A/N: I'm a former Samcedian Gleek who left her fic writing days ages ago. But I've recently been drawn back in by the sweetest pairing (that isn't canon yet) on the cutest show I'm only a little embarrassed to be watching.
I don't own GMW, only a ton of BMW DVDs and a broken Shawngela heart.
Who knows how long her mother's been hovering. Maya is blind with pain, a headache so splitting she can barely hear. Her insides are unforgiving and she'd hoped—prayed—that this cycle would take it easy on her. How crazy she'd been to forget: hope is for suckers.
"Baby girl, I told him you weren't looking for visitors, but he's persistent. He said something about a horse and Riley's permission?"
Symptoms of endometriosis in layman's terms: a fire burning in your uterus, knife-sharp cramps, back pain that won't let up, and not being able to shit without crying.
The only people that take Maya seriously in the beginning are her mother and Riley.
Maya's periods have always been awful, but two months ago she can't move from bed. Katy isn't around much, but despite her daughter's disdain for school, Maya never misses a day. The message on her cellphone from the school office isn't a surprise—which teacher did she upset today? The answer is none of them because her little fire-starter isn't at school at all.
Riley is the one who advocates for her to visit a doctor. Periods suck, but she shouldn't be bleeding through an entire stock of maxi pads—tampons are out of the question. She also shouldn't be in unbearable pain. Riley does all the research and sits with her in the rowdy clinic. The visiting physician is convinced Maya is a teen looking for pain meds and over exaggerating. He writes her a prescription for birth control that thankfully won't be a cost.
Nothing works that she can afford, and here she is, dealing with it the best she can.
Other apparent symptoms of endometriosis? Delusion.
Her mother comes into the focus, gently smiling down at her. Maya hears him before she sees him. She smells that sandalwood cologne before she feels another dip in her bed. Reaching for her waste bucket, she prepares for another wave of nausea.
There's no mistake to be made, Lucas Friar is sitting at the foot of her bed. She doesn't know which thing is more agitating:
The fact that her room reeks of copper and sweat. She looks like a corpse. That she feels physically each part of her being put through a giant paper shredder. Or because her mother couldn't deny Lucas' weirdly charming horse analogy and actually let him in their apartment.
Each thing is equally annoying, but she has to figure out how to deal with the most recent development.
"I'll refill your water pitcher and be back." Maya's mother pats her foot and she swears she sees her smirk as she leaves the girl's room.
Maya still hasn't looked at this Huckleberry fool, because she's staring at her ceiling in hopes that the room will stop spinning.
"Hey, Shortstack," she hears his distant voice.
Holy shit, why her? This caring dork is full of empathy and worry. The tears are prickly, her nose burning.
It's a combination of bullshit, really. She fully believes she's experiencing the worst pain of her life. Every month, she gets a few days off from school, which she has done well with avoiding questions until now. According to Riley, it's anti-feminist to be embarrassed about this, but her cheeks are enflamed. She does everything possible to remain strong in public, but her room is her safe space. Here her walls are non-existent. And right now? She doesn't have any energy to put them back up.
"What are you doing here?" She croaks after a minute or two.
"Well, I'm reporting for your "Honey" who demanded one of us bring you, "Peaches," this bag of wellness. I volunteered and I have been requested to not ask questions and to leave only if you ask me to."
Maya peeks through one eye, and Lucas isn't smirking or passing judgement. He holds up the purple drawstring bag she's come to know as the Maya Power Pack. Riley stocks it with magazines, any homework she's missing, a thermos of green tea, and sweet motivating notes.
Lucas is wearing his gym clothes and automatically Maya is annoyed.
"Friar, are you missing your damn baseball practice right now?"
The kid rides in on fucking white horses and threatens bullies for his friends. She knows he considers her a friend but Maya doesn't want him sacrificing anything on her account.
He glances down at his Abigail Adams High tee and matching shorts, only to roll his eyes.
"It's not a big deal at all," he stands up, startling Maya with his sudden movements.
Lucas crosses his arms across his chest and Maya realizes she's struck a nerve.
"I was a starter for 3 years in middle school, and now I'm barely off the bench. I'm on JV for crying out loud! Oh—my bad, am I too loud?"
Maya's eyes are closed again, but it's not his fault. Tiny demons are sawing her uterus open, sending her through another round of intense pain.
"No, it's not you. Don't worry your pretty head. It's nothing."
"This is not nothing Maya," and she feels how close he is. Lucas' words flow directly into her ear. He's not in the middle of her room anymore, but sitting in the chair placed adjacent to her bed. Her mother usually sits there with Maya when she can, but now Lucas takes her place.
Her hand is being pulled gently from the side of her body. Maya chooses to ignore the slight dip her heart takes and blames it on a jolt of pain.
Maya knows there is no use in fighting this. Lucas has come in Riley's place to comfort her and she wouldn't dare ask him to leave now. His firm grip on her tiny hand helps her concentrate on something.
Minutes pass and he's still there. She can muster up the strength to open her eyes, meeting his on hers.
"Thank you," she says and she hopes it can convey how grateful she is. Today, he is not a Huckleberry, but her friend that took time out of his afternoon to be there for her.
She eases out of his grip, and she wants to sit up. "Open that window for me. I'm sorry about the smell."
"Have you ever been in a dude's locker room?" He's laughing at the window, and Maya praises every deity in the sky for the cool breeze. New York heat at the end of August is unforgiving, but for some reason, they're blessed with a cold front today.
"Point taken. I just can't remember the last time I've actually washed these sheets. Or myself."
She forgets who she's with for a second. They both pause, knowing it's a new territory they're crossing into. Maya can't go back now, and she doesn't think she wants to. She thinks it might not be so bad to be open with someone other than Riley and her mother about this. Lucas wouldn't have been her first pick, but she doesn't have a choice in the matter now.
"So, I know I'm supposed to not ask questions but…" Lucas sits back in the chair, looking at her hand in askance.
She gives it back to him and goes into a spiel she's practiced in cases she is forced to explain.
Lucas is rock solid, never cringing or fidgeting when it gets uncomfortable. Men, no matter what age, are taught that matters of the female body are gross. But he's engaged, pretending to not be completely confused, and never breaks eye contact.
"So when I'm missing from school, I'm not on a special early weekend trip with Shawn or working on an independent study with MoMA—even though I really wish that was fucking true."
"Holy shit."
"Tell me about it."
"So you're just stuck like this?"
"Basically until I can afford to get that procedure done so it's not as debilitating as it is now."
And on cue, her head's spinning again and she has to lay back down or she'll pass out in front of Lucas, something she will force herself not to do.
She wakes up, and it's freezing but she loves it. Both of her fans are blowing cool air on her and her window is still open. It's then she remembers that Lucas dropped by and she was sure he'd be gone by now. Only there he sat, in the same chair, with one of her sketchbooks in his hands.
"Can I ask," Maya forces to speak which breaks his concentration.
He's nervous but has a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"Okay, don't kill me. But I was compelled to draw you." He can't contain his amusement and Lucas' shoulders are shaking.
Maya wants to strangle him because this is her time of given monthly despair but he is making her want to smile. His joy is radiant and jumps onto her skin.
"Give me the damn book."
Glancing down once more, he willingly hands over his work and Maya can't stop the laugh that escapes her lips.
"Huckleberry this is so bad."
She's wiping tears, the happy kind, from her face because it's so damn ridiculous. Laid before her eyes is a downright childish drawing of Maya sleeping. She knows Lucas doesn't excel in art, but this is one for the books. Her stick figure body lays lifeless in a bed with no depth and the shading is criminal. He has worked hard on the details of her room. A lumpy guitar, her art supplies in a corner, and a mound of clothes on the floor probably the only thing he doesn't botch.
It's a disaster and she loves it.
"That's what makes it better. Can you believe I've been working on that for the entirety of your hour long nap?"
"You are the next Edgar Dahs, Lucas Friar."
"Who?"
"Nevermind."
It's getting late and she knows Lucas should go soon. She hates herself for not wanting him to go. They don't spend much time alone outside of their group, and she's finding it to be bearable. As if reading her mind, Lucas looks at his watch and they meet eyes. Disappointment seeps into the air and it's weird because she hasn't felt much more than annoyance when he's around. At least that's what she convinces herself that feeling is.
"Get out of here," says says not maliciously. "Don't you have a…cow to milk?"
They're equally aware she's not up to par and they break out in another fit of laughter.
"That was beyond weak, Hart."
"Bite me, Friar."
He gathers his things and before she knows it, she is out of bed.
"Maya don't—"
"Shut up."
She checks to make sure she hasn't leaked a crimson river onto her sheets or pajama shorts and makes her way to meet Lucas at the door. Her hair hasn't seen a brush in days and they don't talk about how funky her armpits are, but she's fighting to give him a hug. To stand there and thank him how he deserves to be thanked. He steadies Maya, making sure she doesn't slip. She can't look at him in this state because it's bad enough he has witnessed her weakest self. Throughout the entire afternoon, this is the most vulnerable she's been.
"This was really cool of you to do this. Thank you, again, Lucas." She speaks into his chest and doesn't miss how he tightens his arms around her back before letting go.
"Anytime, Shortstack."
She knows he'll keep this between them even though he now has something to hold against her when she gets feisty. It's an even longer trip back to her bed, but she falls back into her pig sty, grateful that what started out as a terrible day ends up not half bad. She has Huckleberry to thank for that, but she decides she'll keep that to herself for as long as humanly possible.
Before drifting off to sleep, she glances at Lucas' art work one more time to confirm she hasn't been delusional at all.