Disclaimer! Nomnomnom. I don't own, but I'd like to? Yeah, trick. Title Credit to A Little Less Conversation by Elvis. Hell yeah.

Thanks for checking the story out, everyone! c:

A Little Less Conversation, A Little More Action - Chapter Two.

Brooke waited for the third ring before she started pleading with the phone.

"Rachel." A slight whine, "Rachel. Pick the fuck – Oh thank God. Rachel?"

"You got lucky this time. Do you always start phone calls like that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Rachel hummed, like she was considering it. "No, actually, I don't think so. Anyway, let's keep this quick. You're charging for phone calls now, aren't you?" She paused. "Aren't I supposed to call you?"

Couldn't help it. Brooke smirked when she said, "Well, I always have been told I have a great voice. And money's tight and I couldn't wait for you lonely bitch to call me."

She sniggered. "Okay, so, what's your problem?"

"I think you have the problem, actually."

Suddenly serious. "Don't bring that up and ruin a totally good insult fest. I'm better, I swear it."

Rachel sounded so much like she wanted to convince Brooke that she was okay, like she thought that Brooke still had the power to get her a job (which, okay, yeah, Rachel probably did think that). It broke Brooke's heart a little bit.

"No, not that."

"Oh." Brighter. "Well, what then?"

Brooke hesitated. "Someone came looking for you today."

"Yeah, well. Nathan does still love me."

"And I can still kick your ass, even if it has gotten bigger."

"Oh, funny."

"I thought so. But really, Rachel, this girl… she said that she knew you before you came to Tree Hill."

Rachel let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah? How 'bout that. Did she leave a name?"

Brooke shook her head. "No." She paused and Rachel inhaled and Brooke could hear the, 'well, thanks Brooke, but it really doesn't matter' so she beat Rachel to speaking. "Rachel, I didn't like her. And I talked to her for all of a minute and a half."

"You always were quick to hate people."

Brooke laughed sarcastically. "Well when they're hitting on the guy I'm dating…"

"You guys weren't dating!" She paused and there was a soft clicking. Brooke suddenly had a vision of Rachel chewing her fingernail. "How is Lucas, anyway? I didn't really get to see him last time I was there…"

"He's okay." And Brooke tried to keep her voice optimistic. She really did. "Great, actually. He and Peyton are engaged and expecting. The best part? I'm Maid of Honor, and you're not invited."

"You are so full of shit, Brooke Davis."

Brooke shook her head again. "Not so much. You really aren't invited!"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about." Brooke did. "I always did hate Peyton."

"And you always had a soft spot for Lucas. And Peyton's just smarter than you." She didn't get addicted to drugs.

"I don't think it's me she has to worry about." Brooke was about to comment when Rachel said, "So, she didn't leave a name or a number or anything?"

It took Brooke a minute to remember who Rachel was talking about. "No, nothing. She just walked in, acted like she owned the place and asked about you by name."

"Can you at least tell me what she looked like? Or were you too busy defending my honor?" Something like amusement was in Rachel's words and Brooke tried to relax. The girl, though she obviously had her head up her own ass, really hadn't done anything to raise Brooke's alarms. Brooke was just being paranoid.

"Black hair, blue eyes. Shorter than Haley…"

Heard the intake of breath on Rachel's side of the line. That did raise Brooke's alarms. The soft, "Shit," sounded like Rachel had said it with her head turned away from the phone. Back on the line, she asked, mumbling and talking through that clicking noise, "Had 'slut' painted all over her?"

Brooke had sort of liked her dress. Hate the bitch, don't hate the clothing. "There was potential."

"I'll be at the airport today at three. Pick me up, whore."

"Rachel, you can't ju-"

All she got was the click of the phone in reply.

Brooke sighed and ended the call, checked the time – it was noon and Brooke wondered, not for the first time, where exactly Rachel was – and then threw her phone onto the chair where she had dropped her coat after walking into the house and fell back onto the couch. She could hear music playing from the direction of Sam's room and groaned.

Rachel and Sam didn't seem like such a great idea.

For Brooke, at least. Because she had no doubt that Rachel would love Sam and vice versa, but that wasn't what Brooke wanted for either of them. If Rachel really was as clean as she said she was, and Brooke believed the sincerity that she'd heard, she wanted to protect that in her friend. As for Sam, well, she preferred to keep her as alcohol and drug free as she could.

Well, good try anyway, Brooke.

She stayed like that for a long time. Long enough for Sam to cycle through the entire new Kanye West before she rolled off of the couch. Literally, onto the floor, and grabbed her coat and her purse before walking to Sam's room and poking her head in.

"Hey."

Sam looked over the top of the iBook that Brooke had bought her from where she was laying on her bed. "Julian dump you?"

Brooke glared. "No, as a matter of fact, he didn't. I have to go pick a friend up from the airport." She said wearily.

"Try not to look so happy!" Sam snarked.

Brooke fake laughed. "Can I trust you to stay here or do I have to take you over to Haley's? If we hurry, you can have naptime with Jamie."

Sam fake laughed back. "I think I'll be fine, Brooke."

Brooke rolled her eyes and turned out to go back into the kitchen. She heard the squeak of the bed springs as Sam followed her. She went to the island counter and shifted through her purse, checking for her keys, and pulled her jacket on. Caught sight of the time, rolled her eyes as if Rachel could see her, and pulled a box of Saltines from the cupboard.

It was so how Rachel could unsettle everything about her.

Sam took a seat at one of the chairs across from her, casting a pointed glance at the crackers. She knew that Brooke only ate them when something was upsetting her. "Who's the friend?"

Brooke shrugged. "Just an old cheerleader friend. She's in some of the pictures over there." Pointed towards the coffee table.

"The redhead?"

Brooke nodded. "That would be Rachel."

"You never talk about her."

"Yeah, we didn't part on the best of terms."

Sam nodded and stayed in silence for a minute. "Did you know it's impossible to eat thirty saltine crackers in a minute?"

Brooke didn't. Didn't believe Sam, either. And so she tried. Several times, in fact. Almost died twice.

By the time she ended up at the airport, she felt sluggish and sick and the last thing she wanted was to have to deal with Rachel. She felt bad almost instantly as she walked through the familiar automatic doors and into the brightly lit terminal. Brooke had practically invited Rachel when she had called her, and it's not like she hated the redhead. Far from it.

Brooke stood off to the side in the main entrance of the airport, arms crossed and chewing heavily on gum. Rachel had said one and it was nearing one thirty and there was still no sign of the redhead. Brooke turned to look at the flight listings and it was the first time she realized that she had no idea where Rachel was flying in from.

God. Some crazy came looking for Rachel and the next minute Rachel was flying into town. Brooke was so over her head and -

"Oh shit, is that Brooke Davis's slutty ass or is Tree Hill just recruiting them now?"

A scandalized mother hurried her laughing eight year old away. Brooke turned back around and found Rachel standing a few feet away, a duffle bag in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

Her hair was longer, hanging straightly to her ribcage. Her eyes were the same bright green, her lips the same soft pink. Where it was visible, her skin was tan and unblemished. And yet, she still looked different.

Brooke couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was until Rachel was in her arms and they were hugging and Brooke could feel Rachel's ribcage and shoulder blades without really trying. They separate and Brooke looked at her again and she noted the way Rachel's collarbone was more prominent, how her arms seemed about to wither away and the way that her hips were the only thing she had left of the curves that had once gotten her into Maxim.

She was too thin. She looked tired. Defeated.