Hey guys Again, I'm so, so, so sorry for the delay. This part is a Dan chapter, so I apologize for no N/H but the next chapter will be Nathan and Haley-centric. It will also be my last chapter.


I hope you enjoy this section. Dan is such an interesting character to me. He's tragic. He's bogged down by his own flaws. Sometimes I really empathize for his character because I feel like he's stuck in a shell that just won't break regardless of his intentions. Of course, at other times, I just want to rip his spleen out in frustration but you get my point.

Anyhoo, here's the latest.


Chapter 11


It appears as though Ivan has left our radar systems for the Tree Hill surrounding area.
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The lights flickered above in renewed life, signifying power for the fresh day. Uneasily, Dan forced his eyes open, all the time wondering when he would feel fresh, when he would get a chance to wash clean all of his stains. He felt a familiar pressure resting lightly on his shoulder. Karen. They had fallen asleep on the café's sofa still drenched in the damp awkwardness of the evening. They had made great pains to keep each inch separate, but sleep plays tricks on deceit. He hadn't wanted to be isolated last night, and Slumber made it possible to feel the soothing presence that Karen always provided. It's funny how rest serves as a buffer for discomfort, he thought to himself as he tried to make himself stand up. He couldn't. He couldn't leave this safe place. He had been honest last night. Open. Open to his faults. Open to a fix. When he left this protected space, would he still be unguarded, sincere?

He doubted it. The toxins that ran fluidly through him would fight to the surface once again. He would become Dan Scott. Father. Husband. Jackass.

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I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
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He looked down at Karen's peaceful head, her dark hair lying in chunks shielding her closed eyes. He had lived in Tree Hill practically his whole life. He saw her come and go. Scurry around in her languid pace. Be patiently annoyed at the world as a whole. She was a contradiction, especially dozing here, beneath his shoulder for support. He had tried not to notice her, but how could anyone fulfill that large order? She was light in the darkness. She was reason in ignorance. She was a sage amongst fools. She was remarkable, impossible not to see. He had abandoned her, in every way that counts, but she still lived within him in the recesses of his mind. She had set up camp in an alcove of his heart long ago and she would never leave.

But she was gone, he sighed. Last night was just a glimmer of the past. She wasn't his crutch anymore. He had fallen from lack of support long ago. Granted, he had kicked that support out himself, but he still had the bruises to prove her absence.

He removed himself gently from her sleeping form, placing a couch pillow under her head for support. He needed to leave. This wasn't good for him. The past wasn't worth reliving, he told himself. He looked outside, the streets covered in disaster. Street signs littered the pavement. Great oak trees were broken at the roots. Windows were axed apart by the night's treacherous winds. That was where he belonged. In the rubble. In the mess. At least he wasn't the cause of this one, he thought bitterly as he scribbled a message on the back of scrap piece of paper he had rummaged from his wallet.

He left it lying on the counter, scrawled in messy black ink, "For whatever it's worth, thank you."

As he was about to put his wallet back into his pocket, he stopped to trace the outline of a happy family. It was his favorite photo. They were all smiling, drunk on the little joy they had somehow found. Deb's gorgeous face radiated outward from the worn-out photo paper. Nathan's relaxed stance was unusual but comforting. They had been content, if only for that moment.

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but though you're still with me
I've been alone all along
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He left the café defiantly, desperately trying to shed his loneliness like a new skin. It wouldn't happen. That's not how it worked. You had to live in the skin you created.

Resigned, he grabbed his cell phone, checking his history for an unfamiliar number. Dialing as he moved towards his car, he was surprised when such a gentle voice answered. Taken aback at how recognizable it was – how friendly and memorable it was, he snapped, "Haley?"

Recovering a little, he continued, "Is Nathan there?"