Chapter Eleven: Life

A/N: Sorry this was late. My schoolwork caught up with me. But! I did manage to get this done. It's a really long ass chapter, but all of it is important. It's another one of those turning points. Thanks to Ellie for the beta, 6,000 plus words can be deadly for a beta…

Anyways…go enjoy! And review if at all possible. They keep me writing. :D

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill…if I did, it'd be written much better. :P

Chapter Eleven: Life

Most people when asked to draw life as if it were a shape would draw a straight line. On the line, they would place profound and grandstanding events sporadically as if the line represented a person's path through life. The straight journey from point A to point B.

Life is not a line. Life is a circle, beginning with birth and ending with death, which in turn is really just birth into a new life. Whether you believe in reincarnation or heaven or nothingness, you believe in something waiting for you when you die. Something that will require you to start all over again, or possibly just fade away.

But technically, aren't we speaking in binary oppositions when it's not necessary? Every ending is really just a beginning, and really that's what complicates life.

It's a cycle that can't be broken.

It's an old Italian superstition that children should not wear black before the age of three. Strange as it was to be taken entirely seriously, it made some sense. Black was a dark, morbid color. It was depressing to look upon anyone garbed in black. There was a sense of grief and loss which attached itself to the color. Seeing as children were the epitome of innocence and life, it would be a total loss to put them in black.

Peyton Sawyer wasn't Italian. She wasn't superstitious either. She did however, believe in karma and irony, and gazing down at the small infant wrapped in the black scarf she had been wearing earlier, she realized that grief was the one trait she was going to try her hardest not to pass on to her next generation.

9 months ago

"I'm going away for a couple months."

Peyton could only stare at him, her breathing not yet returned to normal. Their naked bodies were covered in a thin sheet of sweat, post coital bliss interrupted by the strangely out of place admission.

"God Drew you're terrible at pillow talk," Peyton managed to breath out, a smirk forming on her face.

"I'm sorry," he laughed, "It's just…Rehab. I check in this Saturday."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I didn't know how to tell you."

"So you decided after sex was the best way to go," Peyton mused, her eyebrow quirked.

"Well yeah," Drew admitted, "I figured you be too strung out on a Drew-high that you wouldn't realize I was leaving you."

"A Drew high? Is that what we're calling it?"

"That's what I always call it."

"And for the record, people always leave, Drew, but you're coming back."

"I'm coming back," Drew nodded seriously, wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

Peyton sighed, curling closer to his side, nose grazing his neck, "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow morning," Drew said, and Peyton could feel his smirk against the top of her head.

"Oh you little shit…"

Peyton heard the tires screech as they rolled up in front of Wilmington's Drug Treatment Center. Peyton watched as Drew let the cigarette just hang carelessly from his lips, his hands tapping nervously against the side door. He hadn't spoken at all this morning. In fact, Peyton had woken up to the site of his back hunched over the side of the bed, injecting himself with poison for what would be hopefully the last time. His eyes had grown cold, fearful almost. It was one thing to tell yourself you could always quit. It was another thing to actually have to face the issue.

She had made him scrambled eggs and toast, his favorite. She knew her way around his apartment by now. Three months of dating and she already felt his place becoming like a second home to her. He had eaten bits and pieces of the meal in silence while Peyton had packed his bag for him. She had stuffed it full of books and CDs and anything she could think of to keep him busy. She knew though that it wouldn't make a difference. A Led Zeppelin album wasn't going to keep him from wanting to shoot up.

Still, the gesture touched him, and he couldn't help but cup her cheek and smile when she handed it to him.

They stared at each other now, the sounds of Jake Jagielski tapering off as Peyton lowered the radio.

"So," Peyton said breaking the silence. Drew put his finger to her lips, quieting any more sound that could have escaped. There were no words to be scripted for an occasion like this. And though Peyton wanted to try, wanted to put herself out there, tell him she'd be there for him, that she cared for him, he wouldn't let her. Maybe he knew it all already or maybe he feared it would all be a lie from her.

"I'll see you soon," Drew said simply, giving her a grin that spoke louder than any kiss goodbye could.

And he slipped out the car without another word, not waiting for her to confirm his assessment, no glance over his shoulder to look upon her again.

The rule was three months in rehab. The first two were completely without contact from the outside world. No phone calls. No visitations. No letters. Peyton wondered if it was harder on her than it was on him. Not that she would trade places, but still, the anxiety she felt worrying about him trumped most of the feelings she could recall from her recent history.

Then again, she had blocked out her entire existence with one, Lucas Scott. And she knew there had been some intense feelings back then.

She had been thinking of Lucas lately. Not in the nostalgic, 'oh I miss him' way (though she'd always miss him). It was more about the whole idea of planning a future with someone. She and Lucas had planned their futures carefully. He'd go to college. She'd stay as an intern until he graduated. Then they'd move in together either in LA or Tree Hill. They'd get married once they were settled into their careers and then they'd have their 2.5 kids.

But with his marriage proposal at the tender age of 19, Lucas had thrown a wrench in that plan, skipping steps without a second thought. For Peyton, it had jostled her off course. The plan had been changed, and Peyton hated change. In the past, all it had done was made her life miserable. So she had said no, and the plans didn't change, they shattered and burned into embers of what once was a beautiful life.

With Drew, there was no plan. And thank God for that because at this rate, she was beginning to think they were working backwards anyway.

"So! Are you excited?" Brooke asked as she barreled into the room where Peyton was curled on her bed. She had taken to extreme bouts of nausea, ones that were so bad that after vomiting for 20 minutes, she was left with a migraine for hours afterwards.

She knew the cause of her nausea. It had stared her blankly in the face when she changed her calendar from December to January two weeks after she should have and saw December 28th circled in red pen three times. That week had come and gone without the significant event. And last she recalled that "event" hadn't visited in November either.

"Yeah, of course." Peyton managed as much of a smile as she could. Today was her first visitation day with Drew, and she had been cursing internally exactly whether or not she should tell him her fears.

"Well you totally look excited," Brooke said sarcastically with a roll of her eyes, "Want to tell me why you're so apathetic?"

"I'm still sick."

"Stomach flu? Still?"

"I think it's something worse…"

"Oh my God. I hope it's not that Ebola virus or something. Hey, when we went out last week you didn't eat seafood, did you?"

"No. Brooke…"

"Yeah?"

"It's not that," Peyton said uncertainly. Part of her was still reluctant to give anything away. She had been keeping this secret close to her, one of the few things she had managed to hide away from everyone else in her life. But as much as she loved her secrets, she needed Brooke.

"Well of course it's probably not Ebola. You know how rare that stuff is?"

"No I mean it's not a stomach virus."

"Well then what the hell is it?" Brooke said clearly frustrated. Then her eyes lit up, as if recognizing was right in front of her this whole time. "No freaking way."

"Brooke."

"You're pregnant!"

"Brooke…"

"You're pregnant with that stupid drug addict's baby!"

"He's not a stupid drug addict," Peyton hissed, "God, Brooke, this is why I didn't want to tell you…"

"How long were you going to keep me in the dark?"

"I didn't want to tell you until I was sure."

"And you're sure now…"

"Two positive pregnancy tests says yes."

"Two tests?!"

"Brooke…"

"No! No more 'Brooke' from you! I can't believe you got yourself pregnant. God, he's a drug addict Peyton! You should have been using protection! Lord knows what else you've picked up from him--"

"We did use protection," Peyton chimed in, "Every single time. And I was on the pill too."

"Well that makes it all better," Brooke glared, "Doesn't make that baby go away."

"I don't want this baby to go away," Peyton blurted out. She didn't realize that she meant those words until they had escaped her lips. Brooke's eyes snapped to meet Peyton's.

"You're selfish," Brooke said flatly.

"Excuse me," Peyton hissed, "How is me wanting to keep my baby selfish?"

"Did you even think what this is going to do to Drew?"

"Oh so now you care about, Drew, huh?"

"Yes! Your boyfriend is a recovering heroin addict, not even two months into rehab. His body is just getting used to being without that shit. The first rule of addiction is to reduce stress. That's why they don't allow any contact with the outside world. Now you're going to dump this baby news on him. The pressure's going to build, and who knows if he's strong enough to deal with that? My God I've watched Owen for three years now. One bad day at work and his fingers twitch for the stuff…"

"Brooke…"

"No, Peyton, this is going to drag both of you down, and I don't—" Brooke broke off, the tears that had been building in her eyes catching up to her voice, "I don't think I can handle picking up the pieces to this one."

"I need you," Peyton whispered, her voice raw with emotion, "You need to tell me this is going to be okay."

"It's not going to be okay," Brooke said quietly, "Not in the least. But you need to tell Drew about this while he's still in rehab so they can help him cope with it."

"You're right," Peyton said, glancing at her clock. Her visitation was in an hour and she needed to get going. Standing up and straightening her clothing, suddenly she felt another bout of morning sickness wash over. She clapped her hand over her mouth and rushed to the bathroom. Brooke was right behind her and soon she was gathering her blonde curls behind her.

This had been what she needed. Brooke beside her, reassuring her it was going to be okay even if they both knew it was all a lie. Brooke rubbed her back with her free hand, whispering encouraging words about it all being over soon. But the words struck a chord.

This wasn't going to be over soon. And at that thought the heaves stopped and turned to violent sobs. She collapsed to her knees, Brooke tumbling down with her, pulling her back against her chest.

The visitation room for Wilmington's Drug Treatment Center was smaller than she imagined; 6 ft by 6ft with cream colored walls. Two comfortable chairs were positioned across each other at a simple table, and Peyton found herself squirming in the one closest to the door she had entered through. It had been ten minutes since they let her in here, and she'd yet to see Drew.

As if answering her thoughts the door on the other side opened up, and Drew slipped in. Their eyes met instantly. Both of them managed a smile, but neither grin was as bright as it might have been at one time. Peyton scanned his face. He looked…bad. Well, not bad, she corrected. He looked tired. There were circles underneath his eyes and his skin looked more off color than ever. It was as if rehab had been more damaging to him than the heroin had been. Peyton felt nauseous, this time not from the morning sickness. Drew was struggling, just like Brooke had warned, to break his addiction, and the stress she was about to inflict on him was just going to make this worse. She considered briefly keeping the pregnancy to herself, but then that would be more selfish than telling him now.

"Hey you," he said, his smile brightening as the minutes passed together.

"Hi," she said meekly, "You look like shit." Her statement was blunt and to the point, stripped of all pretenses, just how Drew liked it.

"Yeah," Drew nodded folding his arms on the table, his muscles flinching at the cold touch of the metal tabletop. Peyton couldn't help but truly grin seeing the track marks on his arm all but vanished, nothing but dull echoes on freckled skin.

"They're nearly gone though," Peyton whispered, placing her finger against the old marks. Drew placed his hands over hers, watching her with curious eyes. They exchanged another brief smile, before a frown flitted across Peyton's face as she spotted a new mark on the back of Drew's hand.

"IV marks?"

"For the methadone," Drew said, "It's what they use to help you off heroin." His voice barely contained his bitterness, the emotion seemingly out of place.

"But they're fading too…" Peyton trailed off, stroking the marks absentmindedly.

"I know," Drew whispered, shifting forward in his seat so he could take hold of both Peyton's hands. "I have to tell you something."

"So do I," Peyton admitted.

"I think you should go first."

"No really, you go first," Peyton said, trying to by herself time to think just exactly how she was going to break the news to him.

"Believe me when I say, I need to hear what you have to say first. Tell me it's good news at least…"

"Umm it could be. It depends," Peyton scratched her head, "What about yours?"

"Kind of the same," Drew said grimly.

"Oh."

A few seconds passed. "You gonna tell me or not, Sawyer?"

"I'm thinking how to tell you this…"

"Remember how I like my news. Honest and to the point."

Peyton stared at him, his eyes hollow and eager as if waiting for the words to come from her. His face was already sullen as if he'd already hear the news.

"I'm pregnant," she said, and she waited for the world to fall.

Drew stared at her blankly, his face falling, if possible, more so than it already had fallen. He took a deep shaky breath before he responded,

"I'm dying."

"How'd it go?" Brooke asked, her face trying to be happy, but failing miserably.

Peyton didn't even try. There wasn't going to be any secrets between them anymore. And even if there was, this would be the one she would never be able to keep. The misery, the agony and the irony of it all were boiling underneath Peyton's already fragile surface.

"I told him."

"And?"

"He's dying," Peyton said, before letting out mirthless chuckle, slamming her purse down on the counter.

"What?" Brooke said slowly.

"The fucking rehab clinic screwed up," Peyton yelled, the curses falling from her lips catching Brooke off guard. Peyton never swore. "Apparently, Drew wasn't as addicted to heroin as they predicted. They gave him more methadone than his body could handle. Strike one!" Peyton pulled the fridge door open viciously, grabbing at a beer before remembering she was a pregnant and settling for the orange juice instead, "When he complained that the withdrawals were getting worse, they didn't think twice, assuming he was lying just to get them to ease up on him. Strike two!" She slammed the fridge door shut. "Then they kept him on the methadone too long, didn't even notice that it was attacking his liver at twice the rate the heroin was. It sent him into acute liver failure. Strike three!"

"How long?" Brooke whispered.

"Seven months if he's lucky…"

"And you're…"

"Two months pregnant? Yeah just about. Great fucking timing, huh?" Peyton let out a sarcastic laugh.

"Peyton, I'm so sorry."

"No you're not," Peyton said, "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Him out of my life. Hell, even if you didn't want that, you sure as hell didn't think it would be good for him to be around the baby. Well thank God, he probably won't even get to see it, huh? It's just what everyone wanted. I'm not allowed to be happy. No! Everyone I love has to leave. It's the fucking rule, isn't it? The ones who want to stay, die, and the ones who don't walk out the door like it's nothing."

"You're being selfish again," Brooke said, cutting the tirade off, "The man's dying and you're thinking of what it'll do to you..."

"But don't you see Brooke!" Peyton's voice was almost frantic at this point, "He's the lucky one! He gets to leave, and I'm the one who's going to have to live without him, without his help. How am I supposed to raise a child on my own? I can hardly take care of myself."

"I'll be here. I'm always here, and I don't ever plan on leaving," Brooke said simply.

"This isn't your responsibility," Peyton said, her voice much quieter than it had been since she entered the house.

"No, but that doesn't mean I can't help you with it," Brooke said tentatively touching Peyton's shoulder, "Besides I always wanted a baby. I just didn't want the stretch marks."

Peyton let out a small laugh even if she didn't want to, "What am I gonna do?"

"Survive," Brooke said, "It's what you do best."

And for the next seven months, that's just what Peyton did. Survived.

Drew was let out of the rehab earlier than most patients, but that was for a reason. Peyton had all but threatened to sue the life out of them, pointing out that not only were they going to be responsible for a man's death, the man in question was a famous musician. That sort of press would virtually tear apart the place. The hospital had wanted to keep Drew under their watch, but Peyton wanted him to die at home.

Home had become Brooke and Peyton's beach house. Drew had been reluctant to move in there, knowing that Brooke have never approved of him in the first place, but then Brooke had come to him and they had reached a common ground. They both loved Peyton. They both didn't want her worrying any more than she needed to. Stress wasn't good for pregnant women, and it was stressful enough that her husband was dying.

Yes, her husband. She was Mrs. Drew Mitchell. Never in a million years had she imagined herself here, a pregnant and soon to be widow. She always imagined the next time she was proposed to it would be something romantic. There would be a grand speech just like the one Lucas had given her. There would be flowers and candles and all tears of joy and smiles. And her wedding would be a grand affair filled with everyone she knew. More smiles. More tears of joy.

But her engagement had happened during one of her routine checkups, 16 weeks. Drew had been feeling up to coming with her, and he held her hand while they spread the cold gel over her belly. They watched together as their child appeared on screen, and Drew leaned over her to get a better look. It was as if he realized this might be the closest he ever got to seeing his child moving and breathing. A fuzzy sonogram. He glanced over at her and the words just sort of tumbled out of his mouth. "Will you marry me?"

She had meant to say no. It was ridiculous. He was dying after all, and there was no need to get married, but seeing the look in his eyes, pleading and…happy. Something he rarely managed to maintain lately as the pain of his ordeal began to catch up with him. The word "yes" just slipped off her tongue, and she clutched him close to her.

There wedding wasn't really a wedding. Just them and Owen and Brooke and the Justice of the Peace at the courthouse. No dresses (despite Brooke's protest). No flowers. Just signing of certificates and the strange sudden connection to the man standing with her, his balance unsteady and his eyes tired.

She loved him. That was all she was sure of anymore. She loved him, and she would love him until the day he died. Sure, it was cheating. He'd be dead in a few months, but there were very few things Peyton could be certain about. Loving Drew until he died was it.

And there were moments, few and fleeting, where they felt like a real married couple. It was those times when they sat on the back porch and watched the tide roll in, indulging in junk food. Drew would whisper a lullaby against her ever-expanding stomach. They could forget that he was dying and she would be all alone with their child.

She couldn't forget though as his eyes grew dimmer. Every day closer to their child's birth was a day Drew got worse. He got weaker and weaker until one day he couldn't even manage to get out of bed. That day was one week ago.

Today Peyton stood nine months pregnant, one week overdue and with a husband expected to slip away any day now. It was a race against the clock with Peyton hoping and praying that he'd hold on just long enough to meet his child.

Peyton stared down at the cell phone vibrating against her purse. She rolled her eyes when she spotted the number. This would be the fifth call in five minutes, all of which had gone unanswered. Finally, Peyton gave in and placed the phone to her ear.

"Yeah."

"Don't you "yeah" me, P. Sawyer! Where the hell are you? I thought some crazy woman kidnapped you so she could steal your baby and-"

"I'm at the grocery store," Peyton laughed, "So unless these jars of pickles want to attack me…"

"Why the hell are you at the grocery store? You just went yesterday."

"We're out of pickles."

"I could have gotten them for you."

"I wanted to go."

"It's not good for you to be out. Pregnant women need their rest, and you're always complaining about your feet being sore."

"Exercise is good for me and the baby. It might mean it gets its ass out quicker."

Brooke paused, carefully considering her words. "You can't force this, Peyton. It's not healthy for either of you. Any of you…"

"Whatever," Peyton muttered, pushing the cart forward before her eyes froze open in shock, "Oh shit…"

"What is it?"

"My water just broke."

Pain, Peyton was used to, but only emotional pain. Sure there had been physical pain sometimes, a broken ankle in cheer camp, a few slaps courtesy of Brooke, but nothing quite like this. Even with the meds, she could still feel the pain. Tears rolling down her face, her hair mussed, and lip swollen from being bitten, she looked like hell had visited her. Brooke's arm was behind her pushing her forward, her other hand clutching hers tightly. She didn't even have time to notice how silly Brooke had looked in the blue hospital gown.

"Come on, P. Sawyer. They said one more push…"

"Fuck them!" Peyton yelled, "Fuck them all…I'm going to kill Drew when I get out of here…"

"Peyton…"

"And then I'm going to go find Lucas and kill him!"

"Lucas?"

"That asshole wanted me to pop out five of these! What the hell was he possibly thinking?"

"He wanted five kids?" Brooke asked, caught off guard by the admission.

"Yeah well…anything to hurt me it seems. Jack ass!"

"You really never stop thinking of him, huh," Brooke muttered and all the response Peyton managed to muster was a sharp grasp of her hand. Then, Peyton lurched forward, the final push. The shrill cry of a baby filled the room.

"There you go, Ms. Sawyer," the doctor cheered. He held up the baby. It was small and red, covered in slickness. "It's a girl."

"A girl!" Brooke shrieked jumping up and down, "I knew it! I knew it!"

"Would you like your partner to cut the cord?" the nurse asked Peyton.

Peyton was so out of it, she didn't realize the meaning behind that. "Brooke…do you want to do it?"

"Yes!" Brooke squealed, "Hand over my goddaughter." Brooke disappeared out of sight, and Peyton realized that her tears were still falling.

She had a daughter, the daughter who had haunted her dreams for years. The little girl who would have curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes and run around the back yard, tiny feet leaving marks in the sand that washed away with the tide. A girl who laughed and smiled and would be everything Peyton ever wanted from life. Someone who would love her just as much as she loved them. A child created in love.

A child who was not Lucas Scott's.

She let out a small sob at the realization, but it flittered as soon as Brooke plopped the small child in her arms unannounced. Peyton flinched before locking eyes with the tiny newborn struggling to open her eyes. It was a beautiful and terrifying sight. It was the closest thing she'd ever seen to perfection. She bent down and pressed her lips to the child's forehead. The child was warm and solid…and real.

More real than Sam Elizabeth had ever been.

"Do you have a name for her?" the nurse asked.

"Margaret Drew Sawyer," Peyton answered without looking up from the child.

It was at a crucial time like this that Peyton thanked Lucas with all her heart for teaching her how to be strong. It was something he had done involuntarily, but it came with the territory of breaking her heart so many times. Along the way, he had taught her how to stay so stoic in situations that would otherwise tear another person apart.

Most people would cry right now, seeing this sight before Peyton. Drew was literally knocking at death's door. Whether it would be minutes or days, Peyton didn't know. His eyes had lost all the light they had once held, now shadowed by dark rings, lurking and preying on what was left of him. The orbs that were once a bright cerulean blue had faded to grey, empty and hollow. His complexion was pallid, dimming even with the bright light of the beach view shining over him from the drawn curtains. There was a shine to his face, cast by the sweat glimmering beneath the bead of his brow. His lips were chapped and brittle, pale pink and his whitened tongue darted to them frequently trying to ease the dryness.

She perched at his bedside, refusing to take her eyes off of him, no matter how heartbreaking and scary the sight was. He met her gaze as if willing her to look away, not wanting these visions to haunt her after he left. But then, Peyton had seen death so many times before; this was just another name to add to her list.

"Hey," she said, her voice even and refusing to whisper.

He must have noticed because he let out a bark of a laugh, the bit of Drew that she'd always remember present. "Hey."

"There's someone I want you to meet," Peyton said, stroking the clammy skin of his forehead.

"Yeah?" Drew grinned, the first smile he had managed in days.

"I wanted to wait until you were totally awake."

"Okay," he nodded.

Peyton turned to the doorway where Brooke was waiting, bundle in hand. She gestured for her to bring the baby forward and soon, the child was nestled in Peyton's arms. Brooke silently exited the room, and Drew pulled himself up so he could peak at their child.

"This is our daughter," Peyton said proudly, "Margaret Drew Sawyer."

Drew just stared at the baby, awe washing over his face. Peyton maneuvered his arms so that they were in the proper position and then carefully placed their child within them. He tensed at first, but eased eventually seeing the child lull to sleep next to his heartbeat.

His eyes were fixed on little Margaret, and on nothing else. He didn't speak, and Peyton didn't dare push him to, knowing that this was probably the most heartbreaking thing for both of them. She pushed her tears back. The bittersweet feeling of the whole moment hung over her like a thick fog. She tried to busy herself with the camera she found in the bottom drawer of the dresser, taking as many pictures as possible, knowing this may be the only time that she'd ever see Margaret and Drew in the same room.

"You know how I tell you…all the time about…regrets-" Drew said breaking the tranquil silence that had settled over them.

"You mean about how you don't have any?" Peyton asked wryly in between photos.

"Right now, I'm thinking I have a couple," Drew whispered, a few stray tears escaping his eyes.

Peyton dropped the camera to her side. "I really don't know what to say, Drew."

"There's nothing you can say," Drew shrugged, slightly, "Karma's a bitch."

"Yeah," Peyton admitted.

"Do you think we could get a picture of all three of us?" Drew asked.

"Sure," Peyton smiled, as she leaned in and began clicking a few photos. Finally when she drew back, the baby began to fuss.

"Looks like it's feeding time," Peyton sighed.

"Yeah," Drew grinned, "Well don't mind me…"

"She's being bottle fed," Peyton said, rolling her eyes, "I'll just call Brooke in to do it. She's been fighting me for a chance to all day."

Peyton turned and called for Brooke, and she was there in half a second, gently removing the baby from Drew's arms. She patted Peyton on the shoulder, before walking out of the room and shutting the door, refusing to look at Drew the whole time.

"You know," Drew said, "she never looks at me."

"Who? Brooke?"

"Yeah," Drew managed, "She's been taking care of me this whole time while you were in the hospital, but not one look from her."

Peyton had been in the hospital for three days after Margaret was born. It was just a precaution but it had come at the worst time. Drew took an immediate turn for the worse. Haley and Karen had taken to staying at the hospital with Peyton while Brooke stayed home taking care of Drew. It was something, one of the many things actually, for which Peyton would be eternally grateful for.

"She's not good with…"

"Death?" Drew finished for her, "Who is, Peyton?"

Peyton shrugged. Drew picked up the camera and began, flipping through pictures. His eyes seemed to settle on one, his brow furrowing.

"What?" Peyton asked gently. She glanced over his shoulder and saw him settled on the picture of the three of them. The one where he was looking down at Margaret and Peyton was looking at him, a genuine smile on her face.

"Bury me with this picture," he said, his face stone serious like it never had been before.

Peyton didn't know what to say so she opted for a nod.

At week's end, she kept her promise.

Andrew "Drew" Christopher Mitchell

Beloved Husband and Father

January 12th 1983 – July 3rd 2009

"Dying is easy; it's living that's the real challenge"

Babies shouldn't be dressed in black, and a cynic looking down at her with no real knowledge of the situation would have guessed that this was just Peyton being Peyton and wanting her kid to be different. But really, this was Peyton adhering to the rules. Black is the color of mourning and even if her baby girl didn't know it, they were both in mourning.

All of the mourners had left already, piled into the limos and Cadillacs and headed back to Brooke's house for the standard after funeral luncheon. Brooke had offered to say with Peyton, but then with one look, she realized what Peyton really needed was someone to go play hostess while Peyton gathered her strength.

She never expected to love him, but she had, in a strange way. It wasn't true love, or forever love, or fairy tale love. It wasn't the stuff rainbows and unicorns were made of and if Drew had ever heard her comparing it to that, he'd come back from the dead to slap her on the shoulder. What they had was just love. Simple.

She felt the tears start to fall, and she let them wash away all the fear and anxiety that exited at the thought of what lay ahead. She knew she would survive this. For Margaret, she would learn to keep moving forward. She felt a warm breeze flutter through the graveyard. A heart shaped leaf twirled through the cemetery finally landing on a grave twenty or so feet away, the word SCOTT standing out clearly.

"You're right leaf of destiny," Peyton smirked, "I've been through much worse and lived to tell about it."

Dear Lucas,

Today, Karen and I sat down with Nathan and Haley and had a meeting about whether or not we should tell you about Peyton. The truth is that you have been reluctant to mention the blonde's name. Haley has been doing her best to keep you in the dark, simply for the reason that no one knows what's the best way to approach this subject. Today we voted 3-1 not to say anything. To commit an error by omission. They all feel that you have enough going on in your life right now that you don't need any more to worry about. They think that Peyton's got enough on her plate without having to deal with "Lucas Scott drama" as your mother coined it.

But, damn it, isn't that the whole point? You deserve to know this because you love her Lucas. You love her more than anyone in this world. You are her protector and her savior and you should be here. She needs you, and I think you need her too.

So I don't care what they say. I need to tell you this. A year ago Peyton started dating a heroin addict named Andrew Mitchell. Just around the time Drew checked into rehab, Peyton found out she was pregnant. Four months ago, she married him. Two weeks ago, Peyton gave birth to a little girl, Margaret Drew Sawyer, 6lbs 4 oz. Bright blue eyes and curly blonde hair. A week later, Drew died from complications from his drug treatment.

She loved him, Lucas, and she's going to miss him. But what she needs is you. So get your ass back home. Stop being an idiot.

With all Peyton's love,

Brooke

Brooke stared at the letter in her hands, before tearing it to shreds. She had made a promise to all of them, and she knew she had to honor it. That didn't mean she couldn't write all of this down. Letters unsent, they were hers and Lucas' thing.

If there was one thing Lucas Scott hated about being a teacher, it was having to deal with kids in study hall. He guessed he should probably be relieved with it. After all, study hall was the only real break he got, and he usually used it to grade papers. However, there were days when he walked into the room and just knew that it was going to be an hour and fifteen minutes of constant chattering from his students with no way for him to get any work done. Today was one of those days, and what made it all the more upsetting was the disappointed looks on all the kids face, the hushed whispers which led to even more frowns.

"All right, what's going on?" he finally asked, putting down his newspaper.

All of their heads snapped to him. It was rare for him to open his mouth in study hall.

"Drew Mitchell died," a petite girl in the back row answered.

"Is he a student here?" Lucas asked, his eyebrows furrowed. When the class let out a collective laugh, he realized that his age was starting to catch up with him.

"He's from the band, Sober," this time one of the cheerleaders spoke up.

Lucas's ears perked up, "I have heard of them."

Of course he had. Peyton's company had signed them, and as much as he'd love to deny it, he still kept tabs on her company's success.

"The guy was a newlywed," the same girl offered, "and they said his wife just gave birth to a baby girl. They said he was trying to get off heroin and the doctors screwed up."

"Oh wow."

"Yeah fucking doctors man…" a guy in the front row offered.

"Watch the language," Lucas said as if it was instinct. The class went back to their conversation and Lucas turned back to his paper. The news was unsettling and he wasn't sure why.

He had dreams lately, most of them to the tune of Sober songs. Dreams about Peyton and…Sam.

He shook his head. It was all just a big coincidence.

Like always, when the pieces lay out in front of Lucas, he never managed to put the puzzle together.