Author's Note: Hey, it's been awhile. This is a little O/S that takes place a couple of weeks after 6x24. I just got done marathoning through the first six seasons of OTH and it reignited my passion for the series.;)

Anyway, I feel like this might come off as bit too sappy in certain parts but I'm still trying to refine my craft, so to speak. Consider this part of the learning process.

By the way, the title of this story is a song by Kate York.

BEGIN YOU

Lucas woke with a slight start, misty, tired eyes greeted only by gloom and not-quite-pitch-darkness. Slowly, he took in a measured breath, trying to steady his quickened pulse. He focused his gaze on the ceiling, a faint, grayish texture in the night-soaked room.

Breath, just breath, he counseled himself. His pulse ignored him and continued unabated into the red zone. Chills crawled up and down his body, from his toes to his brow, and hints of cold perspiration made his skin feel slightly sticky. The finer details of the nightmare he'd just been jolted out of had already dispersed into the ether, but it had been unbearable, he could remember that much. That and it had also been painfully familiar.

Lucas turned to his left towards the angel sleeping beside him. In the darkness, he could just barely make out her dark, honey-blonde hair. She was facing slightly away from him, half on her back and half on her side, one arm embracing the comforter, the other draped across her chest and over her exposed shoulder. Lucas studied her and his pulse finally returned to normal. The chills receded and the cold sweat threatening to break out never came.

He took in another slow and silent breath and savored her scent. Lucas fought the urge to put his arms around her and embrace her, cuddle up to her. He didn't want to wake her. His wife needed her rest; the last two weeks had taken a lot out of her. As his eyes lingered on her form Lucas's chest slowly filled up with a sensation he could never hope to properly articulate. No matter how good of a writer he was or might become, he would never be able to find the right words to describe what he felt for the woman sleeping beside him. In fact, Lucas was pretty sure there were no words to describe what he felt for her.

Lucas shifted his gaze back to the ceiling and shut his eyes, beckoning for sleep, but it refused to come. Although calm now, the aftertaste of the nightmare was still with him and Lucas knew he'd gotten all the shut-eye he was going to get for the time being. Slowly, carefully, he extricated himself from the covers and stood up. Grabbing a white t-shirt from the dresser, he slipped it on and turned to exit the bedroom. Once at the threshold, however, he halted and turned back towards the bed where his angel still dreamt unaware of her charge's restlessness.

Once again, Lucas was gripped by that wordless feeling, but this time, it was tainted by something less pure. It was a gnawing, a yearning, coupled with a corrosive splash of terror; residual terror of a loss that almost was. His stomach clenched and he reluctantly tore his eyes away from the sleeping vision in his childhood bedroom.

Bare feet on polished wood, Lucas padded over to the nursery. The door stood open, as it always did, and he positioned himself in the threshold, his eyes landing on the crib centered between the two windows. The faint glow that spilled in peppered the room and Lucas could make out the peacefully slumbering form of his two-week-old daughter. He edged closer, until he was standing over the crib, and peered down at the infant.

Again, Lucas was awash in that feeling. Sawyer Brooke Scott. His daughter. Their daughter. He had a daughter. They had a daughter. He still couldn't believe it sometimes.

Just as soon as it had descended on him, though, the rapture faded and the memories of how his little girl had come into the world slammed down on Lucas like a steel door. How close he'd come to losing all of this before he'd even had it…

He inhaled painfully and slowly backed away from the crib and out of the nursery. Standing in the middle of the hall, he looked helplessly to his left, towards the kitchen, and to his right, at the living room. Lucas didn't know what to do with himself. He desperately wanted to hear Peyton's voice but it would be selfish to disturb her just so she could comfort him. He thought about going to the Rivercourt but didn't want to leave in case something happened and his girls needed him. Going back to bed and trying to feign sleep was out of the question.

After one last check to make sure that his daughter was sleeping undisturbed, and a pit-stop at the bathroom, Lucas settled on the living room. He took a seat on the couch and dropped his face into his hands. Silence surrounded him, interrupted only by the rhythmic ticking of his mother's antique clock and the occasional whisper and hum of a passing vehicle outside.

Pure white tainted by red…a wedding dress spattered with blood…the coppery pungency of essence mixed with amniotic fluid…white pedals stained crimson…

It wouldn't go away. There were times when Lucas could bury it; he could suppress it and force it into a deep, dark corner while he basked in simply being with Peyton and their daughter, and when he went about day-to-day life, but it never stayed in that dark corner. It would slither its way back to the forefront of his mind, creep into his thoughts, and at night, when everyone else was asleep, it would torment him.

'It' was the memory of his wedding day: the best and worst day of his life. They day his daughter had been born and the day he'd nearly lost his other half. A sob pulsed from deep inside him and Lucas felt a burning behind his eyes and at the base of his nose. He'd never been one to cry easily. He'd always prided himself on being stoic. The thought of shedding tears in front of others mortified him. Very rarely did Lucas ever allow himself to break down in front of an audience, even as a kid, and the last time it had happened was when he'd confessed to his mother that he'd lied about the results of his HCM test.

And he'd vowed then that that would be the last time. But it sure as hell wasn't easy sometimes.

From the moment he'd found Peyton passed out in a pool of blood to this very instant, Lucas had experienced a steady stream of moments where'd he had to physically restrain himself from bursting into tears. These moments occurred whenever he thought about his wedding day, or the days that followed. The days he'd spent here in this house, comforting Sawyer, torn with the desire—no, the need—to rush back to the hospital and to Peyton's side, not knowing if she'd ever wake up. Thinking directly about anything and everything that had happened on that day would trigger a reflexive urge within Lucas to cry.

He honestly wondered if he was emotionally disturbed. He couldn't ever remember feeling like this, not even in the wake of Keith's death, and that had been a pretty dark time. But Lucas never let the tears escape. He always succeeded in keeping them at bay, like a faithful dam that stood up to a relentless cascade of flood waters.

Lucas exhaled shakily. The dam was staring to crack.

As he panned his gaze around the living room, he wondered what the point was. Why bother holding it in anymore? There was no one around to see so it was the perfect time for a thorough emotional purge. Peyton had already had hers. She'd cried when his mother had delivered Sawyer into her arms for the first time, cried when they'd brought Sawyer home as a family for the first time, and she'd cried in his arms their first night back. She'd held onto him for dear life as she'd sobbed and he'd been the rock that she'd so desperately needed.

But the next morning, Lucas had noticed a change in her. A calm, an unshakeable sense of peace had enveloped Peyton, one that he glimpsed in her eyes and in her smiles. And they were smiles. Real ear-to-ear, full-teeth smiles. When she would hold Sawyer and rock her gently while humming softly to one of her favorite songs drifting out of her vinyl record player, he could tell that she had come to terms with what had almost happened; she had dealt with it in her own way. Peyton would look at him and she didn't need to say anything, she never did.

Music heals, he could intuit from her eyes.

Lucas was endlessly grateful that she'd healed and so he'd pretended that he had as well. But here, now, he couldn't pretend because he hadn't healed. The sight of her lying in blood, of her stained dress, wouldn't leave him. The sobs did, though.

They came quietly as sharp inhales and exhales. Tears caressed his cheeks and as Lucas wiped them away, more took their place. He sniffed and pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to stifle the flow of his grief but no such luck. All bets were off. He hated being so weak, but he couldn't help it. What would he have done if Peyton had died? How would he have raised Sawyer without her? Would he have come to resent his own daughter? What if Sawyer had died, too? It was unthinkable.

But the unthinkable was a monster that was thrusting its talons into his gut and sinking its fangs into his heart, and like sap from a tree, the agony bled out in salty tracts of tears.

Lucas wondered if maybe he'd dozed off or at least zoned out for a minute, because he didn't hear or see her approach until she was right beside him on the couch. That familiar scent—he loved that scent—made his heart skip, and before he knew it, she was taking him into her arms. Peyton Scott—he loved saying that in his head—was here now and Lucas felt everything might just be alright.

"I was wondering when you were finally going to let it all out," she said. Her husky voice—he loved that voice—enveloped him like a blanket.

Gently, lovingly, she stroked Lucas's hair and that plus the feel of her own silky mane pressed up against his cheek was like a sedative. Still, he felt guilty for waking her up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" He cursed his voice for sounding so weak and cracked.

"Shhh, don't apologize, Luke. You're my husband and I love you. How could I sleep knowing you're in pain?"

"I know, I just…I should be stronger than this, I…"

"Lucas…" Her voice had a gentle firmness, and as much as he didn't want to break contact, he needed to see her face, so he pulled out of her embrace, blew out a breath, and turned to look at his wife. Peyton reached over to the end table and pulled the string on the small lamp resting there, and the once dark living room was brightened.

Green eyes brimming with more love and compassion than he could've thought possible locked with his bloodshot blues and Lucas felt that indescribable feeling swell up. Blonde hair slightly mussed from sleep, no makeup, and clad in only a sleeveless white nightgown, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Lucas had no idea how he'd gotten so lucky.

She took his hands in hers and stroked the base between his thumb and index. "Lucas, you are one of the strongest people I've ever known. But sometimes I think you're too strong for your own good. I wish you'd come to me sooner so we could've talked about this. It kills me to think of you suffering silence like this."

Her voice cracked and he saw a hint of tears in her gorgeous eyes. "I'm so sorry, baby. I should've come to you, I know that, and I wanted to, you have no idea how bad."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I saw how happy you were and how you were able to put it all behind you and I was just blown away by your grace and your strength, and I didn't want to ruin that. I didn't want to drag you down because I couldn't deal with it." It felt wonderful to finally get that out there and he felt Peyton squeeze his hands.

"Oh Luke, I love you so much, don't you get that? When you're hurting, I'm hurting and I know you've been trying to hide it from me and from everyone else, and it hurts even worse that you thought you had to keep it from me." Her eyes watered and she sniffled.

Lucas shut his eyes tightly. He was an idiot. She knew him better than he knew himself sometimes so of course she would've been able to tell that he was hiding something. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, dummy." It came out partially as a laugh and Lucas joined her.

"Yep, I'm a dummy alright."

She chuckled, dabbing at her eyes. "Well, at least you admit it. Most guys are too proud."

Lucas snorted, playfully rolling his eyes and was rewarded with a smile from Peyton. She leaned forward and now it was his turn to take her in his arms. He reveled in the feel of her; her warmth, her softness, her scent. They settled back into the couch, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

"Luke, do you know why I was able to put what happened behind me?"

Her head was cocked toward him and he looked down into her eyes. "Why?"

"Because I'm married to you. Because we have a beautiful, perfect little girl named Sawyer; because we have the best group of friends and family in the whole world surrounding us; and because there's nothing we can't do now."

Lucas couldn't suppress his awe. As he gazed at her he thought about the angry, defensive girl who used to run red lights at sixteen and he almost couldn't believe this was the same person. It was incredible and he was amazed at how far she'd come. Peyton seemed to read his thoughts.

"After my mom died and my dad found every excuse he could to be away from home, I wallowed in my grief and self-pity. I pushed everyone who tried to get close to me away, except for Brooke, but only because she was so damn stubborn."

They shared a laugh at that.

"I was so addicted to the pain," Peyton said. "I thought it was easier to just be angry and depressed instead of finding happiness and having it ripped away. You know? Easier to keep people at arm's length instead of letting them get close and then leave. And then one day, my car broke down and this incredibly sweet boy came into my life and told me that my art mattered and he showed me that the world was full of great things, and even if bad things happened, it didn't mean the good things still weren't there. If I have any strength and grace, it was that boy who gave it to me."

"I don't know about that…"

She put a finger to his lips. "I do."

For awhile they were quiet, basking in the comfortable silence. Lucas felt worlds better, but even so, anxiety stirred inside him. He couldn't dismiss the painful memories of that day two weeks ago. He wished more than anything he could forget.

"Baby, what's wrong?" Peyton stroked his cheek. "Tell me."

"I…I still have nightmares about it, Peyton. You, passed out on the floor in a puddle of blood, rushing you to the hospital, watching the doctors operate on you, coming home from the hospital with Sawyer knowing you were still there, not sure if you'd ever wake up and get to meet our daughter, wondering how I was supposed to go on without you if you…if…" He couldn't finish that sentence. His hand gripped the fabric of his pajama bottoms like a vice as his nostrils burned and fresh tears emerged.

"Oh God, Lucas, I'm so sorry." Peyton buried her head in the crook of his neck, trying to muffle her own tears. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so, so sorry. Can you forgive me?"

"Peyton…" She leaned back and they looked at one another. "There is nothing to forgive. You risked your life for our daughter and there is absolutely no reason to be ashamed. I wish things would've happened differently, but I'll never regret your decision to have Sawyer."

She kissed him then, fiercely. He relished the taste of her, which lingered after the kiss was broken. "You're an amazing kisser," he told her.

"And you're an amazing husband and father. Lucas, if I could take those bad memories from you and erase them, I would in a heartbeat." She reached up with both hands and took hold of his cheeks. "But I'm here, our daughter's here, and we're not going anywhere. I told you before, Luke, our story will have a happy ending. It already has."

Lucas felt a wave of peace descend on him right then, and he knew everything was going to be fine. The memories of that dark day wouldn't fade so easily, he knew. He would catch glimpses of them every time he closed his eyes, and they would still stalk him in his dreams. But he also knew that as time went by, those bad memories would lose their teeth. He would be okay, they would be okay.

Lucas and Peyton both let out long, belabored sighs as they settled against each other. "Thank you," Lucas said, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"I'm here for you always, Lucas. Don't hide your pain or try to keep it to yourself. Share it with me."

"I promise."

"You better."

A short time later, Peyton suddenly withdrew from his embrace, kissed him quickly, then stood up. "Wait here."

Lucas glanced curiously as his wife hurried off, stopping by the nursery briefly to check on Sawyer, and then continuing to the kitchen where she disappeared out of sight. A moment later, she returned carrying a vinyl record in her hand. Lucas watched as she strolled up to the record player and placed the record on the turn table. As the needle slid onto the vinyl there was a crackle and then a familiar tempo emanated from the speakers.

Standing up, Lucas stared at his grinning wife. "This is…"

"Our song."

As the lyrics of Jose Gonzales's "Heartbeats" drifted from the record player Lucas felt a liquid warmth spread out through his body.

Peyton reached out to him. "Dance with me," she whispered.

Silently, Lucas took her hands and they moved to the music together. It still hurt to think about how close he'd come to losing Peyton, not being able to do this, but he realized there was no point in dwelling on what could've happened. So they danced, and when the song ended, they made love, and they lived.

And if a few traumatic memories were the price he had to pay for getting to love and live with his wife and daughter for a lifetime, then that was fine. They were more than worth it.

~End