Sixteen

They are in a decent sized kitchen that had a small island. It looks like it is the most lived in space in the house. There's a lot of stuff: coffee mugs of all shapes and sizes, pots and pans, picture frames, a few potted plants and herbs, unopened mails, key chains and keys to doors that open and lock to where, Nathan didn't know – would probably never know.

Like the rest of the house, there's a stack of books and CDs – titles, authors and artists that Nathan had never even heard of before. But it isn't chaotic. It isn't useless, unused clutter. It has an inviting and welcoming feel to it. There aren't any flashy expensive decors, just little trinkets with stories and memories attached to it. Like an open invitation to get to know her better: here are the things I love, the things I like, the things I live with.

Nathan's house isn't like this at all. Everything inside their house had been meticulously curated. Even the framed pictures were carefully chosen. Showcase pieces that tell nothing about their family – at least nothing beyond the realm of business, basketball and family vacations in all the tourist traps of the world.

Nathan gets greedy with taking everything in, he wants to note and remember how Haley seems to like the color yellow more. The sunny, orangey hues of her vases and plats and dishcloths. She has a knack for picking up, what his mother would call "kitschy" objects, warm and whimsical. This probably explains why Nathan is still here, occasionally glancing up as Haley silently works around the stove, preparing a large bowl of mac and cheese.

She'd let him look through a couple of photo albums and they lay open in front of him: her baby smiles, her toothy grins, her pigtails, her laughing mouth stained with chocolate, her nameless older sisters, older brothers, her and Lucas in goofy poses. He could easily spot them in group pictures: they are always squashed together, arms around each other.

He feels - whatever is the opposite of jealousy? Not content. Thankful? Close enough. Maybe. This tiny peek into the life his brother had lived. This other world which was filled with ear to ear grins, costume parties, blurry pictures at the beach, hanging out at the café, at the bleachers before and after the game.

A quiet calmness settles between them. It feels strangely fresh and familiar and Nathan barely even realizes that he had stopped nervously bouncing his knees and grinding his teeth.

It soothes him. Everything about this place, about her. It reminds him of all the best moments of his life: the first few hours of the morning biking through empty streets for his paper route when he was kid; an empty quiet court; the hushed silence of crowd soaking up an emotional win or loss; the sound the net makes when the basketball goes in perfectly; the stillness of the night when he forgets about the game and fleetingly lets himself dream and wish and hope for things that he could never have.

He watches her. He's been watching her the whole time, ever since seeing her inside Lucas's room. There is something about her that draws him in, takes hold of his whole attention.

Haley is not ungraceful but there's an endearing clumsiness in the way her elbow accidentally topples over a half empty water bottle, or when the fork she's using clatters into the sink as she drops it while trying to use her other hand to grab a small pepper grinder, or when she trips as she walked towards the pantry. She's quick to regain her balance, as though not even aware of how she almost took a face-dive tumble. She's used to it. It shows in how she never even made an embarrassed comment, just a muttered curse that sounded something between "shoot" or "shit".

Nathan finds himself grinning at this. He had felt his muscle tensing, getting ready to bolt from his chair and grab her should she fall. When she didn't, he's almost thankful, but he couldn't feel partially disappointed, too. He would have enjoyed even that small rescue.

Haley James is like a tiny bird flittering about. There's an energy about her, but one that isn't athletic.

Nathan knows how to use his muscles, every movement measured and deliberate; no move is wasted. With Haley, it is all flow and flowing. Like water stumbling through pebbles and stones or like a movement briefly halted but never ultimately stops. There isn't a sport that he can compare it too, probably because of the imprecision of her movements.

Nathan catches himself, at the ridiculousness of his own thoughts and frowns. What in God's name is he talking about? Why is he so hung up with the way Haley is moving around the kitchen, of all places? It's the most mundane thing in the world and yet - he is so utterly fascinated by it.

Haley must have felt him watching her because she ducks her head for a second, shoulders hunching up, before slowly glancing at him. Their eyes meet and Nathan feels his heart violently thrashing about inside his chest as they held each other's stare. A second ticks inside his head, and then another and another – you have to understand, in basketball every second counts, even the length of time you're holding a ball, trying to figure out where to inbound, the referee is timing you - to count the seconds inside his head is all instinct.

It takes them five full seconds before they both look away, clearing their throats, muttering words without meaning, trying to fill in the throbbing silence.

The intensity of that few seconds feels like - that strange electric charge in the air when it's about to rain. There has to be name for that. Someone really smart knows what that is, but definitely not him. Probably Haley.

Did you feel that, too Haley? What is it called? This growing invisible thing between us? Does this have a name? Tell me, please. I want to know.

He is both desperate and wary to ask this question. All possible answers scares him shitless. He lets the moment pass (what else is he supposed to do?) and he returns his attention back to the photo albums. Safe. Safer. Until he discovers a whole album of black and white photos.

"Oh yeah. Freshman year in Oak Lake." Haley informs him, noticing the way he had stopped to scrutinize every picture. She carefully places the bowl of mac and cheese between them and Nathan dares a haphazard glance. Her eyes have dried up and she had washed the tear stains from her cheeks earlier. The melancholy note in her voice has not totally disappeared, but she didn't seem as sad and lost as she had been when he had found her by the basketball court.

It's a small, brief triumph but Nathan holds on to it. He reminds himself to keep everything simple and light. He didn't asks questions, didn't make comments, just waited for Haley to talk to him whenever she felt like it. She tells bits and pieces of her story. Well, their story and Nathan eagerly laps it up, stamps it in his memory and files it for later when he wants to revisit this odd night of – whatever this is – with Haley James and the ghost of his brother lingering in every photo that held his face.

So apparently, Lucas became briefly interested in photography. He took decent pictures, most of them Oak Lake buildings and landscapes. Without the splashes of green that dominated this city it could have easily been Tree Hill. Every city, every town would had to have the same pre-war brick building, the same park dotted with fountains and statues, the same old abandoned movie house. All high schools would have had the same rows of lockers, the same hallways with harsh lighting, the same basketball gym, empty bleachers. This could have easily been his world.

He does not dwell on that impossibility though. He had always been a realist, having a father like Dan Scott meant that there was no time to have his head inside the clouds, imagining lives he could never have lived. He always went by the steady, solid history of numbers and data: scores, stats, wins and losses. In a way, it helped him survive the suckfest moments of his life. A double edged sword. Like everything that Dan has ever taught him.

He turns another page from the album and discovers portraits. Faces of Lucas's friends, teammates, his mom, Uncle Keith. And Haley.

Haley's was a little blurred, off center. Like she had been too self-conscious to pose but at the very last second, had gather enough courage to look up straight into the camera. There was a boldness in her eyes that seem to jump out from the photo. The direct stare, meant to be challenge. A silent, "oh yeah?!" in the way she had arched her eyebrows.

Nathan is sorry that it isn't colored. Her brown eyes would have been startlingly bright and huge. He lets his finger trace the half smile, half smirk on her face and there's a tiny shiver at the base of his spine.

You're so beautiful.

Nathan wants to tell her this, out loud, because this is the first time he'd used that word to describe a woman. Usually it is either hot or fuckable or banging or any other term that did not hold the seriousness and sincerity – the weight of that word – beautiful.

"I ugh – Lucas insisted. I really didn't like getting my picture taken." Haley's voice is soft and shy and Nathan is appalled that she had caught him practically molesting her picture. He yanks his hand, runs it through his hair, embarrassed. He shakes his head, swallows hard before meeting her face.

Her eyes, up close, like this – Nathan changes his mind – no picture will ever do her justice. "No. It's great. You're beautiful."

There. He's said. He means it too. But dear God, he's gone officially infuckingsane. Has lost his ability to not blurt out all the embarrassing things inside his head. Haley James has unleashed the cornball inside of him and the rosy blush that spreads across Haley's cheeks as she presses her lips together is enough of a reward and Nathan wants to tell her again. He'll never stop telling her, if it would keep the blush on her face.

"Thanks. I – uhm… let me just get those –" Flustered, she makes a move to grab the photo album, their fingers grazing. Remember the shiver in his spine? It has now become a lightning storm, zapping all over his body, it feels like his entire skin is nothing but exposed nerve endings sensitive to every minuscule touch.

Nathan hears Haley draw in a deep breath. It isn't just me, then. He thinks this with immediate triumph. He has not been imagining this almost unbearable tension between them. He lets his finger nudge hers and then Nathan Scott, Tree Hill's Legendary Playboy, brazenly captures her ringed pinky between his index and middle finger and this… this is enough to send his heart into over drive.

He glances up at her and everything is slow and heavy and electrifying and is quickly shattered by the loud knocking on the door.

Haley jumps, looking as dazed and confused as he's feeling. Nathan offers to get the door. He needs to put some distance between them. He needs to collect his thoughts. Apparently Haley feels the same because she wordlessly nods her head and busies herself with clearing up the counter littered with pictures and photo albums.

Nathan is half relived, half – what, he couldn't really tell. But he takes in a deep breath and calms his stuttering heart. Not bothering to check into the peep hole, he swings the door open.

It's Peyton. She's casually leaning by the door, looking down at her scuffed shoes, black high cut Chuck Taylors. Nathan is almost certain this is the same pair of shoes she had thrown at him during one of their many fights. The slump in her shoulder makes her look smaller and Nathan automatically reaches out to touch her, in what he belatedly realizes, is a lame attempt to console her. He has his arms half raised when she sensed his presence and she instantly jerks away.

Her eyes widens when she realizes that it's him. She's clearly surprised to find him here and because frowning is her default expression every time she sees him, Nathan is not at all surprised as she narrowed her eyes, the corner of her mouth turning up in a miniature grimace.

I know the feeling, Peyt. Nathan bites the inside of cheeks to keep himself from saying anything. He is suddenly reminded of how before anything else, he and Peyton would always look at each other with mild surprise before realizing that, oh yes, I am dating / dated this person.

"Hey, Nathan," her greeting is slow, the syllables of his name stretching out in a lazy-do-not-give-a-fuck drawl. "What are you doing here?" The confusion is now replaced with apprehension. An all too familiar tone coming from her.

Nathan winces. He could not help it. It is automatic. All the thousand pointless arguments he had with Peyton flashes inside his head and he immediately gets defensive and guilty. Angry at himself for feeling this way. Annoyed at Peyton for making him feel this way. "I was just...I..."

"How do you know Haley?" Now there's a note of distrust in Peyton's voice, her stance suddenly becoming wary. She crosses her arms against her chest, peeking behind his shoulder.

"You two know each other?" Haley is behind him and Nathan briefly closes his eyes. This is where everything will start to crumble down and turn into ashes. Peyton will tell Haley what a massive asshole he had been all those years ago and Haley would try not to believe her and be gracious about it but Peyton will only need to pick one detailed memory to convince Haley what an utter jerk he was.

Peyton cuts her eyes from Haley and then back to him. "We dated in college. Briefly." This is said in a tone akin to a team owner heartlessly announcing the management's decision to let go of a player: no trades happening, no renegotiation of contract, just an Empty Your Locker, You're Done speech.

Nathan is briefly amused by this but it does not last long.

"What? Wait. Duke, right?" This is addressed to Peyton but they both made twin curt nods. "Small world." Haley comments, sounding pleasantly surprised. She has taken a step forward and is now standing next to him, her shoulders briefly brushing against his arm.

Nathan feels Peyton and Haley expectantly looking at him. He feels nauseous, finding himself unable to think of anything to say.

"Well, come on in Peyton. I've just finished making my famous mac and cheese." The invitation is automatic and there's a sudden shift in Peyton's mood. Nathan realizes that this must have been a common occurrence: Peyton and Lucas coming over here to have dinner with Haley.

"Yeah. I didn't…" Peyton shakes her head, glances at him obviously still trying to figure out what was going on. "What are you doing here Nate?"

Nathan takes a deep breath. He does not know how to answer that but Haley saves him, as though aware of how he is refusing to open his mouth.

"Long story but he and Lucas used to play basketball during high school. He was at Karen's earlier and – why don't you come in and we'll tell you all about it."

Nathan squirms at this. He does not know why he feels guilty. He has not done anything wrong exactly. Except for not telling Haley who is, which is – yeah, an unmitigated disaster waiting to happen as soon as Haley finds out. Which he is hoping she won't. At least not until he has her convinced that he isn't the same jackass half-brother of years ago. That he isn't a better man, but he's getting there. Working on getting there.

"I'm sorry Hales. I just – I can't." Peyton's shaking head catches Nathan's attention and he is surprised to realize that her blonde curls were gone. Gone! Her hair is now straight. How had he not noticed that before? He gawks at her, suddenly feeling thrown off.

Peyton feels his eyes on her, recognizes the reason behind his disoriented stare. She rolls her eyes, a silent "typical" expression crossing her face. "I was just going to get some of Lu-" She stops abruptly, her face losing all of its color as she chokes on Lucas's name, the intense greenness of her eyes pins him with a look that says it all.

Nathan instantly sees it. The way it sends her reeling. He watches grim faced as Peyton takes a step back, the glittering fury in her eyes is unmistakable. This look, he'd seen it all before. He feels trapped, like somehow, he's been caught trying to steal his brother's life. This secret he has kept all throughout the day suddenly surrounds him. It's like a physical presence pressing upon him from all side. Nathan's breath hitches as he feels his stomach painfully clenching with panic.

"I gotta..." He mumbles, his throat dry as sandpaper, voice scratchy, small and scared. Jesus God. He shoves his trembling hands deep into the pocket of his jeans, his knees almost buckling. He wants to escape. He needs to be out of Oak Hill and away from Lucas and the women of his life. How fucking odd, sharing the same attraction to the same girl.

He wracks his brain, wonders if he had ever mentioned Lucas to Peyton. Probably. On one of his angry drunken binges. He's never named Lucas, of course, because he had always stumbled and choked at his brother's name. But there were far too many times during his college playing years when his father had nagged him about his game, offhandedly mentioning how his other brother at least wasn't fucking it up in the court. One less son to be ashamed about and Peyton had always been there when he had raged and cursed at his father and his bastard seed.

He feels a storm brewing inside of him at the memory. He relieves it all over again and the same fury courses through him. His father had egged him on, had taught him hate, had programmed it so deep inside of him that even as a grown assed man, it could still jump up at him. Why had he let Dan poison him?

Haley briefly touches his arm, it lasts for not even a full second but Nathan unfurls his tightly clenched fist. He looks down at her, brown eyes warm and calm. There is no hate, there is no wariness, just her tentative smile. So open and trusting, unaware of how fucked up he is.

"It's okay," She tells him. "You don't have to leave. Peyton just needs a few of Luke's stuff back." She turns to Peyton to give her a sad knowing smile. "His jersey and sweatshirt?"

"And some of my CDs. I just – I'm sorry to barge in on-" Peyton blows out an angry huff of air.

Haley takes a step towards her, takes both of her hands. "No hey, look. It's okay." She repeats and Nathan watches as she squeezes Peyton's hand, her grip tight and just like that, Peyton calms down. "Just let me go and get them."

And Haley leaves them standing by the door, Peyton glaring at him, Nathan trying to bravely face her wrath.

"Why are you here, Nate?" She asks through tightly clenched teeth. Before Nathan could answer, Peyton stabs a finger against his chest. "You didn't tell her. She doesn't know." Not a question so Nathan does not bother to answer, which infuriates Peyton even more. "Jackass." This is said in a barely controlled hiss. Her anger is volatile but Peyton is still careful enough to try and not make a scene.

Nathan could only be thankful for that small blessing. He presses his lips together and looks away, dejectedly mumbling a flimsy, often used tactic of denying everything. This had always been their pattern of communication and Nathan regretfully slips back into it. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Peyton's eyes flashes. "Liar. What do you want?"

"Nothing." He shakes his head, brings up his empty hands between them, a gesture of hopeless surrender.

"Really? Tell me and this time, could you try to be honest, okay? Why did you come to the funeral? You played a couple of games with Lucas. Tell me that's it. That's all there is to it."

He can't answer her.

"He's your brother." Peyton's voice is so low, barely a whisper, Nathan is almost certain that she had not spoken, but the expectant glare she sends him is an obvious demand for an answer.

"Half." He corrects her, almost immediately, born from years of correcting people. He can't escape his past and he obviously reverts back into being his old self, full of lies and excuses. What could he ever offer Haley by staying here and taking from her – her memories of Lucas, her friendship, the warmth and comfort and calmness that she's offering – what could he give back in return?

Nothing.

Nathan makes the decision. "I gotta go." He mumbles, taking a huge side step, avoiding Peyton at all cost and finding himself out of the door and into the empty hallway, with Peyton moving to take the position he had just vacated. She stands there, by Haley's door, arms crossed.

"Nathan," The reprimanding tone in her voice is familiar and Nathan winces.

"I'm sorry I came, okay? I just wanted to see, I mean..." He takes a deep breath, looking away, hating himself for wanting to know, but needing the answer. "Did Lucas - did he ever, when you were together, did he mention anything about me?"

"What do you think?" The answer is an answer but not the answer he's hoping for.

Did that make sense? Nathan frowns and numbly nods his head, unable to press further. "Right. Of course."

"Just go, Nathan. Haley does not need this."

Nathan lets out a snort, his tongue moving around his mouth, finding the sharpest teeth and he bites down, hard. He feels inadequate and scorned and he wants to tell Peyton it isn't her decision to make, but she's right. Nathan digs deep into himself, finds the seventeen year old boy who didn't care and therefore didn't get hurt. At least not in the way he's hurting now. He gives Peyton the coldest look he could muster and shots his parting words: "Yeah. Whatever."

All these driving back and forth. Back and forth. He doesn't know where he's going. No, that's not entirely true. He's going home, because where else could he go? Back to Tree Hill. Back to normal. Back where he doesn't need to be so overly regretful that he's Nathan Scott.

He's hungry and he briefly thinks of Haley's famous mac and cheese and how he never even got to try it. How he never got to say goodbye to her. He tries not to imagine the confused look she'll get when Peyton tells her that he had left. Peyton better fucking stay there and have dinner with her because Nathan will feel a thousand times worst if Haley would have to eat all of those mac and cheese by herself.

And you can now add all of those to the list of tragedies in his life.

On impulse, Nathan swings by Tree Hill's largest and most exclusive cemetery. It's Dan Scott, only the best for his father even in death. But he doesn't visit his father's grave. He can't, not even if he had wanted too. In a gated cemetery you could expect that there will be visiting hours.

So he sits inside his car, drops his head to where his arms lay resting by the steering wheel and wonders, of all things, when Dan had visited his first born to warn him about his genetic gift: HCM.

Sorry couldn't be a father to you Lucas, but here's proof that we share the same blood and curse.

So his dad had reached out to his brother. So what? What did it matter anymore? It made Dan less of a bad guy. Sort of. At least he made that effort. He didn't have to but he did. What other secrets did Dan kept from them? It's like being betrayed but he can't go raging into his father's office, to snipe and gripe. Nathan is tired of feeling vulnerable but he thinks, what the heck, he gets to be sad and miserable today. He has every fucking right to.

And he is. He is sad and miserable because he never really knew his father. He knew Dan Scott the basketball coach, the basketball fan, the man who had given him the gift and curse – not HCM – but basketball. The man who had pushed him to dream big, to work for that dream, to value hard work, blood, sweat and tears. That losing isn't losing not if you have learned something from it. That winning isn't winning, unless you held the highest point or if it was your winning shot that had won the game. That life can only surprise you if you let yourself be caught unawares, if you didn't prepare for it, train for it.

Not applicable, Dad. Not to this life, anyway.

Life has caught him by surprise and he isn't even in the least bit ready. He'd stumble through Lucas's funeral and now he wishes for all sorts of things to be different. He wishes he got to know Lucas. He wishes he had not given his everything for basketball, there were so many things outside of that game that he had given up and he should not have. His relationship with his parents, his friends, even Peyton.

If he had taken the time to talk to Lucas, to be kind to him, how different would his life have been? Would that have been possible? For one person to re-arrange the course of his destiny? If a guy like that found someone like Haley, he must be one helluva guy and not having known him seemed more a bigger loss. Nathan could've learned from Lucas – who seemed to be the very opposite of himself, of their father.

Nathan remembers being curious about Lucas but never actually wanting to meet him. For a long time, Lucas Scott was just a name. A phantom. A mistake from the past and then he discovered the box of pictures his father kept inside his vault at his office - why was it there? Was it that precious to him? Was he ashamed to have kept mementos from a son he had denied and abandoned? - and finally, there's a face to that name.

Every day, ever since he remembered finding out about the existence of his half-brother, Lucas had been some sort of shadow. Some sort of invisible yardstick he had to compare himself with. He had to be better than him or who knows, Dan might just regret choosing him and his mom. That's a shitty burden to carry. He didn't have to. He shouldn't have had to.

He blames his father for that. He blames his mother for that too. But most of all, he blames himself. Because – there's only so much that he could blame his parents and his circumstances on. At the end of the day, when he'd gotten old enough to understand the complexities of family and brotherhood, he should have made the decision himself to break free from his father.

But's he'd been too scared, too stubborn, too filled with pride.

Nathan lets out a watery sigh. He unclenches his teeth, his jaws, the hand gripping the steering wheel. He releases the weight on his shoulder, flings away the anger that had taken root inside his chest. He lets go. Everything that tied him to his father that reminded him of pain and disappointment and regret.

And finally, finally as he breathes in the night air, Nathan lets himself cry.

He cries and he feels relieved. And lighter. Like how he feels when he's about to take off and dunk a ball. Like he can fly. And he does. And he feels free.