Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine.
A/N: All right so this chapter might be a bit boring, but it's also long so I hope that makes up for it. I guess it depends on how you look at it, really, lol! But I really do hope you guys like it. I had most of it written before which is why I updated quickly. But believe me, this won't be something that will be happening often, and I'm sorry for that! Believe me when I say, university will be the death of me, lol!
I find it incredibly ironic that the people who reviewed me (and I love you guys for it) are Leyton and Brulian fans. But guys, this is an AU fic. And the reason I love AU is because Brucas is very much a possibility in that world. But I really do hope I did Leyton justice in this chapter. I sort of liked Peyton towards the end of season 6 so I hope that shows – not to mention, I'm trying to think of how Mark would've written the show if Peyton had died. I also hope I did Brucas justice, too, lol, even though there isn't much of them. So far.
Oh, and there is a Peyton/Lucas scene in this chapter that is sort of like the Clay/Sara scenes in season 7. I'm just letting you know that Peyton is not alive, Lucas is just dreaming of her – as most of the characters on OTH seem to have a habit of doing, lol!
Anyway enough of me rambling! Here's the next chapter! Hope you guys like it! And oh –I apologize for any spelling and grammatical errors I might've made. This chapter was super long, and I really couldn't read it more than twice.
o-o
Chapter 2
Brooke found Lucas sitting by the fireplace, fiddling with Peyton's diamond ring. He looked particularly unkempt. He hadn't combed his hair or shaved in days. His shirt was dirty and his sky blue eyes were wild. The three empty bottles of alcohol on the table said volumes.
For just a moment, Brooke paused at the threshold, frightened. She couldn't go to him yet, not when she had her own sadness to deal with. But then she saw him press the heels of his hands into his eyes, and her compassionate side got the better of her. Besides, she was making the Cowardly Lion look like the Terminator right now. "Hey, how are you doing?" she asked softly as she went to sit beside him.
Lucas glanced up at her, but he didn't look surprised. Brooke doubted that he could look much of anything right now. "I've been better," he muttered, looking down at the ring again. His face was expressionless.
"Your mom told me that you weren't coping too well so I came by to check on you."
Silence.
"It's all right to feel sad, you know," Brooke said gently.
He ignored her. "I knew this could happen. I tried to be ready."
"You can't be ready, Luke. Not for something like this."
She leaned forward to hold his hand when she suddenly caught sight of a ravaged book by the side of his table. A few of its pages had been burnt to ashes, a few had been stamped upon, but most of it had been ripped out by a very angry person and crushed into paper balls that were strewn across the floor.
"Oh my god!" Brooke was on her feet in an instant, picking the remains up, "What happened to…"
She trailed off when she saw the novel's title and author on what was left of its front cover: The Comet, Lucas Scott.
"Did you do this?" Brooke turned to Lucas in shock. When he didn't answer immediately, she plunged on. "You destroyed your own book?"
He stood up abruptly and turned away from her, and her temper flared.
"Gosh, what have you been doing to yourself, Luke?"
Ignoring the brunette, Lucas picked up his pencil cup and placed it back down; he restacked his books and papers, busying himself with useless tasks. Brooke forced a deep breath and counted to ten. For Peyton, she told herself. For Peyton.
"Lucas," she finally said, breaking the tensed silence. "We need to talk about this." Some of her pervious irritation seeped back in the when he continued to refuse to acknowledge her presence. "You know I could talk to your back all night if I wanted to."
Lucas shrugged, then finally spoke up. "Peyton's dead, Brooke. There's nothing to talk about."
"Sure there is," Brooke said flippantly. She knew that Lucas was hurting, but seeing that mutilated copy of The Comet made her so, so mad. "Your daughter is wailing in the next room, begging to be fed, and here you are, drinking your ass to death."
Lucas whirled around so fast Brooke almost stumbled back in surprise. She saw something in his eyes she had never seen before, and for a fleeting moment, she thought he'd hit her.
"Get out," Lucas bit out. "Now."
"No, you get out," Brooke stood her ground, glaring at him. "Do you even realize what you've done, Luke? You've destroyed the only book Peyton ever inspired. How do you think that would make her feel if she were alive?" Brooke demanded, and she sighed when she saw the pain flash across Lucas's face. He looked so broken, so defeated, she actually backed down for a second. "I miss Peyton, too," she said softly, her expression softening. "God, I cry for her every single day, but that doesn't give me the right to go around destroying everything that reminds me of her. It's wrong, Lucas, and even if you don't want to admit it right now, you know it's wrong too."
Their gazes locked for a short second, and Lucas abruptly sank down to the carpet weakly. His knees were drawn up, and his head was bent, as if the air around him was too heavy to keep him upright. The sight made Brooke's chest hurt. Lucas's pain had always cut her deeper than her own.
"Oh, Luke," she sighed heavily, standing in front of him. She bent down to pick up the ring he'd dropped on to the floor.
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Lucas shook his head back and forth. "This wasn't supposed to be how it goes. I finally chose her. Everyone kept telling me that once I chose her it would all be alright. This wasn't supposed to happen!"
Brooke nodded sadly. "I know."
But Lucas continued as if she hadn't spoken. "She was supposed to be perfect, she was supposed to be here! With Sawyer. With me." His eyes filled up with tears that wouldn't fall. "She promised!"
"Lucas." She knelt down beside him and put both her hands on his shoulders. "Lucas, look at me." His eyes connected with hers, and they looked so lost and afraid that she almost broke down right then. "I know it's hard to believe right now, but we're going to get through this. I promise you," she whispered, and she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.
"But this is too difficult, Brooke," he whispered. "I just… I don't know what to do without her."
"All right, listen to me," she said, sounding determined now. "You remember when I started Clothes Over Bros? It was right after we broke up, and I was trying to mend my broken heart by focusing on my work. And you need to do the same right now. You need to go out there and become the best writer and the best father that you can be to Sawyer, and then you try to fix those other parts. And if you succeed, well, then you know that you've done all right. Okay?"
"But what if I can't, Brooke?" His voice cracked, and his eyes pleaded for an answer that she couldn't give. "What if I can't fix myself? I mean," the words started flowing fast now. "how am I supposed to take care of a baby when I can hardly take care of myself right now?"
"Luke–"
"And how," he spoke over her, "how am I supposed to love Sawyer when it killed Peyton to have her?" he questioned softly, and Brooke froze. There was so much anguish in his words, so much shame that suddenly the damaged copy of The Comet made sense.
"Oh, Lucas," Brooke instinctively tightened her grip on his shoulders as she spoke. "This isn't Sawyer's fault. Even if I don't understand why it happened, I know that much at least. And if you're honest with yourself, deep down… you know it, too," she said while her own tears began to cloud her vision. "You're going to love Sawyer, Luke. I know you will. Because she's your daughter. Because she's Peyton's daughter. And because that's what Peyton would've wanted."
Lucas finally came undone. His shoulders slumped and his body started shaking. In his tears, he looked so much like a child that all Brooke wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and rock him to sleep. Which was exactly what she did.
"Come here," she said softly as she directed him to his bed and lied down beside him.
"I don't want to be alone," he mumbled from the crook of her neck, still trembling. "I just want her to be here again."
"I know." She tightened her hold on him and whispered soothing reassurances in his ear to calm him down. "It'll be okay," she whispered. "It's all going to be okay, you'll see. Just have a little faith, Luke."
"What if I don't have any left?" he whispered against her; a question so broken that Brooke couldn't stop the tears from spilling over.
"Then I'll give you all of mine."
o-o
Brooke had volunteered to stay and look after both Sawyer and Lucas. That included cleaning out the house, feeding Sawyer, bathing Sawyer…bathing Lucas… Not that she minded. She had nowhere to be, anyway – no thoughts to think, no best friend to hang out with.
Sipping her morning coffee and pulling into the intersection just in front of Lucas's house, Brooke mulled over this fact – and then thought about how drastically her life had changed in the days after Peyton's funeral. It was true what they said, you needed to change your rituals when someone you loved died; but this was so much more than that. She was the dead girl's best friend so, of course, in a town as small as Tree Hill, where everybody's business was everyone else's, people were going to treat her differently. It didn't escape her notice, for instance, that the elderly lady at the counter, with the enormously wide smile, had slipped in a complimentary packet of Skittles into her bag of groceries on more than one occasion. Or that, for more than a week now, the neighbors had thought it their duty to feed Lucas over and over again by stuffing his refrigerator with all kinds of food, from Italian to Chinese. It seemed kind of sad to get the VIP treatment on account of being the most bereaved.
And then there were the random (one-sided) conversations Brooke sometimes found herself having with her late best friend. She had never been one to talk to the dead, or even really believe that by some miracle they heard their loved ones. That always been Peyton's scene. But now that Peyton herself was out there, she was kind of hoping they could.
She told Peyton about how Larry Sawyer had finally put up their old house for sale because the memories of both a dead wife and daughter were just too much for him to bear. She told her about the new tenants, a young couple in their early thirties, and how just the thought of them scared the shit out of her. They had so much power to take a big chunk of her life away – her memories with Peyton mostly, and now that Peyton was gone, she couldn't make more of them. She had to hold on to what she had.
And she told her about Lucas – Lucas, who was struggling. Drowning in a sea of all consuming emotions. For whatever reason, he was unwilling to let anyone else in. Not his brother, not his best friend. Brooke doubted that Lucas would've even let her in if she hadn't been at his side every waking hour of the day since Peyton's funeral.
"P. Sawyer, you've got to help me get through to him," she murmured into the silence of the car. "He's hurting because he wants you. I'm hurting because I want you, and I guess I'm just…scared, you know? So if you can hear me…," her voice tripped before she picked up again, "please help me, help him."
It wasn't the first time she had made the same request and she suspected it wouldn't be the last either.
Nevertheless, talking to her best friend in the solitude of her car gave Brooke the confidence she needed on her way back to Lucas's. A confidence that began to wane as soon as she walked through the front door and was greeted with nothing but silence. "Luke?" she called out to no avail. "Lucas?"
Throwing her handbag on to the couch with a heavy sigh, Brooke walked down the hall to his closed bedroom door. She could hear no sound from within and didn't bother knocking before slowly pushing the door open.
He didn't appear to have moved since she left earlier that morning. With his eyes open, he continued to stare up at the ceiling, lost in whatever music that was blasting through the headphones that were securely encased in his ears. Brooke noticed that the black sports pants and gray t-shirt he wore were the same ones from the previous evening, which only further revealed his lack of movement.
Brooke sighed again. This was an instance where she'd have to go more than halfway, she thought to herself, before she purposefully pulled the headphones from his ears. "Maybe it's time you got up, don't you think, Scott?" Brooke informed him while fluttering around the room, searching for something Lucas could change into. "Haley and Nathan still have another hour baby-sitting Sawyer before I said I'd go pick her up. I'd come right back if I could. But I've got some sketches I need to get done for Maceys so I'm just going to order some Chinese take-out and have it at the store. You're more than welcome, of course, but we both know that's not going to happen so I'll just bring something over for you later, all right? Oh, and there's some left over spaghetti in the fridge if you get hungry before then."
Lucas didn't answer, and Brooke wasn't expecting him to. Silence was something she had reluctantly gotten used to in the days after his wife's death.
"Unless you want to start growing mold all over the place, it's about high time you went and took a shower," Brooke said and dropped a pile of clothes beside him.
"I don't care. Just leave me alone," he muttered without turning in her direction.
That did it. Brooke's temper flared after almost a week of walking a fine line between pity and anger; a tiring game of one step forward, two steps back.
"You know what, that's a great idea, Luke. I should just leave," she retorted. Sarcasm dripped from her every word as she leaned down to grasp his chin, refusing to let go until his blue eyes met hazel. "Then Sawyer – who by the way is your daughter – can cry throughout the whole night. Not that you'd even hear her with these fucking headphones you have plugged into your ears twenty four/seven," she spat icily. "Or maybe I should just let Haley and Nathan watch over Sawyer instead, and then you won't have to worry about me coming in and out of your room, nagging you about essentials like showering and, oh, I don't know – eating."
Before he even opened his mouth, Brooke knew that her anger hadn't reached him. Defiant and so unlike the Lucas Scott she had grown to love and respect over the years, his response was low and unimpressed. "I never asked for your help," he said, proving her assumption correct.
"No, you didn't," Brooke agreed. "But Peyton did." Releasing his chin, she leaned back and quietly said, "I promised her that I'd help you get back on your feet again, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. So yell at me, hate me… whatever makes you feel better but don't, for one second, think that I'm going to walk away and let you wallow in your self-pity. Because I'm not."
She finished with a flourish, but Lucas didn't even do much as blink. Except for the slight melting of the ice in his blue eyes, he continued to stare at her with a somber expression.
"All right, look," she sighed after a moment, shaking her head when he remained mute. "I'm gonna go pick Sawyer up now, and I'll be at the store with her till about four so just… please get cleaned up by the time we get back. Okay?"
Without waiting for a reply, Brooke turned on her heel and walked out the side door. Birds chirped, flowers blossomed and the sun shone but she felt no happiness. Had no smile for the day. All Brooke could muster was the faint hope that sooner or later she'd get through to Lucas. For Peyton. And most of all for Sawyer.
o-o
"Brooke's right, you know," Peyton told Lucas as he watched the brunette leave through the front gate. "You need a shower. You're stinking up the place, Luke," she grinned.
But Lucas's face didn't light up like his late wife's did. Instead, his eyes narrowed dangerously and he glared at the blonde apparition in front of him. More often than not, his mind played tricks on him and he'd often find himself talking to Peyton at the most unlikeliest of times. "Why do you care? You're not even real," he snapped.
"Ouch," Peyton clutched at her heart in mock pain. "That hurts."
"Yeah, well, you hurt me," Lucas muttered, and Peyton's smirk slowly faded.
She sighed. "Luke," she said gently, stroking his arm, "I didn't do this on purpose."
"You promised you'd be here."
"I promised I'd try, and I did."
Lucas shook his head, swallowing hard. "It's not fair."
"Life isn't fair, Lucas," Peyton murmured. "But you being miserable is never going to change that. I want you to be happy, you know. I don't want you to be alone. And I don't want you to give up on life, on our daughter."
He rubbed a hand over his tried face. "I just don't know how to liveanymore, Peyton."
She locked gazes with him, and refused to let go. "Well, don't clam up for one. Let people in, honey. Let Nathan and Haley in. Let Brooke in…" she said with a meaningful look.
Lucas shook his head. "Brooke is…" he began, and then trailed off when he suddenly remembered his break down more than two nights ago.
Unpleasantly awoken from his fitful slumber, Lucas felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. "Not again," he groaned.
In his haste, he hadn't shut the door completely and Brooke walked right in a few seconds behind him when she heard Lucas emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.
He wanted to, but couldn't tell her about the nightmares he couldn't escape or how sick they had been making him. The reoccurring one he had every night since Peyton had died.
He pictured his wife on the ground. The expressionless look on her face. The blood that pooled around her body and stained her white dress.
"Brooke," he groaned when he felt her kneel down behind him.
It hurts, Lucas longed to admit when he heard her say she was right there with him. I'm scared
The words stayed in his mouth while everything else came rushing out.
"I got you," Brooke told him when he had nothing left in his stomach to vomit and slumped against her, exhausted and nauseous. She cradled his sweat slicked body against hers, running her fingers through his unruly blonde locks.
"Don't tell anyone," he pleaded quietly, asking her to hide all that she had seen.
And even though he knew how much it would cost her, Lucas felt Brooke nod without hesitating.
"I don't know what I'd do without her," Lucas finally said, grimacing at the memory. "I mean, with Sawyer and…well, everything."
Peyton nodded. "She cares about you, Luke. Just…cut her some slack, all right? Don't give her such a hard time. She's trying her best."
Lucas shot his wife a sideways smile. "This feels like déjà vu," he told her.
Peyton smiled, too, knowing exactly what he was alluding to – that night after Keith's death when Brooke had thrown Lucas a party to help him heal. "Be nice," she said again.
Their gazes locked, and Lucas felt his smile slip. "I miss you, Peyton. I loved you so much."
She nodded, her eyes full. "I loved you, too, Lucas. More than life, more than anything."
"Will you be back?"
"Whenever you need me," Peyton reached across the ledge to squeeze his hand. "Just promise me that you'll look after Sawyer. That you'll show her what love is."
Lucas hesitated. "I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking. Oh, and one more thing?"
"Anything."
"Can you please go take a shower now?" Peyton wrinkled her nose, and Lucas couldn't but laugh.
o-o
As promised, Brooke returned at four, carrying Sawyer in one hand and a pizza box in the other. Aside from kinking her brow curiously, she made no comment about his clean clothes and freshly washed hair. "Why don't you get a couple of plates while I get Sawyer's carrier?" she suggested when the silence between them became palpable.
"Sure," he murmured in agreement.
"Thanks," Brooke replied and left Lucas alone with the food.
When she returned later, she expertly strapped Sawyer in her carrier and then picked up the bottle of milk she'd kept on the counter earlier. Shaking it a few times, Brooke opened the cap and held the bottle to Sawyer's lips, who started drinking greedily at once. "That's my girl," Brooke smiled at his daughter. "Aren't you a little sweetheart?"
Lucas watched in amazement as Sawyer giggled in response. But what shocked him even more was how his whole center seemed to soften at the sound.
"Unlike your daddy here," Brooke threw him a reproachful look, which startled him out of his thoughts. "If only he'd drink and eat without throwing a raging, hissy fit."
"Raging, hissy fit?" Lucas repeated.
Brooke laughed. "No, you're right. You're more of the sulking type, aren't you, Scott? Anyway," she said, opening the box of pizza and pushing it toward him. "Eat. Now. Before it gets too cold."
"Yes, mom," he muttered obediently before he reached for a slice of pepperoni pizza. Brooke smiled.
"So what did you do while Sawyer and I were away?" she asked, feeding Sawyer some more milk.
Lucas shrugged. "Nothing much." He paused. "You?"
"I… completed a few designs. Nathan and Haley came over to the store. And oh my god, funniest thing ever," she suddenly turned to look at Lucas, her hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. "We caught Deb making out with yet another twenty-something year old. They came out of that convenience store just opposite Clothes Over Bro's – you know the one, right? – and Deb's hair was a wreck and her bra strap kept falling down her arm," Brooke giggled. "The guy must've stretched it out or something. But, oh boy, you should've seen Nathan's face – he was practically purple." The brunette suddenly leaned toward Lucas as if she were going to tell him a secret, "If you ask me, I think he's probably just jealous that his mom's getting more action than he is," she whispered confidentially, surprising a laugh out of Lucas.
Her eyes softened at the sound. "Look at you," she murmured, staring at him.
Lucas suddenly felt self-conscious. "What?"
She shrugged. "Your smile… I've missed it," Brooke told him before she promptly turned back to Sawyer again with a wide smile on her face. "We've missed Daddy's smile, haven't we, baby girl? Hmm?" Brooke continued to talk at a hundred words a minute, and Lucas let her voice settle around him like a familiar symphony.
I want you to be happy.
He wasn't happy, not yet. But as terrible as it all was, as ruined, sick, tortured, sad, and hopeless, he looked at the faces of his daughter and Brooke. He watched Sawyer squeal as Brooke tickled her tiny feet again, and he couldn't help but think how strangely comfortable it felt to be with them, how in spite of the ravages under the skin, so little on the surface had changed.
"Hey Brooke?" Lucas asked hesitantly, afraid to spoil serenity of the moment
The brunette glanced up at him at once, her eyebrows raised. "Mm-hm?"
He couldn't understand why exactly, but it took him a moment to work up the courage to ask, "You're staying again tonight, right?"
Surprise flitted across her face, and then her hazel eyes softened. "Of course," Brooke answered without even thinking about it, and Lucas nodded, feeling inexplicably relieved.
"Good."
o-o
"Baby girl," Brooke announced, carrying a large box of Peyton's things and keeping it on the bed next to Sawyer. "I've got a crap load of – oops," she paused. "Don't tell your daddy that I swore in front of you, all right?" She made puppy dogs eyes at Sawyer and laughed. "Of course you won't. Anyway, I've got some of your mom's stuff and I decided it's time we take a look at it together. All right?"
Smiling at her god daughter, Brooke rummaged around the cardboard box and pulled out a few things. "These," she said, looking through a stack of papers, "were your mom's sketches. She was a great artist, you know? Granted, she was also a tortured one, but your dad was kind of broody, too, so they were perfect for each other."
Sawyer smiled, as if she understood, and Brooke giggled, nuzzling her teeny tiny nose. "Yeah, I know. You aren't going to be like that, are you, because your middle name's Brooke? You'll see. We always have more fun." The brunette started looking through the box again. "Oh!" she gasped when she picked up a familiar purple dress. Tears began to prickle her eyes. "I can't believe she kept this," Brooke murmured, feeling the crinkly material.
Sawyer squealed, and Brooke nodded, turning to her. "Yeah, this was the first dress your mom bought for herself, sweetie. Or rather, I bought for her…" she trailed off, remembering.
"I think this would look good on you," Peyton suggested, smirking.
"I think it would look good on Aunt Lavinia."
"Oh, come on. It's not bad."
"Yes, it is."
"Yeah, okay. I guess it is," Peyton agreed before moving to the back of the store. She pulled out a dress of greenish Lycra. "How about this one? It would sort of go with your eyes."
"Too shiny," Brooke checked the price tag and frowned. "Besides, it costs more than two hundred dollars. No, thanks."
They continued scouring the racks.
"Hey," Brooke grinned mischievously, grabbing a bright red oversized plaid that was about ten inches long from waist to hem. "This is definitely the one, don't you think?"
Peyton snorted. "That wouldn't even cover half your ass."
The brunette's face was a mask of faux tragedy as she replaced the dress. "Okay, what do you think of this, then?" she asked, pulling out a striking knee length dress made of crinkly wine-colored silk.
"Wow," Peyton raised a brow as she surveyed it. "It's beautiful, Brooke. But I think it might be a bit too long for you."
"I know," Brooke smiled. "I was thinking for you, actually."
Peyton blinked in surprise. "What?"
"Do you like it?"
"Brooke, I already have a dress."
"And now you have a better one," the brunette shrugged, holding it under her friend's chin. "So go try it on."
"Brooke–"
"Now," she led the way to the fitting rooms, hiding a smile.
Tying her hair into a pony tail, Brooke perched on the bench and watched Peyton wrestle with the dress a little before pulling it over her head. It fell neatly and straight to her knees.
Brooke raised a brow. "Wow," she murmured as Peyton snuck a few glances at herself. "You look beautiful, you know."
"Do you think?"
"Definitely."
It was rather shocking to see Peyton like this. After all, throughout her life, the blonde had always eschewed dresses, opting instead for her leather jackets and T-shirts. But Brooke didn't want to make a big deal out of it.
Peyton had the kind of body that girls yearned for and boys didn't notice. She was straight-down and lithe. She had no unsightly parts that stuck out. Her hips were narrow like a boy's, and her breasts were small. When the both of them had been in the full trauma of middle puberty, Brooke had wished like anything that she was Peyton. When she got teased and tortured and bra-strap snapped, she wished it even more. Sometimes even now she wished it.
"You're so getting that dress," Brooke told her.
Peyton frowned. "Give it up, B. Davis. I'm not made out of money."
"Luckily for you, I am. Think of it as… an early Christmas gift."
Peyton looked up at the brunette, resolute. "Brooke, no."
"I mean it. Come on." Brooke took the dress and marched toward the sales counter. "We'll take it," she said grandly to the saleslady and threw down her debit card.
Brooke nodded. "That was a good day," she told Sawyer with a smile. "But let me tell you, your mom was one picky chick."
Her eyes suddenly fell on an oval-shaped gift box that had the words: For Sawyer scrawled on the lid. Curious, Brooke pulled it out and opened it, and what she saw inside made her gasp. From the looks of it, Peyton had left everything she'd ever wanted her daughter to have in it. An iPod with a playlist of about a hundred songs, a few photographs, and, Brooke stared in amazement, at the comic strip Peyton had drawn of her and Lucas's history together.
First of all, you don't know me. And second of all, you don't know me.
Brooke felt her eyes water as she looked through the drawings. "See, I told you that your mom was talented," she murmured to Sawyer with a watery smile. And almost as if she sensed that the pictures were important, Sawyer reached out and touched cartoon Peyton's face. And promptly started crying.
Discarding the sketches, Brooke picked her up immediately and started rocking her gently. "I know, I know," she whispered, trying to console the crying baby. "I wish she was here, too."
When she quieted down, Brooke smoothed out the sheet in Sawyer's crib and kept her inside, being very careful not to knock her head against the edge. She was very sleepy now, rubbing her eyes with her tiny little fists and yawning often. Brooke watched the baby close her eyes; and when she was certain Sawyer was asleep, the brunette went back to the bed and started putting all of Peyton's stuff for her daughter back into the gift box again. Halfway through rearranging the sketches, Brooke suddenly caught sight of a cassette tape tucked right in the corner.
Frowning, she picked it up and started studying it, then looked over her shoulder at Sawyer one last time before she switched the light off and left the room. Brooke checked on Lucas, too, who was sprawled across his own bed, fast asleep, and made her way to the living room. She hesitantly pulled the tape out from under her arm and slid it into the VCR player before switching the TV on. The moment she pressed play, Peyton's face appeared on screen and Brooke gasped, staring at her late best friend in muffled surprise. She felt as though every nerve in her body was on alert. Peyton was here, right in front of her; and she was talking and looking, seeming to take as much from the camera as she gave to it.
"Choose wisely, okay," Peyton smiled into the screen, and Brooke felt the surge of emotion smack her like a sandbag across the head. "I got really lucky with mine. My best friend is…funny. Intelligent. Creative, beautiful. Successful. And kind," she chuckled lightly. "She's also," Peyton went on, looking amused, "impulsive. Frustrating, and um…complicated, childish..."
Brooke laughed, listening to Peyton's motherly tone kick in. She saw such familiar things about the blonde. The way she tilted her head when she laughed. The crook of her elbows, the top of her ear poking through her long hair.
"But," Peyton paused, her voice rough with emotion, "I wouldn't have her any other way," she said, and Brooke swallowed hard, wiping her tears hastily. She forced a deep breath. "And the best part about Brooke Davis," Peyton continued, still smiling, albeit a little sadly now, "is that she always puts her friends first. So," she shrugged, "if you were in any kind of trouble, now you know who to call. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have watching over me…"
Without thinking, Brooke pressed the pause button and watched as the video froze with Peyton still smiling at the camera, the sunlight washing off her lose, light-colored hair. The resolution diminished , but the image was even more striking. Peyton was really here, right in front of her, and Brooke was suddenly afraid that her face would disappear. So she stared at it, hard, until all she could see was the golden green of her best friend's eyes.
o-o
Lucas woke up in the middle of the night. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and climbed out of bed. The first thing he heard was the TV, and he frowned. Was Brooke still awake? Hastily pulling a T-shirt over his head, he opened the door and walked into the living room, and sure enough, there was Brooke, sitting on the carpet, tears streaming down her cheeks.
But Lucas didn't see her, not really. What really caught his attention was the blonde hovering on the TV screen in front of him. Her face was of such loveliness and deep familiarity that Lucas, honest-to-god, thought he was dreaming her again.
"Now there's just one thing," Peyton was saying, "that I need from you."
And suddenly Lucas realized that this wasn't one of his visions of her, but the good bye video Peyton had made for Sawyer just days before their wedding.
I want our child to remember me," she'd told Lucas when they'd first argued about it. Just in case.
But Lucas had looked her straight in the eye, and said, our child is not going to have to remember you. Our child is going to know you.
And he'd been wrong.
"Please take very special care of your father," Peyton's voice startled him out his thoughts, and once again he found himself staring at his wife. He realized with an old feeling of sorrow that all the apparitions he'd conjured of her in his mind had not done her any justice. He was glad for the real face again, for Peyton's eyes.
"Because if I'm not around," Peyton continued, choking on her words, "he's going to need you to take care of him."
"Luke?" Brooke murmured, her voice soft, and he suddenly realized that the brunette was staring at him with an expression of anguish that matched his to tee.
"So love him," Peyton was saying in the background. "Take care of him. And be kind to him."
Lucas's face crumpled abruptly, and Brooke got to her feet in one swift moment and wrapped her arms around him. Her hair brushed against the side of his neck, and he closed his eyes. A new pain twisted through him, surprisingly close to his heart.
"I'm sorry, Lucas."
Everything was different now, everything was damaged; but her body still communicated with his. She meant to say, he knew, that she did understand, that she missed Peyton Sawyer with every fiber of her being too.
