Author's note: This isn't a continuation of the last one. It stands on its own. But I've decided to write a different one-shot after each episode, using the line sixteen or so (or some variation of it) frequently throughout the piece.

I'm pretty sure that every one-shot will deal only with Emily's storyline. Because she's rad.


Mrs. Fields felt sick. Sick to her stomach. In her sixteen or so years as a mother, she had never felt that sick before- including her pregnancy. From where she was in the kitchen drying glasses, she heard the front door open and someone walk through, and a pair of keys clanging as they were set on the side table.

"Emily, is that you?" Mrs. Fields called out. Even though she knew the answer, confirmation never hurt.

"Yeah. I'll be upstairs." Emily's words were flat, and their monotone resonated in her mother's ears with each thudding step she took up the stairs.

Mrs. Fields sighed, her stomach knotting and twisting like a pretzel ready to be baked. She threw down the dishtowel in her hand, letting it hang carelessly over the sink, and made her way out of the kitchen, jogging silently up the staircase. She stopped in front of her daughter's room, hesitant before bring herself closer to the crack between the door and the hallway. Bending her head down, she listened.

"Yeah, Mr. Fitz said that we're having a discussion in class, and that our participation grade will be based off of that...Mmhm...I know...Oh, I got a ninety on it, barely an A...Yes...I'm marking up my book so I know what to say...Alright, I'll see you later Aria...bye."

Mrs. Fields eased her breathing. Rarely, as a mother for sixteen or so years, did she listen in on her daughter's conversations, but she felt her reasons were justified. The ever-present sickened feeling in her stomach subsided into a dull queasiness, and she tapped lightly on the door before walking into the room.

"Are you hungry? You usually eat something after school,"

Emily was sitting cross-legged on her bed with a stack of sticky-notes and an F. Scott Fitzgerald book in her hands. Her phone lay silent next to her left knee. "I'm fine." Her response was curt and she merely glanced up at her mother.

"Are you sure? Because I can bring something up while you finish your homework,"

"Really, mom. I'm fine." Her response wasn't as curt as her previous one, but she still remained tight-lipped.

Mrs. Fields sighed again. "Em, sweetie. We really need to talk."

Closing her eyes, Emily took in a deep breath. When she opened them, she saw, for the first time in her sixteen or so years, that her mother was completely vulnerable. She put her book down next to her phone and stood up. She herself had been completely vulnerable when she was sitting on the bed with her father not too long ago. She didn't want that this time. There couldn't be two vulnerable people talking, so she chose to stand and look her mother in the eye.

"I don't like...the way this has all been going." Mrs. Fields said tentatively.

Emily tilted her head, silently inquiring as to what "this" meant.

"I-I've been getting upset and you've been hiding in your room... It's not good. It's not good for the family."

"Mom..." There was a tone of desperation in Emily's voice. She was desperate. Desperate yet hopeful, because she really thought that her mother was trying.

"I want to help you, sweetie. I really want to help you." Emily smiled upon hearing this from her mother. Her mother was trying.

Mrs. Fields smiled, too, beaming down at her daughter. She let out a breath and continued: "Maybe we can go talk to someone? Someone who can help get this out of you."

"Get...get this out of me?" Emily's smile broke. Her hopefulness shattered. "There's nothing in me, mom. There is nothing wrong with me!"

"Yes, there is! You need help, Em." Mrs. Fields' voice was hoarse as she spoke. "I...I tolerated this at first. I tolerated that...that dinner, and-"

"Mom!" Emily cried, cutting her off. "I'm not a negative to be tolerated! I am your daughter."

Mrs. Fields' eyes were wide and she had to clasp her hands together to keep from trembling. Her daughter, in her sixteen or so years, had never cut her off before.

Emily ran a hand through her dark hair before continuing. "I get that you're having trouble accepting this; accepting me. I can't force you to be okay with this any more than you can't force me to be something that I'm not. But I am your daughter. You're supposed to love me." She was trembling now. Visibly trembling, and unlike her mother, she didn't bother to try and hide it.

"Please, mom. Why can't you just love me?" Emily breathed her last words. She looked up, only to see her mother shaking her head.

Mrs. Fields did want to say something. She wanted to respond to what her daughter had spilled out to her. But the image of her daughter kissing another girl, kissing that Maya girl on the front porch was engraving itself in her mind. So she shook her head, wiped her eyes, and walked away.

For the first time in her sixteen or so years, Emily Fields saw her mother give up. From her bed, her phone was lighting up and vibrating, sounding off a low humming noise. But she didn't bother to go and retrieve it. Instead, she cried.

Emily cried. She held her head down, letting her dark hair cascade in front of her face, and cried.

Her phone went off once more, but she ignored it. Downstairs, her mother had completely wiped her face of emotion and went back to drying off the glasses, even though they had air-dried on their own. After a few minutes, the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Fields set down the dishtowel and took a deep breath in order to convey a normal appearance.

"Hi, Mrs. Fields!" Aria greeted her and Spencer waved "Is Emily here? We tried calling her, but she didn't pick up."

Mrs. Fields swallowed. "Yeah, she's upstairs doing homework."

"Do you mind if we go upstairs?" Spencer asked, smoothing out her blouse.

Mrs. Fields smiled and nodded, opening up the door wider to let them in. She hadn't noticed until Aria and Spencer walked in, but Maya had been behind them, seemingly hiding behind Spencer's height. She went back to the kitchen and choked out a gasp.

"Emily?" Aria knocked on the door. "Em, are you okay?"

Emily snapped out of her trance, nearly falling over. "Y-yeah."

Aria opened up the door and three girls walked in. They all almost broke at the sight of Emily's red eyes and raw face; it was obvious that she had been crying.

Spencer had to refrain herself from running up and hugging her. She directed her eyes at Maya, who looked like she contemplating doing just that.

"Oh, Em..." Aria, like Spencer, wanted to drop everything and run up and hug Emily. And she, like Spencer, instead directed her eyes at Maya.

Maya took in the situation. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. She knew Aria and Spencer were staring at her, and she knew they wanted to go and comfort Emily, but were expecting her to do it. So she did.

She slowly walked up to Emily and looked at the other girl with concern in her eyes. Maya wrapped her arms around her, embracing her with all of the care that she, in her own sixteenth or so year, could provide. Emily closed her burning eyes and pressed her head against Maya's shoulder, just simply breathing her in.

Aria and Spencer stood awkwardly to the side, waiting patiently for their friend to relax and calm down.

It was only a moment before Emily sighed and brought her head up. When she saw two of her friends behind Maya, she broke out in a weak smile of gratitude.

"Em...what happened?" Spencer asked as she and Aria walked closer.

Emily looked around at the three girls and swallowed. "I...my mother and I tried talking. It...didn't go well."

"It'll be okay, Emily." Aria said. "You've got us," she gestured to Spencer and Maya, "and Hanna...even though she can't leave the house. But you've got us, and it will be okay."

Emily nodded. She knew that she had her friends and girlfriend to support her. But that didn't change the fact that her own mother had walked away and given up.

Spencer shifted her weight and exchanged glances with Aria. "Well, we just wanted to see if you were okay, Emily, since you weren't picking up your phone."

"Yeah." Aria smiled. "But, call us later." It was more of a demand, and Emily knew that the two were implying that they had really wanted to talk about Toby's return.

"Um, I guess I should..." Maya's voice trailed off and she tilted her head slightly to the side.

"No!" Aria said. "Uh, you shouldn't leave just because we are." Both Aria and Spencer looked at Maya, waiting for her to catch on.

"Oh...oh! Right." Maya leaned onto her toes and back down.

Emily breathed out a small chuckle. "Thanks guys. Really."

"You know you can always talk to us, Em." Spencer said as she and Aria walked back towards the door.

"Yeah. We'll talk to you later." They waved and closed the door behind them.

When the two left, Maya turned back around and cupped Emily's face, kissing her simply on the lips. "I obviously don't know what your mother said or didn't say...but I'm here. Always."

Emily wanted to cry again. But at this point, in her sixteen or so years, she knew that all crying would do would make her eyes puffy and it would not help her cause with her mother. She took hold of Maya's hands, moving them from her face to her hips. Emily smiled, a real smile, and brought her mouth back to Maya's.

Spencer and Aria were about to walk out of the front door when they heard soft footsteps behind them.

"Are you two leaving already?" Mrs. Fields asked, toting around that same dishtowel.

"Yeah, we just needed to talk to Emily about something." Aria held back her new-found disdain for Mrs. Fields and let her usual sweetness radiate off of her.

"Thanks, Mrs. Fields," Spencer didn't know why she was thinking the woman who was making life difficult for one of her best friends, but she knew it was the proper thing to do. With a mumbled "goodbye," the door closed with a soft thud and they were gone.

Mrs. Fields shifted her gaze between the now-closed door and the now-empty staircase. She was waiting for Maya to come down the stairs and leave, but the realization hit her, scalding like hot soup, that Maya was not going to walk down the stairs anytime soon.

And Mrs. Fields felt sicker than ever in her sixteenth or so year as a mother. Sick to her stomach.


Author's note: "I hear the word 'tolerance'—that some people are trying to teach people to be tolerant of gays. I'm not satisfied with that word. I am gay, and I am not seeking to be 'tolerated'. One tolerates a toothache, rush-hour traffic, an annoying neighbor with a cluttered yard. I am not a negative to be tolerated."- Chely Wright.