A/N - I've been rewatching season three lately and my heart breaks for Brooke. Thanks for reading guys, this is a special one.


She finds him after the party, sitting on a bench on the back porch by himself. There is a hum in the air, a buzzing tension. She sits down beside him slowly, not once looking directly at him. The buzz grows louder until its practically ringing in his ears and even though everything around them is hushed and even though there is a stillness so deep that it envelops them both entirely, it is absolutely electric. The space between them is charged with energy, an undercurrent ready to push through. He cannot help but wonder which one of them will break the silence, which one of them would light the match that would surely send sparks flying.

"Lindsay left early." She lights the first spark.

"She wanted to catch the last train out of here back to New York." He says, running a hand through his hair nervously.

Her brows knit together in confusion. "Why would she leave? You guys are supposed to stay for a while."

"Brooke, I broke up with Lindsay."

It is so quiet after he says these words that he wonders if she has stopped breathing. He finally turns to look at her to see that she is wide-eyed, her mouth forming an 'o' of surprise. It's almost comical and he has to remind himself that now is not the time to laugh at her.

"Why on earth would you ever—" He does not give her the chance to finish asking her question.

"Why do you think?" he asks, tightly.

She looks down at her hands in her lap. She sighs, shaking her head. "Does she think you're in love with Peyton?"

Now it is his turn to be confused. "Peyton? What?"

Brooke opens her purse and pulls out a copy of Ravens. "I brought this so you'd sign it for me. But, while we're on the subject I guess I can explain what I mean." She flips through the book quickly until she finds what she is looking for and starts to read aloud. "I will never forget the first time I realized that I wanted to be with Peyton Sawyer. I could barely see her face over the top of her sketchbook. The wind was blowing her hair all over the place, not that she noticed anything that wasn't her sketchbook. Blonde ringlets everywhere, endlessly long legs sprawled out on the grass, and a look so beautifully determined as she drew, she was everything my fourteen year old heart foolishly desired."

He looks up at her as she shuts the book, a knowing look on her face. Suddenly, it is very clear to him why she seemed to be the only person who did not think that his book is about her. She thinks that it is about Peyton. He wants to tell her that she's all wrong. He wants to tell her that she needs to look past his writings about his early crush on Peyton and see all the clues, both the subtle and not so subtle, that point in her direction, not Peyton's. He wants to tell her that he and Lindsay broke up because she had one conversation with Brooke and knew instantly what he'd known since the day Brooke left for California the summer before their senior year and he'd told her that he wanted to be with her.

But he doesn't tell her.

He decides that he can't do that to her. He decides that it is not fair to make her the homewrecker. She'd spent so long wondering if she was the speed bump on the Lucas and Peyton highway, it's not fair to let her feel guilty over something else. She deserves better, she deserves so much better.

So he leaves, and does not tell her.


He can't say that he's not surprised when his old bedroom door opens and she tip toes in, practically silent. She sits on the edge of his bed; he can't see her properly because his eyes are still adjusting.

"Lucas, are you awake?" she whispers.

"Yes, but why are you whispering? My mom and Lilly are in New Zealand." He starts to laugh, despite himself and only laughs harder when she slaps him on the arm. It all feels so high school and so sweetly nostalgic.

"I couldn't sleep." She says once he stops laughing.

"So you decided that I wouldn't get to sleep either?" he asks smugly. She picks up a pillow and brings it down against his head, hard. "Geez, Brooke, take it easy. You used to think my sarcasm was funny, remember?"

She drops the pillow; all traces of annoyance have disappeared from her face. "Did you really try to dedicate your book to me?" She asks him.

It feels like time has stopped, like everything is frozen in its place. He can sense that this is a moment that will forever be in his memory. She is leaning towards him, body rigid and stiff, fingers wound so tightly into his blanket that her knuckles are bone white. Her mouth is slightly open, as if there are things she wants to say but cannot find a way to say them. He takes it all in. It is burned into his retina.

"I'm guessing Haley told you." Is all he says.

She nods her head slowly. "I went inside after you took off and helped her clean up. I told her that you told me about breaking up with Lindsay today and said something about being surprised that Lindsay ever went out with you in the first place when she'd known all along you wanted to dedicate your book to me."

"And?"

"I let it drop. I decided I didn't want to know. But I've changed my mind." She says. She's not whispering anymore, but her voice is still quiet. He forgets at times that even someone as brave as she is can be afraid sometimes. He remembers that she used to be afraid of him, once upon a time. He can't help but wonder now, as he looks as her face, sees the confusion and pain in her eyes, if she is still afraid of him.

"I started to write Ravens the day after you came to my door with your new address on a piece of paper and asked me to write you in college. I wrote it to distract myself. I wrote it so I would have a way to remember everything that made my adolescence special and meaningful. I wrote it to get closure about a lot of things, but also so that I wouldn't forget that it all made him into the man I am today. But mostly," He stops to take a nervous breath. "Mostly, I wrote it because within all our different stories, was a love story that needed to be told. And it's not my story with Peyton. Peyton just happens to be part of our story, the story I set out to tell. I wanted to dedicate my book to you because it wouldn't exist without you."

She looks away from, blinking back tears. She is seemingly unsuccessful because when she turns back to look at him there is already a steady stream of tears flowing. She stays quiet so he decides to plow on.

"The publishers thought it would imply a preference and since I didn't end up with anyone at the end of the book, they wanted to leave it open for readers to guess which girl I loved more. Lindsay was always a little apprehensive about all of it. She had one conversation with you and was ready to bolt." He smiles apologetically, not knowing where to go from here.

"No, no. Lucas, you've gotta call her, don't end it over—"

"Brooke, it's okay." He says, sitting up straighter and leaning toward her. He notices that she flinches slightly at their close proximity, shifting back slightly. Suddenly, she looks eighteen and terrified of him all over again. The sparkle in her eyes is gone, replaced with hurt and fear and something else he cannot quite place. It's an odd mixture of love and repulsion and it cuts right through him leaving him feeling cold and nervous. He doesn't say anything; he knows that it is her turn to speak.

"Lucas, I have spent years trying to erase you from my heart. I realized on your twenty-first birthday, the very second I walked into the bar and you pulled me over to tell me about your book, I realized that I would never be able to do that. And I realized that I didn't want to do that. Luke, I have spent so much time telling myself that I did the right thing walking away from you so you could be with Peyton—"

"Three days ago, while I was in Savannah, I gave Peyton's number to Jake without him asking for it. Why would I do that if I want to be with her?" He asks.

"Jake? Jake Jagelski?" She asks, brow furrowing lightly in confusion. He nods his head. She shakes hers, sighing heavily. "That doesn't prove anything. I pushed you towards Peyton at the state championship because I thought I was doing the right thing. That doesn't mean I didn't love you anymore."

"I'm the guy for you, Brooke Davis." The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. They feel heavy on their way out, like each one is a weight leaving him lighter and lighter as it leaves his mouth. He waits with baited breath, having no idea what she will say.

"Yes, Lucas. You are absolutely, without a single doubt, the guy for me." She says, her lips forming a small smile that only makes her dimples deepen slightly. He feels relieved until he sees that more tears are welling up and starting to spill over.

"What is it?" He asks her, genuinely gripped with fear for the first time that night.

"You are the guy for me." She says again, the smile gone completely. "But I am not the girl for you."

He does not say a word. He gets out of bed and crosses the room to his old desk. He opens the bottom drawer and takes out the cardboard box inside. He drops it on the bed right in front of her. She opens it and starts going through the pages. As she looks through them he gets out three more boxes, dropping them all in front of her without a word.

"I don't understand." She says, stacks of papers in each hand.

"Those are all the parts of my book that they made me take out. Apparently, I was showing my preference too strongly in all those scenes. They are all about me and you." He says, looking at the box that he had initially brought it out. "The one on your left has all your old letters in it. The one to the left of that is full of pictures of you and me, and old notes that you'd written me."

"And the last one?" She practically whispers.

"Letters that I tried to send but never did, and this," He sits down next to her and all the boxes. He opens the last one and rifles through his letters until he finds the little box that he is looking for. "Every year since we were kids, Haley and I would write down our predictions and wishes for the coming school year and stick them behind a loose brick on the roof of the café. I kept making the lists by myself after we left high school. Why don't you read the ones from junior year onward." He hands her the box and she pulls out the lists from the last five years.

"Oh well, look at the list for junior year. Along with 'beat Skills in H.O.R.S.E.' and 'read all of Fitzgerald's work' is 'I will finally talk to Peyton Sawyer.'" She does not sound bitter, just frustrated. She lets the list for junior year fall to the ground. He sees her eyes widen as she scans his last four lists. "These all just say 'I will try again with Brooke.'"

He nods his head, reaching to pick up the fallen junior year list so he can put it back in its box. "Granted, it wasn't my only goal for the last four years. Going to New York, finishing my book, getting published, they were all goals. But I didn't need to write those down. These lists that Haley and I used to make, that I still make, they are meant to be reminders to stay grounded in who we are and who we want to be."

She looks perplexed as she stares at all the papers. She opens the box with all the pictures of them. She pulls one out that he'd cut out of their yearbook. It is a shot of the two of them talking at their senior prom.

"I thought you and Peyton looked amazing together that night. It made my heart hurt." She says, running the tip of her finger over his face in the photo.

"I thought you looked amazing that night. Now that made my heart hurt." He says, taking both of her hands in his.

For someone who is usually very good with words, he finds himself without any that are worthy of this moment. She is looking at him in a way that is painfully familiar. She is trying so hard not to cry, chest rising and falling with irregular, hitched breathing. She is silently begging, pleading that he let her all the way in. He needs her to see that he has been doing that all this time, carefully keeping all there memories boxed up and safe until the moment came that he could cross this line and get back all that he'd lost three years ago.

"Oh, Lucas." She manages to choke out, a sob escaping her against her will. "I—I didn't know. I didn't know."

He pulls her into his chest, hugging her closely. She clings to him tightly, holds on for dear life.

"I am not pushing you away, Lucas, I am holding on for dear life!"

He keeps one arm wrapped around her waist and one hand at the base of her neck. Her breathing calms down. She has gotten to be very good at controlling her emotions, and he realizes that it is because years of heartbreak have groomed her to be this way.

They fall asleep holding hands.