Taking place immediately after The Search for Something More, this is my take on the complex relationship that exists between the characters of Brooke and Lucas on One Tree Hill. I don't own anything. Now, without further adu...

Lucas.

He lies in bed staring at the ceiling, a bare leg protruding out from beneath the heavy comforter. Despite a lack of sleep – or no sleep at all, rather – from the night before spent watching a drugged Peyton Sawyer, he's wide awake now, his blue eyes dancing across the shadowy ceiling. He clearly remembers the events from a very eventful yesterday, just as if they were being replayed before him like a record. But that is what one tends to do when something of great import takes place in one's life, or when something big is about to happen, or when everything has changed; in fact, for Lucas Scott, everything has changed. His recollection unfolds before his mind's eye, and it's like he's watching a movie.

People really aren't what they always seem to be, Lucas decides as he remembers. In a way, last night was both a blessing and a curse. The situation was horrible, but had it not happened, he wouldn't be looking at Brooke Davis in the light that he does now. He's grateful for the pain and suffering and trauma that last night created; the old adage what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger comes to Lucas' mind. Although it was horrible, they're all better because of last night, Peyton and Brooke included.

Brooke…

She epitomizes the cheerleader stereotype, Lucas muses, but he is so thankful that he now sees in her something greater. Her stunning face materializes before him as he ruminates: she definitely has a fiercely extroverted personality, coupled with just the right amount of air headedness, not to mention a killer pair of legs – And, yet, so much more. She's sweet and caring, loyal. Lucas would have never thought she would have stood by Peyton the way she did last night. Lucas feels duped and deceived – he had no idea such a treasure existed beneath such a seemingly vain and shallow skin.

Yet, Lucas can't help but wonder why in the world she wants to hide this kindness, this compassion. He's certain that everyone's perception of Brooke Davis would surely change, generally for the better, if they knew what he did. Although he's mystified to her motives, he can't help but feel special, like he's the only one in on this great big secret that's being held captive from the rest of the world. He's an insider, one of the select few – the elite – that actually knows Brooke Davis. Or, at the very least, he knows her a little bit. That's more than most people can say.

He rises up from the bed, planting one bare foot upon the carpet, the fibers softy tickling his sole as he walks towards his computer. With the click of a button the monitor is alive with constant beeps and whooshes as the system revitalizes itself. He checks a digital clock on his standstand to find that it's 4:30 in the morning. His fingertips move with a surprising dexterity despite the hour as they gently stride atop a chain and sequence of buttons and computer keys. Within minutes he sees her - the girl that he was almost certain he was in love with... Peyton - the other side to this new triangle.

She's drawing now, her gentle hands moving rapidly with the pencil across the paper. He's not surprised that she's awake. Peyton Sawyer is a lot like Lucas – which is possibly the reason for the initial attraction, that same electric spark he now imminently feels for Brooke.

Her brow is creased, he establishes through the webcam, and he can see that she's captivated by a heavy concentration. She's serious about her art, and he knows that; that's something else that enraptures Lucas about Peyton Sawyer.

"I want to draw something that means something." Her words; he hears her in his head. He still can't figure out if his feelings are love; yesterday he was certain that they were. What he felt yesterday was a consuming, voracious kind of love, the kind that leaves no prisoners. She just seemed, and still seems, so perfect, so immaculately molded for him. His fingertips softly travel down the hard screen, his fingers tracing her. Is it still there though, that spark? He doesn't know because, now there is another feeling, another equally powerful spark.

In the back of his mind, he also feels Brooke Davis. He remembers how she trusted him enough to share her heart, her feelings - he questions whether or not some of the things she shared with him yesterday she ever told to anyone else.

He yearns to encounter this new side of Brooke, this new enigma - to touch it, hold it in his arms. He wonders if she's capable of loving like he can; he has so much to offer if only she'll open her soul up again. That way he would know for certain if she was more than a temptation, if what he saw yesterday was more than just a fleeting apparition. He wants to see and touch everything, to give something his heart burned to give to Peyton when she told him no. Is Brooke the girl he could give that to? Is she willing to receive?

Peyton rises and Lucas follows in step as the webcam is covered and she returns to her unmade bed. Lucas stares at his own bed as he walks towards it, feeling the soft linen between his fingertips. He slides his feet in first then collapses on his back staring off into space again. He'll be like this for a while before his eyes finally close until morning.

Brooke.

She hates geometry - In fact, Brooke Davis loathes all things arithmetic; she is not calculative by nature, rather, she's a take-charge kind of girl.

Brooke doesn't even know why she's doing her homework anyway instead of just getting the answers before class or omitting completing the assignment altogether. But tonight is different; she feels liberated. Perhaps it's that appeased karma.

When she's done with the world of proofs, postulates, and theorems, she drops the completed assignment in her ostentatiously pink and girly backpack and sets her sights on the outside world. Walking towards her large window in her even larger house, she stares beyond. The sky is blue, tinged with pitches of gold and violet that promise the coming of the moon. Her hand rests on the windowpane and she thinks about him, again. She's already talked to Peyton today, reassured that she's ok. This stress - she's heard about women graying early due to overly demanding and stressful situations that occur years before. She looks to the sky and composes a silent prayer to whatever God is listening at the moment. But P. Sawyer's worth the Herbal Essences hair color, should the need arise. He is worth it.

It's nearly 4:45, she sees after looking at the ornate grandfather clock in the foyer. Lucas is probably at the River court again. She's visited him once or twice, even talked to his friends there. She recalls Mouth and the rest - she was surprised at how enjoyable the experience actually was. Who knew mingling with the groundlings could be so much fun? She was awed by how deep and profound they were. It was a nice break from the vapidity of her A-list crowd and it had been refreshing to be free from judgment and scrutiny, and finally just embrace an unconditional acceptance – if only for a little while.

Her white Volkswagen Beetle is parked in the driveway. Her mother is out at one of her perpetual luncheons at the Tree Hill Country Club that start with hor'deurves and end with countless rounds of apple martinis; these outings have been habitual for the past fifteen plus years of Brooke's life, and it is probably what her Mommie Dearest expects Brooke to do when she's grown up. The life of The Trophy Wife has always been deceptive to Brooke Davis, but secretly she's always longed for something more. She's never told Mother or Daddy that though. Daddy is, as usual, working. He has to bring home the bacon, so the family can feast on fine crystal and china every night of the week! After all, it takes a lot of money to pay for Mother's collagen and botox and the copious affairs Daddy's having on the side. However, Brooke's parents haven't completely forgotten about their daughter, making sure to drop a wad of 20's for Brooke's spending pleasure. She accepts the bills as her parent's penance for their lack of being there. Brooke pockets the paper and slips on a sexy new pair of Gucci stilettos she bought at Neiman's.

Her heels click down the concrete walkway towards her car, bordered by geraniums and tulips - neither one of her parents know how to garden; that would be Taquito or Chalupa or whatever his name's job. Spanish isn't one of Brooke's strengths, and interacting with the Help is something that the Davis family prides itself on not attempting. But, damn, Brooke thinks as she strides alongside the flora and fauna, 'ole Pedro's doing a bang-up job.

Brooke presses a button on her keypad and a shrill beeping sound reverberates through the silence of her front lawn. She pauses at her car and turns to stare at her monstrous house for a moment before entering the automobile; she can't help but marvel at her life but, somewhere in the back of her mind, she debates over whether or not all of the sacrifices are worth this.

It's only a momentary pause, however, and in the next instant the engine erupts through the solace of the Davis' expansive front yard. Brooke backs out, the new Faith Hill album blaring in the background.