A/N: Sorry this is a day over my usual deadline of Tuesday, but I kept working on the next few chapters because I'm excited for them. Honestly, this kind of feels like filler. Next chapter, will be a major turn in the story. It will also begin a break from Lucas's point of view. We'll be focusing on Peyton for a good three chapters. But I promise Lucas (and Leyton) are not forgotten, not in the least.

Please review. They make me smile and keep me updating. Next chapter will be out by the weekend (maybe before then even...)

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill.

Chapter Nine: Best

Human nature requires that people spend their lives comparing things. It's part of the drive that is in the essence of every living being. That is the drive to win. To compete. To always improve. Bigger, stronger, faster. It's those qualities that will get you ahead in life. You need to be better than those around you if you want to be happy.

It's not irrational to think that way, it's not cynical either. There is nothing wrong with wanting the best. Because we are, after all, all striving to be perfect in a world that is inherently favoring chaos and disillusion. Life loves to throw you curveballs, ones that create disorder, and because of that, it will be a constant struggle to make the best out of one's life.

To be the best, to gain what's best, that is the ultimate unrealistic goal in human nature.

Peyton didn't know she was holding a breath until she stepped out of her convertible. It was then, seeing Brooke's house against the beach backdrop that she let out a sigh worthy of a pained lover. The sight was just like she remembered it. Nostalgia crept into her senses. Unlike the last time she returned to Tree Hill, though, it wasn't painful. She felt a sense of hope and reassurance.

She opted to leave her bags in the car for now. She wasn't the least bit surprised to see that her key still worked, and while she debated ringing the doorbell, she wanted this surprise to be truly genuine. Brooke still had no idea she was coming. It had been a week since she gotten back from New York. In the meantime, she had spoken to Brooke four times and it had taken all her willpower not to break the news of her return.

It took her awhile to get the door to open. Even with the key, the door was uneven with the frame, requiring her to twist and lift. The amount of noise she had made guaranteed that Brooke was probably aware that someone was coming in. Peyton hoped she realized it was her.

The woman clutching the bat over her head that met her when she swung the door open said differently.

"Jesus Brooke!" Peyton managed to squeak out, shedding her face in case Brooke swung out of instinct.

"Peyton?" Brooke gasped, loosening the cling on the bat in her hand, "What are you doing here?"

Peyton just shrugged, a small smile gracing her lips. "I'm home."

Brooke couldn't control the smile that slid onto her own face, but it wasn't visible long before she suppressed it with a worried frown. "But I thought you were going to go globe trotting for new bands?"

"Yeah, I'll still be doing that," Peyton said, "I just would rather do it from here. That is, of course, if my bedroom is still available for rent."

"Of course it is!"

"Well then good. I'm assuming Owen is not around otherwise you would have sent him out with the bat, so I guess it's up to you and me to haul my bags inside."

"Peyton, are you sure about this?" Brooke asked.

"I ran away," Peyton admitted, "I ran from this place, just like I always do when times are hard. I either curl up in a ball and take it, or I run from it at full speed. I've learned now though that I can't just let this feeling control me. I love Lucas. I will always love Lucas, but damn it to hell, if that's going to get in the way of our friendship again."

"Peyton-"

"I know she left, Brooke, and I know that you're not okay with it. You need me here even if you don't want to admit it."

"I'm willing to admit it," Brooke mumbled, her eyes focused on the kitchen counter, "It's just you always come first."

"Oh…"

"It's not like I regret it, Peyton. Making sure you're okay is like second nature to me. It's not something I can turn off."

"Well you don't have to," Peyton said, slinging her arm around Brooke's shoulder, "Because I'm going to do my best to take care of you now. We'll lean on each other."

"Okay," Brooke whispered, as she leaned into Peyton shoulder.

"I can't believe she left," Brooke finally sighed. Peyton peaked down at the brunette in her arms.

"I'm sorry."

"I just never thought she'd do it. I mean who does that to their own daughter?"

"She's pure evil," Peyton whispered, "And you deserve so much better."

"Yeah well…I got you, right?" Brooke sniffled, the tears starting to form.

"You'll always have me."

"I think you're better than family," Brooke said, trying to laugh, "It's always much easier to forgive you…"

"Well here's to hoping that I don't screw up again," Peyton giggled, knocking shoulders with Brooke.

"With the state I'm in, Peyton that would really be for the best."

And with that they both let out a real laugh.

Lucas cracked open his eyes. The harsh light from the window stayed pressed to his vision, blinding him. He turned his head, trying to avoid it, but it was to no avail. His body still ached so much, and he fidgeted in vain trying to pull himself up and out of the sun; away from the light.

"Lucas," a voice scolded at his side. The room was slowly becoming clearer as the grogginess from his medication faded. He saw Lindsey jumping out of her chair to help him sit up.

They had cleared him to go home yesterday and this had been the first night he spent in his own bed. There had been a week spent in the hospital, doctors rushing in and out to give him more information about his condition. In the week, he hadn't spoken much, opting to let Lindsey do the talking both for him and to him.

She was doing her best not to push him to open up, something she had gotten good at ever since they started dating. Lucas was a private person, buried deep within his own world. What he wanted most from his loved ones was to be left alone. He needed to count on them in times of need, but he in no way wanted to feel them breathing down the back of his neck, pushing and prodding for answers.

Unless, we were talking about Peyton, but like always, she was a whole different story. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought. She was always a different story, wasn't she? A complex ideal, really, in Lucas's little world. She had been the inadvertent (or maybe advertent) cause of his heart attack. She was, and would always be, the only person who could break through every wall and façade he put up. She could read him like a book.

Lucas was snapped from his thoughts when he realized Lindsey had already succeeded in propping him up in bed. A blush settled on his cheeks when he realized she was looking at him expectantly and here he had been so focused on Peyton, he had zoned out once again.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"You're welcome," Lindsey said, satiated, "You know it wouldn't kill you to ask for help once and a while."

"Yeah I know," he sighed, grinning a little at the thought. Lucas was raised to be independent. If there was one thing that Karen Roe had engrained in him as a child, it was self sufficiency. But everyone needs someone.

"How are you?" Lindsey asked, "And before you say anything, I know how generic that question is, but—"

"No, it's fine," he nodded, and then seeing her face, added, "I'm fine too."

"Are you?" Lindsey said quietly.

"Well, the scar itches a little, but I guess that comes with the territory—"

"You know what I meant. You've been quiet, more so than usual. It's like your locked away in that head of yours and I just can't help but wonder what you're thinking…"

"I almost died," Lucas said flatly. It was a weak response, but like a good writer, he knew that it was a way to elicit emotion from his audience without really addressing the problem.

"Oh Lucas…" Lindsey sighed.

The room lapsed into silence, leaving Lucas wondering where did they go next? Maybe more importantly, where did he go? It felt like he was at a crossroads, painfully aware of his life's journey to this point and aware of the fact that he really could have died. His life felt unaccomplished and dull. A best selling novel was supposed to be the point when his dreams came true, but every time he published another book, he felt empty, like a piece of his heart was being taken from him with each word he wrote.

Writers shouldn't feel like that. They shouldn't feel drained of everything when they finish a novel. They shouldn't dread the readers' response, or the reviews that would follow. Their work shouldn't appear so different to everyone else as it does to them. They shouldn't have to resort to lying in order to feel at peace with their sentiment, and they shouldn't be so transparent in their lies.

As a novelist, Lucas may have succeeded, but as a writer, he felt as though he had failed.

"There's something I have to tell you," Lucas murmured to Lindsey, breaking their silence.

"What?"

"I think I need to give up writing for awhile."

Lindsey merely blinked, her face frozen in shock. The wife and the editor in her battling for control over the words she spoke next. Lucas, sensing this confliction, continued.

"I'm tired, Lindsey. Writing used to be my passion and now it feels like a chore. After the last book, I just feel like everything I write is not up to par, and every thing I'm trying to convey to people just gets lost in the wording."

"This isn't because of those stupid reviewers, is it?" Lindsey said, grabbing his hand, "Because I don't care how many times they say that you're still head over heels in love with Peyton Sawyer, I promise I won't believe it until I hear it from your lips."

She gave him a joking smile, and Lucas swore that he could have had another heart attack right there. Instead, he tried his best to grin back, closing off the part of his mind that was screaming 'Just tell her now! It's the way out we've been looking for…'

"It's just too stressful," Lucas said, avoiding the accusation with ease, "I'd rather go into another field. Maybe teaching…"

"If you think that teaching's not stressful, Haley will kick your ass when I tell her that."

"You know what I mean," Lucas smiled, "It's a different type of stress. Not as personal."

Lindsey took a deep breath, and it felt like years passed by instead of minutes before she responded. "If you're sure about this, I'll support you, Lucas."

"Yeah?"

"Of course," Lindsey said softly, as she patted his hand, "Whatever you think is best."

Lucas nodded, before catching sight of the pair of novels he bad published, sitting idly on his side table. When he thought of writing, he thought of Peyton, and when he thought of Peyton he thought of heartache. And apparently, that heartache was still, after God knows how many years, enough to almost kill him.

Giving up writing was the least he could do for Lindsey and Peyton and hell even for himself.

It was for the best. Really.