Title: so i'll be brave
Author: bitterkidxsweety
Rating: G
Summary: and a part of him he thought he'd rid himself of aches like it did on that fateful day when he realized that she was never really his.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
A/N: AU. I haven't watched any non-Peyton scene since the beginning of season 5 save for the occasional promo and the like, so I've taken substantial liberties with the Julian/Brooke relationship (if addressing it at all,) and suited them to my Julian/Peyton needs. Enjoy.
xxx
God, that was strange to see you again
Introduced by a friend of a friend
Smiled and said, "Yes, I think we've met before"
In that instant it started to pour
xxx
"Wow, you have gotten even more beautiful."
When she first sees him in Tree Hill, she doesn't know what to think. Her mind freezes, and her body refuses to make any sort of movement, and even when she murmurs, "What are you doing here, Julian?" it's as if someone else is speaking. He stands there, arms crossed, his right shoulder leaning on the door frame, and he's dressed in faded jeans and that jersey shirt that she sometimes stole on lazy weekends and for a split moment she's not in Tree Hill anymore.
He moves one ankle over the other and tilts his head at her, and suddenly, something clicks, and her mind starts to race with every possible reason as to why he could be standing there in front of her, right now. Her hazel eyes move back and forth between his brown ones, desperately searching for some sort of answer, but all she can see is that smug look on his face, that mean glint in his eyes, that cold expression touching the edge of his lips, and she feels something like nervousness and confusion and panic rising inside of her.
"Haven't you heard?" he asks. "I'm optioning your fiance's book."
Her eyes widen in sarcastic disbelief, (because really, this can only happen in Tree Hill,) and her voice is a little unsteady when she replies, "like hell you are."
A picture of a tabloid cover flashes briefly in her mind.
It's the realization that surprises her the most.
It still hurts.
xxx
The second time they met, he invited her to a fundraiser. They made their way to the bar, and he leaned against the counter and smoothly ordered her one of those fruity cocktails that he knew girls liked so much as Peyton casually slipped into the stool next to him.
"Bourbon for me, please, neat." she interrupted sweetly to the bartender. Julian had looked over at her, his brow raised. She then turned and smirked at him. He slowly found himself smiling back.
One hour later, they played their own version of twenty questions, and he asked, "What is the craziest thing you've ever done?"
She looked at him over the rim of her cup, her brow rising as she gingerly placed it back onto the counter. "Craziest thing I've done?" she reiterated.
Peyton looked at him through a pleasant, alcohol-induced haze, wondering just how much she wanted to let him know about her bizarre soap opera life. Purposely ran a series of red lights, helped hide a baby from her mother, got into a fistfight with said mother, kissed Pete Wentz (she grimaces at that memory,) asked a boy to marry her at 17.
She was sure there was more.
"I stole some clothes at the mall once and spent half a day in jail."
He scoffed. "Kid's stuff."
She would have left it at that, thrown a flirty remark, shot a straw wrapper at his head, moved on to the next frivolous subject. But she was just so tired, tired of keeping a stiff upper lip, tired of trying so hard not to break things but breaking them anyway. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was because he was just there. The image of Lucas standing there with that girl, her hands lightly touching his jaw, her face half-obscured as she kissed the side of his cheek, and Peyton downed the rest of her drink, hot fire shooting down her throat and spreading throughout her limbs.
"The love of my life proposed to me a year ago and I said 'no.'"
She smiled sarcastically. He didn't smile back.
Her expression softened dramatically, and the ironic laughter disappeared from her eyes. "I'm not looking for someone to save me, Julian. I'm not that girl," she said softly.
She didn't know what she was expecting, but she was surprised when he leaned in, tilting his head so he could catch her downward gaze, his own expression neutral. "Good. Cus I'm not that guy."
Later that night, they stumbled into a 711 and performed a silent play in front of security cameras, and got on the cheapest, soonest departing flight at the airport and woke up in Oregon.
He was different.
xxx
The first time that Julian stayed over, she slipped away from bed at midnight and sat by the large French window, staring out into the city below her. The colorful lights flashed back at her in the dark night, lit windows and streetlamps and neon signs sprinkled across the valley, turning off and on, off and on. She nursed a cup of tea in one hand and a phone in the other, and she offhandedly told Brooke that everything was backwards in the city. It was like a tornado had shaken the west coast and turned it upside-down; the stars were where the ground was supposed to be and the ground was in the sky.
She could see the freeway in the distance, the 91 highway bending and sliding down a bleak hill. At rush hour, the traffic seized the streets, cars inching down the asphalt bumper to bumper, and all she could see was a glorious yellow road, like hot gold being poured into a mold.
"Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," Brooke replied, a lilt in her raspy voice. Peyton smiled wistfully and recited, "We must be over the rainbow."
xxx
The thing about Julian was that he was reckless and mischievous, but he did it because he was cautious. He grinned and he charmed and he got under everyone's skins, because he knew how to work them; he knew his opponent.
But he always made sure that they didn't know him.
So when he said "I love you," first, unplanned and off-guard, Peyton knew she had something spectacular.
She also knew that she had to be careful.
xxx
"I'm making your favorite."
"French toast?"
On Sundays, she and Julian would lounge in bed until early afternoon. Then they'd make pancakes (blueberry for her, plain for him,) in their pajamas, hair a mess, bare feet walking across the linoleum floor, the sun just peaking through the floral-print curtains. They'd turn on the radio (the oldies, of course,) and clumsily dance around the kitchen as they waited for it to cook, singing loudly to Marvin Gaye, or Otis Reddington, or the Temptations.
Well, he would sing; she would just laugh and follow his lead.
"Hey now, how sweet it is to be loved by you, (oh, baby)…how sweet it is, to be loved by you..."
xxx
The first time that her father was supposed to meet Julian, he canceled. He called her the day before and ruefully apologized that he was being transferred to the other side of the coast. "I'm sorry, baby girl," he said. "Another time."
She sat on the kitchen counter, hiding next to the refrigerator, and she drew invisible circles on the knees of her jeans as she passive-aggressively argued with her father then finally murmured, "Ok," and pushed the end button on the telephone.
Julian entered the kitchen as she hung up, leaning against the doorway on the opposite side of the room. He watched as she brought her hands up to her face and pressed her fingers to her eyes, her frame straightening and collapsing as she released a slow, even breath.
At long last, she leaned against the side of the refrigerator and tilted her head up a little, her lips thinning in a sad smile. He smiled back, and Peyton held out her arms to him, silently bidding him forward, and he leisurely obliged. His own arms wrapped around her in a comforting hug and he exaggeratedly rocked her from side to side.
"I really wanted him to meet you," she murmured into his shoulder.
He looked down and smiled against her hair. "Well I am a good catch."
A smirk pulled at one end of her lips.
"I really wanted to meet him too," he said, seriously, this time. "Meet the man responsible for raising one helluva girl."
She tilted her head up, her nose brushing his jaw.
"He would've liked you," she said.
"Was there any doubt?"
She smiled teasingly. "A little."
"Shame on you," he replied, tenderly tucking her hair behind her ear.
"I'm attractive,"
(she rolled her eyes,)
"smart,"
(she scoffed,)
"witty,"
(she cleared her throat.)
He tousled her hair.
"You love me."
She peered up at him through messy curls and smiled softly.
"Yeah, I do."
xxx
"I left you, remember?"
When she and Julian broke up, she spent the rest of the week and the following weekend crying. She left him a message every day, asking him to please come home and fell asleep cuddling her phone and a tissue box on her bed.
She called Brooke three weeks later, perched on the windowsill, (like she was doing when L.A. simultaneously died and came back to life at the same time,) staring at the city lights. Her hair was different now, almost a dark, caramel brown color, with thin black streaks dispersed throughout her curls.
She whispered to Brooke, "What happened to us, you know? I don't know who I am anymore."
His guitar didn't sit in the living room closet anymore, and his clothes didn't share space with hers. She didn't wake up in the morning to the image of him cooking her breakfast, and didn't go to sleep at night with his arm draped over her midsection, his lips murmuring "goodnight," against her ear.
When she softly said, "I want to have a home again, you know?" she really, really meant it.
xxx
He thinks this is ridiculous, sitting next to her almost a year later, talking about him dating her best friend. She teases him, and he teases back. "I think you're jealous," he says lightheartedly, and his smile widens when she laughs. He loves it when she laughs.
Sam blurts "she's pregnant," and he chuckles in response, but he sees the look that Peyton shoots Sam and the look that Sam shoots Peyton and the subsequent silent battle that occurs between them and wow.
Just wow.
He feels like the wind has quite literally been knocked out of him.
"My bad." Sam excuses herself, leaving Julian and Peyton and the awkward, looming silence.
His eyes fly upwards as he tries to keep in check the various emotions fighting to break the surface. "Wow…" he finally summons. "…that's really hard to hear…for historical reasons."
He chances a glance at her, but she doesn't move to answer. She stares down at the bright red countertop, her mouth closed in that slight pout that her lips naturally curve into.
"But great news for you and Luke. I mean that." And he does; he really does.
Peyton allows a smile to tug at her lips, her eyes lighting up with the mere thought of her future family. "Thank you," she replies softly. "We're excited about it."
He nods, and his own smile is hesitant but sincere. "You should be," he says, his words coming out slow and careful. "…and I'm happy for you. That kid just won the lottery."
There is nothing but sincerity and tenderness in his tone, and it's surprising, but it's pleasant. Their eyes meet, and Peyton beams, but he stares a little too intently, a beat too long, and he has to abruptly look away before she can read the suppressed emotions swimming in his eyes. The smile drops from her face anyway.
Suddenly, his phone rings, breaking the weird, awkward trance that surrounds them, and he takes a steadying glance at the caller ID and says "I'm sorry, but I have to take this," even though his brain refuses to recognize the name flashing on the screen.
He looks at her.
She looks at him.
She grins and half-teasingly tells him that if he breaks Brooke's heart, she'd break his face, and he looks down at his hands and swallows the lump in his throat and forces a smile on his face. She exits, as quickly and quietly as she had entered, and he watches her leave, her hair swaying behind her.
He lets out a slow, shaky breath, tries to stop his hands from trembling, and counts to ten in his head.
He remembers going to minor league games with her, lying together on a checkered blanket, the sound of muted cheering and clapping scattered in the background as they shared childhood stories under the stars.
He remembers coming home to her after a long day, seeing her sitting on the couch, and how he would drop his things and envelop her in his arms, nothing registering but the smell of her hair and the touch of her skin and the warmth of her presence, as he muttered, half-playfully, where have you been all my life?
He remembers those moments between wakefulness and sleep, when they laid in bed, their limbs lazily tangled together, the moonlight from the window casting an eerie, blue glow over their silhouettes as their lips murmured sweet potential of the future in the dark, dark room.
And he thinks, it was always silly thoughts: a large house with weird, creepy porcelain knick-knacks of pigs and sheep and little bo peep, (stuff you had when you were eighty,) eight kids, (like the Von Trapp family), each named after a famous literary character, (Huckleberry was their favorite.)
It was always silly thoughts.
Later, he meets Brooke. He brings wine.
xxx
"Peyton got him to focus."
Peyton met Paul Norris at some fancy-shmancy fundraising party where everyone smiled really hard and laughed really loud and where the women wore slinky dresses and the men donned sleek suits. She hadn't even known that the man that she was conversing with was her boyfriend's father until Julian had slid next to her fifteen minutes later, a strained smile gracing his face as he said, "I see you've met my dad."
They met again for dinner the following night, at Peyton's request and to Julian's chagrin. But much to his surprise, the meal went surprisingly well, and when Peyton sent him a sly wink in the middle of the conversation, he felt foolish for ever doubting her.
Afterward, when Peyton cleared the table to do the dishes, Paul contemplatively sipped his scotch and turned to his son.
"That's quite some girl you have there, Julian."
"Yeah. She's something else."
"She's nice. Ballsy."
Julian laughed and rubbed his chin with his hand. "That's one word for her, all right."
Paul pointed his glass at him. "Did you know that she isn't from around here?"
"Yeah."
"Grew up in a small town in North Carolina."
"I know, dad."
"She has quite a few accomplishments already for a girl of her age. It's rather impressive."
"One of the many reasons to love her."
The elder took another sip of his glass and stared at his son. "I like her. It's going to be a shame watching you screw this one up."
Julian raised his brow. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying, son. I know you, and you have a tendency to wreck good things. Whether it's your grades, your career," he shook his head. "And this girl is good for you. Maybe even too good. Frankly, I'm surprised she puts up with you at all."
Julian chuckled humorlessly. "Well, gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, dad."
Paul merely nodded his head in his direction.
Later that night, Julian received a call from his assistant relating the news that one of their biggest sponsors failed to respond positively to his budding movie, and the remainder of the evening rested on Peyton's shoulders as Julian remained curt and unreceptive. By the time that their guest had left he was gruff and surly and she was vaguely annoyed.
"Alright. Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are we just going to keep playing this game?"
He marched into their bedroom. "I told you. Nothing."
Peyton scoffed incredulously and followed him down the hallway. "Oh, nothing; I would hate to see you when it's something."
He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, shaking his head at her. "Why do you do that? Why do you always have to be so sarcastic?"
A storm brewed in her eyes. "Why are you so angry?"
He looked over at her, standing in the doorway of their bedroom. Her arms were crossed in front of her, her jaw was set, and as she stared at him, all fire and moxie and determination, she was a force to be reckoned with. They stared at each other, neither breaking the other's gaze, silence looming between them, until Peyton quickly took an audible breath.
Finally, underneath that steely resolve, he saw in her eyes something like concern and confusion and hurt, and all the mess of emotions melted into a defenseless, honest air.
"I…" he reached out to her, but stopped himself short, his hands awkwardly balling into fists at his sides.
"I'll never be good enough, Peyton."
For him.
For you.
Her eyes furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
He didn't look at her and didn't say a word.
Peyton slowly walked over to him and gently slid her arms around his waist. He stood still, his body rigid, his arms still placed firmly at his sides; but her grip didn't loosen or constrict, and they stood there, together, in the middle of their bedroom in silence.
Slowly, their breathing began to synchronize, and their heartbeats palpitated to the same rhythm. His arms came up to wrap around her, and she closed her eyes as they tightened around her frame, holding her close.
"I'm sorry, Peyton. I'm….so, so sorry."
She could hear his heart beating in her ear, the slow, rhythmic pulse pounding deep and calm inside his chest.
"You're more than enough."
xxx
The following week after he left, Peyton finally dragged herself out of bed and went to work. She stood in line at the starbucks closest to the company building, ready to rattle off the usual order, when she quickly glanced to the side and caught a glimpse of a young woman reading a tabloid magazine. "A-List actress sleeping with producer?" was printed in bold, yellow lettering and really, tabloids were stupid and false more than ninety-five-percent of the time, but she froze as she recognized a picture of Julian on the front page.
Peyton knew never to believe everything you hear, especially in Hollywood. But the truth was that it was easier to get over him if she thought that he was the bad guy, when she didn't have to believe that she hurt him.
xxx
Lucas and Peyton get married on a Thursday night. There are only close friends and family present; they don't even fill up the first six rows of the church pews. He doesn't know why he's there.
She walks down the aisle to a song that's simple and elegant and isn't Here Comes the Bride, (she was never a typical girl,) and she is a vision in white. Her hair is gracefully pulled back in a half-ponytail, the rest of her golden-brown curls tumbling down her shoulders, and her face is illuminated by the delicate flicker of the candlelight, the shadows dancing on her cheeks as she lovingly peers into the eyes of a man that isn't him.
He is merely an observer, another casualty in the epic saga of Lucas Scott and Peyton Sawyer.
He doesn't realize that he is staring into nothing until he hears her soft voice tearfully and joyously whispering, "I do," and soon she and Lucas are kissing and everyone is clapping and he ignores the tightening in his chest and that hollow void at the pit of his stomach and he grins and he grins and he claps along with them.
The reception is held in a garden not too far from the church. A huge tent is pitched in the middle of the green lawn, decorated with fairy lights and gardenias and yards and yards of white chiffon. Julian remains outside, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a glass of champagne. A crowd of cattails separate the grass from a large lake, and he stands just a few feet away, watching the moonlight bouncing off the dark waters, the sound of joy and music fading into a murky buzz as they reach his ears.
Suddenly, the music stops and the hum of conversation dissipates. Feedback from the microphone screeches loudly and fades into the night, and he doesn't even flinch.
"Hi." Nathan's sheepish greeting punctures the air and scattered laughter quickly swells and lulls. There is a slight pause as he gathers himself, and then his voice floats through the speakers again. "Five years ago, Lucas was a half-brother I barely knew, and Peyton was the girlfriend that I didn't deserve. From the moment they locked eyes, I knew that I was in trouble."
When Julian finally finished reading The Book, (in capital letters, just like that,) it was with a dull twinge of understanding and a cold shock of clarity. He laughed and he shook his head and he chewed on his lower lip because it was ridiculous just how many people had been drawn into their web and sacrificed at the altar of Lucas and Peyton. He never stood a fucking chance.
The rest of Nathan's speech is drowned out by his own thoughts, and by the time he's finished Julian doesn't even notice that he's emptied his champagne glass already.
A hand stretches out in front of him, and his eyes trail up the porcelain skin, the white fabric of her dress, and into the face he knows so well. She smiles at him, her hazel eyes glistening in the moonlight, and his heart constricts; she is so beautiful.
"Hey," she says with a soft smile.
He reminds himself to breathe, musters a tight smile, and lets her lead him onto the dance floor.
They reach the center of the room and Julian places his hand on the small of her back and carefully takes her smaller one in the other. His eyes watch as his palm lightly slides against hers, tentatively re-familiarizing itself with her touch, and a part of him he thought he'd rid himself of aches like it did on that fateful day when he realized that she was never really his.
He hesitantly brings her closer to him, the side of his face lightly touching her hair, and they gently sway to the slow ballad filtering through the speakers.
"You look beautiful," he says.
She smiles softly. "Thank you. You don't clean up too badly yourself."
Their bodies gingerly move in sync, memories of Sunday mornings and dancing around their kitchen guiding them across the floor. It's comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
He tilts his head toward her, his lips touching her hair. "Do you remember that Valentine's Day, when we were too tired to do anything or go anywhere?"
Peyton laughed. "We ended up at your place getting drunk on cheap vodka."
"We built that fort, remember? And we played connect the dots and scrabble and go fish."
"I kicked your ass at scrabble."
"You did."
"We never wanted to leave."
They continue to sway with the music, something like nostalgia gracing their faces with soft smiles.
"…Do you regret it?" he asks.
If you could do it all over again, would you do it?
She looks into his eyes, hazel staring into brown, and there are no words and no gestures, but a silent, bittersweet affirmation.
Peyton brushes her cheek against his, her lips touching the space between his jaw and his ear, and she whispers, "It would surprise you how little I regret."
The song ends, and they slowly pull apart, the feel of fabric and warmth slipping from their grasp like a long-ago, fading memory. He brings his head down to touch hers, their foreheads meeting in pained, understanding silence. His brow furrows, his mouth opens and closes, his hands runs down her arms, and he tries to convey all the things he wants to say through his touch that he cannot verbalize into words. He loves her, god, does he love her, and a very, very large part of him wishes, hopes, feels, and all these sensations are suffocating.
He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, and when he opens them again, he sees her, just her, and all he can feel is calm.
They stare down at their intertwined hands between them, their fingers gently holding them together. He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on the side of her face, and her eyes flutter downward and back up to him again.
He gives her hand one last squeeze and tips an imaginary hat at her. "Thanks for the dance," he says with a smile.
She smiles back.
xxx
The next day, Julian leaves Tree Hill.
xxx
There's one thing I have to say so I'll be brave
You were what I wanted
I gave what I gave
-Stars