she wanted it too. In high school and college, she zipped through books like a box of Oreos. Much to her surprise, the sci-fi genre intrigued her most of all. There was something fascinating about the collision of human nature and fantasy in some of the novels. When she basically dragged herself into a book store a month ago, she eagerly picked up Philip Dick's novel that depicted a futuristic world decimated by a world war, resulting in a migration to Mars and the theme of empathy as it applies to the human race and androids.

Staring at the pages, she found herself frustrated once again with the writing style. Dick's sentences seemed to run together and it was difficult to distinguish between description and inner dialogue. She groaned. There was very little structure, no control. She craved control; she needed it. She couldn't even tolerate literature lacking in what she deemed as a necessity to living. When she let her guard down and let the wind blow her haphazardly out into the sea, she occasionally found herself in the liquor store around the corner from her apartment standing in front of Grey Goose. The past few weeks had been a nightmare. Because of an upcoming anniversary, she was living in a perpetual state of "assume crash positions".

With a sigh, she tucked the yellow sticky note back into the book—still between pages thirty two and thirty three. The dreaded anniversary wasn't the only force threatening her sobriety. Although she hadn't laid eyes on Alison since that night at dinner, the blonde often stomped into her consciousness at the most random times. Because she had limited experience with the not-a-freakin-bitch-anymore Alison, her mind created a version of the woman that couldn't possibly exist. Her brain filled in the blanks of personality, facial expressions, movement and behavior. Most importantly, the Alison living in her thoughts was single. When Hanna found out that Emily was attracted to an engaged Alison, she persuaded Emily in a friendly, yet verbally aggressive manner to keep her distance. Hanna was right and Emily knew it. Per usual, she distracted herself with other romantic interests. Well, romantic might be a strong word, unless you count one dinner before sleeping with someone to be romantic. She hadn't seen Samara since the morning after their date. Emily didn't want to deal with dredging up old feelings and possibly falling for the blonde yet again. What she needed now was a firm grip on her heart, so leaving it vulnerable to an ex-girlfriend wasn't a spectacular plan. Of course, inviting Alison into her life in any capacity might be an equally bad idea.

She tossed the book onto the table and reached for a cup of coffee that thankfully was still warm. When she glanced up, she spotted a small familiar brunette strolling down the sidewalk. The young woman squinted in Emily's direction and then waved with a smile of recognition. She walked over and greeted her, "Hey. I'm pretty sure I know you. Did you go to Rosewood High?"

"Yeah, I did," the brunette smiled back at the fashionably dressed woman who brightened Emily's outlook with only her presence. "I'm Emily and you're… Aria, right?"

"Yeah! We had a few study groups together didn't we?"

"Yeah, we did."

"Are you still friends with Hanna… Hanna Marin? That's her name right?"

Pleased and impressed by Aria's memory, Emily replied, "Yes. We're still very good friends."

"I had some study groups with her too. She got a little snarky senior year."

"That's a really random thing to say," Emily laughed. "True, but random."

"Well, for so long she was… well, you know what Ali called her," Aria sighed. "And then senior year she was thin, fashionable and sporting a sharp tongue."

"Well, imagine that snark times three now."

Grinning, Aria said, "It's crazy that she and I are going to be working together."

"Wait what? She's working with you? She just got a job as a departmental head at a new art and fashion consulting company."

"Yup and I'm one of the art consultants."

"Wow," Emily breathed out. Her world just got a whole lot smaller. Like it or not, she and Hanna now had direct connections to Alison and her three woman posse from high school. She chuckled to herself thinking of the five of them being friends. No way.

"How did she get that job anyway?" Aria asked.

"Hanna makes connections like Alison made enemies," Emily answered without thinking through her analogy. "Shit."

"Don't worry about it," Aria waved off the comment. "She knows what she did. Water under the bridge." She glanced down at her cell phone and said, "I'd buy you another cup of coffee and chat more, but I've got to get to work."

"Are you still coming over later, Aria?" The voice Emily had only heard in her head for the past two weeks spoke from over her shoulder. Instead of jerking her neck to feast her eyes upon the ghost who haunted her thoughts, she sank further back into the chair and swung her feet up onto the seat of the chair next to her.

"Yeah, of course," Aria replied to the woman Emily could almost feel breathing down her neck. "I'll call you when I'm on my way."

Alison must have nodded, waved or mouthed goodbye, because Emily was the only one to speak, "Bye, Aria." The blonde glided through her hazy peripheral and into her direct line of sight. Wearing an unreadable expression, Alison, clad in a short loosely fitted light yellow dress with a thin brown belt, stood behind the chair Emily's feet occupied. "Hi Alison."

"So you're not dead," the woman commented with fingers wrapping around the top of the faded green metal chair.

Other than her mouth, Alison's features remained frozen. Unable to gauge the blonde's mood, Emily tossed back, "Are you disappointed?"

The right corner of Alison's mouth flickered before she said, "You haven't been to a meeting in two weeks."

"I actually have. I had to switch days," the brunette replied a little too quickly. Only rehearsed answers nearly trampled upon a veiled or even blatant accusation. Alison wasn't an idiot. Her eyebrows shot up as Emily added, "Tuesdays aren't good for me."

"What day did you switch to?"

"Stalk much?" Emily said lightheartedly. The teasing rebuff slapped life into Alison's face. Since Emily had very little experience in the art of Alison face reading, she could only wonder what thoughts churned in the blonde's head. She could be concerned about Emily's recovery or she could have been offended that Emily didn't show up when she said she would.

"It was just a question," the blonde mumbled with a little too much bite for Emily's taste.

Smiling broadly, Emily tried to dowse any flames rising between them and joked, "Did you miss me?"

Alison replied with a smirk, "No one was around to spill my coffee." Tapping the chair, she asked, "Can I sit?"

"Where will my feet live?" Emily replied gesturing to her boots at the end of her exposed long, thin legs.

"On the ground where they belong?" Alison suggested.

Groaning and dramatically flinging her feet onto the pavement, the brunette complained, "Way to decrease my comfort level. That's no way to treat a customer."

"You remembered that I own this place. Did you come here looking for me?"

Emily propped her an elbow on the table and smashed her fist against her mouth. Yes, she had come here for Alison, but she shouldn't have. Shielding her mouth from view, she mumbled through her fingers, "Nah. I just moved back to town from Philly and needed some coffee. Plus, I spent a lot of time here in high school. There are good memories here."

"I wouldn't peg you as the sentimental type," the blonde commented.

"I have my moments."

Alison's body relaxed into the chair. From the looks of her right leg neatly crossed over her left and her forearms resting comfortably on the wire chair arms, she intended to stay awhile, "What other high school moments do you not mind reliving?"

Emily dropped her fist from her face and she lightly drummed on lid of her coffee, "One of them actually involves you and some spillage. It's pretty funny."

"Funny to the general population or just you?"

Instead of answering the question, the brunette smirked and began, "I have this extremely vivid memory of you in school. This guy, Lucas, ran into you and splashed his drink on you."

Casting her gaze upward, Alison laughed, "I actually remember that. He was wearing an obscene orange pumpkin shirt. Seriously, it was vile."

"Well," Emily took a sip of her coffee, propped her elbow back on the table and expounded, "What you didn't know is that I actually tripped and bumped into him and then he tripped and bumped into you."

"So in a way, you spilled that drink on me."

Emily nodded triumphantly, "I hoped it would stain the white pants you were wearing."

"Bitch," Alison barked. Although she chose a harsh word, her eyes laced it with a friendly endearment.

"Takes one to know one," Emily quipped with a smile as she dropped her chin into her hand.

Alison mimicked Emily's posture and they both stared at one another with elbows propped and chins cradled in their hands. The blonde queried, "Were you like this in high school?"

Surprised by the woman's first attempt at a personal question, Emily asked, "Like what?"

"Cocky, bitchy, sarcastic…"

"Like you," the brunette stated it as a fact, not as a questionable assertion.

Before the blonde "ignored' the comment, the corners of her mouth plunged downward. The micro expression almost went unnoticed as her mouth snapped back like a rubber band and she offered, "I just feel like two people with our personalities would have butt heads in school."

"You mean crashed into each other and set the building on fire?"

"Yes. Rosewood wasn't big enough for two cocky bitches."

Emily chose to do something she never thought she would do. She stepped away from the meaningless joking back and forth and tiptoed into a serious conversation with Alison DiLaurentis. "Although I'm tempted to continue exchanging barbs, I'll answer your question honestly."

Alison tried to respond sarcastically, but her eager tone betrayed her, "That's so sweet of you. I feel so special."

"Don't push it," the brunette delayed her step into unknown territory one last time.

"Fine. I'll be good."

After taking a deep breath, Emily said, "No. I wasn't like this in high school. I was quiet and shy, almost mousy. If I wasn't on the swim team, I probably would have blended into the walls. Hanna was always there for me though."

"Hanna?"

"Hanna Marin. Blonde. Looks like you from certain angles."

"Huh. Doesn't ring a bell." Emily snorted at Alison's ignorance. At least once a week, the bullying blonde went out of her way to call her friend 'Hefty Hanna'. "What's so funny?"

Emily took a sip of her coffee and said, "It's mind boggling how many people know you and how few you remember."

"Remember?" Alison cocked an eyebrow at the word. "How can I remember someone I never met? You, for instance, I never met you."

An encounter Emily never planned to reveal flew from the quarantined section of her brain and out through her mouth. "Actually we did meet, sort of."

Shaking her head, the blonde assured, "No, that's not possible. I couldn't have forgotten you."

Dammit Alison. The blonde's blue eyes bored straight through her companion. Emily didn't miss, and Alison didn't want her to miss, the word "couldn't". Accompanied by the gaze, "couldn't" suggested the actual inability for Emily's existence to disappear from Alison's memory. She meant it and that was the problem. "In your defense," Emily answered abruptly trying to break the spell, "you never actually saw my face."

Alison exchanged intensity for amusement, "This sounds like it's going to a creepy place."

"Wait for it…" With that day many years ago still remarkably fresh, Emily began, "I went into the girl's bathroom and I heard someone talking on the phone. She was really upset. She must not have heard me come in because she kept talking and eventually crying." A passing glance at Alison assured Emily that the blonde remembered this as clearly as she did. "So I did what any normal human being would do: I knocked on the stall door and—"

"You asked me if I was okay." Emily gladly relinquished the floor and listened as Alison continued with her version. Her eyes fixed on the table, she squinted as if searching for the right words to accurately describe their meeting. "You actually sounded… concerned. Your voice was meek, not like now, not confident. I said I was fine," she smiled and glanced up at Emily, "but you wouldn't leave the stall door. You asked if you could do anything to help. I remember being pissed that you wouldn't leave. I wanted to snap at you but your voice was so sweet and sincere. I wasn't used to people talking to me like that."

"You actually told me what was wrong," Emily reminded.

"I guess I felt like I could. I assumed you didn't know who I was. Quiet people tended to be scared of me so I figured you would have run away if you knew who you were talking to."

"Oh," the brunette leaned back in the chair and folded her arms behind her head, "I definitely knew who you were." She spoke causally to steer clear of any vulnerable territory, "I just figured you might not ever tell your friends about it because they expected you to be this poised leader of the group. And… everyone else was afraid of you so I basically guilted myself into staying."

Only Alison's face revealed how much Emily's words touched her. She chuckled, "We talked for fifteen minutes."

"Yeah, you made me late for class. Thanks for that."

"Oh my god," Alison declared, "You told me your name!"

"Yup," Emily agreed. "My first name. And of course, you didn't give me your name."

"I couldn't," the blonde shrugged as as she explained the reasons as if they were just as valid now as she thought they were back then. "I was worried about my precious mean girl reputation. I couldn't have a rumor started that Alison DiLaurentis was crying in a bathroom stall. Plus," she paused just long enough to ensure that Emily was looking at her, "I told you everything. I… I had no idea what you were going to do. I couldn't tell you who I was."

"I was actually terrified that you would pop out of the stall and not so nicely swear me to silence." When Alison smiled at Emily's admission of fear, the brunette found herself wearing the same expression. Alison didn't smile out of pride at her ability to scare the high school version of Emily, but instead she exuded a general amusement picturing Emily—funny, cocky, deflective Emily—being afraid of anything. "When I thought you were done talking, I sprinted out of the bathroom like my life depended on it."

Thoughtfully, Alison noted, "You know, you sound nothing like that girl in the bathroom. I would never have guessed it was you."

"I'm not," Emily replied. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and admitted with disappointment, "I'm not that girl anymore." Sometimes, she missed that girl, but she was too open and naive and gentle. Things had happened to her that stripped those qualities from her core. She was long gone, like a dream you could only recall pieces of no matter how desperately you grappled for the whole picture.

"What happened to her?" the blonde asked. From the look on her face, Emily could tell that Alison thought there was only a slim chance that she'd get an actual answer.

Bravely, Emily replied with a sigh, "I usually tell people that she just grew up but… I think she's hiding in a bathroom stall somewhere." She hadn't realized that her hands had drifted onto the table until the blonde dared to lay four fingers on the top of Emily's right hand.

"Well…" Alison gulped as she stared at their hands prepared for Emily to pull away. "Do you want someone to find her?"

"Em! There you are!" Emily heard Hanna yell from over Alison's shoulder. As the grinning blonde drew closer, Emily slowly retracted her hand and grabbed her coffee. She plastered on a smile. Hanna's face immediately fell when she realized who was sitting beside her friend. "Alison?!" Her eyes darted to Emily. Hanna's angry face was rather frightening. It was like staring down a cute blonde angry gremlin on crack. One of Emily's favorite and least favorite attributes of gremlin Hanna was that she basically yelled anything on her mind. "Emily! What the hell are you doing with her?!"

The brunette groaned and rubbed her hands over her face. Fuck. Me.

Oh, Hanna.

I know nothing really happened, but at least Emison got to chat—a real chat!