Title: Who You Were

Author: sera_rocks / Sera

Rating: M

Summary: After his father's death, James Lucas Scott is forced to go back to Tree Hill and the house he abandoned years ago to search for the will. What he finds goes beyond mere bequeathed possessions as he uncovers the secret past of the father he never knew, and the unforgettable love of two people who were destined to be together.

A/N: Hey guys! Okay, you're probably sitting there wondering why the hell am I posting a new story when I have another one still far from over. Well, I've had the basic idea for months now, but I had no crazy plot to go along with it. It wasn't until I got inspired recently that I started writing this. This story is really different from anything I've done before so I'm a bit nervous about this. I hope I can pull it off. A big, huge thanks to Lillie for becoming my beyond awesome beta and helping me sort out all the kinks to this.

Please tell me what you think! :)

Chapter 1:

The only difference between the saint and the sinner is that every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future.

-Oscar Wilde

Thirty-year-old James Lucas Scott sat in the driver's seat of his car, his fingers drumming on the surface of the steering wheel as he stared at the towering house in front of him. It was a sprawling Victorian house, with a wide, open lawn, trimmed and well-kept as if the owners were still living there but no one was ever in that house anymore. Not since his father's funeral a few days ago anyway, when this house was full of faceless, nameless people he didn't know, muttering their condolences to him when he honestly could not care any less. James remembered walking up that paved pathway leading to the newly polished wooden door that shone even from the distance of his car to the house. He knew it was polished because he could still smell it – the sharp, odd scent that always made him a little dizzy and his face scrunch up in the "most adorable" way his mother always teased him about.

An unmistakable feel of sadness overcame James again, just like it always did. He desperately missed his mother. He hadn't seen her in years and he could still remember how unbelievable beautiful she was, the way her deep, dark brown hair framed her angelic face, and how her big, doe-like eyes were always full of love and kindness for him. He wished he could see her again … wished he could feel the same comfort she gave him years before.

With another sigh, he stepped out of the empty car and felt the gravel shift beneath his feet, hearing nothing but the soft whisper of the wind against his bare skin. It was strangely colder than usual and he regretted not picking up the jacket his wife so thoughtfully placed by the door that morning so he wouldn't forget. He walked down the paved pathway, his eyes looking around the lawn and his mind reluctantly reliving memories he rather did not want to remember. He remembered running around the lawn as a child, shouting happily as he did and feeling overjoyed when he heard his mom cheer enthusiastically cheer him on. James looked up at the dark clouds hovering above him and silently wondered why the weather so perfectly matched his somber mood. Truthfully, he would rather be anywhere else right now than this.

James finally arrived on the doorstep of the house, inhaling the scent of the wood polish. It never really occurred to him how much he would be affected by being in the house he had left years ago. More memories overcame him and he started to wonder if he could really do this. He fumbled for his keys and shakily unlocked the door. The door swung open and for a few moments, James motionlessly stood there, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden change of light. It was much darker inside the house and as he forced himself to step inside, he wrinkled his nose at the smell of stale air, as if there hadn't been a funeral in here just recently.

James had been so busy dodging people's useless condolences to really notice the house and he only realized now how much it hadn't changed. His shoes made squeaky sounds on the wooden floor that was just as polished as the door so that when he looked down, he could see a warped reflection of himself on the shiny floor. Except for the funny smell, everything seemed to be in perfect order, well-kept and neat, as if people were still living there. James reached out to flick on a light switch and almost instantly regretted it.

It was then that he saw everything … he saw the living room where he and his family celebrated Christmas for seventeen years straight, where he and his friends watched TV and hung out all day in, where his mother used to help him with his homework … where he watched his whole childhood fall apart.

With an inward cringe, James tore his gaze away and focused on the nearby table, where a set of framed photographs stood. He saw himself in most of the pictures, mostly of him when he was much younger and the rest were family photographs. He never noticed before but there weren't any family photographs of just the three of them – his dad, his mom and him. It was either the three of them with other relatives, or none at all. However, there was one fading portrait of his mother. God, she looked just like how he remembered her – beautiful with her dark brown hair framing her face and smiling softly, her eyes unwaveringly kind. James didn't know how old she was there, but she looked young. Then again, his mother always looked young. There had always been a sense of youth about her that no one else had.

He unclipped the pin at the back of the frame and slipped the portrait out. It was surprisingly firm for a portrait that was fading, as if it hadn't been touched in years. James flipped it over, hoping for a date but there was nothing. Slightly disappointed, he slipped the portrait into his wallet. He doubted his dad would give a damn, anyway. His dad probably wasn't even the one who placed the picture into the frame. It was probably just lying around somewhere and the caretaker found it and placed it there, just to give the place a homier, we-were-a-family feel – as if a few new photographs would make any difference to James. He had never felt at home in this place, as long as his dad was there.

Even with his dad gone, James could still feel his presence in the house – the cold, unwelcoming feeling he always gave out. James often wondered if he had always given that feeling to people. He must have not at some point, because his mother fell in love with him. But how could she possibly stay with such a cold, uncaring man? As far as he was concerned, Nathan Scott was anything but a father. Just a man who lived in the house, ate breakfast with him in silence and was always gone for the rest of the day.

James never knew his father the way his friends and classmates did … God, he had hated hearing his classmates talk about their fathers, especially on Monday mornings, fresh from the weekend camping and fishing trips.

"My dad and I went to watch a basketball game last week."

"It was so cool – my dad taught me how to build a campfire and everything. We roughed it up all weekend."

"What about you, Jamie? What did you and your dad do?"

As always, whenever one of his friends asked him that, all James could do was shrug and say, "Just normal stuff." If normal stuff was considered as completely ignoring that the other one existed, well he had been telling the truth. James remembered being a young boy nearly bursting with jealousy as he watched the neighborhood kids play catch with their dad outside, or having their dad teach them how to ride a bike, or go down a slope with their skateboards. No one ever taught James how to do those things. He always had to learn by himself and then pretend that his dad taught him at home. He remembered the overwhelming sadness he felt every time he woke up and saw his mother eating breakfast alone in the kitchen, or cooking breakfast for just two people.

James' eyes fell on the photographs that had the three of them in the frame. It was always that way; his father and mother simply standing side by side, their hands tightly clasped and his mother's hand on his shoulder. That was pretty much it. It was a sharp contrast with the other people in the frame, all of their faces happy, and even if they stood at a distance from one another, they all had some sort of family connection between them – something James never saw in his family. As a child, he took the smallest comfort in the fact that at least his parents' hands were tightly clasped, but as he grew older, he realized that it was just one of those lies they threw to people to make them believe that they were happy – that they were a family. It was anything but.

Bitterly, James tore his gaze away and he proceeded to the stairs, determinedly avoiding looking at anything else. He was here for one thing and one thing only – to look for the will his dad supposedly left behind. If he left James this house, one thing was for sure … he was going to sell this damned place. He had no use for such a piece of crap. If he were given the choice, he wouldn't even look for the will. James had no use for anything his father would have bequeathed to him and he didn't want anything from him.

Suddenly, he felt the cell phone in his pocket ringing. He smiled slightly at the name blinking on the screen and hurriedly answered it. "Hey,"

"Hey," her voice said softly, as if to comfort him. "How is it?"

James sighed, looking around as he walked up the stairs. He heard the wood creaking beneath him with every step he took, glanced at the framed pictures on the wall beside him that taunted him about the past he didn't want to remember and sighed again.

"That's two sighs already and you haven't said anything yet. Are you okay?" She asked him, her voice full of concern.

"I'm fine. It's just … I'm glad I didn't bring the kids over here. They wanted to come."

"James …"

He knew that tone of her voice. She was getting annoyed and he abruptly changed the topic. "I'm just here to find the will, nothing else. I'll be home as soon as I'm done, alright? This probably won't take long."

"Will you be home by dinner?"

"I hope so."

There was a pause for a few seconds and she added, "It looks like it's going to rain. Come home as soon as it starts to, okay? You can always come back tomorrow."

"Beth," he warned.

"I don't care if you only want to step foot in that house once, James. You go back to that house a hundred times if you have to. You come home as soon as one raindrop falls, alright? It's been so cloudy all week, so the rain is going to be strong." She told him sternly.

James couldn't help but smile at how concerned she was for him. "Okay, okay, Miss Bossy. I'll call you later, okay? I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Say hi to the kids for me."

"I will."

The phone call ended and James pocketed the phone. He found himself standing in the doorway of the attic. He had been so deep in conversation and thoughts that he didn't realize just how high up he had gone. James liked the atmosphere of the room. The stale smell was stronger here, but there were no pictures to remind him of anything he didn't want to remember. It was nothing but a bare-walled attic with a rather big chest in the middle of the floor.

James supposed that the attic was a good place to start. He would work his way down the house. Besides, he had always wondered what was inside that big, dark chest when he was a kid. He never had the courage to come up here and open it. James walked inside and tugged the cord that lit open a light bulb hanging above him. He knelt down and brushed the thick layer of dust off the surface of the chest. Grimacing at the amount of dirt on his hand, he tried to wipe it off on his jeans and he grinned at how appalled Beth would be at him later on when she would see how dirty his jeans were.

The chest was huge. It could probably fit a fully-grown man inside with plenty of room left. James ran his fingers over the worn surface, feeling anticipation get the better of him as he wondered what could possibly be inside. All he knew was that on the rare occasions his dad was home, he would come up here and stay in here for hours straight, probably looking through the stuff in this chest. Just the curiosity of knowing what could be inside gnawed at James as every plausible idea ran through his mind.

Visibly trembling now, James reached out and unclasped the locks on either side of the chest. Hearing them click, he slowly lifted the lid, which was surprisingly heavy. The rusting hinges creaked loudly with every inch that the lid lifted, giving the obvious idea that whatever was inside this chest was quite old, probably even older than the chest itself.

James' gaze fell on the contents, and for a few seconds, he just sat there and stared at what was inside, too surprised for words. He let out a loud, unbelieving gasp. "Jesus, dad,"