A/N: Again, thank you for the wonderful reviews! They really help keep this story going.
That said, I don't own OTH, the characters, or anything in a "'triple quote'" :) I can only claim the arc I'm playing with and any mistakes you find, as it's not beta'd!
chapter title comes from a lyric in "Angels On The Moon" by Thriving Ivory.
Ch6: No One's Left To Take Your Side
He's a little stiff from having spent the last few hours maintaining the same wooden position, but he was too numb to move. He can now, only because Nature gave him no other choice.
He passes his mom's room, noticing the wide-open door and that she's not in there. Nor is she in the kitchen when he warily creeps in. He does, however, see that the mess he made earlier is no longer there, save for some faint stains from the chocolate on the baseboard. Of course. That's taken care of.
Frowning, he moves towards the coffeepot, intent on consuming something that will help him get through this so far hellish day. He stops short at the note lying right in front of it.
Lucas,
Went with Larry.
-M.
It's more impersonal than a note from her has ever been in his life; if he cared, it'd probably bother him. But he doesn't. Not now.
His motions are on autopilot as he makes fresh coffee and even manages to eat some dry pieces of toast. His thoughts are one big blank, not focusing on any one thing at all...not even really comprehending the hand-to-mouth movement as he has breakfast.
"Luke?"
Thank goodness he just swallowed his sip of coffee and placed the mug down, otherwise the sudden interruption to the quiet could have had him scalding himself as he jerks in reaction.
Turning, he sees Peyton peering at him worriedly from beside the sink. Her glance is frank as it travels over his rumpled form and ravaged face, probably noting the signs of his lack of sleep.
"Peyton." He returns coolly, bringing his attention back to the empty plate in front of him, tracing a fingertip through the crumbs left behind.
He hears her sigh, before she walks over, hovering next to a chair at the table, nonplussed. He grudgingly uses his foot to shove it back, allowing her room to sit if she wants to. She's not the Peyton he'd want to see right now anyway. The one he wants to talk to would be a solidly real person, giving him one less thing to not have to think about.
She gives him an odd look, before venturing, "Um, hey. I just thought, you know, that I could use someone to talk to. And you're it. I mean, not just because you're the only one who can see me, but also because you're usually a really good person to talk to." She offers up a small smile that quickly turns to a grimace at his non-reaction.
A short burst of silence is all she allows before she's continuing, "Luke, talk to me."
It's her unknowing duplication of words spoken by Brooke earlier, that places the first crack in the ice encompassing him. Letting memories of everything that happened this morning sneak back into his mind. Things he doesn't want there.
He musters up enough energy to raise his head and spear her with a glare. But at this point, it's only half-hearted.
She brushes it aside with a drawn out, "Ookaaay." Shrugging, "Apparently you don't want to. That's okay, because I have some stuff."
Peyton pauses a beat, presumably to allow for a response he doesn't give. With another weird look aimed his way, she says, "I'm sorry. About yesterday. I didn't mean to imply that you guys aren't important or anything. Or that you don't care. I know you all do. I guess I just needed to vent, to be mad for a while. So...sorry."
Sighing, she knots her fingers together, letting the silence lapse. Her words are intended to soothe and apologize, but they definitely don't achieve that goal. Rather, they send anger coursing through his veins and serve as an outlet for it all, as the ice encasing him finally shatters.
"'That's just great, Peyton!'" He lurches to his feet with force, sending his chair careening back until it hits the cabinets behind him and topples over. She flinches, eyes wide and shocked at what she's seeing.
But he ignores that. Motioning with one arm to make a point and using the other to clutch a fist in the back of his hair, Lucas unleashes all his fury at the not-truly-there girl. "Sorry doesn't change any of it, does it? It doesn't stop Jimmy from bringing a gun to school, it doesn't stop Keith from dying, it doesn't stop my mom from saying it's my fault he's dead! Does it? No! But you needed to be mad! You needed, you wanted, you think... You know what? Right now, I just don't give a damn!"
He's breathing hard and fast, scowling at her, resenting her very presence at the table. For a lot of reasons. He watches her mouth flatten and her eyes blank. For the first time since they met, he can't read her eyes. A small frisson of unease worms it's way past the cold anger.
"Fine." Her voice is clipped, emotionless as she stands. "I won't burden you anymore."
Before he can even respond, she's gone. Vanished, right before his eyes. That unease wants to spread, but he squelches it. Let her go off and pout; he doesn't care. Let her feel even a fraction of what he does, because then she wouldn't be so quick to—
"You know what, screw that!" He blinks at the furious blonde who's back, standing firmly with her hands on her hips as she lays into him, "No, sorry doesn't change anything! Sorry is crap! But it's all I have!"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER!" He shouts.
She yells right back. "I KNOW THAT! I know, better than anyone, I know!"
That gives him an instant of pause, because it's true. But that's not the point. "Not everything is about you, Peyton!"
"Oh, God! What is the matter with you?" She cries, waving her hands in frustration. "Fine, it's not 'all about me', whatever! Don't yell at me!"
So he doesn't. He grits his teeth and sneers, "Like I said: I. Don't. Give. A. Damn. About any of it."
A bitter half-laugh escapes her lips as she just nods slightly. "Well, I guess I know where I stand now, don't I?"
And she's gone again. He's left staring around his empty kitchen. He wants to hit something. Or break something. But he doesn't. He wants to mean what he just said. He wants to not care. But he didn't, and he does.
"Peyton?" He says aloud, pausing to see if she could respond in any way. Nothing happens.
He drops into the chair she had occupied, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands. Everything is so messed up. Everything just hurts. He tried ignoring it. He tried pretending. But nothing is helping. And he just ran off the one person who might understand. He knows she's probably felt all these same things with her mom. Twice. He groans to himself with that realization. And the loss of Ellie was pretty recent, too.
But it's easier being mad, focusing his anger on something outside himself. Deep down, he knows that Keith was the kind of man to jump in and help, especially when it involved someone he cared about. He wouldn't have hesitated if he believed he could make the situation better. Regardless if Lucas had been in that school or not, Keith would have been. Lucas accepts that now. Talking to Haley, talking to Peyton...it had helped. He just needed to let it sink in a little first.
What he can't get past is that his mom doesn't see it that way. That she blames him. While he accepts the 'Keith was a good guy' aspect, he can't help feeling guilty anyway. For an entirely different reason than just running back into school that day.
Jimmy was his friend, and Lucas somehow let him slip through the cracks. The situation got so bad, Jimmy felt the need to bring a gun to school. To point it at a person who cared about him and pull the trigger. And that's unforgivable. Utterly so, in Lucas' opinion.
It would never have happened at all if Lucas hadn't left Jimmy behind last year.
People always leave.
He starts shaking, struggling for breath when it hits him again. Peyton. Jimmy. His mom. That's when the first sob erupts from his tight throat. And they keep on coming; harsh, ugly sounds that fight past the lump of emotion in search of some relief. Soft keening cries join in as he wheezes for air, burrowing his face into his arms on the table.
He lets himself get swept away in the maelstrom of emotion, to grieve for really the first time since it happened.
0.o o_o o.0
At first, she was hurt. Then numb. Then angry. Followed by sad and confused. Now, she's a sickly combination of all of them, and she hates it.
Peyton's standing at the foot of her hospital bed, dispassionately studying her unconscious self. Maybe there's a reason she's still like that. Maybe she's supposed to have a break from being kicked around by life. She's exhausted from having to constantly fight her way back up, only to find something else waiting to push her back down. But if that's true, she sure isn't getting a break, existing in this limbo where she can feel all the bad stuff, but not do much about it. The confusing thing is, she's not sure if all of it is a stronger argument for waking up or for remaining in the coma.
Ever since her mom died, Peyton's been emotionally barricaded from the rest of the world. She never let herself need anyone. Even Brooke, the closest person to her, was never truly let all the way in. She hid, plain and simple. That way, it hurt less when people left. It wasn't a crippling pain to wave her dad away on jobs and return to an empty house where'd she be alone for months on end. It didn't put her out of commission to be treated like a doormat by an equally emotionally-stunted boyfriend, because she at least had human contact. And he could never hurt her, because he was held at arm's length.
But with Lucas...he saw her. He helped knock down those walls and taught her to let people in. So she did.
Her friendship with Brooke proved to be able to withstand the crap thrown at it to come away stronger. She was able to gain an amazing influence in Ellie, and learn so much about life. She was able to be a better support system for her friends, allowing herself to sympathize and relate.
She let herself fall in love. No matter how hard she fought it, Lucas bulldozed right past her defenses and cared about her. All aspects of her.
And now, he doesn't give a damn.
She sighs, scrubbing the heel of her hands over her eyes. "Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer, what are we going to do now?" She dislikes all uses of the 'royal we' but it fits this situation, oddly enough.
No one else has been able to notice her in this state. Only Lucas. Apparently that doesn't matter anymore, though. The boy she loves just simply doesn't care. That hurts more than she ever thought she'd hurt again. At least if he's mad at her, it's an emotion. Don't care translates to indifference, which has to be the worse thing to know someone you care about feels for you.
There's a part of her that's rationalizing his actions. Explaining away those awful things he yelled, and reminding her that she reacted with bitterness after she lost Anna. But she doesn't want to listen to that part of her. It really hurt; she kind of wants to wallow in it for a little while. She's good at the wallowing-in-sadness part...it's the rest of it she's still learning.
Before her tiny pity-party can become full blown, the door opens, ushering in her dad, who kicks the doorstop in place,...and Karen. The woman looks haggard, pale and exhausted. Peyton's surprised she actually left the house. She's even more surprised to see her here, of all places.
"Oh, Larry." There's a sharp intake of breath from Karen when she sees the teenage girl laying in the bed. Karen grabs Larry's coat sleeve as he goes to move past her.
Peyton watches her dad's face, seeing the tiredness etched there. He attempts a smile at the brunette woman, but it's a shaky one at best. "I know. But it looks worse than it is, you know? She has an I.V. drip, the rest of the machines are just monitors."
Karen nods, moving with him to the bed. The older woman softly runs a hand down the 'other' Peyton's arm. Of course, Peyton doesn't feel a thing at all. She doesn't even try to, really.
She's stunned. And maybe a little disgusted at the moment. Both at herself and the other woman.
It doesn't stop my mom from saying it's my fault he's dead.
She hadn't thought of the words themselves, only the anger directed at her with them. No wonder Lucas was so angry; she doesn't know what she would have done if she'd been in his position. She stares at Karen, wondering what's going through her mind at the moment. Wondering if she's thinking about what she said to her son. Wondering if she regrets it yet.
"How are you holding up?" Larry looks over at Karen, who's still standing next to the hospital bed.
She shakes her head, not saying anything for a moment. Turning, she takes the chair next to Larry, settling down with a sigh. "I don't want to talk about me. How are you doing? Any changes with Peyton?"
Her dad seems at a loss for words, rubbing a hand over his face with a deep sigh. "No. No changes. No idea what's causing this. No clue why she's not waking up. Just...nothing."
Karen reaches over and clasps his hand. "She's a fighter. She'll be okay, Larry."
"What if she's not?" He blinks furiously, voice gruff, "What'll I do if I lose her?"
"I don't know." The older brunette whispers, starting at the hospital bed. "I don't know."
Peyton whimpers, a tiny squeak deep in her throat. She can't be here for this. She doesn't want to hear this. She's in no frame of mind to deal with the level of emotion that can come with listening to this conversation.
Frantically, she thinks herself to the cemetery. Nothing. She pictures her room. She goes nowhere. Wanting to cry, but unable to, she tries a few more...the record store, the bridge she and Brooke used to sit under, even Lucas' house. But she's still in that room, witnessing her dad battle back tears and Karen's half-sympathetic, half-knowing gaze on her unconscious self.
"She's all I have left, Karen." Her dad's voice breaks the silence. "I already lost Anna. I can't lose her, too."
That sets something off in Karen, as the older woman bursts into tears, startling Larry. She chokes out, "Oh god, what did I do? What did I do? Oh god..."
Desperate to leave, Peyton runs for the open door. And smacks up against something solid. She can't get out. Moving her hands against it, trying to find a way through. "Please, please, please, please." Her breathing becomes erratic, thoughts flying, emotions splintering. There doesn't seem to be any escape.
"Karen?"
"I blamed Lucas. For Keith's death." she cries, burying her face in her hands.
"Oh god." Her dad whips his head between his daughter laying on the bed and the woman sitting beside him, looking like he wants to vomit. "Because of Peyton?"
Peyton squeezes her eyes shut and slams her palms over her ears. She doesn't want to hear this. She can't. She really really wants to be anywhere but here right now.
If either adult had been in any frame of mind to notice, they might have seen the very minute, but synchronized blip to all the monitors keeping track of the girl in the hospital bed that occurred that moment.
But they didn't.
0.o o_o o.0
His head feels like it's been stuffed with cotton. For all the crying he's done, for all the emotions he's been holding back, he feels so much better for having gotten them out.
Not so much for how, though. While the anger and sadness have been mostly assuaged, the guilt and self-loathing have only tripled. There's so many things he shouldn't have done, but no way to take them back now. Only try to make them right.
He has no clue how to even go about fixing the Jimmy thing...and he really doesn't want to, anyway. Not now, not ever. Not after this. Besides, it's too late. Jimmy's dead.
He's too raw to try to talk to his mom. He thinks that can wait until they both have some time to settle themselves first.
That leaves talking to Peyton.
After cleaning himself up, Lucas gets in his car and heads to the hospital, mentally crafting how to start his apology. He feels like crap for yelling at Peyton. Even worse for some of the things he yelled. He knows she's going through her own hell right now, and he knows that, if a comparison were made, she's been through a lot more bad things than he has.
Maybe, in part, that explains why he chose her to unleash pent up emotions upon. She lost her mother when she was eight. She found and lost a second mother figure when she was seventeen, only a few weeks before getting shot. She, better than anyone else he knows, understands what it feels like to lose a parent. He's just hoping she'll forgive him for disregarding that, and treating her like she doesn't know what he's going through when she's already been there. He's hoping she's perceptive enough to realize that he needed the support of her understanding to really let it all go in the first place. Though, he'll probably need to tell her that part. She can't read minds.
He doesn't think so anyway...
Plus, he wants the chance to explain everything else that added to it. He needs to talk about his mom, and the impact of what she said to him. He needs to vent about Jimmy. He needs to question how his friend could have killed Keith, a man who was never anything but kind to the teen. He wants someone more impartial to tell him if he's wrong in his anger towards the other boy, wrong for blaming Jimmy for reacting the way he did to the situation he found himself in. Or, if he's more wrong for forgetting about Jimmy in the first place, thus setting in motion the death of his own uncle.
That's the kind of guilt Lucas can't see going away anytime soon. He's hoping that maybe talking to Peyton will lead to some answers to those questions he has a hard time asking. But first, he has to find her.
By the time he gets to the hospital, Lucas has formulated at least four different ways to start the conversation they need to have. He figures he'll know the best one to use once he sees her initial reaction to his presence.
Taking the stairs in lieu of the much slower elevator, He hurries towards room 312, only slowing when he's near enough to hear sobbing coming from inside. It's the glances other people keep making towards the room that leave him positive it's not Peyton who's crying.
A sickening feeling curls through him as a terrifying thought occurs. Hands shaking, heart thudding rapidly, he eases his head around the door, praying to find a certain sight. Air gushes out of his lungs when he does: Peyton is still laying unconscious in the hospital bed, monitors emitting their steady beeps. She's still alive.
He turns his gaze and finds the source of the sobs. It's his mom, head buried against the shoulder of Peyton's dad. The man's hand is rubbing circles on his mom's back, his own eyes reddish and shiny from unfallen tears as he focuses blankly into space.
Lucas eases back after a quick glance reveals Peyton's not in the room with the other two. He doesn't want to be there, either. He can't deal with the emotions present, can't even imagine talking to his mom under these conditions.
He just wants to find Peyton.
Retracing his steps down the hall, he furtively glances around, trying to see if he can spot Peyton. Not that it makes much sense for her to be wandering around the hospital. She hates hospitals. He makes a face to himself as he hurries across the parking lot to Keith's—his—mustang. Knowing Peyton, there could actually be a million places to find her. Scratch that. In her current condition, she can't do half the things she usually would at those places. So that narrows down the list considerably.
But it gives him a good place to start. He drives through the intersection that marks Anna's accident. He passes by the closed businesses of the cafe and Tric (you never know), the empty River Court, the docks, the deserted schools and playgrounds. He takes a lightening-fast stroll around the cemetery, making sure to avoid looking at a certain gleaming stone. He's still not quite ready to do that yet.
Peyton's nowhere to be found. He's starting to panic a bit; how many places could the...spirit...of someone be?
Lucas scoffs a little at that thought. The answer is pretty much anywhere. But he doesn't think that's the case for Peyton, especially with how they left things that morning. There are only a few places she'd go to get away from things for a while. But he'd gone to those places, too. She wasn't anywhere.
His last stop is her house, a place he's been reluctant to look because of obvious reasons. But he does it anyway.
He raps against the front door once, before pushing it open. Larry's at the hospital and Peyton never minded before when people just walked in. But Brooke's supposed to be here, too, so he figures a warning might be a good idea. Thinking nothing of it, he heads straight up the stairs to Peyton's room, walking in and looking around for the person he really wants to see. Damn it. She's not there.
"Luke?"
He spins to find Brooke standing behind him, confusion on her face. "What are you doing here?"
"Umm." He shrugs helplessly. He's not sure how to explain his being here. And it's just now dawning on him that she could take his presence the wrong way. "I, uh...I thought..."
When he trails off, Brooke huffs out a sigh and pushes past him. "I thought you wanted space. What, you ready to talk now?" She folds her arms over her chest and eyes him coolly.
He shakes his head, "I just..." spying the bins of records leaning against the wall, "I thought that maybe I should get an album for Peyton or something."
Brooke narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, a flash of something entering her gaze. "So why aren't you in a music store? Instead of Peyton's bedroom?"
"I meant bring one she likes and play it in her hospital room. It might also help Larry a little, you know?" He rattles off, edging towards the door. He needs to find Peyton. Right now.
He stops his movement when Brooke gives him a weird look, but he can't shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong and that he's wasting time. The brunette moves to the bins, absently flipping through the records and randomly pulling one out. She gestures with it towards him, "I can do that. You didn't have to come here and hand-select it for her yourself. There's a thing called the telephone. Or telling Larry."
He rolls his eyes, irritated by her tone and the fact that it's such a petty thing to focus on. He has bigger issues to deal with.
"Fine." He raises his hands in front of him, palms towards her. Backing out the door, he pauses long enough to tell her, "By the way, that's Kool & The Gang. Probably the absolute last thing you should play for her in the hospital."
His final sight before leaving is her horrified and comprehending stare at the offending record in her hand. He doesn't stick around. Instead, he bounds down the stairs, glances quickly around the empty living room, and darts for his car. Find her, find her, find her. It's a chant in his head, sounding with every heartbeat, the sense of worry increasing with every repetition.
He doesn't know how to get her attention or make her come to him. It's not like he can call her up on a cell phone. And last time—
Of course. Last time, he captured her attention by touching unconscious Peyton. Maybe that will work this time, too. He's slightly more hopeful now that he as a plan. He doesn't want to think about what he'll do if it fails.
It doesn't take long to backtrack to the hospital, and by the time he reaches her room, he's convinced himself that he'll find her there. He doesn't. Neither does he find Larry or his mom. A quick glance at the time suggests the real possibility of the two adults being in the cafeteria or something. But it gives him some time to do what he came here for.
Closing the door behind him, Lucas allows himself just a moment of doubt. Only a moment, because even that leaves him breathless with an indefinable fear. He takes a deep, shuddery gulp of air and turns around to face the empty room.
"Peyton? Can you hear me?" He pauses a beat, looking around the room hopefully. Nothing.
He sighs, moving to the blonde in the bed, and hesitates briefly before clasping her hand within his. He hopes she can feel it, wherever she is. He hopes it brings her back to this room.
He seemingly hopes in vain. She doesn't come. Not when he squeezes her hand hard, or says her name firmly. Not when he strokes his hand down her arm, or feathers fingers over her facial features. This time, not even a pinch to her feet has her appearing before him. There's just nothing. And that scares him.
Actually that terrifies him. His horror growing as he stares incomprehensibly at the monitors tracking her. While the steady, calm beeps and undulating lines are relieving in one sense, they scare him in another. There's no change...and no sign of Peyton.
And he has not one clue as to how to find her.
"Please, Peyton." He murmurs hoarsely, bowing his head over his hands that still grip her feet through the blanket. "Please. Just come back."
But she doesn't.
A/N: hmm...