A/N: Damn, I'm on a roll with this story. It's kind of remarkable considering how blocked I currently am for most other things I'm writing. The song used is identified within the chapter, and is completely and totally beautiful. Happy OTH day! Reviews are love, your feedback has been super so far. Patience, grasshoppers. I'll reveal most things pretty soon, I promise. I love speculation in the mean time. :)
...for Forgiveness
"Sawyer!" Craig, Peyton's unbearably irritating boss, snapped the moment he spotted her. His name wasn't even actually Craig; it was just the name he thought was best fit to his personality. He also wasn't technically her boss – he was her old boss, from when she was just getting started, and whom had since picked up the habit of monitoring her success in life. She hated his reasoning, she disagreed with his logic, and she pretty much despised the man.
"I know!" she yelled back, pushing her hair out of her face. "I'm late, I know. But seriously, Mike, I've been married for seven years, my last name is Scott." It was her basic instinct to make a comeback like that; it occurred to her on that morning that she might not necessarily be a Scott for much longer…at least of things continued at the same rate they'd been going.
"Yeah, whatever," he said dismissively as he paced over to her. "I've asked you to call me Mr. Walker about three hundred times, it's not as though you've started to do so. But never mind all of that. Listen."
"Listening," she said back sarcastically, in the same intense tone, resting all her weight on one hip and turning to face him.
"The last band you signed."
Peyton heaved a weary sigh. She was past the point at which she could patiently deal with this. "What about it, Michael?"
"They suck."
Her eyebrows flew sky-high. "Excuse me?"
"They are the worst band I've ever heard."
"They are not!" she argued, albeit a bit childishly, gathering up her things and pushing past him.
"Their sales are virtually nonexistent, Sawyer."
"That's not…" Her objection faded away as he shoved a file that demonstrated the proof of his words in front of her face. "Well, fine, right now they're not doing so well. We'll just up the publicity a little…"
"Peyton," Craig said simply. "Darling, listen to me. No amount of publicity is going to help. They're awful."
"But I…" She sank into a chair and sighed. "Music is my thing," she whispered. "This is my life, this is my…my passion. I'm never wrong."
"Now, that's not true. You've been wrong before; both times you were pregnant. Remember, that's how you figured out you were having a baby, the second time." He paused, eyes widening. "Oh, no; now is not a good time for you to be pregnant."
"Okay…" She sat back in her chair, holding out a hand to stop him from continuing and taking a deep breath. "Firstly, it is none of your business when a good time for me to be pregnant is. If I'm having a baby, I'm having a baby, and there's not exactly anything you can do about it."
His face crumpled in a dramatic, almost comical way, as he squeaked, "You're having a baby?"
She wanted to take off her shoe and throw it at him. "I said firstly. Secondly…no. I'm not having a baby, so don't…have a cow."
"Are you sure?" he asked worriedly.
"No. I figured I'd just guess. And if in nine months I have another kid then…hey, cool." Her eyes shot daggers at him.
Craig held up his hands in surrender. "You're certainly acting hormonal."
"Why are you here, in my offices?" she asked tiredly, unable to keep this up.
"Aw. Are you done being feisty?" he asked, a disappointed frown tugging down his lips. "'Cause you know how I like that."
"Today, of all days, I cannot do this, okay?" she muttered, glancing up at him, vulnerable for a moment.
His smile was almost sympathetic. "Can I help you with something, Sawyer?"
"Your leaving would do wonders for my mood."
Craig smirked. "Drop a button on that shirt and I'll run damage control for your band."
Peyton scowled at him for a long moment, and he stared right back, already aware that he'd won. With a sigh, she slipped a button out of its hole, exposing the smallest bit of the red material of her bra. "Happy?"
His smirk stayed in place as he hopped off the table where he sat, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. "You've got no idea," he chuckled, close to her ear, and then walked off jauntily.
Peyton redid the button – plus another – on her shirt, propped her elbows up on the cool, smooth surface of the table, and rested her head in her hands. It was utterly amazing how so much could change, and how so very little could, at the same time.
-x-
"Scott," she answered her phone, her tone businesslike and smooth. Lucas answered his phone the exact same way.
"You busy?" her husband's voice asked shortly.
She paused, CD tumbling out of her grasp. "I…um…no. I guess I'm not."
"Can we talk?"
"Yeah," she breathed. "Sure. Talk."
"I was hoping…maybe we could meet. You and me…and the kids. Or not, if that would make things easier."
"Luke…listen," she sighed. "The kids are at home with Kaitlyn," she said simply, referring to their oft-employed college-aged babysitter, who was as crazy about their kids as she was about the exciting science behind her physics major. "Why don't you go get them and take them out?"
"Peyton. I want to see them, I'm dying without them, but I want to talk to you." His tone was even and rational. He clearly really wanted what he was asking for.
"I know," she replied softly, sinking into her swivelling chair with a sigh. "But this is a horrible, horrible day for me at work and I just can't. Just…call me tomorrow, and I'll see what we can do."
"What's going on at work?"
She wasn't in a place that allowed her to be able to deal with the sudden heartfelt concern in his voice. "My band flopped, okay?" she snapped aggressively. "Which you would know if you'd been interested in my life lately. No one bought the fucking CD."
"I did," Lucas said, softly and simply, and a maverick sob escaped her lips before she could even think about stopping it. Of course he did.
"I have to go," she whispered, and hung up before he could say anything else that would make her want him back.
-x-
When she spotted her home phone number on her caller ID about three hours later, she snatched up her cell and snapped, "I told you, not today, okay? What the hell are you doing there? I told you that you could take the kids out. They need to adjust to the fact that you're not living there anymore!"
"Um…sorry?"
She let out her breath and sighed, laughing a little, embarrassed at her own mistake. "Kaitlyn, hi…wow, I'm sorry. What's up?" she asked conversationally, double-clicking to open the latest e-mail she'd received, dedicating only half of her attention to the phone call.
"Lucas came and picked the kids up and took them out – which, by the way, I'm still wondering about, but social etiquette is keeping me from giving you the third degree about this separation of yours – and dropped them off about thirty minutes ago…and Willa's looking a little green. She says she wants you to come home."
Peyton turned away from her computer. "Put her on."
There was some rustling, the sound of cartoons on the TV, Bella's giggle, and then Willa said weakly, "Mommy?"
"Hey, sweetie," she said gently. "You're not feeling very good?"
"Like I'm shaking all over and I can't stop. Mommy, come home," her six-year-old begged, and Peyton sighed. Clearly this was just not a day that she could work.
"Okay, honey, I'm on my way. Were you feeling sick when you were with Daddy? Did you tell him?"
Willa whimpered and Peyton's heart skipped a beat. What the hell was she doing, searching for more reasons to be angry with Lucas? Her child was sick. "Okay, never mind. I'm on my way, I promise."
-x-
"He-ey," Kaitlyn's voice was so full of relief when Peyton walked in that her word of greeting stretched into two syllables.
"You look worried. You're worried. Is it that bad?" she asked frantically as she shed her coat.
"No," the babysitter replied comfortingly, pulling on her own jacket. "But I think she's running a fever, and I am two minutes away from being late for a seminar."
"I know, I'm sorry, traffic was bad and cab driver got lost…" She trailed off and shook her head, scribbling a quick check for what was probably more than necessary and handing it off. "Get out of here. And thank you."
"No problem," Kaitlyn assured her, flashing her pearly whites as she rushed out the door.
Willa was curled into the corner of the couch, eyes hidden behind her hand, a position Peyton knew all too well. It was the exact position she herself curled up into when she felt like she was about to launch.
"Aw, baby…you okay?"
"No," Willa murmured, her lips tinged blue.
Peyton placed her hand against her daughter's forehead. She was radiating warmth. "Okay. You're okay. Let's just get you upstairs and into your jammies, then into bed."
"Are you going to take my temperature?"
"No, babe, I don't need to, you're really hot. I'll get you some medicine, and make you that really good juice you like," she added quickly, hoping to avoid the cough medicine blues.
"I don't want medication," Willa pouted.
"I know, baby girl, but you'll feel better afterward." She smiled reassuringly. "Luke, will you look after the twins while I – "
She stopped short; her heart felt heavy in her chest. It was just such a natural instinct for her to assume that they'd go through everything with one another. That's what marriage was. Single parenthood suddenly loomed before her, huge and intimidating and scary.
"Okay," she said to herself. "Hey, Lance, Bella," she cooed, kissing both of her younger children's foreheads, "You stay right here and be good, okay? Mama's just going to –"
"Mom," Willa said urgently, her voice tight and tense.
Peyton knew what that meant. She rushed away from her toddlers, helped Willa up, steered her into the kitchen, grabbed the garbage can, and held her daughter's hair up while she vomited.
"Shh," Peyton soothed when Willa coughed, pushing the garbage can away. She rubbed her back and kissed her hair. "Better now?"
"My legs still feel all shaky," Willa informed her, and then burst promptly into tears, scared by her own illness, how unlike herself she felt.
Peyton situated her on one of the kitchen chairs and crouched down next to her. "I know. I know. Being sick's no fun," she said comfortingly, wearing a sympathetic pout, stroking her daughter's hair gently. "But you'll be a big, brave girl, right? If you take your medication, you can go to sleep, and when you wake up you'll feel better and I'll let you have some ice cream, okay?"
Willa's thin arms curled around her stomach as she hunched forward, curling in on herself, blonde curls falling to shield her face, the way Peyton used to let her hair hang, hiding from the world.
"Baby?" Peyton prodded, gently tucking Willa's tangled hair back behind her ear.
The six-year-old glanced over at her wearing a worried, wounded expression. "I hate this," she said softly, and Peyton could look only at her child's trembling lips, the bruise-like circles until her perfect blue eyes. She was talking about more than her sickness, that was certain.
Peyton felt a sudden surge of nausea herself, remembering, with dread, the message she had yet to listen to that was still sitting, waiting, on their machine.
She had meant for Lucas' absence to pull them up, save them from the imminent downward spiral.
But maybe she'd been expecting things that just couldn't happen.
-x-
The day exhausted her. She'd finally gotten medicine down Willa's throat and wrestled her into bed, then she'd had to deal with her younger kids. Bella, who'd always been a little moody, was particularly tough to handle when she get asking for her daddy. And Lance, who was used to a little extra cuddling from his mom, fell into a pout immediately when she started getting cranky with them.
"Mama's tired," she tried to reason with them, but they were too young and too innocent to understand any of what was happening. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired," she whispered, kissing their bellies and trying to make them smile.
They'd had such a routine worked out that it had never occurred to Peyton that this could be more work. She was the morning parent. She was better at early moments than Lucas; she got up and fed Lance and Bella, got Willa all ready for school, did the dishes, made lunches and snacks and planned out the day, all while showering and getting dressed and managing to prepare for her own day. Lucas handled nights, bedtime stories and baths and the enforcement of the hours at which their kids were supposed to go to bed. They helped each other out at all times, always willing to be with their children, but she'd always taken on the hours when he needed more rest, and Lucas had done the same. It was perfect symbiosis, but she'd never really realized it before.
She'd put her kids to bed before, plenty of times – mostly with Lucas by her side, but occasionally alone. Apparently, though, she didn't know the exact right way to tuck in a certain blanket, the rhythm to a particular piece of poetry. Even the lullabies that she had fallen asleep to herself as a child took several repetitions before her babies settled.
She woke Willa, who was a scared, upset mess, once more to give her more medication, and tucked her back in.
"Tell me the story," Willa whispered weakly, her voice sleepy and sickly.
Peyton didn't have to ask which story. The story was her history with Lucas. He told it beautifully, romantic and enthralling and full of action, completely PG and in language simple enough for Willa to both understand and appreciate. Most of the time she allowed the telling of the story to be daddy-daughter time, grabbing a few extra moments to be with the twins or fold laundry or just relax. Occasionally, however, she would join Lucas and Willa, or even their whole small family, curled up on the bed, and listen, too.
She knew it by heart; it was her history too, and she knew every word, every emphasis, every subtle way Lucas said things to make it so perfect. It never failed to make her blush, the reverent way he talked about her, and the way he said Lucas and Peyton as though they ranked right up there with Romeo and Juliet. It warmed her heart, made her fall in love even more, and always settled her babies into a peaceful slumber. What was more still was that it was an unfailing turn on, and she could not remember a single time Lucas had told that story that didn't end with her dragging him down the hall, kissing his neck and nipping at his lips, whispering in his ear until it was his turn to have red cheeks.
She hated to deny Willa anything, especially when she was sick. At the best of the time it was difficult, with her daddy's eyes shining out of her adorable face. But she couldn't handle it, not with the hell she was currently going through.
"Not tonight, sweetie," she said quietly, kissing her daughter's forehead firmly. "I'm sorry, but not tonight."
Then she left the room, quietly but quickly, before Willa could complain that she wanted her father to come home.
When she was finally alone in the quiet, dark house, she migrated to the kitchen, hopping up to sit on the counter. She sighed. They had a house full of great rooms, but this was the place she and Lucas had always chosen to be with each other before they headed up to bed. Talking, laughing, drinking, snacking, and playing around. They didn't sex in the kitchen, no matter how tempting it was, no matter how impatient they'd both been, no matter how much she'd begged. Lucas was too much of a romantic for that, insisting that she deserved better, and whining playfully that he watching people cook and eat food in that room every day. He'd only caved once, ever, and that was the night they conceived their younger kids.
She slid off the counter, opened the fridge, and pulled out a bottle of red wine. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into it. She hadn't felt like as much of a failure as she did in that moment in a long, long time. Maybe even not since she'd met her husband.
The message machine blinked. Red, nothing, red, nothing. Mocking her. She shook her head, abandoning her wine and walking out of the room, heading upstairs.
She lit a bunch of candles before she turned the lights out. She needed a little aroma therapy, and in complete honesty, she was slightly afraid. Of the darkness, of the silence, of the smothering sense of alone.
She meandered over to their impressive sound system and started flicking through their CDs, looking for something to cheer her up. She smiled slightly as she skimmed through the Spice Girls and Lupe Fiasco – possibilities that would probably help her relax.
Something caught her eye on the floor, a glittering glimmer, and she bent down to find out what it was.
Straightening up, she saw that it was the cracked case of a homemade CD. She recognized it immediately – Lucas had made it for her recently in an attempt to apologize for a fight, and she'd been so angry by what she'd deemed a weak gesture that she'd flung it against the wall, breaking the case, and hadn't given it a second thought.
He'd scribbled a note to her on the front in permanent marker.
Robert Muller once said: "To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness". Wise words, but I don't know if I agree with the man. What I feel for you…I think that ranks above. I can forgive you anything, Peyt. And I would and will wait forever for to forgive me back. You've given me untold peace and happiness. I don't need anything more.
Her fingers shook as they traced over the words. Slowly, she opened the case, took the disc out, and placed it in their high-sound-quality CD player.
She grabbed the remote, making sure to turn the volume down so that it wouldn't wake the kids, and pulled the sheets down before curling up in bed.
The beginning notes were familiar, in both a comforting and a heartbreaking way. She'd told him, once, how much she adored Aqualung, the gentle music and the poetry of the lyrics. Smiling back, stroking her hair, he'd said that Strange and Beautiful reminded him of the first moment he'd ever seen her, back when they were kids.
I've been, watching your world from afar. I've been, trying to be where you are.
She buried her face in her pillow and let herself cry. He had loved her, even then.
Why couldn't she let him love her now?
To me, you're strange and you're beautiful. You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see.
The sound of retching, harsh and unpleasant, pulled her out of her moment of misery. She jumped out of bed and raced into Willa's room. "Honey!" she cried.
It was nearly an hour later that she'd finally finished. She cleaned up the mess, got Willa to drink a full glass of water and take another dose of medication, gotten Bella, who'd woken up, back to sleep, and ignored Willa's hoarse line of questioning (were you crying? why? I feel so sick, why am I so sick? when's daddy coming home?), managing to finally get her daughter to give in to whatever chemicals in her medication forced her into dreamland.
She was a wreck when she finally crawled back into bed, dragging her heavy limbs, her heart and her throat aching. Trying not to sob, she reached for her cell phone and dialled, ignoring the late hour.
"I swear to God, Mother, what could you possibly need right now?"
Peyton choked on her laughter. "You always were bitchy in the middle of the night."
Brooke's voice, hazy with sleep, asked. "P-Peyton? Is that you?"
"Sorry it's late," she whispered, clutching a pillow.
"It's okay, honey…what's wrong?" Brooke asked, and Peyton heard the rustling of her sheets. "You or Luke or the kids? Did you finally realize you needed those socks? They were cute, they'd…" She yawned. "They'd match a lot of stuff."
"Do you remember…do you remember how you were saying you thought it might be a good idea to come home?" she asked hesitantly.
"Yeah…"
"Do you think Los Angeles would count?" she whispered, her voice cracking on the last word.
"P. Sawyer," Brooke said gently, and Peyton wondered if it was some kind of Freudian slip, Brooke's use of her maiden name, or if it was just the late hour. Maybe both. "If you're there, it's pretty damn close."
Neither girl needed to say more; they both let the silence speak for them for a couple seconds before hanging up at the same moment. Peyton tossed her phone aside, held her pillow just a little bit tighter, and listened to the silence. The CD had stopped sometime in the past hour, but the lyrics she had memorized forever ago still rang loud and clear in her ears.
Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first. Sometimes, the first thing you want never comes. And I know, the waiting is all you can do.
Sometimes…