This chapter's a bit fluffy, because-- well, because the rest of the story is not. Enjoy!
For Maggie, as always. Nobody else enjoys my lunacy like you do.
Hard to Find
Isn't It Ironic?
"No, you know what this is?" she mumbled distraughtly, and she knew just how pathetic she must look. Raccoon eyes didn't even begin to describe the muddy rivers of black flowing from the lashes of her eyes down the curve of her cheeks. Her blonde curls, which usually sprung so freely, were tied into some sort of messy knot at the top of her head. Her wide hazel eyes were rimmed with red, blood streaking through, interrupting the whites. She was all cried out now though, and so her thin body wracked with dry sobs. It was not the usual picture of perfection Peyton Sawyer displayed, but Nathan Scott looked completely unfazed.
"What's this?" he asked, his broad shoulder balancing him against the doorframe. For one of the only times in his life, she thought, he didn't sound cocky or mocking. Rather, it seemed he actually gave a damn about what she was about to say. A wry smile sprung to her full lips, along with the words that if that had been the case more often when they were dating, they'd be in much better shape. Instead, the smile dripped slowly off, as the rest of her emotions flooded back in. It was pouring rain, and she was standing outside her apartment, and only as the splattering moisture darkened his gray shirt did she notice.
"Ironic. That's what this is," Peyton tried another smile, but failed miserably. Shoving him unceremoniously backwards, out of the rain, she ignored the filthy look his old neighbor shot them. Mrs. Merriweather, a woman who had probably been Tree Hill High's resident "hot chick" back in her time, was now a silver haired woman who was never without her curlers. She resided in apartment 9, two doors down from the Scott residence, and though her looks had undoubtedly faded, her thirst for gossip hadn't. It wasn't the first time Peyton had come face to face with Nathan's nosy neighbor, but she was grateful that this altercation was at least brief.
"Nate!" she called helplessly, her thin arms bogged down by the weight of her bags. She was almost at the apartment, but she swore her fingers were about to snap off, and she couldn't make it a step further.
"Nathan!" she called, a bit more angrily. He was expecting her over. Why wasn't he waiting by the door? He used to tease her mercilessly about her "chicken arms", but it had never been a major factor in the Peyton Sawyer package, because she'd always have a big, strong man by her side to do the heavy lifting. He of all people should know that she couldn't carry her own shit, plus the stuff he'd asked her to pick up. Peyton had generously offered to get whatever he needed, as Nathan was still recovering from the accident, and watching him try to move about without indicating weakness was almost as painful an experience for her as it was for him. As so, this was how the skinny as a stick cheerleader found herself with arms full of laundry, groceries, and random video games that freshmen, junior varsity and varsity players alike had been eager to give the Ravens superstar. Inwardly, she'd rolled her eyes at how pathetic it was that they were playing up his time of need to climb the ever-shifting social ladder. Outwardly, she'd smiled, and thanked them for their concern. She promised Nathan would get them, and that she was sure he would appreciate them, leaving Brooke to cackle in the shadows at the front she'd put up.
"NATHAN SCOTT! GET THE HELL OUT HERE BEFORE I COME IN AFTER YOU!" she dropped the bags at the top of the stairs, whirling around with her hands on her shapely hips. Anger flared in her eyes. The least he could do, now that she'd become his nanny, was to help her move some stuff that all belonged to him. Jerk.
A door flew open, and she smiled gratefully, before meeting the grim eyes of an elderly woman.
"I'm sorry, I must've miscounted the apartment numbers," Peyton said, embarrassment evident.
"You're looking for the Scott boy, I presume?" she eyed the bags distastefully, and Peyton felt herself stand up straighter. She wasn't sure exactly when her urges to protect Nathan at all costs had kicked in, but she felt them strongly from time to time.
"Yes, I am looking for Nathan. I'm his friend Peyton," she extended her thin wrist, attempting to insert some civility to the unreasonably hostile conversation.
"I'm sure you are. I'm his neighbor, Mona Merriweather," her wrinkled hand met Peyton's own for the briefest of moments, leaving the faint impression of contact, but the blonde couldn't be sure. She bit down on her lip, stifling her lip. She and Brooke, at the tender age of 12, had smacked Mona towards the top of the list of names they wouldn't wish on anyone. This lady might just be grumpy enough to deserve it.
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Merriweather. Excuse me," Peyton moved slightly to the left, edging towards Nate's apartment. The way the elderly woman was eyeing her was giving her the major creeps. It was as if she was sizing her up, reaching a verdict before fair judgment could even begin.
"I know what you two are doing. It's wrong, you know," she called, and Peyton ceased, turning slowly.
"It's wrong to help out a friend in a time of need?" the blonde questioned caustically, and the woman merely smirked in response.
"The way we're all sure you're helping him, if that's what you kids call it these days? Yes, because they call it "adultery". It's in the Bible. Check it out. I know he's good looking, but honestly, are you that desperate that you'd go after a married man?" she spat scathingly, and Peyton's eyebrows flew high enough up to nearly disappear beneath her hair. Was this old woman accusing her of—?
"Peyt, I was wondering where you were," Nathan approached with a smile, easily lifting the bag she had struggled for a good half hour with. Nodding at Mrs. Merriweather, his neighbor shot the both of them a disapproving glare before turning away. Making a dirty gesture with his free hand, Peyton laughed and snatched up his dry cleaning.
"So, what's up?" he asked, as if the interaction had never happened.
"Oh, nothing really. Brooke's parents won't let her move in with me, Jenny's sick again, and your neighbor thinks I'm fucking you," she breezed back into the kitchen, leaving the bedroom door open after hanging up his clothing. Some might say she was a bit overbearing, babying him a bit too much, but sometimes it felt good to have somebody to take care of.
"She's a few months too late on that one," he chuckled, and a betraying blush spread across her milky white skin.
"Nathan!"
"Are you denying it?" he laughed, arching an eyebrow in her direction as he put cans in the cupboard.
"I believe we rehashed this once before. Remember, boy toy? Now that your ego's been sufficiently stroked, we can move on and never speak of it again."
"Sure. Oh, awesome! More video games?" he dug eagerly through the bags they'd brought it. His face lit up with childlike glee as he came upon the presents high schoolers had bestowed upon him.
"Yep. I swear, I'm like your mail holding office. It's getting ridiculous," she blew out a small laugh as she put popcorn in the microwave. This had been an easy routine for them to settle into. She would come over, they would have a minor verbal sparring, then they'd settle down with snacks. Sometimes they would talk, sometimes they wouldn't. It was just their nature, but it flowed naturally between them. They wouldn't force conversation if there was nothing to say, but they wouldn't silence themselves if there was.
"So, your neighbors really think you're screwing around, huh?" she asked, and was surprised when he laughed.
"Oh, yeah, totally. You should've heard what they had to say when you and Brooke stopped by."
A gagging noise tore its way through her, and she smacked at his arm.
"Nate! Gross!"
"Hey, don't look at me," he tossed his hands up, an amused grin flitting across his handsome face. "I'm not the one formulating kinky threesome fantasies. That would be apartments 9, 13, 14, and… 17, if I'm not mistaken."
"I'm too skeeved for words right now," Peyton's mouth opened and closed a few times before coming out with that. "Wait… what do they say when Luke and Tim come too?"
A look of utmost disgust crossed his face, and she had to stifle her laughter. Peyton could almost see the bile rising in his throat, before he swallowed hard. "That, I don't even want to contemplate."
"Your neighbor still thinks I'm your whore?" she sniffled as he tossed her a towel. Nathan knew how Peyton was. He would give her a few minutes to come clean with whatever needed to be said, but that was as much time as she could be allotted. Peyton Sawyer was someone who desperately needed to talk about what she felt—and someone who wanted to bottle it up just as much. While they had been dating, he hadn't really cared much. At one point, their relationship was good. It was really good. But then they'd begun having sex, and they started to like hooking up a lot more than they liked each other. Now that they actually had conversations, it was nice to hang out again.
Still, Nathan could read her in a rare way. If she took longer than the minutes he gave her, he would just force it out of her. The key to their relationship was that they were equals. If he wanted to be an ass, then fine, she would be a bitch. Either way, they could take each other on, and sometimes it was really nice to have somebody playing on the same level as you.
"Of course she does. You should be flattered. Who wouldn't want to be my whore?" he jested, and she laughed openly. A grin spread across his features. Mission accomplished.
"Oh, just about anybody that actually knows you," she teased, and he smirked at her, clearly signaling that she was wrong.
"So, what brings you sobbing to my humble abode?" he asked sardonically, and her grin slid slowly away. She cast a quick, fearful glance at the front door.
"Are you planning on running?" he asked curiously, almost amused by the notion.
"Of course not," she made a face at him.
"Good. 'Cause I'd catch you," he pointed out unnecessarily. As if it wasn't clear to all who the athlete in this friendship was.
"Little cocky there, buddy?"
"You of all people know I have reason to be." He pulled out the Scott Smirk. Though all the men used it, nobody worked it quite as well as Nathan did.
"Dude, enough with the innuendo!" she tried to sound angry, but laughter broke her halfway through. "I get enough of that from Brooke!"
"Really? Brooke's making passes at you? Now this I would like to hear," Nathan paused his video game and turned to face her. He propped his strong chin upon his hand, looking eager and attentive.
"Uh. I didn't know I'd be dealing with horn dog Nathan when I came over today," Peyton made to get off the couch when his muscular arm linked around her thin waist, tugging her back onto the couch beside him.
"Please, like that wasn't what you were hoping for," he winked playfully at her, but resumed his game. "Anyway, what's going on Peyt? It's obvious that you're upset."
For a moment, he thought she really wasn't going to tell him. Her pearly teeth came out to chew anxiously on her lower lip, and her eyes flitted to and from the door again. But she continued, and he let out a deep breath. "It's just… I've been getting these really creepy messages, and—"
"Creepy? Creepy like how?" the game found itself paused again, as his eyes flew to hers. The blue was a fiery one now, anger and concern radiating off him. The concern he felt for her, how he was just as protective of her as she was of him now, was still somewhat shocking to her now. After all this time, after everything they'd been through, this was the stage them found themselves at. She could tell instantly that he thought it was something perverted, and felt guilty for his earlier comments. It was the last thing she wanted, really, because that was just Nathan. That was Nathan Scott, when he wasn't pod-Nathan or driving-into-walls-Nathan.
"No, not like how you're thinking. They're just really weird, almost like somebody's watching me," she continued awkwardly, and his stare turned a little blank.
"You mean on your webcam?"
"No. I've had that covered for a little while, but they're just… the messages keep coming. I guess it's kind of stupid, but I really didn't want to be alone right now," her hazel eyes were downcast, embarrassed still at showing vulnerability. His arm came around her shoulders, squeezing affectionately before pulling her a little closer to him.
"No, it's cool Peyt. You have every right to be freaked out. You should just stay here," he nodded firmly, and her eyes flew up to meet his.
"Stay here?"
"Uh huh."
"You have to be kidding me."
"No, why?" he frowned slightly.
"Spending the entire night here? Do you have any idea what your neighbors would say?"
"Hey, maybe he's about to marry her too?" he joked, but his tone came out a little more bitter than he'd intended. "Come on Peyton, don't be ridiculous. I don't care what they think, and you shouldn't either. You shouldn't be alone when you're scared, especially not when I'm alone too. It's inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone," he quoted.
"That's very wise of you, Mr. Scott," she snuggled a little closer to his warmth, trying to rid herself of the chill the rain had provided her with.
"Why thank you, Miss Sawyer," he laughed. A few moments passed in easy silence, while his curiosity ate at him. "Hey Peyton? What's ironic?"
"Oh. Heh," she laughed awkwardly, squirming just a bit. "Well, now I run to you when I'm crying. You used to be the one that made me cry."
"Really?" his dark eyebrows rose in question.
"Yes really," she smacked at the arm draped over her. "What did you think?"
"I don't know. I just figured you listened to some sucky music for a while, then got over it."
"The only one who listens to sucky music here is you mister!" she jabbed her finger into his chest, her eyes widening for just a second at the muscle she had found there. She tried to act as if it hadn't happen, but the arrogant smirk let her know she had definitely been caught.
"Like you didn't already know. That's totally why you come here when you're scared."
"Ah yes. Big buff Nathan will save the day, yet again," she scoffed, and felt his chest vibrate beneath her head, indicating his laughter.
"Well, I'm saving this one," he pointed out, and she looked at the raging storm outside. Thoughts of "WatchMeWatchYou", whatever kind of screen name that was, and the creepy messages she'd been sent swirled in her head, and she shivered almost imperceptibly. For the first time, it seemed, she could see the silver lining in all the tragedy surrounding them. Sure, it had sucked, and it hurt more than words could express… but it gave her friend back, something she doubted could ever happen with the way things had once been. For the first time in a long time, she felt safe from the storm, and not just the literal one.
"My hero," she curled in, feeling his laughter and letting out a smile of her own.
Strangely enough though—she'd meant it.
So thank you guys so much for your reviews for the last two chapters. Please keep 'em coming! Lol
Thanks for reading
x Sam
