Author's note: So an update. There isn't an Naley here, it's kind of a filler chapter and there's a shift in POV at the end. I don't know if it's ok. I hope the shift was not so jarring. But we're nearing the end and we need all kinds of closures so, that's how this chapter went. Not sure if it worked as I wanted it to but please let me know what you guys think. There are still probably tons of mistakes that I missed and as usual, I'll probably come back and do some minor editing.

Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews. It has really motivated me to keep on writing this and to see this to its end.

Eighteen

He goes home.

You know how this goes. It's the end of the day, man goes home, kicks off his shoes, stretches out on his favorite couch, closes his eyes, maybe relieve the madness of the day. Remember the best parts or maybe just try and forget everything, hope for that gentle drifting off to sleep without too much trouble. And then repeat.

See that's what normal people would do. Or at least that was how Nathan imagined it. What goes on inside the heavily curtained windows of their neighbors' house. It has never been that way for Nathan. It had never been that way with his father.

Dan liked to keep busy. As soon as he came home, he'd change into his workout clothes and go straight to their home gym. If Nathan was invited, which he often was, he would join his father. There won't be any father-son, "How's Your Day?" talk. There will be grunts and loud open-mouthed breathing as they lifted weights or engaged in any of the plethora of exercises programmed to get them into the best shape of basketball. Running. Muscle strengthening. Quicken their reflexes.

If Dan was not in the mood for that, then a good old one on one basketball game at their garage was in order. And you can bet your ass, it was a competitive, elbow to the face if he wasn't careful, kind of game.

They keep score. That is what he and his father were good at doing. What are you bench pressing? Oh that? You can do better. Just because this is a half-court in our own garage, does not mean you cans slack off, son. What's your score? Well, here's mine, since you aren't counting. You trying to let your old man win? Because I can win this, Nathan, eyes closed and all. C'mmon, son, give me some kind of challenge here. If this is how you're playing, you are never going to get into Duke.

Nathan has all of this shit memorized because it is all just the same thing. Dan can dish them all out with a friendly, teasing smile but the moment Nathan beats him at whatever game they are playing, then it becomes a war zone. It always made his head spin. When he got older, he soon realized what triggered his father's scathing commentaries: losing.

Dan hated losing. Most especially to his son. So Nathan always made sure that Dan won by the smallest possible margin. Just to get him off of his back.

There was no rest and relaxation at home unless Dan was in the mood for it. Or unless it was Game Night, at which point, he and his mom (if Deb was home, which she rarely was, and Nathan couldn't even blame her for that, how sad is that?) are expected to sit through Dan being either overly aggressive (if his team is losing) or incredibly condescending to anyone and everyone. From the players, the coach, the whole coaching staff, the referees, the audience, the commentator.

That's not even the worst part. Somehow, whether they were watching the NBA or college football games, Dan is always able to get in a comment or two about Nathan's own games. Always. There is always something to be said about his basketball skill, his game IQ, his teammates, even his coach wasn't spared.

Nathan was just never sure if it was going to be good thing or a bad thing. Dan likes to dole out praises and criticism in equal amount, that way he is never sure what he'll be getting until after he had been encouragingly patted on the back or sneered at with obvious disappointment.

His mom would always suddenly sit still, lips pursed, knowing that if she tries to say anything, it might just escalate into a full blown fight and then they'd be at fault for ruining Dan's fun night. No one dared to interrupt Dan's ranting and raving.

This was just one of the many reason why in high school he was barely home. He'd either stay with Tim and allow himself to be dragged in one of their many awkward family dinners and then afterwards, when it became obvious that Tim's parent's invitation only extended until after the dishes had been washed, he'd try to find some willing girl who would like to hang out with him at some party that was always happening at Tree Hill. There was always plenty of option. He'd gotten so used to late night parties and drinking that it barely affected his performance on the court. He never slacked off and always kept his mind on the game. He never had off nights. When he needed to play, he played with everything he got.

Ironically, this didn't impress both his father and Coach Whitey.

Coach Whitey and his father go way back. A long history of rolling their eyes at each other and sometimes, even childishly making faces when one's back was turned. Oh, he'd personally seen it happen one too many times. It was both hilarious and disconcerting. The two most important men in his life shared an unbreakable animosity towards each other. They both loved the game, they both respected the team, they both wanted what was "best" for Nathan, but they could never agree on what exactly that "best" meant.

Nathan often wondered why Whitey ever bothered giving him a slot at his basketball team, when clearly, he and his father would always be at odds with each other. No matter how many points he could score in a game or how impressive his dunks were, he would not be part of team without Coach Whitey's consent. Tree Hill High and even the town itself can lay claim to the Ravens, but those in the know knew that the Ravens existed because of Whitey Durham.

His early training, he owed it to his father. Maybe even his talent, but getting in the senior basketball team when he was just a freshman? Getting playing time? Being Captain of the team? That was all on Whitey.

He'd never gotten around asking Whitey why he had put up with the legendary stubbornness of the Scott father-son tandem. On his last year though, on the road to State, without much words being exchanged, Whitey had assured him that regardless of his asshole father and the asshole behavior his father inspires in him, he knew talent when he sees it, but most of all, he knew heart.

And apparently, Nathan had that. He couldn't see it for himself, but it mattered to him that Whitey had believed in him enough to suffer through having Dan Scott constantly breathing down his neck, trying to take over the Raven's basketball team.

He'd tried it once too. Dan Scott, during Nathan's Junior Year, planned and executed a whole ass coup d'etat for the coaching position. And like everything in his dad's sad life, Dan had managed to get what he wanted only to fuck it all up. The one crucial game Dan had coached them, they lost spectacularly.

The School Board had not been impressed and Whitey, smugly and immediately took over. That little coaching stint was never, ever mentioned in Dan's presence. It was as if it had never happened at all. If they had, by some miracle, won that game, Nathan was sure his father would have done everything in his power to keep Coach Whitey out of the team. His father was a real piece of work.

Nathan somehow knew that even after he graduated from Tree Hill, he would never be truly free from his father's control. Worst, what if his new college coach was not like Whitey, who despite being old, Dan actually feared. His father could always make donations to the team, even to the school – donations which could be significant enough for him to gain some semblance of, not control, but influence. And that was all that Dan Scott needed to make Nathan's life a living hell.

The thought of a new coach had added to his ever growing list of anxieties. He remembered turning eighteen and already feeling old and worn out. He was tired and angry, the pressure of high school basketball and his last chance of getting the State Championship had all been a potent mixture for rebellion. His dad pushed him and pushed him and even though a part of him did recognize it as a way for Dan to make him become a better athlete, Nathan had had enough.

Sure, it had not been all that bad. At least not until the start of his Senior Year when suddenly, his entire future seemed to be staring straight at him and he felt trapped. What if this was not what he wanted? What if he had thought it was, but in reality, he was just doing it because his father had wanted to? Because all his life, he had been pushed towards this. And he had nothing else, no fall back plan, no other skills, no other hobby or interest. Nothing. It was just basketball.

That scared the shit of out him to the point that he had even thought about quitting the team. But then the paralyzing question of "and then what?" kept him doing just that.

And all of those feelings – well, he never directly handled them. He just sort of brushed them aside, tried to distract himself with parties, drinking, casual, random meaningless hook ups and even more parties.

Then, out of sheer fucking nowhere, Dan decided that he wanted to become the Mayor of Tree Hill and you can bet your ass they had to pretend to be the normal, perfectly perfect family for the whole duration of the campaign period. Which meant no parties, no drinking, no girls, just school and basketball games and big smiles for the cameras, arms around each other.

Nathan guessed that this was Dan's way of getting more power and influence and the only good thing that ever came out of that experience was that his father lost. His dad needed that lost. It was good for his already bloated ego and it completely wiped out any chance his father might have had in getting any ideas about becoming an influential politician father to a son who was a potential Division One NCAA basketball player with just a faintest buzz of a future career in the NBA.

Dan would have milked his small town mayorship to the very last drop, Nathan was sure of this. The disappointment must have really crushed Dan. No wonder his relationship with his father had massively deteriorated once he had gotten into Duke.

It was harder to have any control in Nathan's life now that he was out of Tree Hill and it was just like Dan to make sure that he did it all in one go every time they came for a visit. The only reason Dan did not leave Tree Hill was because it was his comfort zone. He was still a local hero, although no longer in the same new shiny way that Nathan was after they've won the state. Even though he hadn't won as the town's mayor, Dan Scott was still well known and respected in their community. He could not let go of that security and so his excessive bullying had to take a backseat.

It freed Nathan in some way and it frustrated his father to no end. And then the whole drama about being injured, the now shared shattered dream of never being able to go pro. It tore them apart. The final swing of the knife that cut off their ties.

Well, that and his untimely death.

Nathan realizes with a start, how easily he could remember all of these without so much as flinching. Those memories had always made him angry. It fueled whatever remaining hatred he had for this father and the relationship that he could never fix or heal. Now, thinking about it, there's a sudden new thought that pierced through it all: in everything that had happened, he would have had someone else who completely understood how he felt, the pressure to be the best, to step out of his father's shadow, to be his own man, to carve out his own path.

Lucas.

His brother would have understood him better than Jake or Tim. Because as much as they are a part of his life, they never had Dan Scott for a father. But Lucas... could he have made a difference? Having someone in his life who would have known how exactly it felt every time Dan's name was mentioned in a conversation about basketball.

He'd never know. Maybe he just wasn't supposed to.

Nathan snorts a little, shaking his head as he remembered all those Dan-centered conversations he had had all of his life: Oh! You're Dan Scott's son. You play ball too? Of course you do. Your father was a legend in Tree Hill. He was one of the best. You have his eyes. You're what, taller than him? I think you are. Play the same position? Beat your old man's scoring record?

Nathan would still get that once in a while. Or a variation of it. Depending on how well they knew Dan. And don't get him wrong: he was proud that he had been able to follow his father's footsteps. The first part of his life, before basketball had become a competitive sport he played, when it was just the two of them at their backyard half-court, when they played because it was fun and they weren't keeping scores, Nathan loved those first few years. Those were one of the happiest moments of his life. He could still hear Dan laughing good-naturedly at his air balls, he could still clearly remember his father's smile when he made good shots and good passes. They could goof around then and it didn't matter who won or who lost. They had so many great times together.

Sometimes, Nathan wished it had stayed that way. How different his life would have been if only Dan didn't have his own demons that had drove him to act the way he did. It was like the moment it became obvious that his son was as gifted – maybe even more talented – than he was, Dan had become resentful and then proud and then resentful and it was a confusing cycle. For both of them.

Nathan wished he knew why a part of Dan's life had been poisoned by basketball. It could not have been just because of a failed basketball career. Dan still had everything: a good, more than comfortable life, a loving wife, a son that idolized him. Was it the guilt of leaving Karen and Lucas behind? Was it regret? Was it disappointment? Anger at himself? At Karen for being young and pregnant and for forcing him to choose between her and his basketball dreams? Was it because he felt trapped when he made the same mistake with Deb, just months after escaping Karen and Lucas and Tree Hill? Was it because he had to come home, not having fulfilled anything the town had thought him destined for?

All those questions, everything left unanswered. This was his father's version of haunting him. Not with ghostly apparitions but moments like this when he misses him and not miss him at the same time. It's enough to keep him awake, his mind always churning, always wondering.

Nathan is surprised to find his mother's car at the garage. Deb is never really home. Not if she can help it. She's been keeping herself busier than ever, acquiring more business to manage, taking her all over the states and sometimes even out of the country and yet, here is her Pontiac Solstice, announcing her presence.

He grimaces a little at the customized paint job, silver bullet, sleek and gleaming in the dark. It's not exactly a mom car but then again, when was his mom exactly a mom? He thinks it's weird and sad, the state of their relationship.

They have not had the best mother-son relationship when he was growing up. Dan monopolized his time and Deb had been resentful for that. But it had started to get better once he had gotten out of Dan's daily clutches. It's even heading towards affectionate.

Dan's death should have brought them closer and yet, there's a distance between them that he just could not understand. Maybe because he feels guilty for not being the perfect son and she feels guilty for not being the perfect mother and they both feel guilty for not having the guts to tell each other that, in truth, they both hated perfection - all the lies behind it. It's a facade. A trick. But they don't have the words to comfort each other, that all the flaws and shortcomings, all of that has been forgiven, and so there is only tentative silence between them.

He kills the engine and glances at darkened house. It looks like no one is home, but there's a light in Deb's office and he knows she's there, probably having dinner and a glass of wine. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. He lets his eyes roam, lingering at the darkened, heavily curtained window of Dan's office, right above that was his own room, just as dark and heavily curtained. Nothing about their house looks inviting.

Oh, it's big alright. More modern looking now, after his mom had done some renovations. Bigger windows, a slicker, less bulkier look.

Home of the Scotts. One of the biggest McMansions in Tree Hill, the place to be during Dan's annual Kiss His Ass parties. It's not called that, of course. But it's a semi-formal event. Even the cheerleaders would dress up for it. He remembers it all so clearly. How he'd watch his father hold court over the adults, the younger members of the basketball team would surround him, listening intently to every bullshit he says.

Fun times.

Nathan lets out a tired sigh as he went it and heads straight to his father's office. He knows exactly what he needs, just isn't sure where to look. Or if it was still there. God he hopes so. This was his last chance for redemption.

He has decided on a peace offering. An important one. Or at least something that he hopes Haley would be interested in. Because let's be honest here: Nathan wants to see her again. Now. Tonight. And he has ran out of reasons to come knocking on her door, begging for her time, for her smile, for the way she looks at him with those bright, bright eyes of her.

So he has to come clean. He has to give her the truth. He owes her that. He wants to not lie to her. He wants her to trust him. He wants her to want to get to know him – everything about him: the good and the bad, the glorious and the ugly, the tainted past, the uncertain now, his inescapable connection to Lucas.

That is if Peyton has not told her yet. But if she has, he has to come back to Haley with something. A gift. An apology of some sort. One that isn't just I'm sorry because she deserves more than that.

Nathan isn't sure how exactly he's supposed to tell her the truth and if she'd still want to even talk to him afterwards, but he has to try. This was something that he isn't going to brush aside or run away from. He is done being a coward. If he's going to really, truly live his life, then he has to take this risk. Otherwise he's afraid he might end up like his father, filled with guilt and regret.

He's done living the way Dan had lived his life. He's better than that.

Nathan flicks the switch on and light floods the room. It's the first time he's been here since Dan died. Nathan acknowledges the burning pain in his throat. He misses him. Despite and in spite of everything. God, he miss him so much. He half expects to see him sitting on his chair, a glass of whiskey on one hand, an arched eyebrow as he asks him how's the game and Nathan will be quick to answer, "Buzzer beating, winning shot."

And Dan, in one of his rare good moods would raise the glass and wink at him, "That's my boy."

Nathan feels wistful. Forgiving. He does not stop the small chuckle, the pleased grin that he would have given his dad, as if he's actually physically here and they're having the conversation they have had for a thousand time.

He sits on his father leather chair and he imagines, for a moment, that he could still smell his father: a familiar minty aftershave, the scent of new leather, car fresher. Nathan leans back, is pleased that he does not feel small sitting in this massive chair. He remembers being a child, swiveling the chair around and around, Italian leather. The very best, Dan had told him. He makes half-turns, eyes going around the office, trying to see it from his father's perspective. The bookcase that held numerous family pictures catches his attention. He stops turning, feels a strong sense of connection: he knows the when and where and why and hows of every picture. His father had a lot of pictures of him in his uniform and Nathan feels the lessening of the pressure inside his chest.

Dan was not perfect but he loved Nathan. He was proud of him. Wanted what he thought was best for him. Worked hard to give everything that Nathan now has. Had shaped him into the man he now was.

And Nathan knows this was not the kind of love that he had wanted and wished for, but he understands it now: it was the kind his father had been able to give. And maybe, in the end, that was enough. That was all that mattered.

He takes a whole minute to just breathe in and be silent. "It's ok, Dad." He says this out loud and shrugs, not really expecting anything, just wanting to get that out. "I'm going to be ok."

He goes through his dad's drawers, finds old receipts, files from the Dan Scott Motors, a folded schedule of games from his Junior Year, x's and check marks on loses and wins. He knows exactly what he's looking for and was certain this was where he had last seen it but it takes him a while to find the old familiar steel box at the very bottom of the drawer. The key is no longer in the keyhole, but it's ok. It isn't locked. He braces himself, like has always done every time he brought this box out from its hiding place. He opens it but it's empty.

He knows it, just from the weight of it. He has held this box a thousand times, knows where the dents are (he moves his finger along the edges and find the warped metal, the unevenness of it, familiar and almost comforting – it's still there, see). His memory knows how heavy it is but he's still surprised to find everything inside of it gone. He stares at it blankly.

Of course.

It is never that easy.

He lets out a small curse and slams the box close.

Nathan finds his mom at the kitchen, washing the dishes. The wine glass is still full, but the bottle is now empty. He feels strangely irritated by this, but tells himself to calm down. It could not have been a newly opened bottle. He wasn't a wine drinker and this could be an old bottle, already half-full. Or half-empty.

He takes a deep breath. "Where's Lucas's pictures, mom?" He does not have the time for small greetings but he feels slightly ashamed at the stunned expression on his mom's face as she turned to look at him, her greeting dying on her lips as she opened and closed them, obviously caught unaware by his very odd demand. "I mean, hi, mom. Sorry. I just – I need…"

"What?" Deb asks, still looking confused. She looks younger, somehow and Nathan realizes he hasn't really looked at her in a long time and he feels the full weight of that guilt now. He had lost his dad but his mom was still here. Apparently having grown her hair longer than he had ever seen it. Which probably explains why she suddenly look less like a widow and more like… her old photos from college. Like the one Dan had especially liked and framed, sitting at the corner of his desk. "Why?" She has turned all of her attention towards him.

Why?

Nathan remembers why. He swallows hard, tries out the words inside his head before voicing it out. He reaches out to cup his mom's elbow, ready to steady her if needed. Or maybe, it's the other way around. He needs to anchor himself to her because this will be the first time he'd say the words out loud, as a fact, as something that was now certain and irrevocable. "He died, mom. Lucas died and I went to his funeral."

Deb blinks up at him, her face serenely blank for a split second before crumpling into a frown. She shakes her head, shakes off the hand holding her. Nathan quickly lets go.

"What" she repeats again, disbelieving.

Nathan knows exactly how Deb is feeling. "We saw it on the paper, mom. And we… Jake and Tim and I, we went to the funeral. I met his bestfriend and I talked to Karen and Keith. And I just, I think I'm... I want her - Lucas's bestfriend, Haley, her name's Haley, I want her to have Lucas's pictures. The one inside dad's box but they're all gone and I... I just, where are they, mom? I need to give it to her."

He sounds both crazy and desperate. The disjointed story of today spilling out from him and this is not the best way to ask something from Deb because then she might think he's drunk or something, trying to make trouble - that poor girl, Haley - but how could he explain this his mom without getting into the details of Haley and the yellow light she brings with her and the way she looks at him and how it makes him feel, so he stands straighter, keeps his eyes on Deb's, letting her know how serious he is. How sane and sober and sure he is.

Deb doesn't say anything. She clutches a hand towel, wrings it dry, twists it, but she keeps shaking her head. "Nathan I am… I don't know what to say." She says honestly and Nathan appreciates that she isn't ready with condolences and apologies, because what is she sorry for? Instead, he raises both hands and she steps in to give him a hug.

"It's ok, mom." Nathan tells her when he realizes that she's crying, mumbling through her tears and his shirt. How odd. The number of crying women he had had to comfort this day. It had never happened before but he feels strangely capable now. Not of handling grief, but with holding women in tears.

"Oh no. Oh poor Karen."

He is surprised to hear this but before he could say anything, Deb had stepped away from him, turning her face away, her shoulder hunching up almost as if a defensive posture. Nathan watches silently as she wipes her tears with the back of her hand, sniffling softly. Nathan lets her have a moment to compose herself. He can't be impatient, even though a tiny part of him wants to remind her that he needs the pictures. He shifts from one foot to another, his hands going deep inside his pockets and as though reading his mind, Deb wordlessly gestures for Nathan to follow her and they end up in the masters bedroom.

It's huge and empty. No body sleeps here anymore. The sheets will be cool to the touch and the desks will be coated with a film of dust that will stick to the skin, leave a thumbprint on the surface. Deb kneels down, opens a drawer and takes a bundle of pictures and papers tied with a Raven blue ribbon. She sits down, pats the space beside her and Nathan obliges. He glances at the pictures over his mom's blonde hair, wondering who moved them here. Was it Dan? Did he wanted the comfort of reaching out by the night stand to look at the son he hadn't forgotten but never truly wanted? Was it his mom after his dad died?

"We never talked about it you know." Deb said, handing the tied bundle to him.

Nathan accepts it, his hand framing the smiling face of Lucas, aged two, all blonde hair and chubby cheeks. "It's a little too late for that mom, I think." What was there to talk about now? Nathan thought, without bitterness or resentment. He understands now why this was never discussed. It could not have been any easier for his mom to know that she wasn't the only one. That Dan had a clear, separate life before he'd met her. A life he had kept secret until Deb had to find out for herself.

He takes his mom's hand and gives it a squeeze. They went through this silently and in order to protect each other, they made the mistake of ignoring it and never talking about it. Hiding it inside this box, which had never been a secret in the place. Just a box that Dan kept.

"I'm sorry –"

Nathan shakes his head, stopping his mom. "There's nothing to be sorry about."

But Deb is just as stubborn as he was and she leans against his shoulder, her fingers reaching out to trace the faded edges of the photograph. "I shouldn't have let your father pressure you so much..."

"He didn't." Nathan turns so that Deb is forced to face him, the corner of her lips turned up in a knowing smile. "Well, yeah ok. He did. But not always. I was happy then, mom. I was." They both needed that assurance.

"Not always. Nate." There was a dismayed tone in his mom voice that made him wince.

"Well, who's always happy? No one." He knows the many times his mom and dad had tried to work on their marriage. They had attended counselling. Obviously it had not worked the way they had wanted it to but they stuck it till the end. That meant something.

"Oh you know what I mean. Your dad can be difficult we both know that. It was him. It was me. It was us. We have regrets and then the resentment and instead of working on them - we ran away from it like cowards. We were young when… oh, it's not an excuse. It's not. We were both at fault and we took it out on you."

Nathan sighs. "We all took it out on each other."

Deb lets out a watery sigh that turned into a chuckle. "We did. Oh, how we did."

"I just wanted him to be proud of me, you know." Nathan mumbles this confession even though he knows his mom already knows this too.

"He was." Deb gives him a half hug, squeezing him to her. "You were everything that he had wanted you to be and more."

"Yeah." He takes a deep breath and there is no more pain inside his chest. There must have been something in his voice, in the way his shoulder had slumped down that made Deb grab his face, fingers curling on his chin, like the way she used to do when he was just boy and he wasn't several feet taller than her. "Nathan, you're not your father. You're not then. You're not now. You're you."

"I know, mom." This wasn't his fear. Not really. Even when he was younger he knew that he and Dan were not the same. And it isn't just Whitey who had told him this, he knew it instinctively. What he feared had nothing to do with Dan Scott.

"Good, I just wanted you to know that." Deb gives him a full hug.

"Thanks, mom." He drops a quick kiss on top of his mom's head. Like the way she used to when he was younger, on the rare times that she'd read him a book before going to sleep, or during the earliest days of his basketball career, when the pain of losing was still sharp enough to make him want to cry.

They were silent for a few minutes before Nathan starts feeling the need to move, he's never been the kind of person who could sit still, especially not when he has to go back to Haley.

Haley.

It's like a siren song, calling to him. One he can't ignore. No, check that. One he doesn't want to ignore.

Deb notices him glancing at the photos and his watch, realizes that he had said 'her' earlier. What was her name? Haley, was it? And, like a mother, puts two and two together, she immediately thinks this isn't just some girl if Nathan feels the need to give her Dan's treasured mementos of Lucas.

Lucas's bestfriend.

There is something strangely ironic about that. Or maybe, not irony but destiny.

She glances up at the profile of her son, the way his blue eyes are gleaming brightly, suddenly full of hope. She could almost glimpse her little boy in the way Nathan nervously twitches his lips, impatient, eager to get away from her. She stifles a smile, wondering how this will all end. Happily, she prays.

She shifts away from Nathan, ready to let him go, glancing at pictures that Nathan was holding one last time. In her mind, she remembers each one of them with clarity. The little moments of Lucas's life that Dan had not been able to become a part of.

She has held on to them for far too long and she knows this was the right time to let go. She had always wanted to reach out to Karen and Lucas but she could not figure out how. It seemed bold and assuming of her to go knocking on their door, wanting to get to know them. And now, she'll never have the chance with Lucas. But, here was her son and she could not remember the last time they had ever sat like this, being kind to each other. She didn't know when she'll have another moment with Nathan like this and she thinks of the one thing she had wanted to tell Nathan but never had the courage to.

Deb watches as Nathan's knees starts to jiggle, the small movement restrained but familiar. Dan did the same too whenever he was anxious. Oh how they were alike in so many things, it was startling when she sees it with her own eyes. It reminds her of how Nathan was as a boy: never quietly sitting at a corner, always at the center of the room, boisterous, happy, all eyes on him and it comes to her, the words that needed to be said: "It wasn't your fault that he chose us."

Deb expects Nathan to be surprised but he merely nods at her and this is the first time she glimpses the kind of man her son is set to become. The maturity she thought would never come after years of her spoiling him and Dan pressuring him. Their push and pull, good cop bad cop parenting that had done wonders in screwing up their son.

Or maybe, not screw up. Hopefully.

"I know." Nathan tells her and Deb believes him. They mumble through awkward I love yous and don't come home so late before Nathan leaves and as soon as he is gone, Deb picks up the phone.

She dials the number she has memorized by heart. The number she has meant to call so many years ago and hadn't gotten the courage to ever really dial. Somehow, she knows that today is the day and when she silently waits and listen to the phone ring, she promises herself that she'll be a better mother. She's more than capable of that and most of all, Nathan deserves it.

"Hello?" The voice is tiny, quavery, almost dream like.

"Hi. Karen?"

There is only silence.

Deb imagines Karen swallowing down anger and tears. "Please don't hang up. I just... I heard what happened and I just want you to know that I'm sorry. I am so sorry. For everything."

"It doesn't make everything ok."

"I know." Deb is startled to find no anger in Karen's voice. There's only the kind of calmness found when stating an undeniable fact.

"You still have Nathan. I lost Lucas. I lost my boy."

And now she hears the tears and the anguish and Deb feels it too. "I know, Karen. I cannot imagine how -" for a moment she thinks of losing Nathan and her heart stops. Not now, not when they've just found each other again. She takes a deep breath, lets her own tears fall freely. "It would be an honor if you'd let me be your friend, Karen. Please tell me that I'm not too late."

The pause is just half a heartbeat. Deb knows, she had felt it.

"Lucas always says, he always says: it's never too late for anything, mom."

And over the phone, they both cried for everything that they have lost and for the kind of hope that women, mothers most especially, are always able to find even in the worst of times.

- tbc -