A/N: Immense apologies for disappearing like that! I have been, and will be, working an insane amount of overtime. I'm also researching schools to apply to this Fall. So I'm kind of mentally burned out... anyhow, I'm not forgetting this story! Promise. It took me a while to write this chapter, piece by piece, lol. I hope people are still interested!
I don't own OTH, it's characters, anything "'triple quoted'", or the songs/lyrics used. I only own the journey they travel and all mistakes, as it's unbeta'd.
Chapter title comes from a lyric in "What Are You Looking For" by Sick Puppies.
Enjoy :)
Ch11: I Recognize That I Am Damaged; I Sympathize That You Are, Too.
Sighing deeply, Lucas studies his reflection in the mirror, absently adjusting his tie. He's feeling strangely...apathetic about this whole thing. He kind of figures he should be disgusted at himself for going to pay his respects to the boy who wreaked such havoc. But it's not for him. It's for everyone else. All the same, he's not really looking forward to the next couple of hours.
Giving up on ever straightening the knot of his tie, Lucas turns away, eyes falling onto the picture gracing his nightstand. He quickly averts his gaze, not wanting to look at the smiling family within the frame. If he does that, he'll dwell on everything that's gone wrong. Then he'll never gather the strength to actually attend the funeral. No matter who he's going for.
He mumbles under his breath, calming himself by singing the lyrics to Lean on Me, while he shrugs into his suit jacket, tugging it into place. One last glance in the mirror to check his appearance, before snatching his keys off the dresser and heading for the kitchen.
His mom's in there, absently tearing bites from a bagel as she leans against the sink, staring out the window. He watches her shake out of her daze, turning and focusing her attention on him with a small smile. One that fades into confusion and unease when her gaze travels over his form.
She frowns, "'What are you doing?'"
"'It's what Keith would have wanted.'" The obvious reason comes to his lips, making him grimace. Probably not the best way to say it. "It's the—"
"'Absolutely not.'" She shakes her head repeatedly, cluing in to the situation. "'You go to your room and you change.'"
Her voice is mostly calm, but he can see the utter despair in her eyes. It urges him across the room, to catch her hand in his. Making sure to look directly in her eyes. "It's for Mouth. And Mrs. Edwards. And...and the guys."
He watches her compress her mouth as she holds his gaze. Her grip tightens on his hand, and the head shaking slowly turns into a soft nodding. She gives him a tremulous smile.
He nods, too. "It's...important."
"'He did a good a job with you.'" She reaffirms her words from yesterday, moving gracefully to wrap him in a hug. He locks his arms around her and lowers his head to her shoulder, closing his eyes. It really is something Keith himself would have done in this situation. It's really not solely about the boy who's being buried today.
But it doesn't mean it isn't hard.
Pulling away with a sigh, Lucas meets his mom's eyes again. She lightly brings her hand up to cup his jaw for a moment before stepping away fully. She stares down at the bagel-half still clutched in her fingers, then raises her head again. "I—I can't..."
"I know." And he does. That would be just too much to ask of anyone in her shoes.
She gifts him with one more sad smile before taking her leave, passing him with a soft touch to his arm. He watches as she carefully shuts the bedroom door behind her and he knows it's probably not going to be a good morning this time.
Taking a deep breath, Lucas reaches for the coffee, distantly noting the slight tremor of his hands as he fixes a mug for himself. But once he has it, he can't bring himself to actually drink it, his stomach knotting up at the thought of consuming anything. Restless, he empties the liquid in the sink, deciding to just go already.
-x-
It doesn't take long to pick up the rest of the guys; Mouth, Skillz, Junk and Fergie. Most of the boys he'd grown up with, laughed with, played with, and learned with. He doesn't know how one of them managed to get so lost. He's feeling a little lost, too. Anxious to get there, anxious to stay away. Wanting to get it done with, and wanting to not have to go at all. He's a mass of tension, gripping the steering wheel until the knuckles on his hands turn white. Extremely grateful for the silence that envelops the car, with none of the guys knowing what to say to one another.
Lucas is also anxious for another reason. He hasn't seen or heard from Peyton since yesterday morning. He'd expected her to show up in his room again last night, at least long enough to make arrangements for today. He has no clue how she's getting there. When she's getting there. If she's still going there. And he's worried. For a lot of reasons.
They arrive at the cemetery in what feels like the blink of an eye, and he's standing outside the car almost before he knows it. The five of them are awkwardly trying not to stare at each other. He figures no one else wants to be the first person to make a move towards the casket they know awaits them just over the hill. He knows he doesn't. But with a firm shake of his resolve, he does. It's what Keith would have expected from him. And it's not as hard as he'd imagined it would be. Not with his friends by his side, and the sight that meets his eyes when he crests the hill.
Mary Edwards. The only person standing next to a simple coffin covered with an array of flowers. A small woman, hunched against the solitude of her grief. It's enough to break his heart. And justify all his reasons for showing up today.
He doesn't hesitate to pull her into his arms, feeling the slight trembles overtaking her, hearing her breathing become more shallow and uneven. Noticing the tears in her eyes when she pulls back, contrasting with her relieved smile as she takes in their little group. Boys she had watched grow up with her son. Boys who now surround her in a show of support, offering hugs and hands to hold as she buries her own boy.
Lucas stands off to the side a little as the group faces the casket, surreptitiously looking around for Peyton. It's already a few minutes after eight, and it's not like her to go back on her word. Worry increases, causing him to tense a little more. It's apparently obvious to Fergie, standing right beside him, because his friend pats his shoulder supportively and lowly asks if he's okay. A quick nod satisfies the other boy, who goes back to giving his attention to the minister talking to Mary. The services are just about to start, since it appears everyone who's coming is here.
Everyone but Peyton. Which is why he's still looking.
He's unmindful of the small sigh that escapes, as he literally feels his body relax when he clocks her sudden presence a few feet away. Only to have his next breath catch in his throat when he takes the moment to study her. Her expression looks haunted, eyes wide and dark in a drawn face. She's hugging herself tightly, solemnly staring at the coffin as she edges closer to the small group of people standing beside it. She looks small...and fragile. Young, in her outfit of jeans, converse, and black band Tee over a long sleeved white shirt.
The same outfit she was wearing that day. The day she was shot. By the boy they're burying.
The acrid taste of bile stings at the back of his throat when the thought registers. He chokes it down, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin, fisting one hand within the pocket of his trousers. Trying to physically hold himself together.
He's the one who asked her to come. For moral support. Lucas can't believe it hadn't crossed his mind what this could do to her. He can't believe he acted so selfishly, as to not consider how hard this might be on her. Especially since she's not even really there. She's still in a coma. In no position whatsoever to say she's not affected.
But she still came. Because he asked her too.
And it would be a lie to say that fact isn't already helping him through this.
"Hi." She whispers when she reaches his side. He catches her eyes briefly before she averts them. "Sorry I'm late."
She says nothing else, choosing to instead stand close by him and keep her attention on the minister, who's speaking of reflection and strength. Lucas wants nothing more than to ask if she's okay, but he can't even get her to look at him. And he can't try too hard or too obviously since as far as anyone else is aware, she's not there. He thinks maybe that's why she's keeping her gaze fixed on a point well beyond the casket, and why her posture is beyond rigid. She doesn't want to look at him. Probably because he asked this of her.
It hurts his head to think about it. It hurts his heart to feel it. So he focuses on Mary Edwards, getting through the funeral, and mentally preparing words to say to Peyton once this is all over.
0.o o_o o.0
Peyton stands there next to Lucas, arms wrapped around her torso for comfort. She needs it.
She vaguely feels bad and a little guilty. The main reason she's here is to support Lucas as he deals with facing this particular funeral. But there are so many thoughts and emotions crowding her mind, that she's not paying attention to him at all. She's only thinking about her own situation right now.
She snapped back into reality this morning to realize she'd lost almost another full day. And Nathan had seen her. A nurse pitied her...and brought up everything Peyton had been trying not to remember. One good day shouldn't be enough to counteract an entire week of bad days. Right? And the words from one nurse shouldn't be enough to send a flood of misery through her. But they did. Those words reminded her of the endless hours of being alone. She'd managed to comfort herself a little with the thought that people at least cared enough to send flowers, even if they didn't visit. At least she wasn't forgotten.
But apparently she was.
And it hurt to face that. So she didn't. She let herself get distracted, in a good way, by Nathan's arrival. His timing couldn't have been more perfect. It was like a lifesaver thrown to her just when she started to drown. And his words had soothed. Because maybe she wasn't forgotten, but rather, everything was pushed to backburners as people dealt with the aftermath of tragedy. She could be okay with that. She could move on from that point. Her friends loved her, cared about what happened, and were rooting for her to wake up.
And then Nathan saw her. It should have been a sign of hope. It should have been something to celebrate, something to decipher in a conversation with Lucas, something to try repeating. But she'd let fear and uncertainty creep in and ruin it. She'd froze. And before she could do anything else, she'd blanked out.
When she came back, she hadn't had time to question anything, hadn't had time to check in on anyone, hadn't had time to explore her own damn emotions. She'd barely had time to note the hour on the clock and think herself to Lucas for the funeral. Not that she's paying any attention in the slightest.
Sighing, she ignores Lucas' attempts to draw her gaze. The minister is droning on about paths and God; nice words about a boy she doesn't know. Peyton frowns suddenly, the words of the minister breaking through her fog to wash over her, eyes narrowing on a blood-red carnation visible in the array of flowers gracing the casket.
Lives touch each other, souls walk along some of the same paths, as we figure out the life we're given. We're only men. We make mistakes. But that is for the Lord to lay judgment upon, for the Lord to forgive. For us, as men created in his image, to find the strength to forgive. That is the only way to free our souls to walk the best paths through this life as we journey home.
Scenes like something out of a horror movie find their way into her head. The dark puddle of red, widening steadily. The gun held in a shaky hand. The painful crawl into the deserted library. The cold fear of dying alone, the slice of relief at seeing a familiar face. The sound of echoing screams of chaos ringing in the halls. The utter desolateness and empty misery in the eyes of a boy she never knew. And will never know.
She'd told Lucas, in the library, that Jimmy had just looked scared. That's the memory most vivid. Her last and most memorable sight of the boy was the horrified expression that appeared as soon as the gun went off. Right before a burning sensation had taken over her being. She hadn't thought too much about it after that.
She's thinking about it now.
Peyton knows about the darkness. Knows how easy it is to just keep falling into the black pit of hopelessness. The effort it takes to merely hold on when letting go is so inviting. However, she's always managed to climb back out. She's never fallen so far, doesn't know what rock bottom looks like. Not really.
She'd had her dad and best friend when her mom died. She'd had Lucas on the first anniversary of her mother's death that she was old enough to drive during. Sure, she'd also had a period when she spiraled so far down, she'd almost gotten herself hooked on drugs. But she'd had Jenny and Jake to help pull her back, as well as the knowledge that her mom would've wanted better for her. She'd had her dad and Lucas when she found out she was adopted. She'd had Brooke and Lucas when she lost her newly found mother to breast cancer. And she'd had Lucas when she was bleeding out in the library.
As much as she may say she's a loner, she's never really been alone. And it's just now fully sinking in, as she lets her mind freely wonder about Jimmy.
If she's being honest, she doesn't remember the boy. She doesn't know how long they've gone to school together or what classes they might've shared. She only ever became aware of him when she met Lucas and all of his friends. But even then, she apparently never noticed when he'd faded away from the rest of them. She wonders how many other kids are basically thinking the same thing. That the only way they'll ever know Jimmy Edwards is by his last, desperate actions.
She takes a peek at Lucas from under her lashes, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. His brow is marred with a deep frown, and his gaze is intently focused. Following it, she can barely make out a spot in the distance, one she knows fairly well. It's near where her mom rests. It's where Keith can be found. A spot Peyton doesn't think Luke's visited yet.
A low whimper draws her attention away from him, bringing it to the small woman amidst the teenaged boys. And her heart goes out to her. For having lost her only child, her only family. For having it occur under such a black cloud of anger, pain, and uncertainty. She only hopes that Mrs. Edwards will be able to focus on everything good about her son, and not let the 'before' be tainted by the ending. But she knows that just might be one of the most difficult paths to walk. It had taken her a long time to be able to smile about a memory of her mom, and not immediately think about the car accident or aftermath.
Peyton's gaze roams from face to face of that small group. She's oddly proud of all five boys, being a source of strength for each other and the mother of their lost friend. She doesn't know either Junk or Fergie all that well yet, and only had handfuls of conversations with both Skillz and Mouth, but she can see hints of the men they could grow up to be. Same with Lucas. Decent men. Caring men. Strong, to attend this service despite any ill feelings regarding what Jimmy had done.
Is it any wonder she fell in love with one of them?
She sneaks another quick look at Lucas, who still has his focus on some far off point, before tuning back into the services. She can't help comparing it to the only other one she's ever attended. Her mom's. Then, there had been a sea of people she'd gotten lost in. All of them stopping to say nice things to her and her dad about Anna. Things that had hurt to hear at the time, because she'd been old enough to know they'd never happen again. She'd spent that funeral trying to feel her mom there, and wondering if her mom was watching it all play out. Trying to avoid looking at the people crying, or the ones who hadn't personally known her mom, but came to support someone. Like her dad's new boss, who met both Peyton and Anna only once, when they surprised Larry at the docks. Her eyes had accidentally met his during the service, and he'd looked uncomfortably back before jerking his gaze away.
For some reason, that last memory has her feeling somewhat grateful that no one knows she's here. That she's not actually standing next to Lucas, impinging on something important to Mrs. Edwards. That the woman won't have to feel uneasy by an unfamiliar face.
Taking in the six people standing there, Peyton's also absurdly relieved. Because there isn't a crowd gathered in morbid fascination, or false sympathy, or in a show of disapproval. Relieved that Mrs. Edwards' grief can be honestly expressed, and that the people who did come, came because they care about her. And had cared about her son.
And because she doesn't really fit into either category, Peyton slowly eases herself away, starting to feel uncomfortable by her own presence. Her movement attracts Lucas' attention, but she simply tilts her head in the direction of her mom's headstone. Something flashes in his eyes, but he nods infinitesimally anyway. She gives him a small smile, before turning and striding over to her mom. Self disgust laps at her feet with every step away from him. She's supposed to be here to support him, but she's practically running away from her own discomfort.
She's hoping he'll understand once she explains it to him. And that he won't hold it against her.
Dropping into a cross-legged position in front of her mom's headstone, Peyton sighs, turning back to look towards Jimmy's services. Once they're over, she'll talk to Lucas. About a lot of things.
0.o o_o o.0
Lucas watches Peyton speed-walk away from him with a sinking feeling in his stomach.
He was right. He asked too much, wanting her to be here, and now she's hurting. And the thought of that is hurting him. He only hopes he can fix this for her.
He gives his attention back to the minister when the man states a final amen. Mary, hand clutched tightly within Mouth's, hoarsely thanks the minister as two more suited men step forward to begin lowering the casket. Lucas tries not to watch, tries not to think about a goofy kid with a funky sense of humor. Tries not to let his last image of Jimmy form in his mind; a panicky, angry kid who'd leveled a gun at him...and then his uncle.
Swallowing against the lump in his throat and discarding the thoughts in his head, Lucas becomes aware of the hand on his arm. Looking down into the teary eyes of Mary, who offers him a wobbly smile.
"Lucas." Her voice is thin, strained. "Thank you."
He nods and gently enfolds her in his arms again. "If you need anything..."
She nods against his chest, hiding there for a moment. When she does step back, he can see the nervousness and despair in her eyes. "I'm—" She cuts herself off with a choked sound, but meets his eyes straight on. "I'm sorry."
"I know." He murmurs softly. "Me, too."
And for now, that says all either of them needs to hear. The nervousness dissipates and relief swims into her eyes. He's a little relieved as well. Being here, facing her, isn't as hard as he'd feared. Mary gives him one last tremulous smile and briefly touches his arm before moving towards Fergie.
"Um, Luke?"
He turns around to find Mouth shifting on his feet. "Hey. You holding up?"
"Yeah." His friend nods. "I just..."
"Yeah." Lucas interrupts, not needing to hear another thanks. "And listen, I'm sorry about the other day. I guess I wasn't really listening."
A small smile is his response. "Or maybe I wasn't really explaining it that well."
"Or that." Lucas concedes with a quick grin.
"Yeah." Mouth says on a puff of breath. "But thanks. For still having my back, you know?"
He only nods. It's what they all promised, years ago. And in a lot of ways, he figures that promise will probably be more tended to in the future. As long as they still have a memory of a time it wasn't completely kept.
"I'm, um, going to go home with Mary. She wants to talk." Mouth tells him, turning his head to watch the woman in question as she's pulled into the arms of Junk.
Lucas shoves his hands in his pockets. "Okay. I'll talk to you later?"
"Of course." Mouth gives him a smile before walking over to the two people speaking in low tones.
Sucking in a deep breath, Lucas scans the cemetery for a moment, contemplating his next actions. He jiggles his hands in his pockets before pulling out his keys and approaching Skillz, who's standing slightly apart from everyone.
"Hey dawg." His friend greets him. "You solid?"
"Yeah, man. I am, actually." Lucas quirks the corner of his lips in a hint of a smile. "You?"
Skillz nods. "Yeah. Sad, you know? For Mary. But I'll be okay."
"Listen, man." Lucas starts, holding out his keys towards his friend, "I think I'm going to stick around here for a bit. Can you take the guys home?"
The other boy gives him an assessing look. "Hang here? Why? Gonna visit Keith?"
"Dunno." Lucas shrugs. Actually, he plans on talking to Peyton. And he can't do that with anyone else around. "I just need to...think about some things."
"How you gettin' home?" Skillz asks with a raised eyebrow.
Lucas makes a face. He hadn't really thought that far ahead. "I might clear my head, take a walk."
"In those shoes?" Skillz scoffs, pointedly looking down at Lucas' feet. "You want us to wait, man?"
"No, you guys go ahead." Lucas shakes his head. "I don't know how long I'm gonna be here. But if I want a ride, I'll call you, okay?"
Finally taking the keys Lucas offers again, Skillz nods. "Okay. Look, dawg, if you need anything, I got yo' back."
He offers his fist, which Lucas nudges his knuckles against with a genuine smile. "Ditto."
Lucas watches his friend nod at him once, and start walking away. Only to turn around after a few feet. "Man, I be waitin' for a call! Guy whit those shoes don't walk. Unless you don't wanna walk tomorrow!"
He rolls his eyes at Skillz's exaggerated wince of pain as the other boy grins at him before spinning towards their friends, calling for Junk and Fergie. Lucas lightly shakes his head when he overhears them making plans to test his ride. But it makes him smile, that his friends can still act like themselves, despite everything they've been going through recently. Now he just has to make sure another friend is able to be herself.
He can just make her out, sitting underneath a tree near her mom's headstone. Feeling nervous, he mentally scrolls through a list of 'safe' topics to start a conversation. He figures they should ease into the heavy stuff. But for some reason, he's hesitant to approach her. He still feels a little exposed; not only from the emotional toll of Jimmy's funeral, but also because of his feelings for Peyton. He still hasn't really decided what to do about those. Still scared of them not being returned. Still wary of it being too soon, since she's going through a lot emotionally. They both are, really.
Unsure and unusually timid, Lucas starts meandering to where Peyton sits. Slowly. He's intent on his destination, knowing exactly where he's going, but not knowing what's going to happen when he gets there. So he almost doesn't want to get there. At least, not without some more time to come up with an apology worthy of what he made her do.
He catches a movement from the corner of his eye and he's almost relieved to have the distraction.
"Lucas."
"Coach." He greets the older man, clasping the proffered hand for a moment. Taking in the man's dark suit and tie, he gestures towards the outfit in a silent question.
Whitey smiles softly, sadly. "It's a good thing you did today. You and your friends."
Lucas acknowledges that with an absent nod, wrinkling his brow, perplexed. "Did you...?"
The coach sighs, starting to stroll in the direction Lucas had been heading. The blonde teen narrows his eyes at the non answer, and falls into step with the other man. He lets the quiet linger, hoping to avoid being the one to fill it.
"It's not...a usual set of circumstances. I wasn't sure what might happen today, so I'd thought I'd be on hand."
Lucas looks at him, folding his arms over his chest. "On hand for what?"
"If something happened that Mary Edwards might have needed help dealing with. Or if nothing happened." Whitey sighs deeply. "No one should have to stand alone. It makes it that much harder to heal."
"Yeah." Lucas slides a discreet look over to the girl who basically told him the same thing, and gave him a nudge in a better direction. "That's the reasoning behind this morning. Even though I wasn't sure I could, because of—" He cuts himself off, not wanting to say it out loud. Instead, he moves his gaze to the man beside him, who's staring at his feet, carefully measuring his steps.
"'I've been meaning to talk to you. Truth of the matter is, I've been too busy. Crying...like a baby.'" Whitey raises his head, focusing on Lucas.
The blonde nods, giving a saddened version of a sheepish shrug, dropping his arms to his sides. "Me, too. Basically."
"Nothing wrong with that." The coach murmurs on a long exhale.
There's silence then, as both males unconsciously slow their steps even more. Lucas concentrates on the ground in front of him, swallowing against the lump forming in his throat. The topic of Keith always does that to him. And he's not sure how to make that stop. Not sure if he ever wants it to stop. He knows it's not an entirely rational thought, but he can't help believing that if that feeling ever did stop, it would mean his memories of Keith weren't as strong anymore. That Keith would fade away, far out of his reach forever.
"'I'm gonna tell you something. When my wife...died, things got pretty dark there for a while. Nobody could talk to me. And then, one of my former players...waded into that darkness and pulled me to safety.'" Whitey takes a moment for a watery smile aimed Lucas' way. "'Kid's name was Keith Scott. He said 'Coach, I know you want some answers, but what's the right answer? Because there are no answers. There's just life.''"
Lucas simply nods, swallowing convulsively, vision blurring slightly. A beat of silence falls before Whitey continues, "'He was the man that influenced your life more than anyone else. I saw it in you everyday.' I saw it in you this morning."
The older man places his hand on Lucas' shoulder, a small weight that feels oddly comforting. Another person who loved Keith, who could see him in the boy he helped raise. And if people could see it, then that must mean it's there. Even when Lucas himself can't quite recognize it most of the time.
"Thank you." He barely manages the whisper, but it's a contented one. Having people...it really does help.
Whitey nods, patting his back before dropping his hand back to his side. "I remember what it meant to have someone care enough to fight for me after I lost Camilla. I thought Mrs. Edwards could use that, too. So I came, and I waited. And just when I thought there really would be no one...there you boys were. Better, I think, to have someone who knows and cares, than someone with good intentions."
"Yeah. I guess so." Lucas sighs. Repeating words told to him, "People shouldn't be punished for the actions of those they loved. She...and the rest of the guys—they deserve to grieve, and be supported as they do it."
Whitey reaches out, placing his hand on Lucas' arm, halting his slow steps and turning the boy to fully face him. "I'm proud of you. And the man who was your father in every way would be, too. You just keep being 'the man Keith taught you to be. Anything less will make this a much greater tragedy than it already is.'"
He doesn't have any words. Nothing to fight past the lump that's only gotten bigger, nothing to stem the emotion. And in an odd twist, those words help give him that much needed conviction to talk to Peyton. Another person who's teaching him to be a good man, as those were her words he just spoke. He looks over at her again, seeing her lean back against the tree and say something skyward.
He's not aware that Whitey's gaze has followed his own, in the general direction of Anna Sawyer's headstone, until the older man speaks. "I sent flowers on behalf of the school." It's an abrupt sentence, that has Lucas startling as his coach continues, "I haven't really visited, because I didn't want to interfere. But when I called yesterday, there wasn't any change with Peyton Sawyer."
"No. None at all, really." Lucas breathes out tiredly. "We've all been waiting. It's...hard."
Whitey nods. "But the girl's a fighter." He gives a small, crooked grin as his eyes meet the younger boy's blue ones. "She has to be, to have dated your brother back when he was a jackass."
Lucas gives a scoffing laugh, caught off guard by the man's candor. But he has to agree, nodding. Looking at her now, he thinks she's gotten so much stronger since then. She'll make it past this, too. She has to.
0.o o_o o.0
Peyton looks over her shoulder, catching sight of Lucas chuckling with Whitey, something that makes her smile. It's good to see Lucas doing okay, especially after the way she practically abandoned him this morning. Her smile fades, and she shifts her position, bringing her knees up to hug against her chest. Sighing aloud, "I'm kinda sucking as a friend today, mom."
She closes her eyes, taking in the calming quiet surrounding her. Waiting for Lucas to come to her. It hadn't escaped her notice that he'd taken his time heading her way this morning. And as much as it stung, she can't really blame him for that.
At the sound of someone seating himself next to her, Peyton opens her eyes and turns her head in his direction. There's peace lurking in his eyes. Along with worry, kindness, sadness, and a little bit of something she can't quite decipher. "Hey."
"Hey." He murmurs back with a soft smile.
A brief pause descends over them.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry."
They both speak at the same time, stopping to regard each other in stunned surprise.
"Why—" she starts, shocked, but he interrupts.
"For asking you to come to the funeral of the boy who—after—" He winces, "While you're suffering through a coma and...this."
"No!" Her horror grows when she realizes where his head's at. "No! That's not—I didn't even—it's not that." She falters to a stop, staring at him pleadingly.
He furrows his brows, raising his knees and resting his arms upon them. "You came here for me, Peyton. Because I asked for your support. To the funeral of—"
"It's not that, Luke." She protests earnestly. "It's...a lot of other stuff. But I'm sorry. For not being there for you like I said I would. I know today had to have been hard on you."
Lucas shrugs that away. "Not as bad as I was thinking it would be. Actually, it's been a little...healing for me, too." He smiles lightly. "And you were right. About Mary and Mouth...all of it."
"That's me, always right." She jokes with a tiny grin, feeling so relieved that he's not angry. Not blaming her for what she hadn't done.
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." He then grins, "Another thing you learned from me, right?"
She smiles and shakes her head. Leaning her head back against the tree and staring into space a little. "What happened with Whitey?"
"Just talked, a little. About Keith, about Mary...you."
"Me?" She's a little startled. And curious. He nods and leans back against the tree as well, stretching his legs out in front of him. But he doesn't say anything, at least not fast enough to satisfy her need to know. "About what?"
"He says you're a fighter. And he's called the hospital for updates." Lucas rolls his head to the side, facing her. "And he sent you flowers."
She bites her lip, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than she had a second ago. "He did?"
"Yeah, I guess so." He eyes her curiously. "Peyton? What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Don't lie." He pushes away from the tree, shifting to a cross-legged position and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He drops his head for a moment, before focusing on her. "Talk to me."
Heaving a sigh, she clambers to her feet, earning a small glare from the blonde male. Peyton gives him a weak smile, seating herself directly across from him. This way, she can see his face clearer. And any passersby won't find it strange to see a guy talking to himself and constantly looking sideways at nothing. "Yesterday morning, some nurses came in to check vitals and stuff. You know? They were...talking about me, a little."
He squints at her when she stops there. Rolling her eyes she continues, "They feel sorry for me! And I hate that. One nurse, she kept saying that I'm all alone, and no one would notice if they moved me, and—she sends me flowers, Luke! Because no one else does."
She sees him jerk back slightly before guilt floods his eyes. Letting out an agitated breath, she speaks before he can open his mouth. "Don't. Don't feel bad about the flower thing, because I'm actually okay with that part of it now. Mostly. It hurt, it did, to feel...forgotten—"
"God, Peyton!" Lucas interjects heatedly. "You were never forgotten! Not by any of us. And I'm so sorry you felt that way."
The devastated look etched on his features almost makes her want to cry. "Ugh!" She huffs out, pressing her hands over her eyes, then jerking them through her hair. "No, its—I'm not explaining it right."
"Okay." He says, sending her a cautious ghost of a smile. "So, try again."
She scrunches her face at him, gathering her thoughts. "Okay, so it's like this. At first, I felt...alone. Then everyone started coming to visit, and I found out I could leave..." She shrugs lightly. "I...felt better, you know? Because people do care. Sometimes things happen that make that...that aloneness overwhelm me again, but then something happens to change that."
Peyton eyes him hopefully. His blank look clearly states he's still a little confused. "Well, yesterday, after the nurses left, Nathan came by. He saw me—"
"Whoa!" Lucas sits up. "Peyton! Why didn't you say anything earlier?"
"When?" She counters, "When you were surrounded by people?"
He waves her words away. "He saw you? What happened?"
"Just that." She explains flippantly, not ready to share how intense it had felt to her. "He saw me, but he couldn't hear me when I tried talking to him. And it was only for a second."
"Oh, Peyton." He breathes, softly. Eyes so very compassionate, that it slightly angers her. She used to have shields in place against everyone, but somehow this boy manages to slither past all of them. And he expects things from her. Things she's not sure she wants to share with him, but she finds difficult to not share. Like the intensity of yesterday.
Glaring at him a little, she expands, "It's happened before, during odd moments."
"I remember. You told me that he just shook it off like he imagined something." Lucas breaks in.
She nods. "But yesterday was different. It lasted longer, and it was...intense."
The boy in front of her furrows his brow for a moment, squinting into space as he thinks. She wonders if it's inappropriate to notice how great he looks doing that. He focuses on her again, "What was happening right before he was able to see you?"
Shrugging, not sure what he's expecting, she answers without much thought. "He was telling my unconscious self that I helped him before, and now he's here to help me. It got a little serious and emotional." She smiles to herself, voice dropping into a low tone. "Made me proud, you know? To see the boy he's growing up to be, how far he's come in just this last year."
"Emotional?" He mumbles to himself, eyes darkening to a deep blue.
She nods warily.
"When that happened..." He trails off, shaking his head lightly. "I don't really know the questions to be asking here."
"Questions for what? Narrow it down for me."
"For why Nathan and I can see you, even though his is apparently limited. But no one else can. You'd expect if it was an emotional thing, than your dad or Brooke would top the list. Right?"
They both fall silent, just staring at each other. But it gives her food for thought. She'd questioned it a little bit when Lucas first started to interact with her, but she had simply brushed the issue aside as unimportant. Now she's wondering if it really does mean something. Because she knows something Lucas doesn't. She knows that she's in love with him. She knows that she trusts him more than most, and that he was the first person to break down her defenses. She has never been able to keep them up for long around him.
She's not completely sure why Nathan can see her, but by this logic she can only assume it has something to do with letting him in emotionally during their talk yesterday. And maybe something to do with him believing in her, too.
Peyton breaks the silence. "The other day, you said you trusted me to understand where you're coming from, remember?"
"Yeah."
"Well, I trust you that way, too."
The smile he offers makes her heart thud in her chest and causes her to briefly avert her eyes from his. She needs the tiny break, to lessen her emotional rush. When she brings her attention back to him, he's nodding absently. "Well, that can explain me and you, I think." He flashes her another one of those grins. "Thank you. For letting me in."
If she could blush, she probably would. She bites her lip and gestures halfheartedly. "You, too."
He huffs out a barely audible laugh. A beat of silence, before he asks soberly, "What about Brooke?"
"I don't know." She shrugs, tangling her hands together in her lap. Having an idea, but not wanting to say it out loud. "This...situation, has kind of made me see that Brooke and I have some things to work out. I mean, I love her, don't get me wrong, but maybe I—I don't know, maybe I keep stuff to myself. And she does, too."
He narrows his eyes at her. "Like what?"
"Stuff." The finality of her tone indicating her unwillingness to talk about it.
He holds his stare for a moment longer, before sighing and leaning back against the tree, blue eyes still on her. "That explains your dad, too."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you keeping things to yourself there, blondie." He raises his eyebrow at her. "Lying emails ring a bell?"
"Dude, shut up!" She cries, half astonished, half embarrassed. It brings up all sorts of things from last year. Mostly how much a lot of people didn't know about her. She groans, "If I actually told my dad half the stuff I've done, I'd be deader than dead!"
Maybe that's not the best word choice given the situation. Lucas' expression falls and his jaw clenches. She just knots her hands tighter, letting the taunt stillness surround them. It becomes like a contest, which one of them will be the first to slice the tension.
It's Lucas. He tilts his head back, essentially addressing the sky. "So, you must have let Nate in?"
"I guess so. It really wasn't a conscious thing." She's just relieved he decided not to dwell on her words. "And anyway, Like I said, it didn't last all that long. One minute he was seeing me, the next I blanked out."
"Again?" His voice raises to a half-shout, sending a dart of worry through her. She sits up straight, craning her neck to see if anyone noticed his outburst. He levels an annoyed look at her. "Stop that. No one's here. And anyway, that's not the important part. Why do you wait so long to tell me the important things?"
"It's not like I do it on purpose." She retorts, sarcastically. "Oh, let me just twiddle my thumbs and think of ways to annoy Lucas!"
"Or mangle your hands," he brings his up in front of his face, twisting them together in a mocking demonstration. "And just keep vital information to yourself."
She scoffs, throwing her own hands in the air, "Pot, meet kettle!"
He glares at her, eyes narrowed to mere slits. She scowls back, crossing her arms over her chest.
He growls, practically throwing himself back to slouch against the tree again. "This is stupid." He heaves a sigh, running his fingers through his hair, leaving it mussed. "You blanked out..."
"Until right before I popped up here with you." She fills in, biting her lip. "It was a long time again."
"Damn." He whispers, aghast. She completely agrees with the sentiment. "What set it off this time?"
She shrugs, not really sure. "It happened right after Nate saw me. I got scared, kinda, then...sort of froze. Then I was back, staring at a clock that said I was late."
"Is that why you looked so...fragile this morning?"
Peyton makes a face, not liking that descriptor. "I did not look fragile. Scared maybe, or even vulnerable. But I'm not breakable, Luke."
"Okay." He concedes at her fierce tone. Raising his palms towards her in surrender. "Scared, then."
She lets out a slow breath. "I guess—I think maybe it is scary. I mean, it's happening more often and for longer periods of time. I'm afraid...that one time, I just might not come back."
He holds her gaze for a second before dropping his face into his hands. She aches to reach out and touch him, comfort him. And herself, too. She wants to be held, needs to feel safe.
0.o o_o o.0
He keeps his face buried in his hands for a moment. Needing to literally hide from her words, unable to look at her with them echoing in the air between them. He doesn't want to think like that. He doesn't want her to think like that. Mostly, he just wants her coma to end, so he can wrap her in his arms and feel her...safe and alive, next to him.
Instead of next to him in only...spirit.
A hesitant mumble of "Luke?" has him emerging from his safe little hole of denial. To look into wide emerald eyes, searching his face for some form of hope. And it scares him that he might not be able to give it to her.
"Peyton..." That's all he can manage for a moment, taking a deep breath to continue, "Don't think that way, okay? It could be something totally different. I dunno—like, maybe a—a reconnection. Maybe the emotional stuff sets it off. Maybe it's you trying to wake up or something."
"Or something." She shakes her head at him. "Be realistic, Luke. Things never seem to turn out that way in real life."
He snaps his mouth shut, giving himself a moment to push back the surge of anger her attitude evokes. "Oh, well with that outlook, I can see why."
She rears back in shock like he just slapped her. And he's thinking that maybe she needs one. "You've always been a fighter Peyton, as long as I've known you. But you also have this...dumb habit of wallowing in the bad stuff."
When she opens her mouth to speak, he raises his voice to talk over her, "And I know, I do it, too sometimes. But you need to stop. Especially when it's this serious!"
She runs her hand over her hair, looking like she wants to cry. He's suddenly glad that she can't, because he's not sure he'd be able to handle tears right now.
"I am trying." She whispers.
"So try harder." He murmurs back, capturing her gaze with his. "Don't you dare give up on yourself. No one else is."
And that sea of green, darkens. Her lips wobble and her shoulders start shaking. A strangled sob erupts from deep in her chest, as she folds into herself, hiding her face from his view. Watching her crumble brings tears to his eyes. She looks so utterly broken huddled into a small ball of emotional turmoil. So alone, so far out of his reach.
Her image blurs in front of him, and he's terrified for a moment, until realizing it's due to tears and not something with her situation. He doesn't know how to help her. The only thing he can think of is to give her what she gives to him. Strength. He just hopes he does. Because having someone does help. He knows it does. She just has to know it, too.
Almost before he's aware of doing it, words pass his lips in a rythmic fall. "Lean on me when you're not strong/and I'll be your friend..."
And strangled cries morph into strangled, muted, chuckles. He watches her raise green eyes to meet his. And she offers him a tremulous smile. One that makes his heart flip in his chest. He smiles back, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. "It's a fight song for a reason. And it works both ways, okay?"
"Okay." She agrees, scrubbing a hand over dry eyes. She heaves a deep sigh, uncurling her body and stretching out her legs.
When she opens her mouth to speak, he interrupts. "And don't apologize! I think...part of being strong is letting go sometimes."
She gives him a sheepish look. "Sorry." At his face, she grins, "No! I didn't mean for...letting go, but for going to apologize for that."
He raises his eyebrow in disbelief. "There's no winning with you, is there?"
"Not at all." She teases, before turning a little serious. "Thank you. For being here."
"Anytime." And he wonders if maybe this is a good time to tell her he's in love with her. To explain that he won't let her give up on herself because he needs her as well. That he can't imagine a world without her in it. To not have her standing by his side teaching him to understand something bigger than himself. To not have her give him words to lend strength to his beliefs. To not have her smile to give him hope that tomorrow will be a better day.
"Luke!"
They both turn at the call, seeing Skillz striding towards them. Peyton clambers to her feet, Lucas following suit and mentally cursing his friend's timing.
"Hey, dawg." Skillz stops next to the him, offering a quick hand clasp. "You okay?"
"Um, yeah." Lucas answers. "What's up?"
His friend looks at him like he's just sprouted a second head. "Man, you sure you doin' okay? You've been here forever...I mean, your car even ran outta gas."
A muffled snicker from the blonde by his side has Lucas compressing his own mouth to stem the scoff. He shrugs in response to Skillz's statement, answering the question and letting the gas thing slide. Just this once.
"Listen, dawg, Junk got his mom's car." He pulls out Lucas' keys. "So you got a way home."
"Thanks." Lucas takes the keys and smiles at the other boy. "For driving it back for me."
Skillz nods, then launches into a an excited monologue of what the car can do. Lucas tries to pretend interest, but his attention is focused on the girl starting to edge away.
"Luke, I'm gonna head out, okay?" She gives a little wave. "Check on my dad."
Before he can even think about protesting, she vanishes. He really wants to curse, but he can't. It'd be unwarranted, as far as Skillz's concern, since he's only telling Lucas about the ability of his car to round corners on two wheels. So he just smiles and nods.
He'll tell her how he feels later. When emotions aren't so mixed together and when people can't walk up to interrupt.
And he fully plans on telling her again, when she's not in a coma.
Because there can be no other outcome. He refuses to let there be.
A/N: Oh, I know I said before that you'd probably never get another really long chapter...well, apparently I lied. :) Hopefully, not a bad lie! Anyhow, please review and let me know what you think...I'd love to hear it!
lol, Kelly...remember when we talked many chapters back about Whitey? I can't believe I said that... he fit right in, didn't he?
Heads up, everyone: With the direction I have planned for the rest of this, there aren't that many chapters left. I'm sort of sad about that, but excited, too!