Here's just a short oneshot, I hope you enjoy…

So this is based on several spoilers I have read for the new season, although I have mixed and matched and screwed up from how they're actually going to play out in the show.

-o-

So I'll take you, save you and then make you.

Three months.

It's been three months since I last spoke to her, or even saw her.

A few years ago, I wouldn't have thought anything to this, but now things are different.

Or maybe, things were different.

I know, most of the mistakes I've made in my lifetime have affected her. And I also know that it shouldn't be like that. As I told her just three months ago, I do love her. But sometimes, it's just far too easy to forget that.

Which makes me sound like a jackass, I know. But when the beautiful, feisty and irresistible Brooke Davis burst into my life, she certainly made it a hell of a lot more complicated. Until then, I had simply been in love, or at least lust, with her best friend Peyton Sawyer.

But when she came along, my focus began to shift. No longer was I sure what I wanted, no longer could I know who I truly loved. Which started a two year period of heartbreak for all three of us.

And in the end, who got hurt? She did, of course.

Even though I swore I wouldn't hurt her, that I would never leave her, that I would always save her.

My words came to shit, I'll give you that.

However no matter what I did, she kept coming back. She was always there when I needed her, she was there when everything felt right. Yet I've let all that go, in the past three months.

And now? I have no idea what to say.

It sounds pathetic: Lucas Scott, bestselling author, is lost for words.

Actually, that's a lie. I know exactly what I want to say, I just have no idea how I'm going to say it. Or where I'm going to start.

It's not easy to talk to a girl who has been locked away for almost three months.

Twelve weeks ago I told her I loved her, then I left her. For the months leading up to that she had been completely and utterly there for me, even when her own life was falling apart. She let me feel what it would be like to have my own little family and although I tried to convince myself that by helping out with Angie, I was doing her a favour, I know really that it was the other way around. She didn't let me slip away when all I wanted was to, yet I have done the complete opposite for her.

No, that's not true. The fact is, I haven't done anything for her.

It started off fairly easy. I tried to convince myself that she was going to be okay. Angie had gone, granted, but I had helped her at the airport and thought that I had made her feel better. That made it easier to leave her behind.

Two weeks in Vegas had been perfection for me and Peyton, with the both of us not having to think of the outside world for a second. Maybe we should have.

Once we'd got back, I heard she was busy having problems with her mom; obviously, I didn't want to intervene. Peyton was basically living at my house, so there was no need to go and see her at Brooke's house.

Which has to be the most selfish thing I have ever said. I used to go round there just to see Brooke, but once I'd got back together with Peyton - I don't know - maybe the triangle was rearing its ugly head again; but suddenly I wanted nothing to stop what me and Peyton had started again. And for some reason, I thought that Brooke would spoil that.

But that gave me no excuse not to go later.

I should have gone straight away after I heard about the robbery. Or attack: I'm still not sure how to refer to it. I had promised to save her, I had promised to be there for her.

And I wasn't.

Maybe I was too scared to see the state that she was in; maybe I even felt it wasn't my problem to be looking after her anymore.

None of that changes the fact that it has been a month and I still haven't made the effort to see if she's okay.

Everybody else has. Nathan and Haley found her at the store and tried to get through to her: although as soon as she returned home she wouldn't open the door to them. Jamie tried, but his invitations of ice cream were met with heart-broken apologies from the other side of a large wooden door. Peyton had attempted to get through the door, to no avail. Everyone else I know has been there, including Mouth, Skills and Millicent. On a quick stop off from her around the world tour with Andy, my mom even tried. On her return, all she could say was that she thought she could hear crying deep in the house.

Nobody could get through to the once cheery girl.

And for me, it's just got harder. The excuses have started to fade as there's no real reason for them anymore.

The first week, it wouldn't have been so bad to go and see her. The second, and I was starting to feel guilty that I hadn't been before. The third; I couldn't stand it if she started to ask questions as to where she had been. And now?

I'm scared.

Scared of what I have to do, scared of what I'll say:

Scared of how to begin.

I know her. I think I know her better than anybody else. No, I'm sure I do. I may have hurt her, but so has everyone else in her life.

Which makes the fact that I'm hurting her right now even harder to bear. Because at one point, I thought I never would.

But still, I know her, inside out and so once I've thought of how to begin, I know how it's going to go.

Maybe I could start with an 'I'm sorry'.

Although really, where would that get me? I'm sure she won't speak to me; instead, focusing her wide eyed and innocent, yet weary eyed stare.

'I was always going to come.'

And another wait, for her to maybe say something, anything. But I know she won't. The state she's in, I don't know how she can do anything at all.

'I'm sorry.' Would be something I'd have to repeat, although all she would do to this was show me the door.

I could start more decisively.

'I've missed you.' Although I know that that would start her tears, if she wasn't crying already.

'I've tried to come. So many times. But I didn't know if you'd want me…'

No. I couldn't lie to her. She knows me well enough to see through it.

'I'm sorry.' Again, but maybe it was a good start.

'I love you Brooke Davis. And I know I haven't been here for you and that I haven't acted like I should - look, you probably hate me, but please, I just want to help you.'

-o-

I've built up the courage - although clearly, I'm not courageous in the slightest - and so I pick up my coat and start to launch myself through my front door, feeling like some sort of pathetic superhero on one of his missions.

Which is when I spot the soft purple toy on the table to the side of me; and without thinking further I bring it with me.

I have the purple monkey on the seat beside me in the car, and I'm hoping that maybe it will get through to her more than anything else. When I give it to her, she'll sink into my arms like she did at the airport; I'll be able to comfort her, make her feel like it isn't the end and then maybe our conversation will go better than I had already planned.

'It's going to be okay Brooke. I'm here now.' And this time, with my arms around her, perhaps she will be able to speak.

'Don't leave me.'

And this time, I won't.

But can I possibly promise this to her, when I don't actually know if anything can get back to normal?

'Don't worry Brooke. I'm here now, and I won't leave you.' At which point, she would look me in the eyes with her broken ones, and whisper in her coarse yet beautiful voice,

'Thankyou.'

But is that enough? Don't I need to explain, something at least?

'A few months ago, I didn't know whether I could carry one. I felt that my life was drifting away from me. But then you, and Angie, came to me and made me realise that you just can't give up. Brooke, that's why I'm here. You can't give up.'

'But it's just so damn hard, Luke.' I would kiss her atop her head and try to calm her down, though it's hard with her now frail body pressed up against me.

'I know it is. It is for us, but you're Brooke Davis. You're the strong one out of all of us. If you can't get past this, what's going to happen to the rest of us?'

'What happens if I'm not as strong as you all think? All I wanted was for just one person to be there, just one…'

I can't take that path of conversation though; it's getting too painful and all I'm doing is thinking about it.

Brooke Penelope Davis. She loves me, she said so and so she has got to be happy to see me.

Even though she wouldn't let everybody else in, I know she'll let me in. She has to. And I'm going to fix her: save her.

I might have let her down in the past but this time I'm not going to. I can't. People have always thought I have this hero complex; so why doesn't it kick in when it comes to her? I guess I always used to think that she could get through everything on her own, even when all the signs are showing me she needs somebody.

Maybe that's the reason why she's become involved with more men than anyone else I know. Not that I'm saying it's a bad thing; if they're looking after her, making her feel like she's worth something then that's the best thing that could happen. I have never understood how someone as amazing as her could ever be so insecure. I know that it played a part in why she broke up with me, all the way back in high school. She never wanted to admit it but on some level, I know it was true. We were desperately in love before Keith's death.

Another thing I made mistakes with; I told her that I'd let her help me but I never did. I never could.

It's going to be different now. I let her help me when Lindsey left: she has to let me help her now.

-o-

I've made it to her house, and I see that all the blinds are closed and everything is dark. Something I never thought I would see when it came to Brooke. She has always been the light. And now I have to stop her succumbing to the darkness.

Grabbing the monkey, the toy that I know will help me get her to open up, I walk up the front steps.

"Brooke, it's me."

I have to wait. I can hear somebody on the inside but I trust that I don't have to say anything more for her to come outside. Or at least, let me in.

Finally, I hear a key - or rather keys - in the locks on the door and she opens the door to me.

But now, I've lost my train of thought. She looks worse than I could have ever imagined, four weeks after the event.

Her usual shining hair is dank, dark and she hasn't looked after it for a while. She's wearing baggy trousers and my old Keith Scott Motors hoody, I notice. An outfit I used to love seeing her in, but I can tell she has lost weight and now they hang even more loosely off her.

I have to hold back tears when I look at her face, the bruises and cuts around her lower face bad enough; however when I look into her eyes, swollen and red, a tear actually falls. Looking straight at me, her hazel eyes do not have the usual effect. With them, she can usually spellbind me, the joy emitted by them making me smile however I'm feeling.

But these eyes are lost. They're cold, dark, and without hope. I want to reach out and touch her, but I am too afraid she'll disappear before me.

My beautiful Brooke Davis has been crushed and right now I want nothing more than to kill the person who did this to her.

But instead, I try to focus on the words that are going to make her better. Now, struck silent, I dumbly hand the monkey over, waiting for her to come to me.

She doesn't.

As soon as I handed her the toy, it hangs loosely by her side. Though neither of us break the hold our eyes have on each other. I simply don't know how to.

After minutes more of a silence that is literally breaking me apart, I realise something which lets the rest of my tears fall.

Here I am, standing on the steps, wet hot tears cascading down my face and she does nothing. As if she can do nothing. Her eyes stay empty and she simply doesn't move.

Maybe, I don't know her as well as I thought I did.

Perhaps I don't know her at all.

Not anymore.

And every word I practised earlier to the girl I know and love is now redundant. I have no idea what I can do or say in order to make any of this better. Because I know it won't. I have no idea how to fix this and anything I say will just make this worse. She won't fall into my arms crying and she certainly won't accept my apologies. I don't know if any of this is because of me or simply the attack. It breaks my heart anyway.

Lost for any type of speech, I reach my hand out to touch her. But as my hand reaches a couple of inches from her cheek and she doesn't move an inch, not even her eyes, I stop. The girl in front of me is slipping away - maybe she already has - and I almost scream with the pain that this brings me.

I can't get her back, nobody can. She's changed, I've changed; she's gone.

My tears are now soaking my shirt but my hand doesn't waver - if I move my hand forward will I be able to get her back?

So I do, my last attempt to bring back the girl I love. My hand goes to her cheek and strokes it, the skin still soft regardless of who has touched - no, clawed - at it.

My index finger moves in soft circles as it reaches her forehead where I brush back her matted fringe and bite my lip as I see yet more injuries to her perfect face. Down the bridge of her nose, I try to get a reaction and I finish finally at her lips, my fingers tingling as they brush over her swollen mouth and I recoil as I realise I can't feel her breath.

In all of that, she hasn't moved. Not once. As much as I thought I knew her, I don't.

And I realise that however much I wanted to start her regeneration into the old Brooke Davis, I can't.

Because this is the end.

And as hard as I could ever try to fight to save her; Brooke Penelope Davis, the girl I love?

She's dead.

-the end-

Thankyou for reading.

How was it? I'm really not sure. Usually I write Brooke, 3rd person. This is clearly Luke, 1st person. So I'm a little apprehensive :