AN: This is a short story, just three chapters. It is set when the main characters are fifty-one, and assumes the whole nine season canon. Lucas divorced Peyton ten years before, and has been living in Paris, writing and teaching American literature and writing at the Sorbonne. Brooke divorced Julian a couple of years before, because of his philandering. Although they haven't been together since high school, Lucas and Brooke have been secretly carrying a torch for each other. Brooke searches for Lucas in Paris, and the story follows. This is all written, so I'll be posting it all over the weekend. As usual, I own nothing related to OTH.

Chapter 1

The weather in late September is beginning to show a little chill, but walking in Paris, even with overcast skies, is never really a chore. Lucas has been living in Paris for two years. He has a part-time appointment, teaching a class on contemporary American literature at Sorbonne. His class meets twice a week, and, having finished his teaching for the week, he decided that going back to his apartment by means of a long, rambling route, was the best way to spend the remainder of his afternoon.

Eventually he stops at a corner brasserie, thinking of an early dinner, and he orders a glass of Bordeaux while pondering what to do the next few days. Over the past year, he's had a steady stream of pretty college students going through his bed. His latest one, Charlie, is a tall, willowy brunette with huge green eyes and a sharp mind, a good literary critic, with writing ambition but without a gram of talent. Curious enough, even after he told her this, she kept making her interest in him fairly obvious. So, obligingly, he took her back to his apartment, and spent an evening exploring her gorgeous body, fully and with enthusiasm. Charlie showed herself uninhibited and responsive, besides being a fun company out of bed as well, so she kept coming back. By now, it's been three weeks, and Charlie was showing signs of wanting something beyond the current fling. It was probably time to let her go, as gently as possible. Lucas is fifty-one, divorced for the past ten years, and has a single daughter, older than Charlie by about five years. He's has no interest in a long-term relationship at this point in his life.

His phone rings, and, to his surprise, it's not Charlie. The ID shows an unknown caller, so Lucas answers, assuming some telemarketing deal. "Hello, Lucas?" He would recognize that voice anytime, anywhere, but he can't hide his surprise. It's been at least eight years since he last heard it. "Hi, Brooke. What's up?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, Broody. I'm in Paris for a couple of days, and I got your number from Haley. Are you busy?"

"Not really. I was about to sit for an early dinner by myself. What can I do for you?"

"I just checked in at the George Cinq. Do you want to join me for dinner here?" The George V has one of the best cuisines in a town known for good restaurants, and Brooke Davis is good company at any time, anywhere. "Sure, Cheery. I'll be in the lobby in about half an hour."

Lucas asks for the check, and pays. From the little brassiere on the Septieme where he was drinking his wine, to L'Etoile and the George V, it was about a half-hour walk, at a fast pace. It took him twenty-five minutes. He entered the lobby, and there was no Brooke yet. Well, waiting for the diva to make her entrance is still just part of the pleasure. He took a seat in one of the chairs facing the elevator hall, and in about twenty minutes, she appeared. Short Chanel cut honey-colored hair, mid-length cream colored skirt and a low-cut crimson blouse, four inch red stilettos, light make-up and a pair of long diamond pingent earrings. Slight crinkles at the corner of the eyes and mouth. Past fifty, and still breathtaking. She saw the tall blonde smiling at her, now with hair tinged with white, buzz cut, a long sleeve button white shirt, sleeves rolled, gray slacks and comfortable looking leather shoes, small wire-rimmed glasses and a slightly craggy face. Men, she thinks. The damned creatures actually improve with age. The reunion is surprisingly awkward.

He takes her hand. "Hello, Cheerie. Still looking amazing, as always."

Lucas is happy to see the signature dimpled smile, still as captivating as the first time he saw it. She sighs "It's a struggle, handsome, fighting time. You, like most men, just appear to effortlessly improve with age."

"Well, a few hours per week at the gym don't hurt either."

We move towards the restaurant, and get seated. I order a bottle of bubbly, just to celebrate our reunion, and some hors d'oeuvres.

"So, Broody, how's life in Paris?"

"Quiet and enjoyable. I teach twice a week, write, take long walks and explore the restaurants and jazz bars in the city. What about you? How New York treats the newly single?" Brooke had gone through a nasty public divorce a couple of years ago. It appears that Julian had always had a taste for young actresses.

"Well, I'm happy to be officially Brooke Davis again, for the past eight months. It's still mostly work, but I've dated a couple of guys in the past few months. Nothing really interesting. What about you? Anyone around?"

"I've been seeing this young woman for the past three weeks. It's run its course. She wants more..." I shrug. It appears that, for the first time in thirty three years, we are both free. I wonder if this meeting is as casual as it looks. "What brings you to Paris?"

"Nothing, actually. I just felt like taking a few days off. I love street shopping in Paris this time of year."

"How long you're going to be here?"

"As long as I want, sweetie. I own a jet. I'll go home when I feel like it."

Lucas is rich. With twelve published novels, five of them international best-sellers and three movies based on them, even after a costly divorce, He's still worth nine figures. Brooke, of course, is in a completely different league. Brooke Davis Holding is mostly hers, and well within Fortune's five hundred. And she had a good prenup, so her divorce left her wealth pretty much intact.

"That must be nice..."

"Living in Paris is nice. That's just being wealthy."

Lucas laughs. "You're probably right. How are the twins?"

"They are twenty-three now, and finished college a year ago. Davis majored in movie production in USC and he is planning to go into business with his father. Jude majored in business at Duke, and he is interning in my company, while pursuing an MBA at Columbia. I think he wants to run BDE eventually, but I'm not sure he has what it takes. You know, I love my sons dearly, but they both take a bit after their father. They are smart, but a little soft."

"Being raised in privilege will do that, even if you aren't like that to begin with. Do you think that's how Victoria thought of you all those years ago?"

Brooke gives a predatory smile. "Maybe. But she sure as hell learned different. What about my goddaughter?"

"Sawyer is twenty-seven, single and planning to stay that way. She is a surgical intern at Mount Sinai in New York, planning to go into pediatric surgery." I laugh. "She is the opposite of soft."

"She is still mad at you."

"Yes. Somehow she got the impression that the divorce was my fault. She talks to me once a month on the phone, and has visited me here a couple of times. But she doesn't open up."

Brooke places her hand on mine. "I'm sorry, Luke."

I take her hand and interlace her fingers with mine. "It is what it is. Maybe she is right, maybe I was at fault for her mother's unhappiness."

Brooke looks me in the eyes. "Somehow, I doubt that. How is Peyton these days?"

"As far as I know, she is still popping pills day and night, and pretending to be a patroness of the arts. I'm not sure how much of the divorce settlement is left after all this time. I won't let her starve, though."

"So you'll still be her savior."

"Well, I won't let her starve, but that's how far it goes. The last few years were pretty miserable, and I could never really figure out why. I can't really deal with her issues. I guess Sawyer thinks I abandoned her."

"It's not your fault, Broody. She was always broken. You gave her a very good decade, and that's a big accomplishment right there."

"Thank you for saying that."

She shrugs. "It's the truth."

My phone rings, and it's Charlie. I'm about to dismiss the call when Brooke speaks. "Take it. Ask her to join us for a drink after dinner. I'm curious."

"All right."

"Hello, Charlie?"

"Hi, Luke. What are you doing?"

"I'm having dinner with am old friend. Do you want to join us for a drink?"

"Sure. Where are you?"

"At the George V. Meet us at the hotel bar in an hour."

"Done."

I give a questioning look at Brooke. "She pretty?"

"She is gorgeous, you'll see."

"You didn't use to be the player type."

"I still ain't"

"It sure as hell doesn't look like it from over here."

"You'll see. She is not just pretty. She is smart and funny. I enjoy spending time with her out of bed. The problem is that she wants more, and I'm not going to go there. I could string her along for a while, but, in the end, it would just hurt her."

Brooke gives me a dry look. "So, dumping her is an act of kindness."

I laugh. "I guess. You may call the whole thing an exercise in managed loneliness."

"It still looks pretty selfish, Luke."

"Oh, it is. But they do throw themselves at me. It's even worse than high school. And I'm no monk. I just choose women I actually like, and I try to treat them kindly, that's all."

"It makes sense. I suppose I would do the same, if I could. But it would be next to impossible to find an interesting young man that I would actually like in my surroundings. It's all just predators, like Felix, or total airheads. The only interesting men I meet regularly are gay. Hanging around the literature programme at the Sorbonne has its perks, I guess."

"It's probably the one of the main reasons I keep the job, I'm sorry to say. It certainly isn't the money. I do get a kick out of teaching, though. Always did. Did you ever try it?"

"No, but I should. I've trained dozens of young designers over the years, working as interns under me. Several of them went on to become big names, so that my intern positions are fiercely disputed. I guess I'm known in the trade as a good teacher. I'm sure Parsons would like me as a lecturer, if I ever offered."

We order dinner, lapin aux amandes et au miel for me, and filet de turbot au camembert for Brooke.

"What about our godson, Brooke? Have you kept in touch?"

"Oh boy, he's thirty-two. He's still living with that girl, Amanda, that he met in college. I think she is pregnant of their second. They live in Albuquerque. I think her father owns a construction business down there, and Jamie works for him. I get news from Haley, and we exchange christmas cards, but it's as far as I go. What about you? Have you seen him recently?"

"I go to Tree Hill to spend either Christmas or Thanksgiving with Nate and Hales every year. I negotiate this with Sawyer and with Lily so we meet there, and, I guess every other year, I see Jamie there as well. Thanksgiving last year was the last time I saw him and his family. I've tried to get him and Amanda to come spend a vacation in Paris, without success. They seem right for each other and very happy."

"What about Lily?"

"Lily seems to have settled permanently with Christina, a blonde southern belle in Greenville, South Carolina. They are partners in a catering business and they are very successful. They are thinking of having two babies at the same time, using artificial insemination. I'm hoping for news of a nephew any day now."

"Last time I saw her was the same time I saw you. Karen's funeral eight years ago. She seemed so young and lost."

"She took mom's death really hard. She spent six months living with me, edging around depression. I wasn't doing too well either, with the relatively recent divorce, mom's passing and Sawyer barely speaking to me. I guess we really saved each other. Even though we hardly see each other, we became very close after that. We talk every week. I think when I go to the States this year, I'm going to spend some time with them."

There is a brief silence while they both enjoy their food and drink, which Brooke breaks. "I've missed you, Broody. I had no idea how much."

Lucas looks into her eyes, and says in a dry tone. "I know precisely how much I've missed you, Brooke."

Brooke and Lucas loose themselves a bit in each others eyes, as the meaning of Lucas statement penetrates their awareness. Brooke laughs softly. "I guess it's hard to escape my face these days."

Lucas laughs too. "You mean, in the past twenty years or so."

"Well, Broody. It's not like you've been invisible either."

"Let's say that my media presence is subdued, compared to yours."

"Did you like your rabbit?"

"It's exquisite. Like the company. What about your fish?"

Brooke blushes, and looks embarrassed. "To be honest, I don't like it. The Camembert overpowers the fish. It goes well with the bubbly, though."

"I'm sorry, Pretty Girl. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"I'm not your Pretty Girl anymore, Lucas."

Lucas just looks into her eyes for a few seconds. "No?"

Brooke blushes again. "Now, that was on purpose."

"I've never seen you blush before." Lucas holds both her hands. "Now I've seen it twice in thirty seconds. It's actually rather charming."

A third blush. "This is getting ridiculous!"

"What's happening, Brooke Davis?"

Brooke looks annoyed and waves him off. "We'll get to that. Maybe. Just order dessert."

"Do you want to share some profiteroles?"

"Perfect."

Lucas changes sides on the table, sitting alongside Brooke, in order to avoid making too much of a mess with the drippy dessert. Casually, he slips his arm across her waist, while Brooke leans on him, both tingling with the long withheld physical intimacy, both feeling like teenagers on a first date. Lucas looks at his watch, and asks for the check. Charlie should be arriving at the bar upstairs any minute. Brooke puts the check in her room charge, and they get up, walking hand in hand.

When they get to the bar, Charlie is already sitting there, sipping a glass of white wine. She is wearing black skinny jeans, a purple sweater and white low heel sandals. She is clearly surprised, with Lucas' friend, specially as they arrive still holding hands. Charlie stands up and gives Lucas a light-hearted little kiss in the lips, just to mark her territory. "Charlie, this is my friend Brooke Davis. Brooke, this is Charlie, or Charlotte Desmoulins, and her parents called her."

"You're quite right, Broody." Brooke turns to the girl. "You are gorgeous."

"You're Brooke Davis? Brooke Davis, the fashion designer?"

"One and only, sweetheart."

The girl smiles, suddenly looking excited. "And I thought I was dating a celebrity. How do you two two know each other?"

Lucas answers with a smile. "Well. In every sense."

Charlie gets it, but it makes her a little flustered. Brooke slaps Lucas in the arm. "Bad boy."

She smiles sweetly at Charlie. "We dated in high school."

Lucas continues. "Brooke was my first everything. My first girlfriend, my first love. And my first too. Do you remember the tat in my shoulder? She has a matching one. If you're very nice to her, she will even show you."

"Still not into girls, Broody."

"Well, maybe not, then."

Brooke turns to Charlie again. "So, you are a student at the Sorbonne, Charlie?"

"I'm a graduate student in literature. I'm writing a thesis comparing Molliere and Shakespeare."

"Wow. That actually sounds like fun."

"It is, sort of. My advisor is an ass, which makes it less fun, though."

"And how did you two meet?"

"I am attending his class this semester. I wanted to improve my writing skills. Lucas is a monster. He told me I had no talent for writing."

"Yet, you still decided to sleep with him."

"Well, just look at him. He is a very good looking monster. Fun, and a good lover too." She sighs.

"I'll make it easy on you, Luke. I know it's over."

Brooke blinks at her. "What? Why?"

"Well, he has a reputation, you know? If you're smart, and good looking, and you come at him real hard, he will go with you. And he will show you a great time. But if you start to fall for him, Bam! You're done. I know my time is up, I already like him too much. And I knew the game going in, so, no hard feelings, ok?"

"Ok. It was fun, Charlie. You're a very special girl. But, indeed, you should find a playmate your own age."

"Whereas you, bad boy, apparently already did that. Is there anything going on between you two?"

"There's always something going on between us. But we hadn't seen each other in eight years."

"The two of you look very cozy together." Brooke and I laugh. "We've been very awkward with each other today. When we are cozy together, people tell us to get a room. But that hasn't happened in, what thirty two years?"

"It will be thirty three soon."

"Wow. I could swear there's something going on there."

"Well, stick around. The night is young."

"Honestly, if I felt there was any chance of getting in bed with both of you, I would. But there isn't, right?"

Brooke replies. "I don't think so."

"Well, Luke has my number. If you change your mind, I'd love to do you both. Bye Luke, bye Brooke. It was very nice meeting you." She saunters off, clearly pleased with how things turned out.

"God Luke, she looks like a Victoria's Secret angel, and you're right, she is sweet, smart and funny. Why are you letting her get away?"

"You're the one who turned down the threesome, Cheerie."

"Have you ever done it?"

"A threesome? Yes. Two Italian girls during the summer last year. That was a one night stand, but a fun one. What about you?"

"Yes. A pair of brothers sophomore year. Not fun. I would do two boys again, if they knew what they were doing, but a boy and a girl? I don't think so."

"I agree with you."

"You didn't answer my question. Why not stay with her?"

"She would bore me after a while. I'm not about to play games with a little girl, Brooke, no matter how clever and pretty she is. And, to be brutally honest, both you and Peyton were a lot more interesting at her age."

"Not Lindsay?"

"No. Charlie is actually quite a bit more interesting than Lindsay was."

"So, even if she had said yes, you'd just be bored after a while."

"I was already bored, Cheery. I just didn't know myself as well as I do now. I can't write when I'm bored. I spend two years with Lindsay with a total writer's block. Didn't produce a single usable chapter in all that time. You and Peyton walked back into my life, and in three months I wrote The Comet, which I still think is some of my best work."

"Is that what happened between you and Peyton? Did you get bored?"

"No. I wrote six books in the seventeen years we were married. Peyton would never bore me."

Brooke puts her arms around my waist, and looks up into my eyes. "Would you like to kiss me?"

"Yes."

"Then do,"

The first kiss since that sloppy job in New York, thirty one years ago. It started innocent, but very soon it turned searing hot. Brooke and Lucas separate, both a little scared of the hidden fire between them. "The heat is still there, Cheery."

"Our problem was never lack of heat, Broody." With a dimpled smile. "And you're still a very good kisser. Do you want to come up to my room?"

"I have a better idea. Would you come visit my apartment? You could just stay there. Without presuming anything, I have a couple of very nice guest bedrooms."

"Hmm. I'm going to take you up on that. Let's go to the reception. I'll have them close my check, and dispatch my luggage over to your place."

The apartment is the entire top floor of a building in the cinquieme, a few blocks from the Sorbonne. It's about fifteen thousand square feet, and includes a balcony overlooking the Jardin de Luxenbourg, two bedrooms with ensuite bathrooms, a huge master bedroom, and plenty of space for a single guy, his books, and his occasional visitors.

They take the elevator, a slow rickety ride, good for another long kiss. Lucas opens the door and picks Brooke up, bridal style, to carry her into his home. Brooke giggles as he pick her up, but the symbolism of carrying her across his threshold is not lost on either one of them.

Brooke makes a slow tour of the living room, taking in the paintings, the overflowing bookshelves, the sound system and the large collection of vinyl records, the awards, both for basketball and for literature. Center pride is the Booker award plaque, for "The long return". "The Booker award. I liked that book."

"You read it."

"I've read all your books, Broody. Many times. Actually, mostly I listened to them, your voice, on the audiobooks. I guess I lied to you earlier today."

"When?"

"When I said I didn't realize how much I missed you. Just like you, I realized precisely how much. I didn't need to see your face every day. I chose to hear your voice. Every day."

We move to the balcony, hearing the sounds of the city and looking a the people moving about. There is a comfortable outdoor sofa on the balcony, where we sit, my arm across her shoulders, and her head resting against my chest.

"This is not a casual visit."

"No."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Not yet, Broody. The time for talking will come. For now, one day at a time. Let's enjoy Paris, and one another."

We make out for a while on the balcony, and adjourn matters to my bedroom. I have the pleasure of, once again, find out what's under the clothes. Mature Brooke is still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. The full breasts sag a bit, there are stretch marks, but her buttocks are still rounded and firm, and there is well toned muscle under the soft skin, testament to countless hours of exercise and a strict diet regimen. I inspect her tat, and it's as dark as the first time I saw it. "You've kept it fresh."

"A visit to the parlor, every five years or so. You like what you see, Lucas?"

"More than I can say. You're still the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

"Don't bullshit me, Lucas. I know what I look like. A very well preserved fifty-year-old, who could pass for forty. But I know what beautiful looks like, and it is not this."

"I could recite to you what the poets have said for centuries about the beauty of a mature woman, of the nobility of the marks of childbirth and breastfeeding, the dignity of the signs of a life well lived.

But this is not it, Brooke. It's not the signs of time in your body. It's you. The woman I see when I close my eyes, the woman I dream about, the woman I've longed for for the past thirty years. To me, Brooke, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Sure, you're still very beautiful, by any criterion, but to me, it's just you. I can promise you this. If I ever have the privilege of seeing your naked body when you're ninety years old, you'll still be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Brooke laughs softly. "Of course, you still have your damnable way with words, Broody. It's beautiful. Bullshit, but beautiful. And I love you for saying it. Why don't you go down there, and put that golden tongue of yours to more practical use? "

Ah, to hear Brooke Davis scream his name in ecstasy, three times in the following forty minutes. That's the stuff of dreams. Not to count the two times he screamed her name. The sex was good, better than good. But for both of them, it was the cuddle afterwards, and falling asleep in each others arms that they missed the most.