Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: Mostly this thing is futuristic, but I've borrowed a few things from Season 5. Namely Owen.

Summary: It wasn't his fault, but she couldn't see anything beyond her despair, beyond her loss. Well, he'd lost, too. He despaired, too. But he was the enemy, he didn't get to have feelings.

A/N: Nothing says HAPPY THANKSGIVING like angst and frustration, no? I just wanted to thank everyone who left positive reviews about this story. I had debated posting it all because it's so dark. And Peyton is very dark, very angry and much unlike herself. Someone commented on the last chapter that she's very OOC. Which, I admit, she is. Grief does strange things to a person and until you've lost a child, you don't know how you'll react. She's turning herself inward, pushing everyone away who matters to guard herself, her heart. However, this chapter lays the groundwork to Peyton getting herself together. Unfortunately, this will probably be the last update until the middle of December, until after finals. Enjoy and know that I appreciate all your reviews, comments and criticisms.

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03. Memories That Fade Like Photographs

Nervously, Lucas drummed his fingers on his steering wheel as he stared at TRIC through his tinted windshield. Already fifteen minutes late, he could not make himself open the door and get out; his feet were inexplicably stuck on the cloth floor mats. Truthfully, he was dreading having to walk inside TRIC and go to Peyton's office. He was afraid of what they would say, or worse—what they wouldn't.

He knew he couldn't remain sitting in his car forever. He wanted to see his kids. And to do that, he had to get out of the damn car and confront their mother. With a deep sigh, he turned off the car, pushed open his door and stepped out.

While he tramped across the parking lot he thought of their last conversation, when she'd called to arrange for him to see the kids. After he'd talked to Becca and Gilly he and Peyton had attempted to have a conversation amongst themselves. He had asked a simple question—how she was—and somehow it had all spiraled downward, ending in her hanging up on him.

He didn't know how this was going to work, this co-parenting thing. Especially when it seemed that everything he said was wrong, everything he did wasn't good enough.

Entering TRIC, he found a decent crowd inside. They must be estranged from their wives, too, he mused, driven to drink because they had married an impossible female. He wouldn't mind drowning his own sorrows in a glass of whiskey himself. But, first things first.

Peyton was sitting at her desk, staring into space, tapping a pen on her desk. Dillon, meanwhile, was sitting in his playpen, amusing himself by shaking his sippy cup, marveling as juice dripped from the spout onto the litter of stuffed animals surrounding him.

"Da! Da!" he exclaimed, when he spotted Lucas in the doorway. Shuffling to his feet, he extended his arms and began jumping up in his eagerness to be plucked from his confines.

Lucas scooped Dillon into his arms, hugging him tightly against his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Gosh, he'd missed this. He looked over at Peyton as she stood up from her chair. She wrung her hands nervously, he noticed. "You made it."

His eyebrow shot up sardonically. "Did you think I wouldn't show?"

"Well… no."

Annoyed that she didn't say more when it was evident that she wanted to, Lucas asked, "Do you have his things?"

Peyton reached onto the floor for Dillon's diaper bag. As she brought it to him, she cleared her throat and said, "So, um, I've heard you've been at Nathan and Haley's."

He glared at her over the top of Dillon's head. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I have." After a beat, he felt compelled to add, "It's only temporary."

"Only temporary?" she repeated. Where else was he going to go, she wondered. There was always Karen in Charlotte, but he wouldn't move that far from his kids… would he?

Lucas took the bag from her, reaching down into the playpen to pick up Dillon's sippy cup. Turning to her, he said, "You don't have to worry, I won't be begging you to let me come home."

She frowned, quickly saying, "I didn't—"

"Doesn't matter," he said curtly, cutting her off. "I'll have them home tonight."

Mutely, she nodded, watching Lucas walk out of her office with Dillon in his arms, safe and content. She just hoped he stayed that way.

"Give me the spoon, Owen," Brooke demanded of her husband, watching as he shoved spoonful after spoonful of peas into their daughter's mouth, most of which wound up on the lacy (not to mention extremely expensive) white dress that Brooke had bought in New York. She had to kiss a lot of ass to get Vera to make something that small!

Owen held the spoon out of her reach. "I'm feeding her."

Brooke shook her head, her finger, anything to tamp down the urge to wring his neck or smack that grin off his face. "No, what you're doing is making a mess. With peas!"

"Peas are good for her. Healthy."

Brooke huffed, counting to herself, an action that was an everyday occurrence when dealing with her husband. Then, as if she wasn't enraged enough at him already, he started talking to the baby in gibberish, prompting Brooke to smack him upside the head. "Ouch. Why do you hit me every time I talk to Bee?"

"I told you not to talk to her in the ooey gooey mushy baby voice. It's embarrassing. And don't call her Bee."

Bianca smiled at him, reaching for the spoon herself. "See?" Owen pointed to his daughter. "She likes it."

"She's ten months old. She doesn't know any better." Brooke reached for the spoon the exact moment that Owen dipped it back into the bowl. The contents flew—all over Bianca.

Owen glowered at his wife as Bianca began wailing. "Look what you did."

"You made me do it, you ape," she told him as the doorbell rang.

"You answer the door I'll clean up Bee—" Brooke scowled. "—Bianca. Happy?"

"Not even close." She headed for the door as Owen lifted Bianca from her highchair and disappeared down the hall with her. Pulling open the front door, she found Peyton standing on the stoop, gnawing on her fingernails. "Peyton?" She pushed the screen door wide. "What are you doing here?"

"Lucas has the kids for the afternoon and I didn't know what to do, where to go. I wound up here." She glanced past Brooke into the house. "I hope I'm not intruding."

"Not on anything important. Unless the murder of my husband qualifies as important." Brooke waved her in. "Well, come on." As Peyton passed her, she inquired if everything was alright. "It's fine," Brooke insisted. "Owen and I were arguing over the way he feeds Bianca."

Peyton grinned at her friend. "There's a wrong way to feed her?"

"Of course not. There's just a Brooke way and an Owen way. He insists on the Owen way, which, coincidentally is the wrong way." Brooke smiled broadly, winking at Peyton.

"I heard that!" Owen bellowed from down the hall.

"Mind your ears!" Brooke yelled back at him. To Peyton, she said, "He's so nosy."

"I'm not deaf, Brooke."

Brooke held up her index finger. "Hold on one second." She marched down the hallway to the guest bathroom where Owen was leaning against the lavatory watching Bianca splash in the water after her rubber ducky. "What's your problem? We have a guest."

"Our guest is Peyton, not the Queen." Owen straightened to his full height, crossing the bathroom until he was nose-to-nose with his wife. "And my problem, darlin', is that you've been Little Miss Fussy Pants since you got back from New York." Owen gestured above his head with the flat of his head. "And I've had it up to here with you. You make me wanna throw you out a window." Owen watched with glee as he rendered her speechless, her mouth opening and closing, all fishlike. Amusing, that.

She softened then, sinking into his arms, hands gripping fistfuls of his sweet pea splattered t-shirt. "I'm sorry I've been uberbitch. You know the flights and dealing with Victoria make me grumpy. Forgive me?"

"Depends. What's in it for me?"

Brooke blushed as Owen's voice took on that deep, raspy note that always got her blood pumping. She got up on her tiptoes, fusing her mouth to his. The kiss didn't last long, much to Owen's disappointment. "Better?" she asked, lifting a brow almost encouraging him to say no.

"It'll do," he admonished. "For now." But then a second later, she was in his arms again, her fingers in his hair, her tongue in his mouth. And he couldn't bear to remind her that she had a guest.

From the kitchen Peyton could hear Brooke's laughter from the bathroom, the deep timbre of Owen's voice as they spoke, then the unmistakable sound of kissing. Her heart swelled in her chest for her best friend's happiness, but ached for the loss of her own. Seeing Lucas today, confronting the hatred in his eyes, nearly undid her. It had left her uneasy and confused. Which had led her here. Not that she intended to burden Brooke with all of her problems.

Brooke breezed back into the kitchen a few moments later, flushed and beaming. "Sorry about that. I haven't been back long from New York and apparently I was still wearing my CEO boots."

"Everything okay?" Peyton asked as Brooke gingerly touched her lips with her fingers, nodding vigorously. Clearing her throat, she eagerly changed the subject. "How was New York?" She sometimes forgot that Brooke went to New York every two weeks. Then again, lately, she'd been forgetting a lot.

"I had to see my mother. How do you think it was?"

"Awful," Peyton guessed. Brooke wasn't keen on having her mother for a partner, but her hands were tied. For a time, she had attempted to start a separate line, sell the whole of Clothes Over Bros to her mother, but somehow they'd come to an understanding. They still didn't get along, however.

"You got it," Brooke answered with a flourish of her hand. Together, they settled at the table, Brooke gazing over at Peyton with concern. "Now, how are you doing?"

Peyton appreciated Brooke's concern. She heaved a sigh, answering, "I'm okay. Getting better, I think." She no longer wanted to kick Lucas whenever they were in the same room so that was progress.

"And you and Luke? Are things still…?"

Peyton had made it a rule recently not to discuss her and Luke's separation with their friends. Brooke and Haley were both in Luke's camp, a fact that didn't bother her as much as she expected it to. Despite that, it didn't stop them from showing compassion to her plight. "It's… not great. We talked on the phone a few nights ago to arrange for him to spend time with the kids. It ended with me hanging up on him."

"Let me guess, he reacted badly?"

Peyton drummed her fingers on the table. "He was so sore tempered this afternoon when he came to pick up Dillon at my office. I knew this wouldn't be easy, but I never thought it would be this hard."

Brooke bit her lip to suppress the urge to point out that Peyton had no one but herself to blame for her current situation. Since Peyton was a guest in her home, she decided to be nice and keep her opinions to herself. For the time being, anyway.

Then, she heard Owen shout, "Bianca! Wait! Daddy's not finished."

"Oh, no," Brooke gasped. She heard Bianca's giggles from the hall and a second later her daughter came into the room, naked and wet from her bath. Bianca was trying to climb onto her lap when Owen came running in, holding a towel in one hand, a diaper in the other. "Missing something?" Brooke teased her husband as Bianca settled on her lap with a giggle at having outsmarted her daddy.

Owen rolled his eyes. "She ran away. One minute she was lying on the floor while I was getting her diaper and the next she was streaking down the hall. She's like you: she likes to run around with her clothes off."

Peyton watched with amusement as Brooke spluttered, at a complete loss for words. Then, she growled—actually growled at Owen. "You are such… and I'll have you know that I… ooooh!" Peyton was sure that, had Brooke been standing, she would've stomped her foot in frustration.

Owen winked at Peyton. "She's so cute whenever she's riled up."

Peyton sat in her chair, observing the three of them, the lighthearted banter between the two adults, the way that they looked at each other, the way that they fussed over Bianca. A few months ago this was her life; she had been nauseatingly happy. How had it gotten so screwed up? How had she let it? And better yet, how could she fix it?

Lucas was sitting on the back porch of Nathan and Haley's house, watching as his kids ran around the yard with Bethy. Dillon was asleep upstairs in Bethy's old crib; a baby monitor sat in front of Lucas on the glass table to alert him the moment the baby woke.

After he'd left Peyton's office, he'd taken Dillon to the park, something that he used to do every weekend with his kids. The girls would roller blade on the paved pathways while he and Dillon sat on the grass by the pond, throwing breadcrumbs to the ducks. He'd sat there with Dillon between his legs, enjoying the serenity, the joy, with his son until it was time to pick up Becca and Gilly from school.

Once he'd acquired the girls, he'd taken them all out for ice cream. The girls had rattled on about school, their friends. Gilly tattled that Becca had worn a bracelet of Peyton's to school and lost it, which spiraled into a ten minute session of the two telling secrets on one another. Lucas found it odd that the girls didn't talk about Peyton. Though, he didn't ask about his wife either.

Not knowing where else to take them, and not quite ready to bring them back to Peyton, Lucas had taken them back to Nathan and Haley's where he'd helped them with their homework and then accompanied them outside to play once Bethy woke from her nap. Now, he sat watching, his heart aching in his chest at the prospect of having to bring them home and tell them goodbye. Again.

"What's this?"

Lucas glanced over his shoulder where Haley stood, staring at the kids running around the yard. "Be careful, Bethy!" she yelled when Bethy tripped over the hem of her dress. "She's so uncoordinated."

"I have them for the afternoon," he told her, stating the obvious.

Haley dropped into the chair beside him. "I see that. I'm glad that you and Peyton worked something out. You've been a broody bear ever since she gave you the big heave-ho."

Lucas sat still for a moment, silently contemplating. "It's not easy getting accustomed to being a spectator in their lives. Not when I'm used to seeing them everyday, putting them to bed at night."

Haley, never one to ignore the chance to add her own two cents, pointed out, "So, do something about it—go home."

Lucas shot her an aggrieved look. As if that thought hadn't crossed his mind. He would if he was certain he'd be happily received by his wife as he no doubt would be by his children. He would not subject himself or his children to any further strife, any more upheaval. They'd all been through enough. That, at least, he could do for them. "Easier said than done, Hales. Peyton and I can barely have an amicable phone conversation. I don't think we're ready to be living under the same roof again."

Haley wanted to say more, but she respected the bounds of friendship. Luke's marriage wasn't her business. She supported him with whatever he decided. But she wasn't prepared for his next words.

"I'm thinking about getting an apartment." Her gaping silence must've given her away because he continued, "I can't keep sponging off of you and Nathan. You have two children of your own. Besides, if I ever want to have my children for overnight, for an entire weekend, I need a place to call my own. Plus, your sofa is just uncomfortable."

Haley laughed at that. "I've liked having you here," she confessed, hoping that it would make him think twice about this apartment business. She turned in her chair toward him. "Luke, you don't have to leave. We don't mind you staying here."

Lucas shook his head. He had put a lot of thought into his decision to find an apartment; his mind was made up. "Thanks, Haley, you know I appreciate it. But the thing is, I don't know how long this estrangement with Peyton is going to last. It could be two weeks, then again it could be two years. I can't just keep crashing on your sofa. Besides, maybe this will push Peyton to ask me to come home, to work things out."

"This decision could have the opposite effect. She could take this as a sign that you've given up. It could propel her to file for divorce. What if that happens? Is that what you want?"

Lucas just shrugged. "If that's what she wants, Haley, then there's not much I can do about it, is there?" Dillon began fussing over the monitor, prompting Lucas to shoot to his feet. "I should be getting them back to Peyton now that Dill's awake."

As he walked away, Haley called out to him. "Lucas, please just think about what this means before you do anything. I know that the last thing you want is a divorce."

"You're right, Haley. The last thing I want is a divorce. But whether or not Peyton wants one is another story."

"But I don't want you to leave," Gilly whined as Lucas was telling her goodbye.

He took her hands in his, kissing them. "I know, honey, and I don't really want to leave, but it's better this way. For all of us."

Gilly threw herself against his chest, her arms circling his neck in a death grip. "Daddy, Mommy cries. At night, after she tucks us in. She goes in her room and she cries. You have to make her stop crying."

Something stuck in his throat, making it difficult to formulate words. He didn't want to know that. And he certainly didn't want to be the responsible party. Dammit, he thought that Peyton would get better with him gone. Pushing Gilly back, he stared into his daughter's eyes, eyes so much like her mother's. "Sweetie, Mommy's still sad that Christopher's gone. There's nothing I can do that will make her stop crying, not until her heart heals."

She stomped her foot, an action that he found quite endearing, utterly adorable. "Make her, Daddy. Make her better," she insisted.

If only I could, he thought glumly. "Gilly… there's nothing that I can do."

Those weren't the words that his daughter wanted to hear. Abruptly she quit the room, running upstairs to be away from him. Wonderful. He couldn't console his six year old daughter; it was no wonder he couldn't console his wife.

He fell onto the sofa, dropping his head into his hands. He was so… frustrated. No, that wasn't even the right word. Frustrated didn't begin to convey what state he was in. He felt like a disappointment to his entire family—his kids, Peyton. Especially Peyton. Even Haley was disagreeing with the decisions that he'd made. Maybe he should burrow himself a hole and never come out.

"You were right, you know." Lucas lifted his head at the sound of Peyton's voice. "There's nothing that you can do."

"You didn't have to say that, Peyton. It's quite easy to discern." He stood up and turned to go.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He spun to face her. "Plainly speaking, Peyton, you'd rather sit in a room alone with a blank canvas and your paints than talk to me, than let me comfort you. You shut me out the second that the paramedics pronounced Christopher dead. You didn't care what I had to say and you sure as hell didn't want my help. So, fine. Figure it out by yourself. I'm tired of fucking trying." He scoffed as he turned back to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he added, "Ten damn years and not a damn thing has changed."

He stormed out of the house, not bothering to wait for Peyton's reply. It would only enrage him further. He hated feeling helpless and unneeded. One thing was for sure, he couldn't remain in this purgatory. He had to do something because it was clear that Peyton wasn't going to make the first step.

On his way back to Nathan and Haley's he stopped at a gas station for the paper. He had some classifieds to peruse.

"DADDY! DADDY!" Gilly yelled, her knees pressed to her chest, her back against the headboard, hiding from the monsters that had threatened to eat her. Daddy always made them go away, he always kept her safe.

Her head lifted as the light flicked on, but it wasn't her daddy that entered the room; it was her mommy. Oh. Right. Daddy had left.

"Gilly? Honey, what's wrong?" Peyton asked, bustling into the room on fast bare feet. She slid onto the bed beside her daughter. She knew about Gilly's frequent nightmares, but, truth be told, she didn't know how to deal with them—that was always Luke's arena. "You wanna tell Mommy?"

Gilly shook her head. She wanted Daddy. She turned on her side, away from her Mom. "I want Daddy," she murmured into her pillow.

Peyton smoothed out her daughter's blonde hair, wishing that she could comfort her, that Gilly would allow her do so. But her daughters were beginning to feel the effects of their father's absence and it was no one's fault but her own. She had made this situation disastrous for herself, for her family. And she had no idea how to make it better, how to fix it.

When Becca came into the room, she let her comfort Gilly. She left the room, her heart aching as Becca hugged Gilly, whispering soothing words that Peyton had heard Lucas whisper to Gilly once upon a time. She leaned against the wall beside the wall, listening as Becca told Gilly that the monsters under her bed had gone, that the lights and the heavy voices had scared them off.

"We'll call Daddy tomorrow, ask him to come and exterminate them."

That settled Gilly for a moment. But the moment stretched too far into silence for Peyton's peace of mind. And then she knew why, for Gilly told her sister, "I wish he would come home."

"He can't, Gilly. Not until Mommy's better."

"We can make her better, Becca," Gilly told her sister defiantly.

Peyton peeked around the doorjamb and saw Becca shaking her head. "No, Gilly, we can't."

Peyton watched as her two girls hugged one another, mourning the mother that they used to have, the father that they missed terribly. Sinking to the floor, she brought her knees to her chest and let the tears fall. Because there was nothing else she could do.

Lucas stood in the middle of his third apartment, scratching his head. Nathan was having the same reaction. "I think their version of great view is a tad misleading," he said, staring at the brick wall that constituted said view.

Nathan was already heading for the door. Lucas followed, shaking his head. Once they were in the car, Nathan started in on him again. "I still don't understand why you're doing this when you have a house on the other end of town. A sofa at my house."

"That sofa is giving me backaches. And I'm not going home."

"Why not? Lucas, you're not ready for this."

Lucas stared at the road ahead, ignoring his brother. He turned up the volume of the stereo via the buttons on his steering wheel, but Nathan switched it off altogether, knowing that he was being put off purposefully.

"Do you want to be relegated to weekend Dad? Do you want to be exchanging your kids every other weekend at a McDonald's with the other loser dads? Because that's going to be your life: a one night stand here and there, microwave dinners, your kids seeing Peyton's new boyfriend more often than you."

Lucas eased the car to a stop at a stoplight, turning to glare at his brother. He didn't want to think about those things, the endless possibilities that would befall him were he to go ahead and get his own place. He didn't want to entertain images of Peyton and some other man, living in his house, sleeping in his home, playing daddy to his kids. It made his stomach churn.

It'd been four hellish weeks since Peyton had asked him to leave. They'd spoken only when it involved the children, completely abandoning any and all niceties with one another. The end was near; he could sense it. And he was going to be prepared when the moment came, when Peyton told him that they no longer meant what they once did to one another, that she wanted a divorce.

"I've heard this all from Haley and Brooke. Please just… stop. I've made up my mind."

"Then, you're an idiot," Nathan said, throwing up his hands in defeat. He turned his attention out the window, his jaw clenching with obvious disdain.

"I'd rather be an idiot than be miserable," Lucas told his brother, switching his foot from the gas to the break when the light turned green. "Now, where's the next apartment on the list?"

Lucas tiptoed in the house, careful to be as quiet as a mouse so as not to rouse his family. He just needed a few materials for his new book and then he'd be gone, no one none the wiser. Quietly, he made his way through the kitchen and down the hallway to his study.

Inspiration had struck when he'd been reading Bethy a bedtime story. His mind had been wandering while his voice spoke of beauties and beasts and happily ever afters. He'd been giddy with having something to focus on that he'd cut the book-reading short to jot down scenes and characters that were beginning to take form in his head. He'd spent two hours outlining and doing character analysis, but to expend on the plot, he needed a few materials. Which had brought him back to his house in the middle of the night, sneaking in like an intruder.

He looked over his shelves, wondering how it was that he'd acclimated so many reference materials. He had books ranging from cuisines to weapons and a little bit of everything in between. Not that he used every book that he'd ever purchased—he liked being eclectic, liked having options. Plus, he just liked books.

Taking his eyes from his never-ending shelves of books, he glanced over the things that had remained untouched, the thin sheet of dust that blanketed his ill-forgotten desk, the top of his computer, the various photo frames scattered about his desk.

This had been his place of reprieve, where he went on nights when insomnia struck, his escape when the kids were sick or Peyton was being pre-menstrual. His sanctuary. He walked to the desk, touching his fingers lightly to the papers that still lay where he'd left them, an email from his publisher on top. He had printed it out for a reason, but since he'd neglected it for so long, the reason now escaped him.

He looked over at the wall where his two book covers had been printed, now encased in black frames, decorating his wall. They'd been a gift from Peyton—she'd been so proud of him, so happy that she'd been there every step of the way, sharing his successes; he'd told her that she'd been his muse.

Lucas stopped woolgathering and crossed back to his bookshelves to get what he'd come for. He wanted to be gone before Peyton even knew he'd come by. Unfortunately, he forgot that sometimes Peyton had her own difficulties sleeping.

"Lucas?" came her voice from behind him.

Spinning around from the bookshelves, he found Peyton standing in the doorway, telephone in hand. He tried not to notice what she was wearing, but he was hard pressed to ignore it—the silk slip barely reached her thighs, the bodice dipped low to reveal a generous swell of breasts. The least she could've done was fasten the sash on the robe. It was like she was teasing him on purpose, which he knew that she wasn't; it was her simply favorite sleepwear. "Hi. Sorry." His words came out scratchy. He cleared his throat. "Did I wake you?"

She spoke through a yawn, nodding. "Yeah. Kinda. I was about to call the police. I thought someone had broken in."

Lucas held up his key. "You never asked for it back."

"It never occurred to me…" she trailed off.

Lucas didn't know what she meant by that statement, whether she meant it had never occurred to her to ask for it, or that he'd use it to get into the house at his own whim. Regardless, Peyton didn't finish her thought. But it hung there, suspended in air, the elephant in the room. Finally, he said, "I, uh… I needed some books," pulling a few more off the shelf, adding to the burgeoning stack on his desk.

She walked over, sifted through them. "You're working on a new book?" she asked, looking at him with a hint of a smile on her lips.

"What can I say? My muse is unparalleled."

Her gaze shot to him and for once it wasn't filled with all the pain and anger that he'd become so accustomed to seeing reflected in her eyes. Instead, it was something else, something that he couldn't quite hope for. His wandering thoughts were interrupted by Gilly's shrill scream from upstairs. "DADDY!"

Only thinking of his daughter and her recurring nightmares, Lucas ran out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time to reach her as quickly as possible. Her arms were suspended in air, open for him when he burst through her door. "Daddy's here, honey," he said, pulling her into his arms, reassuring her with kisses and whispered words. She was clammy, her body shaking with fear. He caught Peyton's eye as she appeared in the door where she bestowed him with her first genuine smile in weeks, mouthing, "Thank you," before she turned away, leaving him to comfort their daughter alone.

After Peyton had gone, Lucas made Gilly look at him, brushing away her tears as he asked, "What were the monsters tonight? Goblins? Clowns?"

"Vampires!"

Lucas sucked in his breath. "Vampires?" He blamed that on Jamie who had a fascination with scary movies. Becca could handle them just fine, but Gilly was much younger, much more susceptible to believing that the things she saw on the television were real and could do her harm, just like they did in the movies.

"He was trying to bite me, Daddy!" she told him, touching her neck with her small fingers.

"Well. It's good that I was here, that I frightened him off, now wasn't it?"

"It was," she said, bestowing him a grateful smile. Two in one night. I'm a rich, rich man, he thought as he settled Gilly back on her bed, pulling the blankets up to her neck, picking up her discarded stuffed pig off the floor.

"Will you make sure that the vampires are all gone?"

Lucas glanced around, whispering, "Are they still here?"

Gilly cupped her hands around her mouth, whispering back, "I think I scared them when I screamed. But they're hiding under the bed."

Lucas rolled up his shirtsleeves, nodding solemnly. "I'll take care of this." Pulling open the first drawer of Gilly's nightstand, he extracted the bottle of "monster repellant" which, in actuality, was merely flavored water. Lemon, to be exact. According to Gilly, monsters and whatnot were repelled by lemons. Lucas had discerned this was because Gilly herself was repelled by lemons.

Getting on his knees on the carpet, Lucas sprayed beneath the bed, saying as he did so, "Be gone, demonic vampires! You won't have my Gilly for a snack." Above him, he heard Gilly snickering. Vampires vanquished, he replaced the spray, climbing onto the bed beside his daughter. "They're all gone, bumpkin."

"Can I have a story before you go?"

"Of course. What do you want to hear? Cinderella? Beauty and the Beast?"

"No, the other story, Daddy."

Of course. He should've known. Settling against his side, Gilly cuddled her pig to her chest as he spun the tale—the story of his life and how he fell in love with Peyton. His daughter's favorite bedtime story, the one, she said, that was the best fairytale of all.

Peyton watched from the doorway as Lucas softly whispered a story in Gilly's ear, slowly lulling her back to sleep. He was always so patient and loving with the children, she mused. He was no longer like that with her. After eavesdropping for several minutes, Peyton left them to their privacy, their father/daughter moment, and went downstairs.

It was in the kitchen that Lucas found her, angrily scrubbing at the permanent markings in the shape of a dinosaur on the countertop that had been there for years. "Peyton." He said her name to inform her of his presence.

Peyton didn't look up to face him. "Is she okay?"

"I think so. She's asleep now, but I think you're good until tomorrow night."

Peyton digested that. The nightmares came and went every night. When Lucas wasn't there to comfort Gilly, Becca filled in. She was the only one who couldn't comfort her daughter, could assure Gilly that the monsters wouldn't hurt her, that everything was going to be alright. But that was the kicker, wasn't it? Everything was not going to be alright. Not until her children's lives returned to normal, until she stopped grieving, until Lucas came home. Her thoughts scattering in her head, she blurted, "You have such a way with her."

"I listen to her," Lucas said matter-of-factly. Gilly was most like him, had many of his same interests—basketball, reading. It was just unfortunate (sometimes, at least) that she was the spitting image of her mother.

Peyton laughed as she looked up at him. "And I don't, right?" When he didn't answer her, she spat, "You know what? Screw you, Lucas. I love those children. I stuck it out when the going got tough. At least, I didn't walk out on them."

That was low even for her. "Oh! Hold it right there, Peyton. You told me to leave. You're the one who packed my stuff and waved me at the door. So don't, even for a second, make this like its my fault. We both know I didn't leave of my own volition."

Peyton threw the SOS pad down on the counter. "That may be true, but the fact remains the same—you left, Lucas. You chose not to fight for us. You chose to turn and walk away."

He snorted. "No, Peyton, I didn't have a choice. Because what was my alternative? To stay and fight? What the hell would I have been fighting for? For those scornful looks that you shoot? You recoiling from my touch? Blaming me for Christopher's death, day in and day out? Tell me, Peyton, what would've been the point? You don't want me here—not really—and I'd rather live apart than to subject myself, my kids to… this," he said, pointing out their mutual animosity with a wave of his hand between them.

"You look at me differently, too," she whispered, hating how weak and bitter she sounded.

Lucas didn't even look at her. "Because I don't know how to look at you anymore. I don't know how to talk to you or act around you. You think you're the only one who's lost Peyton? I've lost a hell of a lot more—my family, my house… you. I've lost you and I… I understand that you're angry and distraught, but blaming me is not going to bring him back. Pushing me away is not going to make things better, it's not going to change the fact that Christopher is dead and there's no explanation for how he died."

And just like that, at the mention of Christopher and his death, her defenses were back up, anger flooding her veins. She could want things to return to normal and whenever they didn't speak of Christopher she was naïve enough to think that things could go back to the way they were. But then his name came up and her world shattered all over again. "I put your books in a bag. They're on the table. You should go," she told him, turning her back.

"My thoughts exactly."

Peyton watched as Lucas stalked through the door. It slammed behind him, a fitting end to the harsh words that he'd spoken. Through the window she tracked his movements, waited until his headlights had disappeared then she spun to the table, plucked up the crystal candy dish and flung it against the wall.

After several minutes, once her temper had cooled, she moved to clean up the mess that she'd made and accidentally stepped on a shard of glass. Surprisingly, she felt no pain. How could she when she felt absolutely nothing at all?