Crescendo

A/N: So I've lost my mind. I'm not just starting one multi-chapter fic, but two, at the same time. I couldn't help it, though. This idea has been floating around in my head for quite a while, lots of different versions. This is the one, though, this is it, this is what I wanted it to be, and now I want some feedback. Review, please, and read on!

Crescendo: the climactic point or moment in the gradual, steady increase of intensity

"Mom!"

The single syllable penetrated through the heavy beat of the music of an up-and-coming band.

Peyton slipped her earphones out and turned away from the three computers in front of her, all of which were essential to the process of efficiently listening to and reviewing demos. She turned around and grinned at the sight of her daughter, whose smile lit her entire face. "Hey, you!" she returned, standing and pulling her girl into a hug. "What's going on?"

Her daughter's eyes lit as she held out a piece of paper. "Look!" she squealed.

Peyton accepted it, a playfully curious expression on her face. As she read, her face slowly lit up, her joy finding its way into each and every pore. She dropped her hands down to her sides as she gazed at her kid. "Oh, honey, this is amazing! God, I am so proud of you."

"I know, right?" her daughter asked in that peppy, teenaged tone that Peyton remembered using on rare occasions of pure happiness.

"Yes, right," she replied teasingly. She sighed and reached out for another hug. "This is a really huge achievement." She bent down with a playful smile on her lips, ducking her head to meet her daughter's eyes. She caught the glint in those blue eyes, the hesitation and the tinge of fear. Peyton could read her little girl so well that she often wondered if she recognized her daughter's emotions more easily than she recognized her own. "Baby, what is it?" she asked softly.

"It's all summer," was the soft, hesitant answer.

Peyton sighed and wrapped an arm around the fourteen-year-old. She walked both of them over the blood red couch and sat them down without breaking their embrace. "Talk to me, kiddo."

Her daughter's gaze was firmly fixed on her Converse shoes. "I've never been away from you that long."

"Honey…trust me when I say that I will miss you more than anything, but I know you can do this. It's one summer, the opportunity of a lifetime."

"I know that. I just…I'm not ready for that yet. I know that you basically lived alone through your teens but…you're always here for me. I need you," she admitted.

"Hey. Trust me when I say that I need you right back. But babe, I love you too much to keep you from this."

Her kid's feet tapped nervously as she stole a few glances up at Peyton's face, looking into her understanding eyes for the briefest of seconds. "I like it here in the summer. My friends and all the shows and the musicians and…I just like being here."

Peyton let the lame excuses settle into the air around them, allowing just enough time for her daughter to become uncomfortable before coming to her rescue. She didn't want to torture her; she just wanted to prove her point. Gently, she asked, "You gonna cut the crap and really talk to me, or are we going to have this conversation for a while longer?" She sighed. "I know you can live without me for eight weeks. I know you can, you have my strength in you, I can see it. I am always only a phone call away, and you have to know by now that if you needed me I would be there right away to rescue you. Do you know that?" At her little girl's reluctant nod, she continued, "I love having you around to help out, and I love that you're enthusiastic about this. I know you love your friends. But it's eight weeks. Nothing is going to end in that time, I promise you that."

"I do…want to go."

"So what's stopping you?" Peyton laughed, raising her eyebrows. "This is everything I could have dreamed of for you. This could be the summer where things change. Really change. What more can you ask for than to have a moment like that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged.

Sudden tears pricked at Peyton's eyes, tears she hadn't realized were lingering until they appeared. Her kid was alarmed. "Mom?"

"I'm fine, I'm sorry." She wiped at her eyes and took a shaky breath in. "Listen to me, okay? I will miss you like hell. You're the most organized assistant in the entire world, and you're also my kid, so I feel a little attached to you, you know?" she asked in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. The small, delicate smile she received let her know of her success. "And that means that I love you. I can't let you…not do this. You would regret it, I know you would."

"What if I end up there and I regret going? How the hell can you guarantee that that won't happen?" her daughter shot back.

Peyton raised a single eyebrow at the behaviour that would have prompted Brooke to call the fourteen-year-old Mini-Peyton. "Then you've learned something. Come on, babe, you can't expect me not to allow you to go. I want to protect you, but keeping you from this would be a selfish mistake." She let her eyebrow fall back to its natural position. "But you already knew that."

Her daughter slumped forward with a sigh, resting her head in her hands tiredly. Peyton reached over to stroke her long, wavy blonde hair. "I would really like it if you would talk to me right now," she said softly. "Most of the time I don't want to know what your thoughts are on the cute singer of that new band I just signed, but right now I would kill to read that mind of yours. What are you thinking, hon?"

"Mom." That meaningful syllable again, on an exhale, a sad sigh. The equally slender, equally blonde girl sat up to face her mother. "Mom, I just…"

"Shh," Peyton said immediately when she spotted the tears on her teenager's cheeks. "You know you can tell me anything. I'm not here to judge."

The emotional intensity of the moment was broken by the scepticism in her daughter's glare.

"What?" she asked defensively.

"The last time you said that I told you about what happened in the back of Matt's car, and you were just a little bit judgmental about that, don't you think?"

Peyton gasped. "Oh, don't you dare, you are fourteen years old!"

The reply she got was a scoff of: "Oh, like you were a virgin when you were fourteen." At her mother's incredulous, open-mouthed stare, she quickly added, "I still am!" She groaned. "We're a little off-topic now," she said pointedly.

"Hey," Peyton said threateningly. That part of the conversation was far from over.

"Nothing's happened, Mom, I promise you. Can we please stop discussing this?"

The pink flush of embarrassment and the nervous, hesitant way her daughter looked at her broke Peyton's heart a little. There were a lot of moments, growing up, when she would have killed for a conversation like this. If she had actually had the chance, she was sure she would've gotten just as flustered, but she still wished she could've had those moments of squirming under her mother's unforgiving gaze, even if she would've hated it at the time. She felt tears pushing at her lower lids and she blinked quickly. At least this time she'd felt her impending tears in time to keep them at bay. If there was one thing she hated, it was that powerless crying that she couldn't put a stop to. She'd done enough of it throughout her life. She'd promised herself long ago that she was done.

She refocused her attention on her daughter, who was looking at her hopefully, waiting to go back to the ever-so-slightly less uncomfortable topic of what was beginning to seem like her inevitable departure. Peyton smiled. "New subject if you'll give me total honesty." She offered her fist.

With a dramatic sigh, the younger blonde punched, tapping her knuckles against those of her mother. "Deal."

"Thank you. Now talk," Peyton ordered lightly.

Her daughter met her eyes with such hesitance that it hurt Peyton to see her kid so tentative to discuss something with her. Maybe she truly had overreacted about the whole Matt incident.

But when her mini-me spoke, she immediately realized why there'd been so much effort put in to the single, simple, heavy word she said: "Dad."

Peyton's tears resurfaced, and she had to fight a little bit harder to keep them back. They didn't talk about the D-word much. Peyton had seen many different examples of single parenthood in the people she held closest to her, and over the years had learned what worked, what failed, and what you couldn't control. She dedicated her life to her child, and had ever since the little girl had appeared in her life. Music and art, her greatest passions, fell second to the one true love of her life. All she had left over, and all she really had to live for.

She multitasked in her own role as a mother. She was a mom, first and foremost; it was her most important role and duty. But she also tried her hardest to be a dad at times. For her athletic daughter's sake, she reviewed all the basketball lingo she'd learned from the sidelines of high school basketball games. She never missed one of her kid's games, though admittedly, she tended to doodle in her sketchbook, especially when her own daughter wasn't on the court at the moment. When it was playoff time she let the cheerleader in her resurface and she screamed as loud as she could for the team. She always indulged in girl talk, but she also worried that no boy would ever be enough for her kid. Sometimes it was so easy, playing the roles of both parents, and sometimes it was just too hard.

Peyton was parental, but also playful. It was the one thing she could never resist doing, trying to befriend her own kid. They weren't that far apart in age, it wasn't as though there was a forty-year age gap between them or anything. Peyton could easily remember what it was like to be younger, and how much it truly could suck. She wanted to be there as a confidante, too.

All in all, she wanted to be the best possible parent she could be. Her daughter's existence in her life was somewhat of a fluke, and she was stubbornly determined to do it all right. She'd had Anna Sawyer and Ellie Harp as mothering role models, no matter for how short a time, and she'd promised herself from the get-go that she would do them proud. She had to. For her moms, for her daughter, and also for herself.

"Come here," Peyton said quietly. Her daughter leaned into her side, partially stretched out on the couch. Peyton planted a couple kisses on her forehead. She listened to her kid sniffle for a couple minutes, soothingly rubbing her arm, before she asked, "What do you mean?"

"What if I can't do it…in a way that would…mean something…what if I mess up?" She started to cry in earnest. "God, Mom, I'm not even making any sense."

"Shh, sweetie, of course you are," Peyton assured her. Her response was automatic, but sincere. Why hadn't she seen this coming over the years? She'd lived the single-parent life, even the no-parent life. Their situations weren't exactly similar, but she could sympathize with her child. "What could you possibly have to prove to him?"

"That I'm good enough," was the whispered answer.

"Good enough for what?" Peyton shook her head. "You are already more than that. More than enough."

"You're my mom," her daughter groaned through her tears. "You have to say that. I need to prove that I'm good enough to accomplish something with my life, something he'd really be proud of."

"No. I don't just have to say that. I could just tell you that you don't have to prove anything to him – which you don't. But if you did, you already would have, a long time ago. You don't need to feel like you owe him anything, babe. I can't understand why you would think that."

"I just…do."

Peyton rested her chin on the teenager's forehead. "Fair enough," she sighed. "Just know that he loved you. That he loves you, still. And that you have been good enough since the moment you were born. Everything you've ever done was beyond good enough."

"Yeah, right. That makes sense," she said sarcastically, in her Mini-Peyton prime.

"Okay, kiddo, sure. I get it, the whole people leaving, feeling abandoned thing. Been there, done that, bought about a thousand postcards. Designed some of my own postcards, in fact, that's how many times I've made the trip. I don't want anger, or sadness, or a fixation with what could have been, what may have been. I don't want that for you, I've been fighting against it and I'm not going to lose. People do not leave because of anyone. Maybe, on rare occasions, they do, but that person has never been – hell, will never be – you."

Quiet blanketed the blondes comfortably for nearly fifteen minutes. Peyton allowed a single tear to escape as she wordlessly comforted her daughter, stroking her hair soothingly. She would always hold a bit of guilt when it came to her losses in life, and it hurt her everyday. If people left because of anyone, it would be Peyton. Her daughter wasn't going to place the blame on herself. Maybe she was selfishly reserving the right to guilt for herself, but she was also protecting her baby, and she couldn't really be blamed for that.

"Hey," she said softly. They both straightened up and she gently wiped her daughter's tears away. "What'd'ya say, honey? Are you going?"

With watery eyes and a timid but genuine smile, she said, "Yeah, guess I am."

Peyton grinned and stuck out her tongue. "That's my girl!" she declared proudly as her fourteen-year-old stuck her tongue out, too. Peyton pointed to the letter from the camp that had floated to the floor in all the commotion. "Go grab that and let's talk details, okay?"

Her daughter hopped up to retrieve it before flopping back down onto the couch next to her mom. "Okay."

Peyton smiled, glad to see happiness surfacing in her daughter's eyes. "I only read the first couple sentences. Why don't you tell me everything in there?"

With a shrug, she said, "Okay," and began to read the letter aloud, skipping over the introductory paragraph which informed her of her acceptance into the camp. "The Crescendo Music Camp (CMC) accepts only twelve serious music students from the ages of fourteen to eighteen each year and allows them the opportunity to enjoy one of America's best musical advisory experiences. The students convene in a calm, secluded environment where they study music theory and also gain remarkable musical experiences. Group classes are conducted on a scheduled weekly basis, but the true advantage of CMC is the fact that each of the twelve lucky accepted applicants is given a mentor. Their mentors have extensive experience with the passion, performance, and professionalism necessary for the best musical careers. Mentors take the summers off and fly away to CMC's location, which changes yearly. Away from fans and the press, they have agreed to dedicate all of their time to their students.

"CMC's mentoring musicians are so dedicated to their work that they agree to fund their students with their own earnings, meaning that participants board with their mentors for the summer. Each student must pay a 500.00 dollar fee. Everything is included for that price: a place to stay, food, teaching, musical performances, and 100.00 dollar credit at the local music store.

"The musicians of CMC are excited to have you joining us this year. In the attached envelope, you will find the name and address of your mentoring musician. Payment for the program in expected within the week of the applicant automatically forfeits their place in the camp.

"Welcome to the crescendo in your life's story. Sincerely, the director, Chris Keller." She stopped reading, looking sheepishly up at her mother.

Peyton stared at her, open-mouthed. "Um…sweetheart, you never told me that Chris Keller, Chris freaking Keller, was the director of this camp."

"It was for a good reason. I wanted to know if I could make it. You said it yourself, Mom, it's an amazing opportunity that I'd be stupid not to take…remember? I didn't want you to say know because of Chris Keller. He's a musical magician, but I know you hate his stuff."

"Oh, no," Peyton said with a small laugh. "I don't hate his stuff. He's a good musician, you're right. I could never deny him that. I hate him. The man. Chris…Keller. Chris Keller."

"How can you hate him? You don't even know him."

Peyton stood and began to pace nervously. "Oh, believe me, baby, I know him."

"Mom. You just said yourself that you'd never take this away from me."

"Oh, honey, I wouldn't, I just…you're going to be spending the summer with Chris Keller. I just don't know if I can…Chris Keller," she sighed. Of all people. Fate could be cruel to her. "Well, where is it? You never know, babe, the camp might be close."

Her kid ripped open the envelope recklessly. "Um…some place called Tree Hill, North Carolina. Tree Hill. A hill that's a tree? A tree that's a hill? That's a weird name," she giggled.

Peyton felt a little bit dizzy, and she had one of those horrible feelings about what was coming next. It could only be one thing. One person. A woman she'd once loved and considered one of her best friends. A woman she hadn't spoken to in ten years. One she intended never to let into her life ever again. "Who's your mentor, sweetie?" she asked faintly.

"Oh my God!" her teenager cried, jumping up and down for a couple seconds before collecting herself. "It's Haley James Scott!"

She sat back down on the couch heavily. Oh, God. Oh, how perfectly screwed up could her life possibly get? She thought she'd peaked a few years ago. "Honey…you can't go."

"Mom! You just talked me into it! Don't…Mom, why?"

"Chris Keller," Peyton said meekly. She blew out her breath and added, "Haley James Scott."

"I love Haley James Scott, Mom, she's so cool."

Peyton smirked at how very stereotypical her blue-eyed, blonde-haired teenager sounded at that moment. She looked so beautiful and alive. Peyton felt like she'd achieved something in that moment, but also like it was slipping away from her. "Please don't be mad at me for this," she said slowly, preparing to devastate her child by taking away the summer dream that Peyton herself had been encouraging moments ago.

"Mom! Please! You can't…please don't do this to me…Mama," she pleaded, pulling out the baby name as her very last resort.

Peyton squeezed her eyes shut. "I don't want you to regret anything," she said slowly, repeating her earlier sentiment.

"So I can go?" came the hopeful question.

"I just really don't want to regret anything either," Peyton whispered, looking directly into her kid's eyes.

"I don't understand."

"I…I know you don't. You shouldn't. But…Chris Keller," she said again, just as lamely. Chris Keller was not the biggest problem. Her daughter didn't know what awaited her in the seemingly innocent small town. Peyton was terrified of all she'd left there. The people she'd loved and left behind out of necessity and fear. Her daughter would be a sitting duck, easy access for them to finally see into Peyton Sawyer's mysterious and tragic life. She didn't know to protect herself. She didn't know that her own mother needed protecting, too.

"Mama. Please?"

The baby name, something she hadn't heard from her daughter's lips in nearly a decade, combined with the angelic pout and the innocence in her baby blues, broke Peyton down almost instantly. She'd learned a lot in her twenty-nine years. Sometimes you needed to face your demons. Peyton liked to hide, but now that they had come to fight her, she wasn't going to back down like she used to. She had to take care of herself, and the fourteen-year-old she'd dedicated her life to. She could be stronger.

"You can go…"

"Yes!" she cheered loudly.

Peyton gave her a pointed look. "But I'm coming with you."

"Mom!" her daughter cried, embarrassed and enraged. "No! I'm already going to be the baby, I can't go there taking my mommy with me, I can't look stupid in front of Haley James Scott! I don't want –"

Peyton cut her off, already knowing that she had won. Or perhaps lost. Fate really had something against her, because after years of studious avoidance, Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer was returning to Tree Hill. She looked right into her daughter's eyes, her stubborn pride easily visible in her green orbs. "Take it or leave it, Jenny."

A/N: Surprise. Did you see that coming? Please review, especially if you're interested in reading more.