Title: Regarding Henry

Disclaimer: I do not own One Tree Hill or any of the characters from the TV series.
The original characters are mine.

Summary: Peyton Sawyer left Tree Hill and built a whole new life. Brooke Davis left New York, disillusioned by fame and fortune and returned to Tree Hill. Peyton's life begins to unravel and Brooke has yet to find that elusive love. Peyton/OC. Breyton eventually. AU

A/N: Events are the same as cannon until Episode 4 x 15 where it becomes AU. I have employed a time line for the purpose of recounting some events from the characters' past further into the story.

I'd like to believe that even worlds apart, estranged and leading separate lives, Peyton and Brooke ultimately find their way to each another.

Chapter One: The Devil went down to Georgia

Spring, 2015

Peyton Sawyer never considered herself a lucky person. Getting a lucky break was akin to a cosmic phenomenon. Pretty star bursts that rained and dusted your life in a fairy tale? She definitely wasn't that lucky. Her headlamps illuminated a sharp curve ahead. She briefly considered accelerating into the curve just to prove herself wrong. A mocking smile formed as she imagined the catastrophe that would surely follow. She gritted her teeth against the spark of rising rebellion. She couldn't afford such recklessness. Not anymore, not since she left the heedless teenager behind in pursuit of redemption and lived a life in the hopes of earning a little good karma. Was that too much to ask? So she didn't go to church or get on her knees to pray, but she lived the rules, paid her parking tickets and even helped little old ladies cross the road. Peyton learned a new lesson. That you couldn't bank Karma. Couldn't drop it one shiny little coin at a time into a wishing well. Reality, especially the bad kind, had a way of displacing hopes and dreams, but if you were lucky, with the ebb and flow of ripples and tides. For Peyton Sawyer, bad news always dropped like rusty anchors complete with all the sludge it dredged from the ocean floor.

She lashed out, hitting the door of her Comet, and immediately grunted at the shooting pain in her left hand. She fought to keep the car from veering of the road with her good hand. The car whined, but immersed in the war that waged within, Peyton was oblivious to the struggling sounds of the motor. The wind whipped through her tangled mess of hair, lashing in chaos against her flushed face, against the beat of the music blaring from the stereo. In the past, driving with the wind in her hair and soaking up her favorite play lists, always sliced through the mounting cobwebs that weaved within, cleared the debris and soothed her soul. This time, it wasn't working.

She tried a different tactic, killed the iPod and switched to radio, pumping up the volume until the hairs rippled along her arm. "Ugh!" a disgusted cry escaped her as 'N Sync assaulted her ears. She glared at the offending radio and quickly changed the channel. The devil went down to Georgia played. Yeah, didn't he just. Her lips curled in bitter irony. Old memories surfaced, and she was tempted to ask the radio. A childish game she played with long-lost friends another lifetime ago. She dismissed the idea, deathly afraid of an unacceptable answer she wouldn't be able to live with. She scoffed at her own evasiveness and laughed bitterly at her own perverse faith at the silly game, certain it would confirm her worse fears. Reflexively, she gripped the wheel of the Comet as if it provided some measure of protection from the rising shadows that threatened to swallow her.

The action caused a fresh spasm of pain to shoot up her arm. She hissed at the throbbing and lost the Comet to the road for a second. Angry horns blared around her as headlights flashed. A particularly aggressive driver shot a bird and cussed at her, revving up his engine as he roared by, exhaust spewing noxious fumes. Her instinct was to flip him back, but she had one hand on the steering wheel and one hand cradled to her chest. Another truck honked at her in series of short, sharp hoots. The passenger hung out the window leering, forming obscene gestures with his hands and lewd motions with his tongue. She wished she was in rented truck, preferably a huge one, so she could ram the sonofabitch off the road. The thought of her intense desire for road rage vengeance sobered her as quickly as the rage surfaced and she backed off the gas pedal, taking deep breaths to calm the stream of conflicting emotions within her. Winning was exhausting.

Energy drained from every cell of her body. All at once, she was tired of driving, tired of thinking, tired of feeling. She had been driving aimlessly since she left Atlanta, eventually picking up US 17, avoiding the Interstate. Her last memory of filling up the gas tank was somewhere in South Carolina. Since then, she remained in a daze and drove through the night, finding comfort in the blanket of darkness. She needed the drive to numb the pain. She wanted it like she wanted Novocaine after a root canal, but dawn was breaking and she had accomplished nothing, except add another colorless layer to her dark premonitions.

A flashing light from the dash caught her attention and Peyton became aware of the hollow, strangling sounds of the Comet for the first time. Instinctively, she lifted her foot off the gas, slowed the vehicle to take note of her surroundings, but not before her car spluttered, screamed and bucked like a prize bull at a Rodeo. Cursing her luck, she awkwardly fought to coax the old classic off the road. The Comet lunged forward at the same moment she released the brake, straight toward a cluster of sign posts on the sandy easement. She sucked in a breath, heart hammering against her chest. Scraping metal on metal grated on her eardrums. Burnt oil weaved to taint the sea air and Peyton braced herself as the rippling fender crunched to stop the car against the metal post carrying a large sign.

She exhaled steadily and inhaled slowly to calm her nerves. The hood popped open. Hissing steam and smoke mingled with the early morning mist. She sat still for a moment, then opened the door. It was stuck. Just Perfect! Unable to open it, she pulled herself up and eased her legs over the door and slid from the vehicle, intending to inspect the damage; but instead the sign above caught her full attention. Peyton froze in stunned disbelief. She might have broken down and cried if not for the absurd irony of it all. - Welcome to Tree Hill -

She shook her head repeatedly and fought the urge to laugh hysterically. "You have got to be kidding me."

For Peyton Sawyer, luck, was a four lettered word.

Brooke Davis watched as her best friend darted around the kitchen pulling enough ingredients out to cover every spare inch of the counter tops.

"Tell me again why we're cooking enough for a small army?" A cheerful voice rasped.

"We?" Haley raised her eyebrows at the less than helpful woman comfortably seated at the breakfast bar, lazily consuming her breakfast.

"I'm helping." The smiling Brunette took another bite of the warm homemade waffles, topped with fresh strawberries and a dash of whipped cream. She moaned. "Hmm, this is so good tutor Mom. Maybe we should turn Clothes Over Bro's into Haley's Café."

Haley scoffed. "Right and bankrupt myself in the process of serving free food. How do you always manage to show up on waffle days?"

"Just super talented I guess." She hoisted her shoulders endearingly, daring the busy woman to contradict her.

"Why aren't you at the store instead of here eating my breakfast?"

"Because I'm done with the Summer line and it's officially in the hands of the Witch."

"I thought you were getting along better with Victoria?"

"We are, marginally. But she's still a Bitch and a Witch. Just not to me so much."

A set of thumping feet interrupted the pair of friends. A lithe body bounded onto the counter stool, next to his Aunt, full of boyish exuberance.

"Who's a Bitch, Aunt Brooke?"

"Jamie!" his Mother scolded.

"I'm almost eight Mama." Jamie complained. "You guys say it all the time."

Haley was momentarily lost for words that wouldn't be a lie. "We do not." She simply denied.

"Actually, we do, especially when it's the truth." Brooke winked at Jamie, siding with her Godson. "We just forget that you have big ears."

"I do not have big ears. You guys are loud." He stuck his tongue out at his favorite Aunt.

"Oh, we're loud? Who just nearly caused a minor earthquake with their elephant feet, little man?" She ruffled his hair and pulled him in for a hug.

"Aww, not the hair Aunt Brooke. It took forever to get it just right." Jamie squirmed away.

His Mother placed a similar plate of waffles on the breakfast counter, except it was smothered in syrup. "OOo, does it have to with a certain new girl?"

"No" he denied and scrapped the fruit from his waffles, stuffing a piece of syrupy goodness in his mouth.

"Jamie and Missy sitting in a tree..." The women chorused.

"Stop it Mama, you too Aunt Brooke. I just want to look presentable."

"Presentable?" Brooke smirked at the young boy. "Love is definitely in that hair gel."

Jaime's face flushed and he stuffed more waffle into his mouth, attempting to finish his breakfast quickly. He didn't want to be late for the school bus and he definitely didn't want to spend anymore time with his Mom and Aunt discussing the new girl or his hair.

"I have to go Mama." He jumped of the stool and dashed off towards the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something young man?"

"Mama, I'm almost eight," he complained for the second time that morning. An eight year old shouldn't be expected to kiss their Mommies.

"Your lunch. It's your favorite and there's enough for two." She held up his Avengers lunch box expectantly, giving him a teasing smile.

The young boy grinned, running back to grab it, and giving his Mom a big hug. "Thanks Mama. You're the best." Not wanting to leave his Aunt out, he gave her a wave. "Bye Aunt Brooke."

"Bye, little man." Brooke watched her little guy run out to meet the bus, his backpack bouncing in rhythm to his youthful enthusiasm. A wistfulness washed over her. "God, you got so lucky with him, Hales."

"I know. But what about you? Any news from the adoption agency?" Haley finally joined her friend with her own serving of waffles.

"No. Not for adoption and the waiting list is a hundred miles long." Brooke made a sour face. "And there's all those perfectly, perfect couples with their perfect resumes and perfect picket fences ahead of me." She said with a pout and hint of disgust.

Haley squeezed her best friend's shoulder in a sympathetic gesture. "Hey, there are a lot of kids waiting to be adopted and there's a child out there somewhere, maybe a dimpled baby girl, just ready to be disgustingly spoiled by Brooke Davis."

Brooke tried to smile a thanks for Haley, who meant well, but had no idea how frustrating the entire process was for a single woman trying to adopt a child. Often, her living in the limelight within an industry not known for stability or conservatism, worked against her. It was the reason she returned to Tree Hill to create a stable environment.

"I need a white picket fence." She tried to joke, then sighed, deflated. "They've offered me more foster kids, but I just can't go through that again. I can't say goodbye to another kid. I just can't."

Haley hugged her gently. "You wont have to. It'll happen Brooke. I know it will and I know everything. Just ask Jamie and Nathan." She tried to lighten the dejected woman's mood. "In the mean time, I'll share my perfect Son who just so happens to adore you."

"I know, and I adore him too, but the waiting is so hard." She began to toy with the remains of her breakfast.

"Okay, I'm just going to put this out there, but have you thought about having a family the normal way?"

Brooke gave her best friend a horrified look. "You mean like get married?"

Haley chuckled. "What do you have against marriage anyway?" She arched her eyebrows. "It has many, many advantages."

Brooke smirked. "I'm sure. And yeah, if you're Nathan and Haley, marriage is great. But moi, I would have to find a man I could stand for more than a week." The famous fashion designer had the worse luck with men. She hadn't had a serious relationship with anyone since Owen, who was more of a sparring partner than a relationship. And Chase, perhaps her favorite. Sweet hometown Chase, who shied from the bright lights of the big Apple. Most of the men she dated were more interested in her money or her body or a pathway to the front cover of magazines. It was intense in New York, a city she tried to visit as little as possible now. Here, she could enjoy her friends and family, away from the prying eyes of the fashion world. If only she could just add one more thing. Life would be perfect.

"It's just a thought honey, because you know there's a..."

"O, no you don't. You are not setting me up on any more blind dates, especially not with anymore of Nathan's jocks or I will cram this waffle down your meddling throat."

"Damn, you're violent. No wonder they run from you. You're a bitch." The women laughed, glad a certain little boy wasn't there to call them out. "No seriously Brooke, there must be someone you like."

Brooke sighed, and there was no laughter in her demeanor. "No, there really isn't."

Haley bumped her shoulder playfully. "Well, maybe this is your lucky day and a gorgeous Greek god will walk into your life and sweep you off your feet."

"Trust me Hales, the only hot gods in Tree Hill are either on a tight leash or out playing for the NBA. There is officially no more hotness left in this town."

Haley shrugged. "Well, you never know. Maybe hotness will blow in from out-of-town."

Brooke rolled her eyes. "Can we please just drop this stupid conversation and go back to this?" She waved her arm at the countless ingredients everywhere.

"My Hungry Husband will be home tonight." Haley beamed, licking the whipped cream off her fork.

"Tonight?" Brooke squealed, excited for her best friend, who remained so much in love after ten years of marriage. The Scotts were an inspiration, and perhaps that's why she found herself unwilling to settle for less than the kind of love that Haley and Nathan shared. She wagged her eyebrows at the radiant woman, licking the cream slowly off her fork. "I bet he's a lot more hungry for something else" she said, her voice teasingly husky. "Remember that move tonight."

"Brooke!" Haley blushed. "Don't you have some clothes to sell?"

Brooke smirked, sliding off her stool, and picked up her purse. "Fine, I'll leave you to make your love potions for your hungry man toy."

Haley waved her fork at her friend, "Go. Byeee, and call me if tall, dark and handsome walks into your life." She called after the brunette's back and smiled affectionately when she heard a grumble.

"I wish!"

Somewhere between the tow truck and the shower, Peyton decided that raging against the world was a pointless and exhausting exercise. Or maybe the daylight had a way of bringing clarity, lifting the veil that shrouded her secrets and knocking some sense into her darkly colored world. She stepped out of the shower, the water to tepid to linger. The complimentary robe was large but luxurious. She wondered if the hotel paid pennies on the dollar from a Chinese manufacturer for her pleasure, or more likely, it'll show up on her hotel bill. Shrugging off the useless trivia, she ran a cheap comb through her wet hair before toweling out the dampness.

She padded into the bedroom to find her clothes freshly laundered and impeccably pressed. Something she never would have done for herself and made a mental note to tip the service. She got dressed mechanically. Then out of sheer habit, scrolled through her messages for the umpteenth time but found nothing she wanted to hear. She swallowed the disappointment and fought the knot that squeezed her stomach. The gnawing that never left from the moment she found that disturbing note still tightly balled in her coat pocket, weighing like some kind of gloomy talisman. The room seemed close and she needed to get out or she would likely to stir crazy.

Peyton winced at her own reflection, but never one to spend much time on her appearance, she applied just enough makeup to mask her exhaustion, then gingerly replaced her brace. She glanced outside the window, spied the snappy sway of Spanish moss, and picked up her coat. She needed a few items and some clothes for her weekend in Tree Hill.

Maneuvering the rented SUV through the shopping district, Peyton noticed many changes to the colors and facades of the stores, giving them a fresh attractive look. The district had grown from the sleepy quaint town she remembered, to a small, but sophisticated urban center. She turned onto Third street, automatically heading in the direction of Karen's Café. Not for the first time since her trips down memory lane, the past flashed like pages of a graphic novel from someone else' life. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from the past weeks, or the resignation from being stranded, but she didn't fight them, letting the memories wash over her as a distant dream. She was ambivalent about running into old acquaintances. For nine years, she had built a life for herself far from Tree Hill. Away from two dead Moms, school shootings and psycho stalkers. But most importantly, away from an appalling and desperate act that still had the power to wake her in a cold sweat.

She spied the café from a distance, no longer the restaurant she remembered. In its place a familiar name that took her by surprise. She slowed the rental, her heart rate picking up as she passed the store, debating whether to stop and go inside. "Get a grip Peyton." She circled the block and drove up the same street, this time pulling up in front of the store.

Peyton had followed Brooke's stellar rise to the top of the fashion industry from browsing magazines and tabloids while waiting in line at grocery stores. At times, she almost bragged that Brooke Davis was her best friend, then remembered that she wasn't. Occasionally, she bought a copy of B. Davis, but other than that, she had little clue about Brooke's life. Clothes Over Bro's, in Tree Hill, and far away from the glamor of New York, was a complete surprise to her. She remained glued to the seat as another stream of memories from an early life flowed through her mind, each image growing clearer as it drifted closer and closer. She shook loose of them, unwilling to relive the last months of her past in Tree Hill. She climbed from the SUV, ready to go inside. She really did need some clothes anyway. And she most definitely should leave a huge tip for the hotel's efficient laundry service. If she was going to chance running into the fashionable Brooke Davis, wearing ripe, rumpled two-day old clothing wouldn't have done her any favors. She hesitated at the door, hand tightly wrapped around the cold steel and almost changed her mind. The adjoining door swung open. A dark-haired girl wearing glasses looked at her speculatively on her way out. Taking in a deep breath, Peyton strode into the boutique.

A/N: I needed to set the foundation to Peyton's emotional space. I promise future chapters won't have such introspective passages and there will be plenty of interaction. If you have made it this far, thank you for reading.

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