Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. I was torn about how I wanted this chapter to begin and to end. Then I was torn on everything else. I'm not completely sold on this chapter, but it will have to do as I do not have the time (or patience) to rewrite it.

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Chapter III: In Between What You Are and All You Will Be

It was late the next morning when Lucas arrived at Peyton and Brooke's new house. Lindsey was already gone to set up her new office with Haley by the time he woke up. Not that he slept much last night anyway. His dreams had been undoubtedly cruel, and he had awakened many times in a cold sweat.

He knocked on the door firmly and waited, trying to formulate some reason to be at their home this early. He had no idea what he would say if Peyton opened the door (nothing that didn't revolve around her death) and his mind couldn't conjure a single reason. Even if he could think of something, he was certain his eyes would betray him.

He didn't have to worry about it any longer when Brooke opened the door. The look of initial shock at the sight of him transformed into happiness. She gave him a warm smile and stepped a bit outside the door to hug him.

"Come in, come in," she told him happily and pulled him inside before shutting the door behind them. She leaned against the door with her arms crossed over her chest, head tilted to the side in an effort to check him out. "You look good, Luke," said Brooke with a contented smile.

Lucas smiled as best he could. "Thanks. So do you." He tossed a glance over his shoulder under the pretense of looking at the house.

Brooke noticed how he kept looking over his shoulder and smirked. "She's not here," the fashionista told him. "She left early this morning."

Lucas couldn't hide the feeling of relief that washed over him. "I wasn't looking for Peyton," he lied and had Brooke making a face at him. He sighed. "I guess she told you that she and I talked last night?"

Brooke nodded, her eyes downcast briefly. "I'm sorry, Lucas," she told him, and she truly was. "I know…" her eyes closed briefly, trying to find the words of comfort he so desperately needed to hear. Trying to find something - anything... She opened her eyes slowly and was met with his equally sad expression. "…I know."

At the softly mixed expression of guilt, sadness and determination upon Brooke's face, the feelings Lucas tried so very hard to keep in check spilled out of him. "There has to be something we can do, Brooke."

"Lucas-" Peyton told her how Lucas went off on a tangent last night. Hoping to find a way to prolong the inevitable. Brooke thought it was noble of Lucas, if not a bit foolhardy, to want to be her savior after all this time. She laughed softly though she hadn't meant to. "She told me how adamant you were." Brooke looked up into his face, wondering if that soft flicker of hope would fade from his eyes as it had hers. "There is nothing that can be done. Nothing that hasn't been tried before anyway."

Lucas shook his head vigorously. His blue eyes, so full of unspeakable fear and remorse, welled with tears he dared not let fall. "I can't accept that. I can't accept Peyton's death and I don't know how she, or you, for that matter can!" He was angry now and that anger was directed at the wrong person. But since she was there… "You're her best friend!"

He ended his statement chiding her and that had Brooke narrowing her eyes at him. How dare he? "How dare you?" she asked aloud, her voice soft but cold. "How dare you come in to our home and criticize the decisions that she and I have made when you haven't even picked up the damn phone to call the girl in the last three years?"

Lucas looked mortified. He hadn't meant to offend her, he certainly didn't mean to imply that she didn't do all she could for Peyton. "Brooke…"

She shook her head, unwilling to listen to his half-hearted apology. "I was there," she began, her arms crossed over her chest and a heated look in her eyes. "From the moment she called - crying at the hospital - after finding out about the baby. I was there. I was there eight months later when she found out she'd contracted HIV." Lucas stared at her, tears falling down his cheeks steadily as she continued unfettered. "And I was there six months after that when the doctor told her that the disease had progressed into AIDS."

If ever there was a moment Lucas wished he could take back what he said - or simply disappear - this was it. Brooke had lethally stripped away his righteous indignation and she seemed to have no intentions of stopping.

"You want to know what I did for her?" she question, though it was rhetorical. Her eyes burned with angry tears of pent up rage and frustrations. "I held her head when she couldn't keep her food down from all the nausea and pain of the disease eating away at her body. I sat with her in the hospital and watched as something as simple as a cold wreaked havoc on her."

Her eyes grew soft and cloudy, as if she could see the things happening right before her.

"I watched as her father held her close when she told him she was going to die. I watched her give up all hope… and then stand up and fight for her life. I watched her find something to live for again."

Inexplicably, Brooke laughed. Tears streamed down her face in a rush, but her smile went unaltered. She moved to counter in the kitchen area. Lucas watched, unsure of what to do or say (not that Brooke would have allowed him to do either), and moved closer to see what she was doing. She'd opened the cabinet above her head and pulled down five medicine bottles.

"I know you think she's given up on her life, but she hasn't. This," she gestured to the bottles on the granite counter. "is her medicine protocol. She takes these five different pills twice a day - every day. If she were to miss one single pill, just one…" she shook her head, unable to finish the sentence. Lucas understood without another word spoken. "She's not giving up, Luke. She came home to do something different. Something worthwhile. Maybe start a new label… or something else. Something so the world doesn't forget that Peyton Sawyer was here. She wants to leave her mark on the world."

The notion seemed unfathomable to Lucas: the world forgetting Peyton Sawyer was there. She has left a mark on the world. His world. With every smile, every soft breath and every look she has made an impact on his world. His world was better for having Peyton Sawyer in it.

"I'm sorry," he said to Brooke after a while. They had fallen into a somber silence that allowed Lucas to clearly see the error of his ways. "I never meant to imply that you hadn't done anything for her. I never…" he didn't finish the sentence; couldn't honestly find the words to do so.

Brooke nodded her acceptance of his apology. She understood what he was feeling; she has felt something akin to it herself many times. "You're looking at things the wrong way," she said finally. Lucas furrowed his brow but kept listening. "You're trying to save her life… but it has been. She's not bitter, angry, or sad. She's not out looking for a miracle cure and depending on false hope - which is the worst thing she could do. She's not lost, Lucas."

He seemed to understand that, albeit reluctantly. He still wasn't certain he could accept her impending demise but he wouldn't (couldn't) undermine the peace of mind she's found.

"What can I do?" he asked, his voice soft and low.

"Help her make her dreams come true," Brooke answered honestly.

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Peyton hated hospitals. She's developed a keen dislike for them over the past three years and it manifested every time she had to set foot in on. The clean, white halls and the smell of disinfectant were frequent upon her nightmares. She decided long ago (some months after finding out how far her disease had progressed) that she didn't want to die in a hospital. She wanted to be at home, in her bed, surrounded by her belongings and hopefully people who loved her.

She walked quickly from the elevator to the nurses' station in the opposite corner and was greeted with a smile from the older woman. "Hi," she greeted the older woman. "I'm looking for Dr. Barton's office."

"Down the hall to the left," the woman responded. Peyton gave her a smile and wandered off in the correct direction. She was immensely thankful that the woman didn't look at her with disgust like some nurses in the hospital in LA did. She was sure the woman knew why she wanted to see Dr. Barton.

She found it just where the woman said. The open door lead into a small waiting area with another nurse/receptionist seated against the opposite wall. She, too, was older and Peyton hoped just as nice. There was no one in the office, save for the two of them, and she looked up as soon as Peyton entered the room.

"Hello," she said cheerily. "How may I help you?"

Peyton smiled, a sense of relief washing over her. "I'm Peyton Sawyer. I have an appointment with Dr. Barton."

"Go right in. She's expecting you."

Peyton nodded quickly and muttered a thank you to the woman before disappearing behind the wall into the office of North Carolina's leading virologist. She tapped lightly on the door before walking inside. A tall, redheaded woman stood just beside the door.

"Dr. Barton?" Peyton questioned. The woman nodded slightly. "I'm Peyton."

"Come in, I was expecting you." They both moved further inside the room. The doctor sitting behind her desk and Peyton in front of it. "What can I do for you?" she asked the blonde with a smile.

"Dr. Jeff Webber said you were the best virologist on the east coast. He said I should come and see you straight away."

The woman smiled and nodded again. "Jeff is an old friend and colleague. He's transferred your files over to me and given me the specifics of your case. I agree with his diagnosis and the protocol he's put you on." She hitched an eyebrow.

"Yes," Peyton answered the unasked question. "I'm taking my medication twice a day as instructed."

"Good. I see no reason you can't live your days healthy and happy." She looked over Peyton's face and saw something in the blonde's eyes. "But you knew that, too. So… why did you come to me, Peyton? Besides the obvious."

Peyton sighed heavily and shrugged helplessly. "I guess I just want to know my… limitations… before I decide to do anything."

"Things like what?" the doctor wanted to know, eager to find the reason for Peyton's urgency.

"Anything really. Starting a new job…"

"Peyton," she began. "You know very well the things you can do. Your body knows its limitations far better than I do. Your disease will not hinder you from doing the things you want to do."

"I know," Peyton replied softly. "I know. I'm just… I feel stuck. I feel like I'm stuck in the middle of a maze and I can't find my way out."

The doctor nodded sagely. The majority of her terminally ill patients felt that way at some point or another. "Stuck between all that you are and all that you will be."

"Something like that," Peyton agreed. "I want to do something meaningful with the time I have left. I just want to know if I'll be able to."

"Yes," Dr. Barton answered unabashedly. "You will leave your mark on this world, I'm sure of it. Just like I'm sure you'll find your way."

Peyton left the doctor's office feeling better than she has in days.

She'd just stepped off the elevator on the ground floor when she bumped into a familiar frame. "Oh, my God. I'm so sorry," she muttered before looking up into a familiar face. She couldn't help the smile that crossed her pink lips. "Nathan," she said softly.

"Hello, Peyton," he greeted her.

Peyton took note of the longer hair and goatee. He was standing, albeit with a cane, but that was a vast improvement over the situation she'd heard he was in a few months ago. Still, through all he'd overcome, a look of undeniable sorrow filled his gaze.

She stepped around him to give him access to the elevator but he was headed to the front entrance as well.

"It's really good to see you, Nate," she told him as they began to walk. "You look well."

Nathan didn't respond. Only scoffed lightly and Peyton knew all too well. He needed to talk. "If you don't have anywhere to be… would you like to go and get some coffee? Catch up a bit?"

Nathan was quiet for a long while, so long that Peyton wasn't sure he would answer her at all. He searched her eyes, seemingly searching for the pity that must have always filled everyone's when they looked at him and the thoughts that must have accompanied: Oh, look, there's Nathan Scott. Former star basketball player headed for greatness. Such a shame.

Peyton's eyes held hope though. Hope for him… and maybe even herself.

Nathan must have seen this because he nodded, gave a half smile and agreed. "Yeah. I'd really like that."