Thanks for the reviews! And yes, this will be a Leyton story. It will have some Brucas undertones, but let's just say that Leyton will come through by the end.

I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. I have to set up for Eater tomorrow and then Sunday is Easter, so the earliest I could update is Monday (and that depends on how much homework I'll have). But I'll try my best to get the next chapter up ASAP.

"Here you go."

Lucas handed the large mug of hot tea to Peyton. He had rushed into the kitchen to make her something warm to drink the moment she had sat down, trying his best to avoid talking to her. He wanted to get his mind clear before they discussed her state.

"Thank you," Peyton replied quietly. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, her stuffed backpack at her feet. She still hadn't taken off her jacket, as though she were frightened of revealing more bruises to him.

"So," Lucas began, taking a seat next to her, "are you gonna tell me?"

Peyton lifted the dark purple mug to her lips. Raising her eyebrows, she said innocently, "Tell you what?"

Lucas ran a hand through his unruly hair as Peyton took a sip of the tea. He heaved a great sigh before responding. "The name of the guy who did this to you."

Peyton choked on her hot drink. Lifting her hand in front of her mouth, she coughed several times until her throat was clear. "And what," she began quietly, her voice somewhat hoarse, "would make you think someone did this to me? Because no one did this to me. I'm just clumsy, that's all."

Even she could tell her excuse was lame, but it was all she had. The truth was the only excuse for her cuts and bruises was that someone had beaten her up. She just didn't want to tell Lucas that.

"I know someone did this to you." Lucas glanced sideways at Peyton, his blue eyes blazing with buried anger. "I know some guy hurt you because you're covered in bruises, I know what men are capable of, and, quite frankly, I understand what kind of guys you go for."

Peyton gave a small chuckle as she placed her mug on Lucas's bedside table. "Hey, I went for you, didn't I?" she teased, punching him lightly on the arm.

Lucas raised his eyebrows at her to show that he didn't find it funny. This situation was anything but a joke to him. He was angry, upset, confused, and worried. He didn't understand how she could just laugh it off like her wrist wasn't killing her or the scratch on her cheek wasn't bleeding slightly. When he spoke, his voice was cold and angry. "Don't change the subject."

"Don't judge me!" Peyton snapped, turning her head to face him. "Don't try and force this out of me! If I don't want to talk then I don't have to." She felt like she was going to throw up. Her stomach was churning and her face suddenly felt hot and sweaty. Staring Lucas straight in the eye, she took a deep breath and tried to steady herself.

Lucas raised both hands in the air in defeat. Pursing his lips, he glanced up at the ceiling before staring Peyton back in the face. "Fine," he said simply. "Fine. We won't talk about it." Peyton nodded happily at his words, glad to have gotten her way. Ignoring her, Lucas continued. "I guess I just can't understand why you'd let someone treat you like that."

Peyton's blood began to boil again at his words. Let someone treat her that way? She whipped around to face him again, looking appalled. "Let him? I didn't let him treat me that way, okay?"

Lucas shrugged before continuing. "Well it looks like you let him to me. A lot of your bruises are old. And since you just now showed up, I can only guess that this has been going on for a while. So up until now, you didn't even try to get out of it." Tilting his head sideways, he gazed at her face, as though challenging her to correct him. "You just let it happen."

Peyton stood abruptly, her entire body suddenly shaking. "Great job, Luke," she huffed as her eyes filled with tears. "Really, you're doing a great job adding insult to injury here. Just keep on kicking me while I'm down, why don't you? You're really great at it, and Lord knows I really enjoy it." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm, but it was obvious that his words had hurt her deeply.

Peyton reached down to grab her bag, her breathing coming in short and quick gasps. Mentally kicking himself, Lucas got to his feet. Peyton swung her bag over her right shoulder and began to walk slowly to the door. Lucas rushed toward her and grabbed her upper arm. She stopped in place but didn't turn to look at him.

"Look, I'm sorry," Lucas began. "I'm really sorry, Peyton. I was being an ass. You're the victim here. I didn't mean to be such a jerk. Would you please just sit down?" He moved his hand to the strap of her backpack and slowly took it off her. "You're in no state to go walking around Tree Hill. We don't have to talk about this. But you can't leave."

Setting the bag on the floor, he moved his hand to her back and rubbed it comfortingly. Peyton's shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. For a while they stood like that, in complete silence. Finally, her shaking subsided and she lifted her hand to rub her eyes. Turning to face him, Peyton forced a small smile.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said sadly. "I'm too tired. We can talk tomorrow."

Lucas grinned, trying his hardest to seem happy. Inside he was screaming. Do something! Make her see a doctor! Find out who did it and kick his ass! Get her some fucking food, she's skin and bones! Putting an arm lightly around her shoulders, he led her back to his bed.

"Here," he said. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the flo-"

"Oh, no," Peyton interrupted, pushing away from him. "I'm not taking the bed. It's yours. You sleep there and I'll take the floor." Wrapping her arms around herself, she attempted to smile at him.

Lucas groaned, tilting his head back so he was facing the ceiling. "I'm not taking the bed," he murmured as he placed his hands over his eyes. "Look, you're my guest, you're in bad shape, and you look like you haven't had a decent sleep in months. Take the stupid bed. I'm fine on the floor."

Dropping his head, he glared at her. His eyes seemed to speak for him- You're on the bed and that's final. He couldn't stand the thought of her on the hard floor. It could definitely be murder on her already battered body. She needed to feel safe and comfortable, and at the moment all he could offer her was a nice bed to sleep in.

Peyton huffed loudly, giving in. She knew his intentions were good, and even though she wanted to be a good guest she was having trouble denying the comfortable mattress in front of her. "Let me at least help you get set up down there," she offered, grabbing one of the blankets.

Folding the blanket in half, Peyton attempted to make a comfortable base for Lucas to sleep on. She sprawled the blanket out on the floor, removing anything in the way. Lucas reached onto the bed and grabbed two of the four pillows. Together they set up his bed on the floor. It was almost like old times, times before Peyton disappeared to New York, as though it weren't 3:30 in the morning and one of his closest friends wasn't completely black and blue.

As Lucas reached for the edge of the blanket to straighten out, his arm collided harshly with Peyton's left wrist. She reacted almost instantly: gasping in pain, she pulled her arm closely to her body, her breathing ragged. Tears began to pour out of her eyes uncontrollably as she winced in pain, holding her arm limply like an injured puppy.

"I'm sorry," Lucas gasped, crawling closer to her. "Oh God, Peyton, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you okay?" He reached for her wrist. At first Peyton pulled back, but when he grabbed her arm again she gave in. Pulling the sleeve of her grey jacket back, Lucas stared down at her wrist. What he saw made him gasp in horror.

Peyton's entire wrist was completely black. It was bruised all the way around, at least four inches up and down. The wrist seemed unstable and limp, and the hand beyond it was pale and freezing to the touch.

"Peyton!" Lucas gasped. "Have you seen a doctor for this? It looks completely broken!"

As Lucas looked up at her with concerned eyes, Peyton dropped her head in shame. Lucas felt his hear breaking again for the second time that night. He fought the urge to rage and scream. Instead, he dropped her arm gently and pulled her into a hug. Peyton whimpered against him, wrapping her right arm around his waist tightly, as though she were afraid to let go. Lucas closed his eyes, nuzzling his face into her blonde curls, breathing in the faded scent of her strawberry shampoo.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that. His shirt became wet from her tears but it didn't faze him. He continued to squeeze her, letting her know that he was there for her and he cared about her more than anything. Eventually her breathing became more even, and he could feel her heartbeat slowing down again. They remained in the embrace for a few more minutes before Peyton finally pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

For a moment they both stared at the floor in silence. An awkward tension hung in the room as both tried to think of something to say. Lucas realized his foot had fallen asleep; he began to hit it against the floor, breaking the silence. After a few more minutes Peyton looked up.

Lucas felt a twinge of hurt as he stared into her eyes. They were unrecognizable. Before Peyton had left, her hazel eyes had always held something. When she was drawing or listening to music they glowed with passion; when she was angry they seemed to be on fire; when she had kissed him they had light up as bright as the stars outside. Even when she had showed up tonight, her eyes had held something- a dark, unspeakable fear. But at that moment they were empty of any emotion. They were dark, dull, and clouded over. She looked lost, completely detached from the world around her, as though all the hurt and pain she'd been through had taken over her entire soul. Lucas was at a loss for words. He simply stared back at her, his stomach churning.

"I'm, uh…I'm gonna go to bed," Peyton muttered, getting to her feet. She dove onto the bed quickly and covered herself completely with blankets, as though any moment longer on the ground with Lucas would be the death of her.

Lucas sat up more and placed her hand on her back. He felt her flinch slightly under his touch but ignored it. "Peyton," he began gently, "I want you to see a doctor tomorrow. Your wrist looks really bad."

Peyton raised her head and stared back at him in shock. "I can't see a doctor!" Her voice was suddenly loud and high-pitched, almost hysterical. Her breathing became ragged again as she continued on. "They're just going to ask how it happened! What am I supposed to say? They'll drag the police in and try me make me talk!" Tears spilled down her cheeks once again as she buried her head in the pillow.

Lucas scratched the back of his neck, his head spinning. She doesn't want to deal with it. She can't deal with it. His eyes began to fill with tears as the realization struck him. It hurt him to see her in so much pain. Rubbing his hand up and down her back, he replied softly. "They can't make you talk, Peyton. If someone hurt you, you have to press charges. The police can't do anything unless you ask them to. You've got nothing to worry about, Peyton. I'll be there with you. I can tell them to leave you alone if they try to ask you anything." He took a deep breath and continued. "But I need you to do this. I'm worried enough about you. Your arm looks really bad. I don't want it to get any worse."

Peyton laid in silence for a while, her breathing becoming steadier. Finally, she rolled onto her bed and propped herself up on her elbows. Her pale face was blotchy, her cheeks stained from tears. Clearing her throat, she muttered, "Okay, I'll go. But I don't want you telling the doctors to leave me alone if they ask me about it."

Lucas raised his eyebrows at her. "Why not?"

"Because," Peyton began, a sad smile playing at her lips, "then they'll think you're the one who hurt me, and I don't want that." She sighed deeply as Lucas nodded in agreement. Glancing at the bedside clock, she was shocked to see that it was nearly five in the morning. "Lucas, I'm tired. I'm exhausted. We should go to sleep." Flopping back against the pillows, she pulled the blanket over herself and turned on her side. "Good night."

Lucas stared at Peyton's back with a half open mouth before lying back against his pillow also. Reaching his arm up, he twisted the light off. He attempted to close his eyes and sleep, but found himself lying with open eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. He lied there for nearly half an hour, the night's events swirling around inside his head. His heart was still racing, his mind full of confusion and worry. He could tell by the unsteadiness of her breathing that she was awake too. Running his hands over his face, he forced himself to speak.

"Peyton," he called into the darkness.

It was a few seconds before she responded. "Yeah?"

Lucas bit his lip, wondering if he should speak his mind or not. He didn't want to frighten her, but at the same time he knew something needed to be said, and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep if he didn't say it right away.

"Please don't keep this from me. You have to tell me at some point. You have to tell me who did this. You have to explain what happened and what he did and how often and everything. You can't keep this to yourself. Because if you do, it's all going to build up inside until you completely break down. You need to talk about this with someone. And I'm always here to listen. I want to help you. You need to talk."

Silence.

"You know that, right?"

More silence. Lucas held his breath as he waited for Peyton to respond. His heart was racing faster than it had all night. On the bed, Peyton shifted uncomfortable. Her eyes were wide and fearful, her heart pounding against her ribcage. She sat in silence for a while longer, a sob threatening to escape her. As she breathed in deeply, a single tear rolled down her cheek.

"…yeah. I know."