Simon's mummy was very ill. Her sickness wasn't in her heart or her bone marrow , or any tangible location at all; Simon's mummy was ill in her soul. The disease was malignant, and was quick to seize her mind. The doctors almost guaranteed it would be fatal.

Daddy simply said she was ill, but other grown-ups whispered about her in crueler terms. They called her bonkers; they called her mad.

At a family dinner party that Simon was made to attend, his elder cousin told him why. It had been Simon who drove his mummy mad. Mrs. Cambourne dreamed of the perfect baby from the minute she'd wed, but her body didn't match with her mind. She tried for years upon years, but delivered nothing but bundles of tearful sorrow and crimson blood. Each failure ripped a segment of her strong young heart, until she seemed elderly by the time she was twenty-nine years. Then, Simon was born. His mummy was rejuvenated, and utterly convinced that he would be everything she had ever wanted.

But Simon was not what she'd dreamed of at all. He was not her perfect, strong, princely baby. His features were too soft, his hair was too coarse, his body far too delicate. All that would have been bearable, were it not for the fits. With fluttering eyelids, shattering teeth, shuddering shoulders, he flopped to the ground, a face wrenched with pain. It wasn't her son, it was the fits. She wasn't mad, he was.

Simon's mummy liked to talk, but she rarely talked to his daddy or the family in the next next house over, and never spoke to him. But, oh! how she loved to talk. She would whisper for hours, conducting private conversations with words hushed and hurried, but so awfully tender that Simon wished they were all for him. They weren't, they never were, but still Simon reveled in the beautiful, rushed words, again and again.

Simon's mummy also loved music, so very much. Hymn were her favorite, and she sang them everywhere, in a muffled voice, the ghost of a once silvery tone. When Simon was very little, before his mummy fell ill, she would sing to him after he had a turn, calm him in her soft embrace, until he drifted off to sleep. Her music had a healing touch, one that stretched its delicate fingers into his head and his heart and promised to mend all that was broken. She was the reason that Simon joined the choir at boarding school: he would heal her with music, just as she had for him.

At his new school, Simon had trouble fitting in with the other boys. They thought his quiet ways queer and unorthodox, and at first, watched him as though he were from another world. However, as time went on, he disappeared from there minds, an elusive ghost who rarely ever reader his silent head. But, in the choir, he was all right. In the choir, it was perfectly normal for him to blend in, and no one thought it odd, save their uptight head boy. Simon found home in the choir, a real home, an he wanted to share it, share it with everyone. Especially his mummy.

At the end of Simon's first year, the boys of the choir sang at a matin at the nearby church. The group frequently attended and preformed during the morning prayer, but this time was to be an entirely different experience for Simon. Daddy had sent him a letter, informing him that he and Mummy would be attending, and early eighth birthday surprise.

What was even more, Simon was to sing a solo melody in one of the pieces, softly and sweetly and clearly. Merridew had been terribly upset when Simon got the part. He was chapter chorister after all, and sang a stronger C sharp than any other boy in the school. But he lacked the angelic touch that the piece would thrive with, an air of purity that Simon naturally exuded.

However, as they stood before the church, a queer feeling began to creep across Simon's skin. The rich timbre of the organ started up, and the rest of the choir began to sing. Simon eyes sifted through the audience until landing on the hallow face of his mummy. The corners of her mouth drooped downwards, and Simon felt his heartbeat flutter faster and faster.

His part was in sixty bars.

Simon felt as though something bad were about to happen, something terrible. He found himself fighting to keep his eyes steady above his parents' heads, and saw his daddy's forehead crinkle tightly with a slight look of concern.

Thirty-two bars until he sang alone.

Simon flushed deeply, his lips barely parting to utter the lyrics of the hymn. He glanced toward Merridew, who caught his eyes and flashed a superior grin before returning a pleased gaze to the crowd. Simon's head was spinning full-circle and pounding with such fierceness that he struggled to grasp even a single breath. Simon knew the fit was coming on, and braced himself trying with all his heart to keep himself from swaying.

Sixteen bars left.

He would stand his ground. He would sing for his mum.

Two bars.

Simon's legs gave out beneath him, and the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness was Merridew's disdainful glare, glowering down as he was enveloped by darkness.

Simon awoke to streaky golden beams shining on his skin, and a cool breeze on his cheeks. Two frail arms cradled his shoulders, and he looked to a muttering face, darkened by early morning shadows. He blinked rapidly before finally recognizing the face before his own.

"Oh. Hullo Mummy." He smiled up at her weakly, but she didn't say a word, only frowning down at a spot right above Simon's ear, a cloudy look in her eyes.

Simon felt his heart sink until he saw her slightly part her lips, as a soft tune spilled out. Simon smiled in touched surprise, and listened peacefully to the tender music she blessed him with.

Simon returned to school the next day, and was instantly swarmed by the rest of the choir, eager to tell him what had happened after he threw a faint. It was quickly explained that a few of the adults had carried him outdoors, where his parents ran out to meet him. Morning prayer had continued as usual after that, Simon or no Simon.

Simon was no longer allowed to sing solo melody of a song, due to his "extreme case of stages anxiety". He didn't mind though. All he could think about was his mummy, the mummy who had held him until he was healthy once more.

Siomon's mummy was ill, and so was he, but together, they would be able to heal, and become a proper family once more: He just knew it.

A/N: Hey there! This is my first in a series of one-shots relating to Simon and his relationships with other characters. Please read, review, and leave helpful comments!

Also, did you know that Simon's last name is actually Cambourne? Like in play canon? Wowie!

Catch ya soon!