AN: Thanks for the reading and the reviews. I own nothing related to OTH.
Chapter 20
She never had any problem with persistence, and her time at Duke taught her some patience with books and other dry stuff. She still preferred hands-on work to straight-up theory, so she enrolled in a junior-level course with the enticing name "Introduction to Experimental Psychology". A mistake. Most of the work, at least in her case, amounted to cleaning countless rat cages, topping up feeders and talking to the red-eyed creatures, which never answered back.
She took the very last guy from the temp cage and held him eye-to-eye. The white rat looked back at her with unblinking red eyes and twitched his whiskers, utterly unafraid. "All right, Mick." She called all the rats 'Mick' for some reason. "Your cage is clean now."
The rat kept looking at her. She frowned. "The water and the food are fresh, you spoiled little rodent. What else can I do for you?" She giggles. "Sorry, no she-Micks allowed in the cage." She deftly holds the cage door open while placing the rat inside. With a quick scratch at the rat's head, she locks the cage.
To one side, a tall, scruffy-looking brunette in a white lab coat is pecking at a computer keyboard. She's a graduate student and the lab's teaching assistant. She yells at Brooke.. "You're crazy, Mrs. Scott."
Brooke rather dislikes the woman. She finds her officious, humorless and a bit of a brownnoser. Still, after four hours cleaning cages, Brooke can't help but want a little fun. She puts on her best sneer and a poisonous sweet tone. "Such a horrible appellation, Miss Williams. Dripping with ignorance and prejudice. I have half a mind to file a harassment complaint."
A little fear floats through the other woman's eyes. Harassment complaints are academia's version of a high-school pantsing. In a high pitch voice, the TA yells. "You were talking to the rats, you freak! Besides, it's your word against mine."
Brooke turns her nose up. "I'd rather talk to the Micks than to some disqualified, pill-addled grade-whore."
The woman growls, gets up and walks towards Brooke. "Stupid bitch!"
She is quite a bit taller and heavier than Brooke's five-two, hundred and five pounds. But Brooke is in very, very good shape. The other woman looks pudding soft. Brooke plants herself in a good base and closes her fists. The self-defense lessons from her husband might be put to good use after all. Still... "Are we getting physical?" A steel-sharp cutting tone.
The tone, and Brooke's obvious lack of fear give the woman pause. She stops, five feet from Brooke, and glares. The lab's door opens noisily and the tableau is broken as the two women look at the new arrival. He's short, paunchy and gray, wearing faded tweeds over a white shirt, round wire-rim glasses, suit pants and sneakers. He looks pissed.
"Dr. Summers!" The TA sounds panicked.
The man answers in a tightly controlled, arctic tone. "Miss Williams." She looks down. "Go back to your desk."
Brooke relaxes and smiles faintly. The TA drags herself back, muttering. "Mrs Scott..."
The Professor interrupts her. "I heard all of it, Miss Williams." He dismisses her from his mind and turns to Brooke, still looking angry. "Do you have a few minutes, Mrs. Scott?"
Brooke takes off her mask and gloves, tossing them. "Of course. Please give me a few minutes to change and I'll be in your office."
"Very well."
It takes Brooke ten minutes to do a restroom stop, drop her lab coat in her locker and pick up her jacket, backpack, and to strap the pistol holster to her right leg, well-hidden under her skirt. It's a lonely ten-minute walk to her car, and, at this time of day, a two-hour drive back to Tree Hill. The first time she complained about feeling a little uneasy, Lucas took her to a store, bought her the little piece, asked Deb to take her to the range for instructions and, three weeks later, a concealed-carry permit showed up in the mail. After more than a year, she finds the weight comforting.
After knocking, she is told to come and asked to sit with a dry gesture. She looks at the Professor with her best poker face. He is still a little angry. "Mrs. Scott."
"Dr. Summers."
"You provoked her. Deliberately."
Brooke takes a second to think before answering. Finally, she nods. "I apologize." There is nothing apologetic about her tone.
"Why?"
"I was tired. And she's an ass."
The Professor sighs. "Yes she is." He leans forward, his eyes staring straight into hers. "Is she really a drug addict, though?"
Again, Brooke takes a few seconds before answering. "I don't know. She wasn't the person I was thinking about."
A long silence. Brooke can almost see the little wheels turning inside his head. A cold smile. "You've been around lawyers."
"A time or two." Brooke presses her lips together. "Her reaction, though..."
"Right. It would appear you touched a nerve." He steeples his hands. "The staff will keep a close eye on Miss Williams. Please, avoid provoking her in the future." Brooke assents silently.
She stands up "Is that all?"
"Actually, no. In fact, went to the lab looking for you."
"And what can I do for you?"
He picks up a document from his desk. Brooke instantly recognizes it. A long essay on addiction and its consequences. She turned it in for the final grade on a course a week before. She worked very hard at it. Her research went from biochemistry to psychological, social and economic factors. At the end, Lucas went over it to help her polish the language. He was impressed and she is very proud of it. "This is remarkable work."
She blushes a bit. "Thank you."
"Did anyone help you?"
"My husband helped me with the language at the end. Not the content, though."
"Your husband?"
"Lucas Scott."
"The author?"
"Yes."
He nods, but frowns a bit. "You should have acknowledged his help explicitly."
Brooke looks down. "I guess I should have. Sorry."
He smiles a bit "That's fine." He hands the manuscript to her. "I have added a few notes to this copy. If you revise the manuscript, following the suggestions, I'd like you to submit it for publication in one of the trade journals. One of the top ones, depending on how the end result looks like."
Brooke thinks for a bit. "You'd be a co-author?"
"Of course."
Brooke doesn't have to think about it. She drops the annotated manuscript on the desk "No, thank you."
He looks at her, puzzled. "Why?"
"I've been taken advantage off before."
She expects him to get angry. Surprisingly, he doesn't. He smiles. "It's the academic standard, you know? I'm the head of the lab..."
She cuts him off harshly. "I don't care." She points her chin at the manuscript and continues in a milder tone. "I worked very hard on that."
"Very well." He pushes the manuscript back at her. "An acknowledgment will do."
Now Brooke is puzzled. "Was this some kind of test?"
"No." He snickers. "I want it published anyways. And I like it when people stand up for themselves."
Brooke picks up the manuscript back. "Will that be all?"
"No." He stops smiling. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-six in a month."
"And you have personal experience with addiction?"
She opens her purse, pulls out a bronze-colored chip and shows it to him. A two-year AA chip. "eight hundred and fifty seven days sober."
He nods,a look of respect in his face. "Congratulations."
"Thank you."
He sits back on his chair and looks at her. "How long do you have until you graduate?"
"Three semesters."
He nods. "Any plans for afterwards?"
"Clinical certification."
"Addiction?"
"No. Trauma management in children and teens."
"Any personal experience with that?"
"Yes. Too much."
He waits a bit for elaboration, but it is not forthcoming. "Did you consider Medical School?"
"I don't have the grades."
He smiles and shakes his head. "They don't look just at grades." He puts a finger on her manuscript. "They also look at vocational talent and real life experience. They like older candidates who know what they are doing and what they want."
She gives him a sharp look, her heart beating hard. "That's good to know."
"Come back at the beginning of term. We'll talk some more."
"Thanks."
Brooke feels like skipping on the way back to the car. She calls Lucas, just to hear his voice. Once driving, she shuffle-plays a Madonna CD loudly, and sings along all the way back home.
=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=
The front door slamming breaks Lucas' concentration. A delicate little thread of inspiration, that had him going the whole afternoon, just snapped. Lucas gets up, very annoyed, and he hears another door slamming, this time from the second floor.
It's too early for Brooke, so it's the other resident, Seventeen going on three. Samantha Elaine Scott.
Lucas opens her bedroom door ten seconds after she's slammed it. The angry words at the tip of his tongue just vanish, as his heart misses a beat. She's messily thrown herself on her bed, hugging her pillow. And she is sobbing.
"Sam..."
She turns on him, anger, heartbreak and embarrassment all written plainly on her face. "Get out." When he doesn't move, she screams. "Get out!"
Lucas is angry, sad, and a little worried, but not too much. He's never seen it on Sam, but he can recognize anger and heartbreak. He knows it hurts, but that it will pass. He also knows his daughter well enough not to leave her alone at a time like this. Gently, he lies next to her and wraps his arms around her petite frame.
"Let go!" She struggles and tries to get away. He just pulls her close to him, her back to his front. She stops struggling and just stays tensed up, like a coiled spring. Her voice turns to an angry whisper. "Stop. Let go!"
Lucas pulls her closer, and, like a sudden spring shower, the waters come. She turns around, sticks her face in his chest, holds onto him and cries, and cries. Lucas keeps a loose hold on her, humming an indistinct song, his hand drawing slow circles around her back. Sam, snuggled in her safe place, ends up falling asleep.
She wakes up about an hour later, alone in her bed. She's still angry and sad, but Lucas' caring and the short nap turn the angst boil into a simmer. She's embarrassed and ashamed, but years of uncompromising love and a lot of therapy tells her she's got to talk about it. The choice is between her doctor or Lucas, and she knows which one she prefers. She stops by her restroom, washes her face, changes into an oversize Duke sweat and plaid flannel long pants and picks up her computer. She pads down the stairs, looking for her father.
Lucas is in the kitchen, deftly chopping vegetables. He stops and smiles when he sees her. "Better?"
She smiles lamely back. "A little." She sets the computer down in the counter and turns it on. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
He goes back to work while her computer boots. Once it's on, she opens the picture she received earlier. It's a torso shot of her boyfriend and one of her friends. She is sitting on his lap. They are both shirtless. Hurt, shame and anger twist in her guts, and her eyes mist. She turns it around. "Here. I got it this afternoon."
Lucas stops again and stares at the picture, taking in every detail. Sadness and anger build up slowly inside him. "I'm sorry." He looks at it again. "Who sent it?"
"Anonymous." She shakes her head in disgust. "The fucking prick."
Lucas blinks a few times. Sam is not really into profanity. Usually. "Right."
Sam explains. "He's been pushing me to go all the way. I was not sure. We fought." She tosses her hands up and raises her voice. "Two fucking years! I thought we were going to work it out." She turns the computer around and closes it. "I guess he disagreed."
Lucas squints and looks a little scary. "Maybe I should drive down and have a little... chat."
Before Sam can reply, the front door opens and closes. A happy-looking Brooke bounces in, singing 'Material Girl' off-key. "Hi, bookpeople! Brooke is home!"
Despite what happened, Lucas and Sam can't avoid a smile. "Over here!" Lucas yells.
Brooke jumps into Lucas' arms and kisses him. It takes her five seconds to realize her husband is not responding as usual. "What?"
The smile has disappeared and Sam is looking bleak and slightly envious. Lucas replies. "Her boyfriend cheated."
Brooke flinches. Despite everything, this is still a touchy subject. She looks at Sam and turns serious. "Oh, I'm so sorry, sweetie."
Sam feels close to a fresh breakdown. She loves Brooke, but she doesn't want to lose it in front of her. She grabs her computer and races back up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door as the tears flow again.
Brooke turns to Lucas after Sam walks away. "Damn!"
Lucas hugs Brooke. "She will be ok..."
"How do you know?"
"I don't. But she's reacting pretty much like you did back then. A normal reaction. Angry and heartbroken."
"It's too soon to tell, babe. We gotta keep an eye on her."
Lucas sighs. "You're right."
Brooke smiles a bit. "I usually am." Lucas goes back to fixing dinner and Brooke perches on one of the counter stools. "Changing subjects, I have a question to ask."
"Go ahead."
"I want to apply to medical school." Lucas smiles softly to himself, while Brooke fidgets. After half a minute she explodes. "Lucas!"
"What?" She tosses an apple at him, which he dodges. "I'm waiting for the question."
"I hate you!" Lucas keeps smiling softly to himself. Finally, Brooke giggles. "All right, you skunk. What do you think about it?"
"That you're amazing."
"I know that. Do you think I can handle it?"
"You can handle anything, Brooke Scott. What can I do to help?"
"Well, that manuscript on addiction? I could use a little help revising it for publication."
Lucas lifts his head and looks sharply at her. "One of your professors suggested it?"
"Dr. Summers. Head of the Addiction Studies Group. He dangled medical school at me as an incentive."
"Is that why..."
"No!" She shakes her head. "I mean, it's not just that. I've been thinking about it for a while. It's just that I figured I didn't have a shot."
"I see." Lucas nods slowly. He knows that a strong recommendation by a known professor would help a lot. "I'd love to do it, Pretty Girl."
Brooke and Lucas continue talking about medical school and residence before and during dinner. Sam stays locked in her room until, before they start on dessert, she comes back down. Her eyes are red and swollen, but she has a little smile on her face.
"Taylor just called me." Brooke and Lucas stop talking and look at her. "She 'talked' to him." Sam accentuates the verb with air quotes. "The girl in the picture had it taken and sent to me."
"What did you do to this girl?" Brooke asks.
"I dunno. I thought she was my friend." She shakes her head in dismay.
Sam's computer pings. "Oh. Taylor sent me a picture." She opens it and grins. Her former boyfriend. Six-foot-two, built like a linebacker. Lying on the dirt, half-propped in one elbow, looking terrified. The right half of his face bright red and swollen. And a clear piss stain in his jeans.
Brooke giggles. "That's one scary lady."
Lucas clucks. "You have no idea..."
Like Ron Weasley once said: 'Brilliant, but scary," adds Sam.
=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=
The little party is winding down. Candles blown, cake eaten... Peyton and Nora's little boy is two. Two! How time flies...
The call comes in just as their plane arrives from Vegas. Nora is in labor. They rush to the hospital and wait, anxious for news. Hours later, Peyton comes out of the delivery room holding a tiny a red-faced boy, swaddled and asleep. "Mark Sawyer Lawton, meet your godparents," she states in a tired voice...
Brooke is sitting in an armchair, just looking thoughtfully at her husband, while Nora is sits at the
arm of the chair, braiding a tiny lock of Brooke's hair and humming some indistinct song to herself.
The party was long and stressful, and it feels good to relax a bit. Peyton and Haley are cleaning up and chatting in the kitchen.
Lucas is sitting on the floor, baby Lydia on his lap, birthday boy and Jamie sitting cross-legged in front of him. Sam is kneeling behind Lucas, looking over his shoulder. Since the drama from the previous day, she seems a little better, but she's never very far from her father. Lucas is telling them a story, which Brooke suspects he is making up as he goes along, the freak. He has all of them entranced. Maybe except Lydia who just might be asleep, sucking her thumb.
"He's really good with them," says Nora in a quiet whisper.
"Hm." Brooke is a little too distracted to reply.
"He would be a great daddy..."
That bursts Brooke's bubble and angers her. "What do you mean 'would'?"
Nora drops Brooke's hair and stiffens, knowing that, once again, her mouth outran her common sense. "I mean..."
A sibilant whisper. "That teenager with her hand on his waist is very much his daughter, you dumb cow." Her worry concerning Sam makes Brooke overreact a bit.
"I'm sorry, dear. I didn't mean it..."
Brooke is a little mollified with the apology. "What did you mean, then?"
"I meant he's really good with the little ones."
A flash of their baby Angie makes Brooke's heart tighten. "Yes he is," she replies in a sad tone.
There's a long silence, broken by the inflections of Lucas' storytelling and the indistinct chatter of the two women in the kitchen. Nora goes back braiding Brooke's hair, and Brooke rests the back of her head against Nora's chest, sighing softly. "Peyton is going to the clinic this week. She's getting her eggs harvested,"
Brooke sits up and looks at Nora's face. "Oh!" Nora smiles. "I didn't know..."
"It's time, I guess."
"Well, good luck."
"Thanks." Nora closes in, her lips inched away from Brooke's ear. "You could go with her, you know?. Get to know the place..."
The meaning of what Nora said takes a little while to penetrate. The clinic... Suddenly the little wheels in Brooke's fertile mind start spinning. Three semesters left in college...then things will get pretty hectic. Three years of medical school. Residence. Timing. Brooke turns to Nora. "You wonderful little bitch!" She grabs Nora's face an plants a kiss on her lips.
Nora is neither shy nor immune to Brooke's charms. She arranges herself in Brooke's lap, wraps her arms around the other woman's neck and responds with enthusiasm.
Peyton comes out of the kitchen and takes in the little scene. Her voice comes out a little shrill. "Lucas! Your wife is making out with mine!"
Lucas had already noticed the development and stopped his story, watching with great interest the happenings at the armchair. "I noticed." He sounds amused.
"Well, do something!"
"Do you have a camera in hand?"
Peyton growls, while Sam, Jamie and Haley, who just joined the fun, snicker. Knowing both Nora and Brooke, nobody but Peyton would take it very seriously. Brooke and Nora break up the kiss and Nora stands up, straightening up her dress. They become aware of the attention they've acquired, exchange a little glance, and laugh merrily. Lucas, struggling to keep a straight face, eyes on his wife, breaks the scene. "So?"
A pleased smile. "A strong eight. Damn good kisser, but not really my type."
Everyone laughs again, even Peyton, who begins to get into it. "A high nine from me," Nora interjects. "Excellent technique, a little less than fully into it." She winks at Peyton. "She is my type, though."
A little later, Lucas, Brooke and Sam are getting ready to go home. Nora tells Brooke. "Tuesday at ten."
Brooke shakes her head. "Never mind." If she is going to a fertility clinic there's only one person she wants there with her. Lucas questions her with a glance. She answers. "We have to talk." He smiles and nods.
