Newest update! This chapter takes place the same day as the previous three chapters. So Peyton just found out about Brooke and Lucas in New York, etc.

Anyways, leave a review at the end!

Brooke turned off the engine of her car in the middle of Peyton's driveway. Technically, it was still Brooke's driveway, as well as her house, but she had left it in Peyton's care since she had been living with Lucas. It wasn't hurting anyone, since Brooke owned the house and had plenty of money, and Peyton needed a place to stay. Plus, Brooke figured she got major karma points out of the deal, so it all worked out.

With a sort of happy sigh, she grabbed the CD that Rachel had asked her to return to Peyton and climbed out into the last bright rays of the five o'clock sun before heading up the walk to the house. Knowing Peyton would probably have the music on in her room, Brooke just threw the front door open and walked in.

She looked past the entryway and the living room, her eye immediately attracted to the open kitchen. Peyton was there at the table…with Lucas.

Peyton was at the head of the table, Lucas on her right; he had turned the chair so that he faced her directly. His hands were extended over the table, like he had been holding hers when Brooke walked in, and even as the brunette met Lucas's suddenly uncomfortable gaze she watched him lean away from Peyton, increasing the distance between them whereas he had been inches from her face before. Both Lucas and Peyton were flushed and breathless, beaming at each other and Brooke, laughing slightly as if they had just climbed off an amazing roller coaster. Watching her boyfriend, Brooke saw that Lucas's eyes, which had been so bright and clear when he was looking at Peyton before they registered Brooke was there, suddenly clouded with something like anxiousness when he saw his girlfriend.

Brooke froze, surprised. "Hi…boyfriend," she said, unsteadily. She watched Lucas and Peyton exchange a fleeting glance, their smiles flickering, then turn their eyes back to her. "I didn't know you'd be here." Then she faltered for a split-second before catching herself and matching their warm, sunny smiles. Her grin looked almost convincing, save for her clouded eyes. What was her boyfriend doing at Peyton's house? Usually Lucas told her everything, and not knowing that he was going to see his ex-girlfriend set Brooke on edge.

Slowly, Lucas half-rose from his chair. He was on guard, watching for any signs of a negative reaction. They definitely were in tender territory. "Hey, Brooke. I was just on a walk and had to talk to Peyton about something." Peyton cheerily bobbed her head from the table, as if confirming Lucas's story. He smiled at Brooke, unsteadily, inviting her to tell him why she was here. In answer, Brooke held up the CD and looked at Peyton.

"Rachel. She borrowed this," said the brunette, "and I had to talk to you about…" Brooke faltered again and her eyes flicked to Lucas then back to Peyton. She continued, in a slightly more confident tone, "About what Victoria was talking about earlier, so Rachel asked if I could drop this off." She finished with a half-hearted shrug and pursed her lips. She didn't want to get into what had happened at Clothes over Bros with Lucas there. Plus, there were more important things going on. Like the obvious atmosphere between Lucas and Peyton, and how Brooke's sudden appearance had somehow ruined it. Maybe it was old memories resurfacing, paranoia, but Brooke wanted to know what had been going on in the minute before she'd walked in.

"Sure," Peyton responded absently, her gaze fixed on a spot on the wall. She was daydreaming about something. Brooke didn't have any time to even look at her, because by that point Lucas had hurried from the table and over to the brunette, taking her in his arms in a quick hug of greeting. Peyton watched the blonde for a long moment, then suddenly she snapped out of her trance. "Call me later, ok?" she asked. She smiled up at the couple from her seat at the table. Brooke started to answer, but then she realized Peyton had been talking to Lucas.

"I will, Peyt," he promised with a little nod. Brooke's gaze snapped up at him, confused and slightly cold; her brow furrowed and she bit back her questions. For now. But Lucas barely noticed, his eyes like the clear blue sky outside as he smiled and switched his gaze to meet Brooke's clouded face. "You ready to go?"

Brooke instantly wiped the cold look off her face. "Yeah." She paused. "Do you need a ride home, or are you going to walk again?" She sincerely hoped the words had no biting edge to them, but honestly couldn't be entirely sure.

"I think I'll just ride home with you," he replied, again with that absent tone. Peyton had grabbed the CD and skipped into the bedroom, probably to reorganize it with her mass collection, leaving them alone near the door. Grabbing his jacket, Lucas added, "And when we get home, let's go out to dinner. I have reservations to a restaurant, if you want."

Taken aback, Brooke laughed quietly and agreed to the date. "Fancy or casual? And should I have the ambulance on call?"

Grinning brighter than Brooke had, Lucas replied easily, "How about we swing by your store and grab a dress from there that you can wear? You'd look beautiful. And about the ambulance—" He grinned again, "—Call them up. I have a feeling I might need it."

Peyton reappeared from the bedroom, still all smiles and slightly breathless, the same as Lucas. "Heading out?" she asked, absently picking up dishes and coffee mugs from around the kitchen and throwing them a glance every few steps.

"Yeah," Brooke said quickly. She hated this feeling; not knowing, being unsure, and not wanting to jump to conclusions. It felt almost like she was underwater, and she didn't know which way was up. If she swam the wrong way, it would almost make things worse. But if she didn't swim at all, she would almost certainly drown. Indecision, playing along, hesitating, the ambiguity of the moment. The new girl who doesn't know if people were making fun of her or not, the one that plays along and smiles and laughs to mask her uncertainty.

Lucas's answer was firmer, but more relaxed. "We're just going out to dinner." From the smile Peyton shot Lucas, Brooke figured they had already talked about it. But before she could even react, Lucas had not pulled her a little tighter and turned to the door.

"I'll talk to you later, ok P. Sawyer? We have to talk about Clothes over Bros today," Brooke called over her shoulder as Lucas pulled open the door.

She heard Peyton's warm voice. "Sounds good. Call me within the next few days, if you have time." She grinned again, and it was somewhere between a grin and a smirk. Even though she had seemed angry that morning at the store, it seemed to Brooke that Peyton was completely happy and content now. It was as if she knew something that Brooke didn't. What was going on? Then the door shut on Peyton and the sunny house, and Brooke and Lucas strode through the quickly falling twilight and to her car. Whenever his clear sky blue eyes were on her, Brooke smiled; when he looked away, the clouds rolled in with all the ominous feelings of an impending thunderstorm.

She entered the bar in her usual fashion: head back, dark red hair tossed carelessly over her shoulder, hips swaying in only the slightest motion. She could count on one hand how many bars she had entered without this strut. It was relaxed, confident; it made her seem approachable but at the same time displayed just enough coldness to make any guy think before striking up a conversation with her or buying her a drink. Usually by the end of the night only the guys that she was interested in would have the confidence to talk to her, and by then she got her pick, which was the whole point of her strut.

But tonight, she had no idea why she was doing it. Rachel supposed the walk was like a reflex, because she was almost certain there was nobody she planned on impressing that night. At least, she didn't think so. Despite her being in a bar, her 'no sex' vow still stood, and she was going to hold true to that. However, the thoughts slipped from her mind as she slid into a bar seat and threw her purse on the counter, full of poise, admiring the way the slinky black dress she had put on before coming to the bar slid up her leg. Rachel almost wished the seats were further back, away from the counter, so at least Owen could see her legs. From across the bar, she watched him, waiting.

Within thirty seconds, Owen was strolling up to her, his smile half-cocked. Rachel grinned back. "Geez, haven't seen you here for a while," he said, leaning on the counter to talk to her, "I thought I scared you off a few weeks ago. I was almost to the point of missing you."

Rachel snorted in response. "Don't lie," she said, "You missed me. Everyone does. Just consider yourself lucky that the new bar downtown closed, or else you never would have seen me again."

Owen smiled. "Actually, I don't consider myself that lucky. The bartender downtown sucked, I'm so much better. I knew it would only be a matter of time before you came back to Tric." Pausing, he waited for her to roll her eyes, which she did, then leaned toward her in a much more businesslike fashion. "Now, what'll you have? It's on the house."

After just a moment's consideration, Rachel said, "A Dark and Stormy." She didn't want to throw her 'no drinking, no sex,' rule completely to the wind, so she decided to add to it: I can drink if someone buys it for me, she told herself with a grin.

Owen nodded appreciatively and turned to fix up the drink. With his back to her, he said, "So where did you run off to that night, and where have you been since?"

Now there was a question that warranted a story. Rachel thought back on that night: the call, the hospital, Lucas with his near-heart attack, everyone crowded into one room for seven hours, until five AM when they had finally left to let Brooke and Lucas get some sleep. But she really wasn't up for a full story session, so Rachel decided to keep it simple. "Just…there was stuff going on with Brooke that night, she needed some help, some support." Understatement of the year. "And since then we've been working on a new line for her company." She left everything else out.

Luckily, Owen didn't need anymore elaboration. With a flourish only a bartender could pull off, he turned and slid Rachel's drink across the dark countertop, the ice cubes clinking in the dark orange liquid. She grinned appreciatively at him, the closest Rachel usually got to a thank you.

As she took a careful sip, Owen leaned on the bar again, looking thoughtful. "Brooke Davis. I haven't seen her for a while, how's she been?"

Rachel almost choked on her drink. After a few hard swallows, she said, "I was busy helping her, and I didn't even do anything. Imagine how busy she's been." Owen chuckled quietly, but didn't say anything. Rachel continued, "We finished the line just today, and she's celebrating with Lucas tonight. They're on a date."

"Lucas? The blonde one, who owns this place?" Mild shock rang in his voice; since he had been working at Tric and first met Brooke, she had seen her interact with Lucas maybe once. And even then Lucas was with someone else.

"That's him," Rachel said. She leaned back in her chair slightly, into a more comfortable pose, and fingered the rim of her glass as they talked. Owen's face was still somewhat shocked, even though he was doing his best to regain his composure. "Brooke and Lucas were together back in high school," she added, for explanation, "then he hooked up with Peyton a month or so before graduation, and was with her for the next year after. Then he almost married Lindsey, but she broke it off because of Peyton, and now Brooke and Lucas are back together." She finished the last end in a rush and sucked in a deep breath: just telling the damn story was tiring.

While she was talking, both of Owen's eyebrows went up. "Damn. Sounds messy."

Rachel finished the end of her drink. "Believe me, it is." She put the glass back down and Owen took it immediately. "And that's the super-abridged version," she added with a nod. "The full version has many more catfights, a few fistfights, way too many tears and even a hangover or two."

"Damn," he repeated. "Thank god I didn't go to Tree Hill High." He shook his head, wide eyed. Rachel laughed as he turned back around to face her again, this time with a more serious expression on his face. "What about you, how have you been?" There was that quiet curiosity again as he focused on her, with serious brown eyes and that half-cocked smile.

Almost unconsciously, she shifted in her seat, but she doubted he even saw her tiny movement when he didn't react. She laughed, although nothing was particularly funny, tossing her hair over her shoulder, smiling and looking down the bar. "Don't you have customers waiting? I'm sure they're getting pretty pissed off right now." With her eyes, she pointed to the group of thirty somethings at the other end of the bar, the ones with empty glasses and beer bottles around them. Most of the noise was coming from that area. Owen slid his eyes to where she was pointing.

He snorted. "Nah, they're too drunk. I guarantee you one of them will try to drink one of those empty glasses any seconds now." They watched, and as if on cue, a shorter, muscled guy reached for a bottle and had to turn it upside down to make sure it was in fact empty. Rachel burst out laughing, echoed by Owen. "I told you. Just let them digest their last drinks before I go give them more." He paused, then added, "Besides, it's way more interesting to talk to you. So how have you been?"

Well, he wasn't getting any story tonight, even if she'd had a story to tell. "Besides busy, I've been fine." Suddenly, she was tired. Not drop-dead, bone tired; just tired, weary. She supposed it was partly the topic of conversation, so she didn't tell him anything else.

"How'd that thing ever work out with your friend Mouth?"

"It worked out fine: Mouth is back together with Millicent, which is good, and I'm single again. Which can be good or bad, depending on how you look at it." Her answer was short and spoken with barely any emotion.

Despite her lackluster reply, Owen leaned back with a knowing smile. Rachel looked at him questioningly, confused, until he said, "So that's why you're drinking tonight. You're single."

Sarcasm filled her voice. "Oh, ha, ha," she sneered at him. Changing to a much more serious, proper tone, she added, "I'm actually not drinking anymore. I'm not even going to have another drink tonight." Owen shook his head, turning around again, but she caught glimpses of his smile and rolled her eyes—he thought she was kidding—but she couldn't help a smile of her own spreading over her face.

Much more quickly than he had before, Owen turned with a new glass in his hand. "Well," he said, shrugging apologetically, "That sucks, because I made this Red Bull and Vodka just for you. On the house, again. What are you going to do about that?" he challenged with a smirk.

But Rachel was stubborn as hell when she wanted to be. "No thanks," she said sweetly, leaning back on the bar stool again.

"Then I'm just going to leave it here," Owen replied with the snarkiest grin, and set the glass in front of her. "It's free for whoever wants it." Rachel's cool demeanor didn't even seem to ripple; it was a game they were playing, seeing who would give in first. She wasn't exactly a stranger to it, it had happened all the time in New York: most of the free drinks that Rachel received were from games like this. The only difference tonight was that she was trying desperately not to drink, and Owen was making that increasingly more difficult for her. She simply wanted to keep her pride tonight.

That lasted for all of about five seconds. What the hell, I've given into temptation before, Rachel thought to herself. Deftly, she grabbed the glass and downed half of it, avoiding Owen's eyes to escape his smug look.

"I knew it," he said, laughing, teasing. He knew the game they were playing as well. Rachel smiled, still holding the cold drink. It was one of her first real smiles that she'd had in a while. "I knew I could get you to give in. Now, will that be your last one?" The question was a joke, naturally. They both knew the answer.

"The night is young," Rachel replied with a discreet shrug, biting her tongue and grinning at Owen.

It would be a good night.


"So, how do you like this place?" Lucas asked, leaning in close to Brooke and whispering so he wouldn't disturb the ambiance of the fancy restaurant where they sat waiting and talking. "Not too bad, huh?"

Brooke gave him a small smile and leaned in as well. "I'm just glad we actually got to the restaurant this time, without having to call an ambulance," she said, shrugging. Lucas made a hurt face, and Brooke winked and looked around. The new restaurant really was nice and romantic: Table cloths and centerpieces on all the tables, canvas paintings on the wall, soft lighting that seemed to give off a golden glow. Lucas had heard about the place from a friend and decided to surprise Brooke with a nice dinner out. Once they had left Peyton's, they had swung past C over B, where Brooke had grabbed her favorite dress—a pretty red one that reached just above her knees. Her hair was done up in a sort of bun, a style that had taken a miraculously short amount of time. Lucas wore a sport coat and button up blue shirt, his usual.

After another relatively long silence in a series of long silences, Lucas leaned in again. He kept his voice low, although it wasn't necessary: from their dark, secluded corner of the restaurant, Brooke and Lucas wouldn't be disturbing anyone. "You look beautiful tonight, you know that?" he said abruptly, but softly, then laughed a sort of short, quiet laugh, as if amazed and awed. Brooke's eyes flicked up towards him, then off to the side again. It was almost cold and aloof, though, instead of the shy, girly flirting technique that she was so noted for.

"Thanks," she said, her mouth forming a purse-lipped smile as she looked at him again, then she went back to examining the drinks menu. For a moment, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Lucas's hand reach for hers, but he instead pulled it off the table and out of sight. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Lucas, what's my favorite feeling in the world?"

Lucas laughed again, louder and clearer and less nervous than before. Brooke stared, not joking, and suddenly Lucas stopped laughing. "W-what are you talking about, Pretty Girl?"

Without answering, Brooke fired off another question: "Do you know how I fractured my index finger in sophomore year?" Taken aback by the brusqueness of her voice, Lucas stuttered and faltered. She watched him, and Lucas was unable to look away from her.

"Brooke," he said after a moment, "What's wrong?" Concern filled his voice, bringing a certain hardness to it that wasn't covered by the return of his nervous laugh. What's going on with her? Lucas asked himself, intently watching Brooke's face with his brow furrowed. It was a nice night, the look and feel and ambience of the restaurant was perfect, everything was working out so far…yet Brooke's eyes still resembled a sky with a storm rolling in. When she stayed silent, Lucas again prompted, "Brooke?"

Nothing. Her shoulders slumped, she fell against the backrest of the chair, shifting her gaze away from him and closing her mouth disappointedly. A touch of agitation colored his vision.

"Brooke, what—" he began indignantly.

"Nothing, Luke," Brooke sighed, even though her mood, which had taken a total nosedive in just two minutes, told him it was the complete opposite of nothing. "Can we go home, please? I'm not hungry anymore, really."

What? Lucas had to take a moment to compose himself after that. There was a definite tightness in his response, and a touch of fear and anxiety as well: The night was not going at all as he had planned, and if he didn't save it soon, it was sure to crash. "Brooke, we can't leave now, we've already ordered. But that doesn't matter. What's got you so pissed off? Talk to me."

Emotion, anger, jumped back to her face as she looked at him in total disbelief. "Just leave it, Lucas." She shook her head, biting her lip in frustration and looking away again. Lucas was utterly bewildered; no matter what he tried to do, Brooke was still mad, and he couldn't understand why. He waited for her to say something, until he realized she was searching through her purse.

"Brooke!" he said again, more forcefully, before looking around and lowering his voice. "Brooke, calm down, let's talk about this…"

"Talk about what?" She ran a hand through her chocolate locks, pushing them back and releasing a deep, angry sigh. Her eyes, full of fire, were focused on anything but him: the wall, the other tables, the softly burning candle in the center of their table. He tried to get her to look at him, but to no avail.

"We can try to fix whatever is bugging you," he said, in a lame attempt to try and get Brooke to meet his eyes. It had the desired effect, he supposed: Brooke's head whipped around to look at him, brow furrowed and eyes pure disbelief, like she couldn't understand why he wasn't getting it. Wasn't understanding her. Then, for an instant, he spotted defeat behind the fire in her eyes, and he softened. "Brooke—"

But she just glared once more, and in a flash of scarlet dress and silver jewelry, Brooke was out of her seat and storming across the restaurant, past tables, and out the double French door entrance.

She never even looked back.

She left. She's gone. Lucas couldn't even move. Full of roiling emotions— fear, confusion, anger— all he could do was sit there and stare after her, stare at the door she had disappeared through as if she might suddenly come back. Seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and minutes into hours as his subconscious tried to make sense of what the hell was going on. Brooke had gotten mad, for whatever reason, and just…walked away. Painfully, he was reminded of the past, how she had walked away then too. What the hell was he supposed to do?

As an answer, his legs jumped to life, and Lucas bolted from his seat. Hadn't he regretted it in senior year when he hadn't gone after her back then? Of course he had, although he didn't realize it. Grabbing the nearest waiter and crushing a few twenties into his hand, he said quickly, "Hey, here's a collateral. We'll be right back, just a second." Then the blonde walked as hastily as he could across the room and flew out the door. He hit the pavement with his head swiveling, eyes searching.

Even though March had just begun a week ago, the air outside the restaurant felt as if it were a balmy Tree Hill summer night: warm, but somehow refreshingly cool, the weather right before the storm clouds roll in. Stars dotted the cloudless sky, and a smooth, soft wind tugged gently at tree branches along the street. All the shops down the boulevard were dark. Everything quiet, peaceful, all shades dark blue. The kind of night that made you smile and inhale and taste the air and feel the night.

But Lucas couldn't do that. In fact, he didn't even register the beauty or feel the wind: All he could focus on was the red spot that was moving rapidly away from him, down the dark sidewalk of Second Street.

"Brooke!" he shouted in vain, knowing that simply his shouting wasn't going to stop her. It never had. Instantly, he set off at a sprint, and reached her before Brooke had gone another twenty yards. Lucas caught her arm and spun her around, gently but with a firm determination, to face him, but he was surprised to see tears sparkling in her eyes. The anger died in his throat, and instead he choked out a strangled, incredulous, "Brooke?"

But her voice was steady. "I'm just going home, Lucas," she said, looking anywhere but straight up into his concerned, worried sky-blue eyes. Despite seeing her tears, which were rapidly being blinked away, Lucas was calmed by the strength in her voice. The incredulity faded to a mild disbelief. A touch of the previous anger and shock came back, but Lucas was careful to keep himself in check. He let go of her arms and gestured back to the restaurant.

"Brooke, come back inside. We'll talk about it—"

"Talk about what?" She pressed a hand to her forehead, suddenly looking tired, then ran her fingers through her hair and let another angry sigh out. Lucas stood with nervous impatience and willed her to look up at him so they cold lock gazes. All he needed was a gage on her emotions. He needed to know what was running through her mind, to lessen his own confusion and perhaps talk to her. Anything that could tell them why they were standing on a deserted sidewalk when they were supposed to be having the dinner he had planned out.

She did look up at him, and in that moment Lucas wished he could have looked away. Brooke's eyes were cold and remote behind the film of tears, not letting him in, pushing him away, and for what? Why? She wouldn't let him know what was going on, and he couldn't figure it out. Now, looking in her eyes, all Lucas felt was a deep guilt settling in the bottom of his stomach like cement, rooting him to the sidewalk, constricting his breathing. He needed to fix this, but he didn't know how. He didn't even know what was wrong. All he could do was calm her down, tell him what was wrong.

"We'll talk about what happened back there," he said softly, whispering into the dark night, "About why you're mad."

Brooke still stood there in the center of the sidewalk, lightning flashing from her eyes, her arms crossed over her red dress. "I'm not going back in there," she said, "I'll pay, but then I'm going home." Her tone was defiant, and she straightened her back and stiffened her shoulders, eyeing him and waiting for his response.

But Lucas could be just as stubborn as his girlfriend when he wanted to. "Fine, we'll talk here," he said mulishly. Then he crossed his arms as well. "Tell me what's wrong." It wasn't a question, or even a request. It was a demand.

Unexpected to Lucas, she folded. Completely. Her arms fell from her sides, her mouth dropped from its stubborn line, she tore her eyes away from his face to refocus on the street again. "What about the fact that the only things we talk about are how happy we are to be together, or when we talk about things that happened when we were apart that day? You don't know things about me, and I don't know about you." She took a deep breath, not even considering Lucas's taken aback face as she looked at him and then back at the street. "When was the last time we had a meaningful conversation, Lucas? About us, about our friendship, about anything?"

"Brooke, I don't—"

The air crackled with all the electricity of an impending thunderstorm. "You don't know, do you? I miss talking to you about things that actually matter, besides just our relationship and how great it is to be together and how much you've missed me."

Her voice was soft but pleading, and Lucas easily detected the edge; he was instantly on the defensive. "We do talk, and I love being with you!" he said, raising his voice in desperation. Fear was bubbling up in him, he recognized this feeling, this situation. Don't let it happen again, don't let it happen again…

"There you go again!" She said it as if she were pleading with him to understand. Pushing her hair back and turning towards the street again, she said, "God, Luke, this feels just like last time. I don't want to lose you again because we don't talk!" Brooke's voice swelled to a near shout at the end, and Lucas could hear the accusation.

He fired back, getting angry but keeping his voice low to prevent this argument from escalating. "You didn't lose me the first time—You left me, remember?" He glared, remembering the pain of that night. He'd never even had a chance.

"Because you pushed me away!" she shouted, incredulous that he would even say something like that. The wind kicked up in that moment, suddenly harsh and bitter, yanking the stray strands of Brooke's hair up around her head.

Lucas grit his teeth, shaking his head in an effort to stay calm. "You couldn't take getting close to me because you were so unsure of yourself!" His voice rose again in anger, past normal volume. Why was Brooke doing this? He was getting more and more pissed off at her with each passing second that she yelled at him, every incredulous look. None of this was his fault. "What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"You could have done so much, Lucas," she said, narrowing her eyes, "but you didn't even try!" How could he not realize why she had left that night?

The fact that they were in public didn't matter anymore; Lucas and Brooke were in a full-blown fight. Lucas had gone from defensive against her attacks to incensed and fighting back, not even thinking, just reacting. He no longer cared about defusing the bomb, talking Brooke down. He had to fight back. Back in high school, there had been moments like this. Arguments, shouting. More than just the time in the rain, there had been times when something stupid had escalated into an argument, and then into a shouting match, all because they clashed over something simple. Now he was just yelling at her, and she back at him. "It wasn't my fault that you don't trust me and open up to me!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air, "I love you!"

"You made me that way, Luke!" Tears gathered in the corners of Brooke's eyes, and she had to fight them back. She stepped forward, towards him, gritting her teeth. "It took everything for me to trust you after the first time, then look what happened!"

Lucas gestured around at the empty street. "And look where we are now!" Lucas was on autopilot, not hearing himself, firing back at Brooke without a second thought.

Tears fogged her eyes, threatening to fall. God, why did this have to happen now? Tears were for the weak, and she couldn't afford to be weak right now. She couldn't be vulnerable, so she settled on fury. "Exactly!" she shouted back, blinking away tears and narrowing her eyes. "Look where we are now! I saw you beaming with Peyton this afternoon, and I realized we don't even have that, and now we're here!" She shouted into his face. The tears fell in her thunder.

"Well then maybe I will just go back to Peyton, at least she's not so damn insecure!" Lucas roared, over the rushing in his ears.

All emotion died in Brooke's face, in her eyes. She took an infinitesimally small step backwards, closing her mouth and swallowing the next thing she had been ready to scream at Lucas. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her shoulders slumped. Her face had become completely blank in half an instant, like a raging sea suddenly devoid of crashing waves. But through all of it, her eyes were the worst; they settled on Lucas and stayed there, her gaze speaking volumes and displaying half a million different emotions at once, from sadness to shock. She blinked, once, twice, three times. Disbelief, fear, betrayal, accusation. Sadness. A tear fell: she didn't care about being weak anymore.

She just looked utterly, heartbrokenly, completely defeated.

Lucas's heart constricted at what he had just said, at her reaction, but he found no possible way to take it back. There was nothing that could make it right, no words that he could use to fix it, and everything would make it worse. All he could do was stand and watch his pretty girl crumble, at his hands. Because of what he had just said.

Then Brooke gave him one last look, one miniscule, disbelieving shake of her head, and she turned on one heel and simply left. The night was silent save for the clicking of her red heels on the sidewalk, but even that faded quickly as she disappeared around the corner to her car. Then she was gone.

His feet carried him back to the restaurant without Lucas even realizing it. With each step he took, all he heard was the echo of the last thing he had shouted at her. So damn insecure…so damn insecure…Back to Peyton… When he got back inside the restaurant, the mood of the place felt cheesy and overworked. Romance? How could something like this still be here after what had happened outside? Then their table was in sight, where they had been happily enjoying each other just moments ago. Now Brooke was gone, mad at him...No. She wasn't mad, he knew that much. He had seen it in her eyes. Brooke was just vulnerable and helpless and disappointed, and he had let her walk away.

Lucas fell heavily into the chair, then set his elbow on the table and rested is head on it, not thinking about anything, yet everything seemed to be running through his mind. He watched the candle sputter weakly in its holder, before finally flickering out. Then the waiter's voice suddenly interrupted the steady stream of Lucas's thoughts.

"Do you still need the table, sir?" the waiter asked, placing the bills Lucas had handed him back on the table. "Will your date be back?"

What a question. Lucas looked to her chair, then to the door with a shake of his head. "No," he sighed, not feeling, "She's gone."

Please don't hate me! I'll leave it at that. Expect mucho de drama for the next chapter!

Also, the next update of Himerus and Eros should be up by Wednesday. So assume like, Friday.

Again, don't hate me for this! Leave a review, they are made of love.