A/N: The song featured as another 'Maya original' is Broken by Jake Bugg. Another recommendation for a listen while reading their interactions. Again, thank you for the continued support and kind words from the readers, you guys are awesome!


December 18, 2011

"Oh my gosh, babe!" Margaret Matlin is ecstatic behind her daughter, shaking her hand. "Look at you, you look-"

"Ridiculous mom, I look like a Christmas tree." Maya stands in front of the mirror, smoothing out the front of her moss green dress, lifting the ruched bodice embellished with gold stitching. "And I have no boobs, maybe I should wear something with sleeves so this doesn't come sliding off me."

"Stop being fussy, and come down here, so I can pin your hair. Now, you know you can't change wardrobe or that miserable choir director of yours will throw you out of the entire production." Her mother laughs as she runs her fingers through her curls. "And it's perfectly fine, by the way."

"What's fine?" Maya's on her knees, so her mother can comb through her hair comfortably.

"Not knowing how beautiful you really are." Her mother smiles, eyeing her in the mirror.

"You're my mom, you're supposed to say that stuff to make me feel better. I'm never going to look like, I don't know, some baton twirling beauty contestant."

Margaret laughs to herself. "One day, you're going to find out how special you really are, and I won't be the only one telling you."

"What, like a boy?" Maya mumbles, but her mother catches her wistful look.

"Ah, boys." Margaret helps her daughter to stand now. "I was hoping I didn't have to talk to you about that stuff until high school or at least until you got into sophomore year."

"I'm fourteen, mother." Maya says indignantly.

"The point I'm trying to make, babe," Margaret ignores her, laughing again. "Is that you're perfect. Like this, and always. No matter what, no matter who tells you otherwise."

"Don't cry please." Maya rolls her eyes.

"Perfect. Just beautifully perfect." Margaret does cry.

Maya doesn't want to admit how much the tears get to her, so she kneels again, facing her mother, biting back the urge to cry her own tears. "Mom…"

"Promise you'll believe that."

"Mom…"

"I just don't want you thinking you're not or that you can't be, even when I won't be able to remind you."

Maya gulps, "Mom…"

"Promise." Margaret takes hold of Maya's hands in her lap, squeezing them here. She's always making her promise her things, trivial things about chores and not wearing short shorts in public and calling home before sleeping over at a friend's house, but never something so important as this. At least, Maya thinks this means more than her mother is leading on.

"Of course. I promise."

The Christmas pageant goes on, with Maya fidgeting in the green dress a few times, while her mother locks her sights on her throughout the entire show. She's cheerful and laughing, and it's as if the promise she made to her mother earlier was not as solemn as it seemed.


December 20, 2016

She closes her eyes whenever she plays. It's nothing new, she knows, since she's seen countless performers do it before her. It looks like they lose themselves in the soundscape they create, and it feels that way when she does it too. Some attest that it helps bridge the gap between reading from the sheets and truly knowing the music; it's said to help you play with an open heart, with joys, pains and all.

The day of the Youth Orchestra audition, three years ago, she made the mistake of keeping her eyes on the interviewers and judges. Only, she realizes it was something she had done consciously to stop herself from getting lost. Being lost meant she would have seen Cam in a pool of blood, and completely laying her heart open meant she'd also see her mother, looking pure in white, and dead.

Now, in the orchestra pit, playing for Sunday's last crowd before Christmas break, she struggles to keep her eyes open on less than an hour's worth of sleep. It didn't help that she was also struggling against another winless battle. Since the night she had left Cam's apartment, she had kept envisioning what Cam's wrists would have looked like. Did Cam spill blood on his floor, on his jeans he wore to Xander's house? Do his wrists look red and swollen from injury? Did they stitch him up in the hospital? These thoughts kept with her, even when she tried to clear her head to perform with the rest of the music company in the following days.

She expected the calls from Dallas (none from Cam), but she doesn't answer them, and she would use the excuse of her conductor's strict rules of cell phones to good use when the time came to explain herself.

But, she does end up closing her eyes, missing her cue to emphasize the crescendo with her cello. When she tries to catch up with the rest of the band, she clashes with their notes, earning a withering stare from the conductor. She wants to melt into her seat and evaporate into thin air. She resigns with slumping back in her seat instead, closing her eyes again.

"Sleepy Little," Katie wakes her, leaning against the audience railing bar that separates them.

Maya is the only person left in the orchestra pit, and wonders how long she had been sitting alone after the memory of Dr. Offenbacher spitting his grief about her 'catastrophic' mistake 'at the cost of the music company' comes rushing back as a walloping smack to her head.

"It wasn't noticeable, I didn't hear any mistakes." Katie says soothingly, but Maya closes her eyes again in response.

"You don't know the first thing about classical…anything, Katie." Maya mutters, rubbing her eyes open to Katie's sheepish smile.

"I do know you beat yourself up about these types of things and—"

"These things matter." Maya cuts in, anger flaring.

"Sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Spare me."

"Maya," Katie finally bites back. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong with you, or is this going to be like one of our million attempts at playing the silent game?"

"It wasn't perfect!" Maya lashes out, standing, cello clattering to the ground. "What a stupid, stupid thing to be."

"Maya…" Katie jumps the railing to meet her sister, reaching out, only to have Maya swat her away. Katie stops her from stomping on her cello, pushing her back into her seat.

"No one can be perfect," Maya cries. "She—she—was wrong. What a stupid thing, to think that I—I will never be the way she said I was—could be." Maya hunches over, gasping for air through her tears.

Katie crouches low, holding on to her regardless of Maya's struggling against her. "You're right," Katie tells her. "No one can be perfect. But, mom—"

"Don't," Maya warns her, calming in her grasp. "Don't talk about her."

Katie releases her, but stays, grasping at her shaking hands. "When will you be able to, May? You weren't the only one at the funeral. You weren't the only one carrying her casket down the cemetery. Just because you went, doesn't mean it's over and done with. You haven't visited her since that day, years ago….talk to me…"

Maya remains silent, but Katie must recognize the way her legs are skittish, restless. "Did something happen?"

"She told me," Maya gulps. "She made me promise to remember that I was perfect."

Katie's hands move Maya to look up at her. "Then you're perfect."

"But, it's so hard ," she admits weakly. "It's so hard to hold it together when I think of her, when I think about how much I lost, or almost lost that year…"

"May, Mom wanted to make you feel the way we all feel about you. Deep down, I think you know that it didn't mean you had to get those grades in school, or that you have to have the applause from strangers for music you know through and though anyway. I think you know that mom wanted you to see that you're an amazing sister, aunt, friend. That's perfect enough for her, and it should be enough for you. Whatever faults you have, you're enough for me too."

"I'm a terrible friend. I abandon my friends."

"Your friends are your friends because they see past all the shitty stuff that happens between you and them. It's never too late to remind them of that."

Maya cannot explain why this is the first time she's hearing her sister clearly, as if her words had only reached her now, because she's finally taken aback by it. It may also be in part due to her hopefulness that these words sound louder and truer than her insecurities.

"Katie," Maya struggles, folding her arms around her sister for support. "Can I come with you?"

"What?"

"Today's Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Katie smiles into her sister's hair, kissing the top of her head. "Yeah."


The paper is thin, flimsy in her hands, so it shakes with the fragile, unsteady force she holds it in.

'Margaret Matlin is survived by her husband, Brenden Matlin; her eldest daughter, Katie Matlin; and her youngest daughter…'

"Maya," she hears a distant, foggy voice call her. Through the fogginess, she sees a hand reach for her.

Maya gasps as she wakes with a start, straining to gather where she is.

"Maya," it's a he who is calling her, and she readjusts the glasses she's wearing to see him clearly.

"Cam," she realizes. "I meant to call—"

"Maya, have you been here all night? What's wrong?" And she's acutely aware of his selflessness, how he's putting her first, instead of guarding himself against her.

"I—uh—" Maya shifts uncomfortably in the seat she had staked out the night before, in front of his apartment door.

She watches him watch her with his unwavering concern, waiting for her answer.

He relents, "I'm going to get my mail downstairs. If I tell you to sit in my kitchen, should I expect you to stay?" There isn't spite in his voice, but she wonders if he's biting it back.

Maya nods, so he helps her up and he grabs for her guitar case before she can do it herself.

He clears his throat, letting her hand go when he realizes his own is lingering. "I made coffee. Coffee and breakfast. You can help yourself to anything you want."

Maya finds herself roaming inside instead of sitting still, wanting to take in everything about his living space. It's tiny, she notes, but cozy. It's different than the makeshift bedroom she remembers which his billet family prepared for him, where he had left it sterile and barely had any evidence of him actually settling in. Here, in his new space, there are many things, evidence of experiences, family, and friends. She finds a particular spot where he's kept a planter of a single flower growing.

"Peace lily," he explains, re-entering his apartment.

Maya turns to face him, feeling anxious as if she had been caught snooping.

"It was my therapist's idea a year ago. After I stopped seeing him, I've really liked...I still like it. Actually, I visited him the other day and he suggested I get new ones, different ones. Gives me something different to look at in the morning as opposed to my roommates tastes in decor." He gestures towards posters of scantily clad women plastered over the fridge.

Maya gives him a small smile, "It's fine. But, it's too bad your little sister has to be pinned up next to that." She touches the lily's petal before turning to face him again, "You've really changed."

He doesn't respond, possibly waiting, maybe curious of her presence here.

"I mean, the Cam I remember wouldn't have tried things like growing peace lilies, let alone admit it helps." She assures him.

His eyes flicker, and he quietly stares her way. The sunlight, filtering through his windows and bathing him, shifts as if it's now hiding behind dense clouds. Without the warm, forgiving hues, she can see the dark circles more clearly under his eyes. His normally coiffed short hair is shaggier than usual, and there is visible stubble under his chin. She wonders if he's getting any more sleep than she is.

"How's your family?" She asks.

"They're fine." He finally responds, filing his mail into a nearby drawer, and then focuses on her again. "They say hello, by the way. Mick keeps bugging me to tell you that, but I always forget."

She bites her lip, suddenly conscious of her unannounced presence.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here," she starts, because he's bound to ask her soon. "I came here because I need your help."

He should be spurning her request, telling her off for all the reasons they both know she cannot be here. Then he answers, "Whatever you need."

She moves forwards, standing in front of him with a notebook brandished underneath her nose.

He raises a brow, "You do remember me getting tutoring in high school, right? I'm not exactly the right—"

"It's my lyric book," she drops her notebook to answer.

They sit side by side on his coach, and Maya hesitates to continue as she really thinks about their last encounter, thinking that apologies are in order, that he might want to say something first. But, he stares on, expectant for her instead. "I'm having trouble with a song, and I need your opinion."

Cam releases an uneasy laugh. "May, are you sure this isn't a job for someone else. I don't know, like Zig?"

"No, I need you." She tells him seriously, and he nods slowly, and starts drumming his fingers over his knees.

For moment, she can see the conflict in him, maybe he's thinking about changing his mind after all. Maybe he's thinking that he needs to apologize for what had happened now. So, when she sees his eyes downcast, sees him folding his hands together, and opening his mouth, she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Cam, I really need help with this first…"

He searches her eyes before he nods.

"I, uh," she begins slowly. "I wrote this song to play at Woody's for some fans. I just can't seem to get this part," she pauses to open her notebook. "This part is tricky. I want to hear it through another perspective."

She puts the notebook on his lap as she gets up to grab her guitar out of its case. When she joins him again, she smiles to see him reading her song with such concentration.

"This is great, May," he tells her. "But, what perspective are you talking about?"

"Listen," she says, before adjusting her guitar strap over her front.

I'll wait here for you for I'm broken down.
I'm coming down this time for my heart lies
Far and away where they took you down.
Let them over to your house
Where I'm broken

She stops abruptly, "I just—"

"Why'd you stop? That was beautiful."

"I just don't know how this is supposed to sound. You—you should-could you help me?"

He shakes his head in realization. "Maya, I don't sing. You know that."

She slumps back, and releases a heavy sigh. She stares at him, dramatically defeated.

"Okay, okay," he clears his throat, and she quickly sits up in anticipation. He laughs at her wide-eyed expression. "You know I'd only do this for you, right? Once my roommate comes in, I'm done. My karaoke days are ov—"

"Get to it, Saunders," she snaps.

"How will I even know how to sing this?"

She starts plucking the melody, and nudges his side. He swats her away, and clears his throat again. He hesitates, and she has to start over, singing quietly to encourage him. He helps her soon, building on his volume.

Down by the people if they let you breathe
Don't give a damn if you still can't see,
Still my heart beats for you...
...have become

All I lost and all I hoped for
But I must carry on
Always one
Never broken

He stops, and she cannot contain herself. "Oh my gosh," she gushes.

He pushes the notebook away, scrubbing his face.

"I'm joking, keep going. Come on," she pushes his side again. "Please."

He starts without notice, and she grins as she joins in.

Run to the lobby where I saw you try
Don't give a damn for your
Reasons why we're so
Down in the valley where the church bells cry
I'll lead them over to your eyes
I am one
I am one

Break a story of
Peace and love in a future
Bright sacrifice came around
Never broken

Down by the people if they let you breathe
Don't give a damn if you still can't see
Travlin' street that I did not know
Wheels like tong to the winter lope
Down in the valley where the church bells cry
I'll lead them over to your eyes
I am one
I am one

"Did you," he wants to continue, but he's timid, unsure. "Did you write this for..."

"I wrote it for you right after you left for home."

Cam nods, smiling appreciatively. "It's amazing, thank you. I really don't do it any justice though."

"People would kill for your voice. It's a shame you're hiding it."

He finds interest in his hands, as he's wringing them.

"It's a shame you hide things."

He abruptly moves up from his seat, pauses as he crosses the room to look out his window, then sits at the kitchen table, staring determinedly into his breakfast.

When she joins him, she asks, "Are you okay with me being here?"

"Maya, of course," he looks up, irritated.

It's when she's adjusted her seat across from him that her eyes finally fall over his wrists that peek from underneath his sweater. Cam notices, and moves to hide them.

"Don't," Maya says as she stops him, grasping his bandaged wrists as they lay open in front of her. "It's okay."

He's wary of her touch, where they trace the borders of the white gauze. "Dallas told me you came with him that night."

"I'm sorry I left," she tells him right away, her hands in her lap now. "I was working through some things of my own that night. I wanted to be there for you, but I—"

"Scared?"

She nods.

"Maya, I get it. I should have taken my meds, I should have told you that I was on meds. I didn't mean to scare you, but I was scared too, completely terrified of you hating me, of losing you again. You don't have to worry about me going ballistic anymore. I'm back on them." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I know it's a sore spot. No, it's a huge gaping hole of crappy circumstances between us and—"

She raises her hand, and he quiets. "You have to stop doing that," she can't help the weakness in her voice, the way it trembles. She gulps, "We have to stop putting ourselves down for… how fucked up we are. And we are fucked up. Can I show you something this time?"

He nods slowly, his hands still open to her. She pushes a tiny piece of paper in one of them.

Margaret Matlin is survived by her husband, Brenden Matlin; her eldest daughter, Katie Matlin; and her youngest daughter, Maya Matlin.

"Your mom's obituary..." He trails off, watching her move towards him, as she kneels before him now.

"I never visited her after the funeral, but I kept that, like it was the best I could do for her. Believe it or not, Cam, but I'm worse off than you. I couldn't even face the fact that I had this problem. And I avoided my own mother and my issues this whole time. I'm a coward, a deserter, a-"

"Maya, you're not-"

Maya shakes her head, "Let me finish."

He quiets, nodding for her to continue.

"I was arrogant. I was a stupid, stupid girl who thought she was unbreakable. I thought everyone around me had the problem, even you. But, me, you, everyone I know, we're all a little insane in our own ways. But, that doesn't actually matter, not unless we make it matter and control our lives." She sighs, feeling lighter. "I visited my mom on Sunday, and I did the other day with Katie too. I don't know why I've waited so long to do it, because it was the most honest I felt in a long time. I'm done running away from everything and everyone, especially myself."

"That's great, May." He takes her hands in his lap.

She tastes saltiness when she licks her lips, and Cam moves to dry the tears under her eyes.

"Cam," she says. "Can you promise me something?"

He gets out of his chair, moving it out of the way to make room as he kneels with her too, his hands still clinging to hers.

"You're perfect," she tells him, shaking in his grasp. "You've survived this long because you're strong, so strong and brave. You're facing it all again, facing me and these ghosts you must see around this city, and making sure you're taking control. You're perfect. Promise me you'll never think otherwise."

"I'm not-"

"The way you are. Now. And whatever will happen between us, as friends, as us, if you don't want anything to do with me after this, you'll always be perfect. Promise me you'll believe that."

She can see he's struggling, wanting to say otherwise, but there must be something in the way she looks at this moment that's moving him. She sees his features shift in the slightest, then his eyes light up as though he's never heard anyone say something so beautiful, as though he'd been waiting for too long for someone to come along and tell him just this.

"I promise," he nods, trembling and beaming.

All it takes is for her to finally smile back, and his arms encircle her, bringing her into a tight embrace. They rock together, and he's mumbling happily, "I promise, I promise."

She pulls away to ask, "I'm trying so hard not to make you promise other things…for me, right now…"

"Maya," he looks at her, holding her face in his hands. "You don't have to ask me to promise that. Even before I left, even after all this time of trying to forget, I kept that promise. The one thing you will never have to worry about is that I haven't and won't ever stop waiting for you."

"I was hoping you wouldn't," she grins, her tears flowing again.

She brings his face forward, but stops, curling her fingers in his hair, waiting for him to react. He closes his eyes, and she moves again. Their lips meet tentatively, warming slowly to each other. They savour it, and nothing is a push or pull towards more. And it doesn't last long, though she's grateful as she's greeted with his eyes, crinkling at its corners, watering, and his smile, so wide and sincerely happy.

They part, sitting under his table in silence, their hands stay entwined. At one point they make a move to get up, but quickly change their minds as they sit again, closer together as he drapes his arms around her. And they sit, content with just this. When she rests her head near the crook of his neck, she knows that he must be dwelling on the same thoughts, because they do not move or speak for the rest of the morning.