Spencer Hastings checked herself in the glass panes of the door she was just about to knock on, smoothing down her wafts of brown curls and guiltily wiping around her lips. She sighed, a slight sound in the brisk breeze of a chilled afternoon, and wonder as to whether what approach would be best to knock on this door. Perhaps a straight-shouldered, confident pose? Parents always loved that one. But, she decided it would simply be inaccurate for the situation which she found herself in. However, a slouch with sorrowful big hazel eyes would not do it either. Before she could talk herself into running away from the house altogether, she abruptly pressed the doorbell, and took a breath, teeth immediately sinking into her lip.

The cheerful buzz of the bell resonated throughout the house, and Spencer shook herself into gear, presenting an understanding responsible smile, with arms by her side and her best warm expression. When the door swung open, however, the understanding responsible smile faded quickly. She froze, unsure of what to do. "Uh, hi-"

"Hello, Spencer." Mrs Fields greeted.

If greeted was the expression, Mrs Fields looked anything but greeting. Her hair was mussed, she had no makeup on, and a large fuzzy dressing gown enveloped her entire body. If Spencer had looked a bit closer, she would have seen signs of puffiness, hastily plastered over with foundation, around Mrs Fields' eyes. But, because she was maintaining her polite and helpful persona, she did not. "Emily's home?" She asked, and then immediately regretted it.

"Yes." Mrs Fields sighed, not sounding bitter about her daughter's situation, but simply matter-of-fact. Then, "Can I get you something to drink?" She added, remembering mom traditions.

"I'm fine, thank you." Spencer said politely. Then, she swung her satchel off her shoulder. "I'm here to help her with this weeks homework."

Mrs Fields nodded, having nothing more to say. Then, with a murmured "She's in her room", she drifted back into the lounge.

Spencer hoisted the satchel onto her shoulder again, and climbed the steps up towards Emily's bedroom, running her hand along the stair rail, gazing with a small smile at the pictures of Emily as a kid that hung proudly on the walls. She felt almost nostalgic as she paused at a picture of the grinning toddler, who was held aloft by her proud father in a turqouise swimming pool. The photo was labelled "Em's First Swim".

Mrs Fields had arranged the photos in a circular formation around the stair walls, so the further up Spencer stepped, the older Emily was in the pictures. It was strange that there was barely any of Emily when she was thirteen and over- in fact, there were none. Spencer concluded this must be because Emily had all those photos in her room. She didn't want to give any more thought to the matter. However, if she had really have thought deeper about it, she would have certainly uncovered the truth, what with the superior IQ she was so proud of. It was obvious to anyone with eyes.

She reached the final stair, and walked towards Emily's bedroom, knocking on the door three times. No response came.

Spencer's eyes narrowed. She knocked again, this time louder. Still no response came. She thinned her lips, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted the door open.

She gingerly walked into the room, unsure of what to expect, and relief was obvious on her face when she glimpsed Emily's jet hair spread across the pillows of her bed, and the covers pulled tightly across a prone body. The curtains were drawn, making the room stuffy and dark. Spencer shook her head in distaste, and, striding across, peeled part of the curtains open, enough to allow light to filter in. She stopped for a moment after doing so, and regarded the rubbish dump of a bedroom which lay before her.

You could barely see the floor for the amount of dirty clothes which were strewn across it, mingling with empty chip and cookie packets, congealed cups, stained tissues, scraps of paper, DVD and CD cases, ripped notepads, and random assorted pieces of technology. The shelves were no better- there was day-old food discarded all over the place, photos which had been slammed face down, sheets of paper topped by yellowed books. Spencer's expression was a comical one of pure disgust. She sent a glare of horror towards Emily's sleeping form, and shook her head in dismay. Setting her satchel down, she flipped a hairtie off her wrist, and pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. Then, she set to work.

Emily awoke about fifteen minutes later, her eyes screwed up against the introduced light, and emitted a low moan. Spencer paused mid-way through organizing the books that had been strewn haphazardly around the room. Emily groaned again, and flipped over, burying her face into the pillow. Spencer stood still with a book in her hand, carefully placing it in the correct alphabetical place, then walking to Emily's side. "Hey." She said.

Emily opened one bleary eye, blinked once, twice, three times, then shut it again. Spencer stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Since awkward situations were never her strong point, she blathered,"I'm tidying your room. It's a complete trash heap. You should be taking better care of it."

Emily didn't even react. She was still curled on her side, eyes closed. Spencer shrugged, then went back to alphabetizing her books. She picked one up off Emily's bedside table and examined the cover. "The 13 And A Half Lives Of Captain Bluebear?"

Emily still didn't reply. "Looks interesting." Spencer remarked.

There was utter silence. For twenty minutes more, Spencer continued tidying, humming a tune to herself as she did so. "My head hurts." Emily muttered, out of nowhere.

Spencer looked up from her work to see Emily's hands clasped to her head, pain twisting her tanned face. "I'll get some painkillers." She said brightly, and bustled off.

When she returned with a glass of water and two little pills, Emily's eyes were shut again. "Oh no you don't." Spencer smirked, and banged down the water beside her.

Her eyes fluttered open again. "Why are you being the good samaritian?" She said scathingly. "Not like a Hastings to get her hands dirty."

They had warned her about this, Spencer remembered. They had warned her she wouldn't be her usual self. Warned her that the part of Emily, the cheerful always lovely good-natured part, was under lock and key for the moment being. They had said she could be aggressive and sensitive and just plain nasty. It was a symptom, they had said, and nothing to get worried about.

It didn't mean the comment didn't sting.

Spencer dismissed the hurt from her face and replaced it with a neutral expression. "Your room's a tip." She said blandly. "And you have work that I need to teach you."

Emily went silent again and turned her face into the pillow. Spencer finished tidying and reached into her satchel, unveiling a heavy folder of English work. "We're doing Macbeth at the moment." She said brightly. "I'm finding it really interesting. We've only got up to the three witches' speech, but so far it's been good."

No response. Spencer was uneasy, and blustered over it. "Math, we're doing scatter plots. Science, carbon chemistry. History, you've got a good dose of the Vietnam War to study. And Spanish, we're currently studying cafe language. The swim team sent you a message, by the way, they miss you. I think they're compiling a card but I probably wasn't supposed to tell you that, so pretend you don't know when they give it to you."

She flipped the book open. "Right. So in the whole chapter of Macbeth we've studied, we have Banquo, Macbeth, the Three Witches, Duncan and Malcolm. Now, if you want to do your end of year essay, and don't worry, I've photocopied the essay notes for you, on how the beginning of the text created the strong impression of at least one character, you can do that on the Witches. What I wrote is that you get a strong impression by when they refer to their familiars, and talk about how they-"

"Stars, hide your fires." Emily muttered.

Spencer stopped in shock. "Let light not see my black and deep desires." Emily finished, eyes hard and flinty.

Spencer's mouth gaped, and she quickly closed it, trying to move on. "Yes, Em, that's a good quote you could use for the turning of Macbeth, from a good if ambitious man, to a power hungry one."

She didn't know why shivers were racing up her spine, and panic felt the need to surge into her body. Perhaps it was the look in Emily's eyes that did it. The stony glare that resonated out, so unlike Emily, it was unnatural to see the pure anger. But behind it, she sensed a hopelessness, a tragic nature that made Spencer want to lean forward and grab her in her arms and hug all the pain out of her. It was such an un-Spencer thought that she had to shake herself. Perhaps they were all changing as a result of this.

For better, or for worse?

She hurried over the rest of Macbeth, and moved on to a safer topic- carbon chemistry. "This is a fractional distillator." She explained in her best teacher voice. "It splits crude oil into different hydrocarbons by heating it at different temperatures. For example, diesel fuel, is made up of hydrocarbons such as-"

"I'm bored." Emily said simply, and brutally honestly.

"Okay." Spencer agreed, trying to comply. "Well, we can do History next, if you'd like. The Vietnam War's really interesting. For example, did you know-"

"Nothing about a war!" Emily snapped.

Spencer went pale. Oh God, she'd really done it this time. They'd made her promise never to mention anything close to her Dad. Emily couldn't think like that. She was in a fragile state of mind as it was, let alone needing to worry about her Dad in Afghanistan. Spencer took a breath in, trying to mentally undo her mistake. "Okay." She said softly. "Okay. What do you want to do then?"

"I want you to leave me alone." Emily ordered.

Spencer nodded and stood. She stuffed her books back into her satchel quietly, and hooked it over her shoulder. Emily suddenly sat up. "They're putting me on meds." She muttered, her tone of disgust evident.

"Are they?"

"Doctor came in today and gave Mom red pills. I'm not stupid. I saw." Emily spat.

"They're going to help you." Spencer replied. "Your Mom wouldn't do anything if it wasn't going to help you."

"Red ones bring you up, blue ones bring you down." Emily would have done a perfect impression of St Trinians had it not been for the bitterness in her voice.

It was Spencer's turn to be silent. "I need to be brought up." Emily continued. "I need to be on happy pills! Get it! All those jokes about people having special needs and whether they've taken their pills this morning we make. And you know something funny? You know something really, fucking, hilarious?"

Spencer had gone pale, and was holding on to the bedpost to keep her steady. "Is that," Em ranted, "That in the end, the happy one, the smiley one, needs the fucking happy pills. Isn't that just the greatest joke? Aren't you laughing Spencer? It's so funny!"

Spencer wasn't laughing. Spencer was trying very hard to stop tears from trickling out her eyes. And it wasn't working. "I'll be back with more work soon." She mumbled, and made her way out the door.

"Why aren't you laughing Spencer?" Emily questioned, even as Spencer closed the door. "It's the most hilarious joke ever told! Everyone's laughing! Everyones laughing at Emily! Come on, Spencer, come and-"

Spencer jammed her hands across her ears, blocking Emily's bitter laughter and cruel words, as a tear finally escaped her eyelid and she sank against the bedroom door, utterly heartbroken by the mental horror that her friend was going through, that she had only just seen a glimpse of today.

Oh yes, very depressing and wonderful. :P One Shot unless people want more, I can see this being a proper story! In case you haven't figured it out, Maya's died, and Emily's utterly depressed. Spencer and other people are trying to help her but failing. Please review guys! :)