Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, just write about 'em.

A/N: This is a slight AU. I'm making it so Peyton does in fact confess her love for Lucas, but didn't mean it. Just got her words mixed up. But the girls did indeed fight and not speak to eachother over it. Following the show, the girls made up after the State Championship. Well, screw that. In this, they make up during the SC and the SC is an away game, not a home game. Just thought I'd clarify.

It started back when I was kid. I don't remember when, or why exactly it started, but it did.

I've hated airplanes ever since I could remember. I really did. I had this big irrational fear of them. Not of the structure itself, no, because I knew it was just a hunk of metal, but rather afraid of what the planes held. They held people yes, and maybe even sometimes cargo, but that wasn't what I was afraid of. Well, not for the most part anyhow.

I was afraid that the people in the planes could, and possibly would, bring the plane down.

I had this real big irrational fear of planes crashing. And not just crashing, but crashing near me. Because really, if a plane were to crash in, I don't know, Chicago? Why should I care? But, my fear was centered around the fact that it'd plummett straight down, target being Tree Hill, North Carolina. I could just imagine bits and pieces of it's engine crashing into the River Court, the school, Karen's Cafe, and more importantly, my house. In the day time, it wasn't that bad. My fear, that is. I could look out the window and stare across the pale blue sky and watch it descend higher and higher into the clouds and not lower and lower towards the Earth. So, I was grateful for the daylight hours, to say the least.

But, it'd always get the worse at night. I hated the fact that the dark sky always hid planes. I couldn't ever see them. Only hear them as they ripped through air masses. That was what I hated the most about planes. The noise. I really didn't understand why they made it. Well, okay, I did understand why. I actually payed attention once or twice during Science when we, not including myself, were discussing it. But I didn't understand why it had to. I mean really, I could of done without the mock sound of the sky being torn at it's seams. And I think alot of people could agree with me as well.

Some people would ask me why I was so scared of them, why I tensed up when I saw them, why I couldn't watch Final Destination. And to be honest, I could never answer these questions. I mean, I knew I was scared of them. Anybody who knew me for that matter, knew I was scared of them. I just couldn't ever answer the question of "Why?" I never lost a family member to a plane crash, so it couldn't of been that. I didn't live in New York City, so I didn't see the Twin Towers wave a final farewell before they fell straight to the ground. So, it couldn't of been that either. I didn't even live near an airport. So, answering the question of "Why?" was really and honestly, beyond my ability.

But I never had to answer the question around Brooke. She never asked. She just knew. She understood.

I remember this one time when we were twelve. It was the eve of the day my father had to once again high tail it out of Tree Hill to some other port around the world for work, and he decided to take me and Brooke out to the beach. I remember we were standing out near the waterfront, letting the waves hit us ankle-deep with water, when a plane flew overcast. We were giggling just moments before at some beach boy who got seaweed stuck in his hair while trying to catch a wave, when I froze. The noise. It was there. The ripping, the tearing, the whoosh that it made, and I was completely stuck. Not moving, just..there. She picked up on this mid-laugh and moved her eyes towards the sky, staring up at the metal structure. I think she got it right then. No, I'm sure she did. She grabbed my hand and said, "It's over now," once the unbearable noise ceased.

There was this other time, back in the summer between freshman and sophomore year, when we barely turned sixteen, that we went out to visit my dad. Brooke's parents were out in California, like they were every summer, and my father was in Nevada. I kept track of where he was every time he left the house to go half-way across the country. Turns out, so did Brooke. "He's like the father I never had, P. Sawyer," She said to me once, "I care about him just as much as I care about you," I couldn't help but think that he was the father I never had, as well.

After the revelation, we kept track of him together. I bought a map and a box of push-pins from a local convient store, and would place them on a new spot every time he'd call. One night, he called and said that by the next morning, he'd be in some small town in Nevada and would be about thirty minutes or so away from Cali. Didn't matter much to me. I was half-way across the country, anyhow. I just wanted to know where to put my next push-pin, but it mattered to Brooke. "We should go out and see him," Brooke said to me one night while laying next to me in bed. I chuckled at her comment, but by the next morning, she presented me with a first class ticket to California via Mr.Davis. I was shocked to say the least.

The next afternoon, we were at the Charlotte Airport, ready to get on a plane to meet and greet my father and the Davis'. It didn't really hit me that we were traveling by airplane until they started boarding passengers. I don't really think it occured to Brooke either. We were so busy that morning trying to hustle and bustle to pack our bags to head out to Cali, that we didn't realize just how exactly we were heading out there. She caught my panic attack before it hit full-swing. She kept whispering, "It's going to be okay," over and over to me until we reached our seats, completely ignoring the furrowed brows and questioning looks of on-going civilians. My ticket was assigned to a window seat, but Brooke being Brooke, swapped seats with me before some flight attendant could object. The plane hadn't even moved an inch yet and I already had a death grip on the armrest. Brooke placed her hand on my knee and said, "You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine," I nodded, not believing a word of it though. She grabbed my hand and we sat in silence, awaiting the plane to kick off. When it finally did, Brooke's hold on my knee got a little tighter and so did the hold on my seat.

The whole plane ride pretty much went like that. Me having a death grip on something, Brooke's hand, the armrest, my can of soda, and Brooke whispering kind, comforting words in my ear. When we finally landed, I don't think there was ever time I was happier to see the dingy carpet of a public building.

Then, about four years ago, during our Senior year, we had a game at a school in Charlotte. It was the State Championship; last game of the year. Last game of our high school lives. It definately was a tear jerking event. Back in those days, things were complicated. I was stupid and I accidentally told Brooke that I had feelings for Lucas. Which, by the way, not true. I loved him, yes, but like a brother. Nothing more. But, I was never the sharpest tool in the shed, so I said it anyway. So, we weren't talking. At all. She was with Rachel half the time and I was with me, myself, and I. Though, I would catch her looking at me sometimes...

But, the Brooke dilema was beside the point. The real big issue of being at the State Championship in Charlotte wasn't the fact that it was our last game. Wasn't the fact that I wasn't on speaking terms with Brooke. No, it was the fact that there was an airport right across the street from the school. Yes, I know. Of all the places they'd decide to build a school, why across the street from an airport? Honestly, I don't know. But, I did realize one thing that day. God did not love me.

But then again, maybe he did.

The game finally ended, the Ravens being declared winners. Everyone that was from Tree Hill was beyond ecstatic. Everyone except for me. We won, big deal. Basketball and any sport for that matter, wasn't my calling, wasn't my thing. I could care less about them. I didn't even join cheerleading on my own accord. Brooke made me. "Cheerleading is the best part of high school P. Sawyer. Well, next to the parties..and the guys." Brooke said to me, the week before our freshman year began. I, myself, never wanted to become a cheerleader, but I did it for Brooke. I'd do anything for Brooke.

When the game ended, people were prancing and cheering around the gymnasium like a bunch of hyped up monkeys. I couldn't handle it. There were flashbulbs going off in every direction, confetti being thrown, men in suits with microphones trying to chase down our team. It was just too chaotic for my liking. So, I went outside. Surprisingly, no one was out there. It was completely empty. I sat down on the front steps of the school, staring at the flashing lights across the street signaling take off. The grip I had on a stair got just a little bit more tighter. I couldn't really decide which was worse, being on a plane while it was taking off, or watching one while it was doing so.

I got up and walked down the stairs to the sidewalk. I was standing there, watching the plane slowly inch it's way down the runway, when I was startled by a hand on my shoulder. It was Brooke. She didn't say anything when I looked at her. She just nodded. I thought about saying something to her, but I just turned my attentions back towards the airport, thankful for whatever contact I was getting from her that was positive. "I broke up with Lucas," she said. I didn't say anything. I wasn't too sure on what to say. Was she expecting a thank you? Because honestly, it was beyond all of my ability to give her one. I didn't want Lucas, I wanted..

The plane took off. It wasn't very far off the ground, but the noise already started. It was headed in our direction, about to fly directly overhead. I tensed up really bad. Probably, the worst I ever have. I looked over at Brooke, trying not to stare up at the underbelly of the plane. Brooke did. She looked up at it, then back down at me. Her brown eyes transfixed onto my hazels. The noise ended. I smiled weakly at her; a silent thank you. Speaking of thank you's.. "Brooke, about Lucas," I began, "I don't--" I didn't get to finish. Her hands cupped my cheeks and her lips were placed on mine. I gasped a little, surprised by it, but instantly melting into the kiss. It was laced with hunger and passion and maybe even..love. She pulled away, hands still cupping my face and repeated, "I broke up with Lucas," I nodded, before kissing her again.

So, I have this real big irrational fear of airplanes. Not of the structure itself, no, but rather of what they held. They held opportunity. They held danger. They could either make their whole flight across the world without crashing, or they couldn't. They could either leave the lives of millions of people alone, or they could rip them away. They could either sail the skies, or they could fall straight down to Earth. So, yes, I fear airplanes. But, at twenty-two years of age, living in New York City, a block or two away from JFK Airport, my fear doesn't really bother me. Because I know I'm safe. Not from the people on the planes because they could bring the plane down with a simple smuggle of a weapon. Not from the world because the world was and is a dangerous place. And not even from the goddamn noise because I wasn't deaf. But, I'm still safe, because I know that if a plane ever flies overcast, I just have to rub my hands across the arms wrapped around my torso. I just have to rub Brooke's arms, and she'll remind me that I'm safe. And if worse comes to worse, and I still let the fear overtake me, I can play with the matching silver bands on both our forefingers and be even more reminded that she's my protector; my safe place.

Brooke always was and always be. 'Til death do us part.

END