A/N: Here's the next chapter! I don't know why it took so long to start writing it...I think I got intimidated by what I knew I wanted to happen in this one, lol! :) But it's here!
And how cool is it that I made it to 100 reviews? THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH for reading and taking time to comment! I really do appreciate it!
As always, I don't own OTH, it's characters or anything quoted "'Thus.'" I only get to claim their journey through my world and all mistakes upon it, as it's not beta'd. (find any, PM them my way! chapter's not really proofed either, since I just finished it lol. Wanted to post it right away instead of waiting 'til after overtime tomorrow night!). Enjoy!
Chapter title comes from a lyric in "To Be Alive Again" by Journey.
Ch12: Break The Chains On The Heart Of A Soul
Lucas leans back against the tree, staring towards the sky. Very aware of the headstone a few feet away, one he really doesn't want to look at yet.
Keith's.
Exhaling, he closes his eyes, focusing on his surroundings. Listening to the rustle of the leaves and the occasional chirp of a bird amongst the quiet. It really is a peaceful place, but he doesn't feel peaceful. Not sure if that's because of everything that happened with the funeral and Peyton, or because of the heightening awareness of a certain headstone. Either way, peace is alluding him right now.
After Skillz had left, Lucas had gone straight to the hospital to find Peyton. He'd just gotten off the elevator when he'd seen a few doctors enter her hospital room with Larry. Not wanting to interrupt—and not wanting to hear about the lack of changes—Lucas had left, finding himself back at the cemetery. Back at the tree near Anna Sawyer's headstone. Back at the tree only feet away from where his uncle rests. But he still can't look at it. He can't bring himself to. It makes it real.
He knows it is, of course he does. But all the same, he's not sure he's ready. Not sure what he's supposed to do, or what it's supposed to mean. Not sure if it matters.
I always mean something when I visit my mom.
Peyton's words reverberate in his memory, causing his eyelids to flutter open. Frowning at the branches above him, before peeking at Anna's headstone contemplatively. He can't help but be curious about what sorts of things Peyton tells her mom. And if anything ever happens when she talks to her...because there has to be a reason she keeps going back. Mostly, he just wonders if her words are ever heard by the person she says them too, or if they simply dissipate into air unacknowledged. Like, if he went to sit at Keith's headstone and express himself, would it really matter? Would it even help him? Or just make his loss that much more apparent, make it felt at a deeper level than it is now?
He's a little scared to find out. Scared to build any kind of expectation, only to be disappointed when nothing happens. There's a small part of him, deep inside, that doesn't want to admit his uncle is gone forever. That no matter what he does or says, Keith will never really know. And the idea that he very well could, is seriously messing with his mind. But how is he supposed to know if his uncle really is hearing what's said to him?
Lucas toys with his hands, fiddling with his fingers as he sighs, an idea tentatively swirling within his mind. Peyton always seems to come away from visiting her mom with an air of sereneness. A calmness that always intrigued him, given a lot of the drama that's happened in her life. He can't say if it comes from simply talking about what's on her mind out loud, or if she actually believes Anna knows. And he'd never thought to ask her.
He's skeptical, usually has been. He believes in Fate, in the idea that life has a plan. But he also believes people can deviate from that plan and forge new paths. The concept of choices and free will. But to his mind, every path—no matter what—will lead to all the big moments Fate wanted you to experience. But when there aren't any more moments planned, when life ends...is that it? Or is it like they say, that something else exists? A somewhere where Keith can look down and see what Lucas is doing with his life. If Keith is able to be disappointed or proud. Or nothing at all.
He lets his gaze focus on the faded headstone in his line of sight. Anna Rebecca Sawyer. Beloved wife and mother. With a single, dried flower resting at the base of the words, withered from the elements. A sign of time passed since the last visit.
And something inside him shifts.
He can't be as skeptical as he sometimes feels, if only for the simple fact that he's able to interact with Peyton in the state she's in. She's in a coma. It's been a while since she left behind a fresh rose during a visit to her mom. And yet, he knows she's come to visit as recently as this morning...but she can't buy flowers. She's not solidly real at the moment. But he knows she's there, able to see and hear everything going on, even though no one else is aware of her.
He never would have thought that possible, but it happened. Is happening. Proof that the universe holds secrets mere mortals don't understand. And who is he to doubt possibilities, especially when he so very badly wants to believe.
It doesn't hurt any less. It doesn't make the ache or regret go away. It doesn't make him feel better. But it feels right somehow, to him, that somewhere the man he considered his father knows he's loved and missed.
A faint smile touches his lips as he pulls himself to his feet. Briefly pausing to trail fingers over Anna's headstone. "Thanks."
Lucas turns his head when a light breeze glides against his skin at the moment, leaving goosebumps in its wake. A little dubious if he should consider that a sign or a coincidence. Maybe more of the former, as his eyes finally stop on a familiar last name.
Feeling frozen to the core, feet like lead weights. Unable or unwilling to move any closer, to see the other side with a name that shouldn't be there yet. Swallowing convulsively and fisting his hands repeatedly by his sides, Lucas stands there. That breeze come again, dancing against the back of his neck, almost urging him forward. Or so it feels. But he takes that first step. And then another. Holding his breath, one foot in front of the other until he finally drops cross-legged to the ground in front of Keith Alan Scott.
Not knowing what to say or do, and feeling awkward as hell, Lucas lightly runs a finger over the letters in his uncle's name. "Hey, Keith."
He feels dumb somehow, waiting for something to happen. Half hoping it might. Sighing, "This feels—weird, I guess. I don't know what to say." He shifts uncomfortably, not feeling natural in his own skin. "I mean, you're not here to listen. You—you can't offer advice or..."
Trailing off with a small choke on the words. Blinking furiously against the tears building up, but oddly unable to stop talking. "You don't get...to live the life you al-always wanted. You were just getting to have it, Keith. I was just getting it. And then—we didn't. You never had what you wanted." His voice is a garbled whisper as he leans forward, resting his forehead against Keith's name. "And I miss you."
0.o o_o o.0
Peyton watches uneasily as the nurses wheel her unconscious self out the room, wrapping her arms around her midsection and trying to ignore the worrying tone of the doctor's words as they echo in her mind. Instead, she turns to see her dad, needing to garner some sense of hope from his face. But he just looks bleak as he sinks into the chair behind him, glazed eyes on the empty space the bed used to occupy.
His expression reminds her of how he looked when she was eight. And she almost can't handle it.
A small knock of warning sounds before the door opens and Brooke shuffles in, smile fading from her face as she freezes, staring at the empty space in the room. She whirls towards Larry, "What happened? Where is she?"
The panicked tone snaps Larry from his stare as he straightens in his chair. "Brooke. Calm down, she's just undergoing some tests."
"Oh." The brunette slumps in relief, walking towards the second chair and sinking down onto the cushion. "For what?"
Peyton grimaces, while her dad stares at her best friend, slightly shaking his head, obviously unable to find words as he goes to speak but says nothing. Brooke's eyes widen a little, nervousness crawling over her features as she clasps her hands together and leans forward. Her posture is rigid and her tone wobbly as she questions, "What's wrong with her?"
"Maybe nothing, maybe something. They don't really know." Larry sighs, rubbing his fingers at his temple. "She's not responding the same way anymore to physical stimuli. Not for the last day or so."
Looking confused and scared, Brooke gestures weakly, "I don't—I don't understand."
"They really didn't explain it that much. Just that they're going to run some tests, see if the electrical impulses in her brain have changed, or something." Larry looks at the space in the middle of the room. "The doctor said he doesn't want to say anything either way until they have the results."
"But they're concerned." Brooke murmurs, turning her gaze to the center of the room as well.
He nods. "But they're concerned."
"When are the doctors supposed to let you know what's going on?" Brooke questions quietly, her eyes still on the floor in front of her.
Larry leans back in his chair, "Few hours."
"Can I stay?"
He sends a half-startled look her way, like he's surprised she feels the need to ask. "Of course. You're practically family."
Peyton just watches them from the opposite side the room, leaning against the wall. She's not as nervous as she probably should be, but she figures that's because she's not alone in this. Her dadis not alone in this. He has Brooke to sit with him, to hear what the doctors have to tell. She has her dad and Brooke...and Lucas. She has people who care, people who can turn to each other and split the load of worry. Like she's been doing with Lucas lately.
She silently sends a thank you into the universe, grateful for what she has. No matter what the doctors end up saying, she doesn't have to face it alone. Lucas was right, when he said no one's given up on her; since the first day they visited, they've kept coming back. They didn't leave. She doesn't have to face anything by herself, like Jimmy had to. Like Mary Edwards almost had to. Peyton has people...and that's what matters.
-x-
Both Larry and Brooke are utterly silent, and it's starting to drive Peyton crazy. She's never really liked intense quiet; it makes her jittery. There's no music or even any conversation. Just nothing. Letting a tiny groan escape, she hoists herself up on the hospital bed next to 'her' feet, hopeful as she regards the door.
They'd brought 'her' back to the room a few hours ago, stating that as soon as the neurologist read the films, he'd be in to discuss things with Larry. It turned into a waiting game, with her dad jerking his head up at every sound and Brooke restlessly busying herself with mindless actions. Her best friend had rearranged the flower vases multiple ways, pushed around the lunch table countless time, and made quick trips to the gift shop for things to 'brighten' the hospital room. Peyton had been amused by both of them at first, but over the last couple of hours amusement wore thin, to be replaced by her own anxious habit of pacing and wringing her hands. And hating the silence.
It's thankfully brought to an end as the door opens to admit two men, kind of startling Peyton at the same time. By the look on their faces...
"Dr. Randall." Larry lurches to his feet, reaching for the other man's hand to in greeting.
The doctor grasps Larry's hand, murmuring, "Mr. Sawyer." Turning to gesture to the second doctor, "This is my resident, Dr. Jennings. He just started a turn on neuro, and will be working on your daughter's case with me."
Her dad nods, greeting the second doctor with a handshake as well. Brooke edges up beside him, drawing everyone's attention to her. In an uncharacteristic move, she shyly ducks her head, looking at Larry with an uncertain gaze. He offers her a half smile, dropping a hand on her shoulder. "This is Brooke. Peyton's sister."
The brunette straightens her back, greeting the doctors with a little more confidence now, apparently assured about her right to stay. Peyton slides to her feet, since everyone else is standing, and moves to flank her dad on his other side. She feels half-protective of him, somehow, yet also in need of being protected by her daddy from the news to come.
"The tests...did they..." Larry trails off, obviously waiting for Dr. Randall to fill in the blanks.
The man nods, turning to his colleague. "Fill Mr. Sawyer in on the tests ran and why."
"Of course." Dr. Jennings cleared his throat, widening his stance and meeting Larry face on. "It was noted the other day, and more pronounced yesterday, that her responses to physical stimuli were delayed. Her vitals remained strong, as well as her basic reflexes. When tested for pain stimuli, reaction time was within the norm for an individual of twice her age and physical condition. Her—"
"Peyton." Brooke interrupts in a fierce manner. "Her name is Peyton."
There's a moment of stunned quiet that falls, with Dr. Jennings shifting uncomfortably. Larry just smiles at the brunette, reaching over to squeeze her arm in support. Peyton simply looks at her best friend, loving her for the defensive gesture against 'her' being spoken of in such a clinical manner. She was right there, listening, after all. "Thank you, Brookie."
Larry speaks up, "Please, can you skip all the mumbo-jumbo and get to the bottom line? How is my daughter?"
"Mr. Sawyer," Dr. Randall begins, "Peyton's reflexes, both physical and neurological, were being monitored regularly. Now, in a case of coma, there's some variation to the level of response, especially in the physical realm."
Dr. Jennings purses his lips and interrupts, "Basically, she stopped responding."
"What?" Her tone practically a shriek, Brooke spins to face him. "What do you mean, stopped?"
Larry pales, meeting the eyes of Dr. Randall, who begins shaking his head. "Dr. Jennings, will you please excuse yourself from this room." He orders shortly, causing his resident to blink at him, appalled. "And meet me in my office after this."
As the man does as directed, Brooke switches her attention to the neurologist. "What did he mean? Is Peyton—"
"No." She's cut off by Larry's firm tone. "No. She's going to be fine." He glares at Dr. Randall, "Right?"
The doctor sighs, gesturing to the chairs by the bed. "Please, Mr. Sawyer, have a seat and I'll explain."
Peyton watches Brooke and her dad gingerly lower into the chairs, while the doctor pulls the lunch table over to spread her file on. Wanting to see, Peyton climbs back onto the hospital bed, taking a position where she can look over the man's shoulder. This also gives her a perfect view of her family, as they try to calm themselves from the earlier direction of the conversation.
Dr. Randall clears his throat, and glances quickly at the girl on the bed. "Peyton's reaction time to physical stimuli—like a gentle shock, a small prick on her skin, or taps to her reflexes—has slowed significantly, to almost non-existent, but that's common to a person in a coma." He pauses to gather his thoughts a moment. "There is a gradation system to comas—"
"A what?" Brooke breaks in, obviously confused.
Larry's the one who answers her, "Different levels, Brooke. From a light one to a deep one."
"Right." Dr. Randall nods, picking up where he left off. "In Peyton's case, she seemed to be at a relatively light level of coma, which is why we were so hopeful she'd be awake within a few hours or days. But a lot of neurological issues are unpredictable."
Peyton bites her lip, turning to stare at her unconscious self, trepidation running rampant through her veins. Scared to hear what the doctor has to say next.
"Are you saying she's...deeper in the coma?" Larry chokes out, fisting his hand on his knee.
Brooke starts blinking rapidly, bringing her watery eyes to stare at the blonde in the bed. "Oh, P. Sawyer."
Dr. Randall sighs, flipping a sheet of paper quickly. "A series of basic neurological tests were performed. We looked at pupil response to light, eye fixation when the head is moved—um, if a stare is fixed, it's a bad sign, if a stare moves with the head, it's a good one—and we looked at auditory stimulation as well. From when she was first admitted, those responses have delayed more than hoped." He levels a look at Larry, "We ran more extensive tests because there's a fear of brain death."
A choked cry from Brooke breaks the intent look between the men. Larry turns to offer comfort, but doesn't really take his eyes off of the doctor. For Peyton, everything feels like it's happening through a dense fog. She had never even entertained the idea of brain death. To have a body that's physically present, but no hope of recovery...call her optimistic, but she had only ever thought: wake up or die. Just the idea of remaining like that for the rest of her life, or of staying in this half-existence...makes her want to vomit.
"Fortunately," Dr. Randall raises his voice to speak over Brooke for a moment, to draw focus back to the results. "Brain death can be ruled out by, um, brain imaging tests. We scan for electrical impulses in the brain as we introduce various outside stimuli. Peyton's scans are still high functioning. That means, while her coma has deepened, there's still the very real possibility she can wake up. Like I said, comas aren't predictable."
Larry nods slightly, "But doesn't that also mean she could get worse?"
"I'm afraid so." Dr. Randall sighs. "There have been instances where a person in a light level of coma just never recovers, but some where long-term, deep level comas have. Some comas last only hours, and others last years. There's no telling with neurological issues; there's still a lot about the brain we just don't know."
Brooke heaves a sigh, springing to her feet in agitation. She runs a hand through her hair as she practically growls, "So what? You're basically saying nothing's changed?" She glares at the doctor, who seems to accept it with considerable aplomb. "Peyton's still in a coma and she may or may not wake up? And you don't know any more than that? So what was the point of all of this?"
"Brooke." Larry quietly states her name, reaching to tug her back down into her chair. "It's not his fault. There just aren't any answers for this." He looks at her intently. "Pay attention to the good news; right now, there's still hope. Focus on that."
The brunette nods shakily.
Dr. Randall starts tucking papers back into his file, giving them a moment before speaking again. "She's been in a coma longer than her injuries would suggest. Peyton hasn't suffered any head trauma, so the prolonged nature of unconsciousness is puzzling. But she's healthy, young, and physically fit. Her scans also show a lot of brain activity, and that is always a good sign. We'll keep monitoring that aspect, but it's mostly up to her now, to heal enough to wake up."
"Thank you, Dr. Randall." Larry stands to shake the doctor's hand, before turning to the hospital bed. Brooke basically snubs the doctor, with a deliberate turn of her head at his farewell. Peyton would normally find that amusing, but mostly she's numb. She kind of has to agree with Brooke...what was the point of scaring them like that to basically say nothing is different?
Larry wraps his hand around one of 'hers', Peyton coming out of her daze fast when she thinks she actually feels it. But she's not positive. Brooke approaches the blonde from the other side of the bed, taking her free hand in both of hers. Again, the hint of sensation around her hand is there, causing Peyton to freeze momentarily, unable to believe what she's feeling. But she's feeling it.
Giving a watery half-laugh, hope fighting it's way in. Because this matters, too.
"Come on, P. Sawyer." Brooke murmurs lowly. "You heard him. Good signs for waking up. Now it's just up to you, okay? Wake up."
Larry abruptly shoots to his feet, startling both teens in the room. Peyton, still perched on the hospital bed, studies him worriedly. He looks overwhelmed, not sure what emotions he should be feeling, or what actions to take. Helpless. In a way Peyton doesn't ever remember him being before, not even when they lost her mom. He wildly looks around, causing Brooke to timidly say his name.
He turns a careful gaze on her, deftly avoiding looking at the girl laying in the bed. Which does send a spear of hurt through Peyton...but she also gets it. Needing to not see something, in order to delay having to face the pain of it. "I—I can't be here."
"What?" Brooke swipes a hand under her eye, obliterating evidence of tears. "But—"
"I can't." Larry manages to croak out, hoarsely. "I—I just—I need Anna for this. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." Her dad gives a brief look at her unconscious self, mumbling, "I'll be back, soon. I just...I need to go for a bit. I need Anna."
And it's an oddly comforting notion, that she isn't the only one who does that. She isn't the only one who still goes to her mom when life needs sorting out. To be honest, she hadn't thought about her dad doing that at all. But to now know that he does, gives her a settled feeling she can't describe. And maybe a glimmer of peace too, from all these signs of not being alone in how she feels. For not really being alone at all.
Peyton's eyes widen when a disconcerting realization strikes her. Normally, after receiving such news, she'd be doing the same thing as her dad; running to her mom. But her mom isn't the first person she's thinking of to share this with. That would be Lucas. The realization throws her off balance a little, the feeling made worse with the sensation of Brooke's hand around hers. Her best friend. The girl who happens to be in love with the same guy she is. The girl he happens to love back, even if they're technically broken up at the moment.
Sighing, she studies the brunette perched on the bed and talking to her unconscious self about waking up. Her mind starts to play back the conversation with Dr. Randall, but she stifles it. She doesn't want to think about it and drive herself crazy. She kind of wants to talk about it, actually.
So with a last look at her best friend, Peyton thinks herself to the one person she knows she can really share this with.
0.o o_o o.0
He nearly jumps out of his skin when she suddenly appears by his side as he's entering his bedroom. He does stumble back a step, with a muffled curse, when he bangs his shin against the shelf by his door.
A muted chuckle escapes as she shifts out of the way, "Oops. Sorry." A sheepish smile tugs at her mouth, "Um, incoming."
"Sure. You say that now, after I'm battered and bruised." He rolls his eyes, using one hand to swipe over his leg while he pushes the door shut with the other. With a relieved sigh, he kicks off the dress shoes he's still wearing and flops down on the edge of his bed.
She makes a face at him, commenting, "Don't be a wuss. That was barely a tap."
Looking up at her with a small smile, he just shrugs. Lucas watches her move to the center of the room and glance around slightly anxiously. Concerned, he settles himself more comfortably on the bed, removing his jacket as he asks, "What's up? You okay?"
"Hmm?" She spins to face him, startled. "Oh. I—I don't really want to talk about me at the moment." She focuses on him, eyebrow quirking, like she just now really noticed him. "Are you still wearing your suit from this morning?"
He grins boyishly, teasing lightly, "Why? Some sort of walk of shame attitude, you got going there?" He's relieved to see the eye roll she gives him, seeming a little more like herself with the action. He's still a little worried about her state of mind, especially with the doubts she revealed that morning. He just doesn't want to push her too hard, doesn't want her to shut down on him completely. So he knows he has to tread lightly.
"You do something bad?" She mocks lightly, appearing to relax a little. "No. Not Lucas."
"Funny." He purses his lips and squints at her. Watching as she gingerly joins him on the bed, sitting with her legs pulled up under her. And maybe he lets himself get a little distracted by that. But just a little.
She sighs, drawing his attention back to her face. "No, seriously. Is there a reason you're still in your dress clothes?"
"Kinda." He offers, undoing his tie and tossing it towards his desk. "After I talked to Skillz, I ended up back at the tree again. Sat there a while, then...visited Keith."
Peyton looks at him with wide eyes and disbelief written on her face. "Really? I though it'd take you longer, I guess."
"Me, too, actually. But...I thought...well, you go and see your mom a lot, right? And, I dunno." He shrugs a little. "Remember when we were talking about Dan, and you said that you always mean something when you visit your mom?"
"Yeah, I remember." She agrees, giving him a hint of a smile. "I always feel like she's hearing me, and it matters, you know?"
He nods lightly. "I wasn't sure if I...I guess, believed in the idea of Keith."
"What do you mean?"
"You know, that he could...hear me, or that it could matter." He watches her bite her lip uncertainly, but he continues with a small smile aimed her way. "But then I thought, I have no problem believing in you being here like this. So...I tried it. The talking to him thing."
She sighs, scooting to lean back against the headboard, stretching her legs out in front of her. Lucas shifts his position, mimicking hers in the opposite direction, and trying not to let his eyes wander again.
"Well," She draws out slowly, "How did you feel about that?"
"Awkward as hell." He quips, earning a quick grin from her. "Then...a little bit lighter. I think I'm probably gonna keep going."
"Good."
A calming quiet falls over them, Lucas taking a moment to revel in the peaceful feeling settling over him. Knowing it won't always last, that there will be good and bad days. Good and bad moments. He studies the girl in front of him, as she seems to zone out a little. Still hesitant to pry, but extremely curious and worried about where her head's at, he softly clears his throat. Garnering her attention, he says, "So, I also tried going to the hospital, but when I got there, doctors were going into the room with your dad. I didn't want to interrupt or anything, so I left. Any news?"
Her expression crumbles, making her look acutely vulnerable. She tilts her head back, tearing her gaze from his and bringing it to the ceiling. He prompts, "Peyton? What happened?"
"They ran tests. Nothing's changed, really." She brings her eyes back to his and attempts a smile. It fails to put him at ease.
He folds his legs under him, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Clasping his hands underneath his chin and regarding her solemnly, "What really happened?"
"Dr. Randall—he's the neurologist—said...he said my coma got worse. They ran tests looking for brain death." She blurts in a rush.
Lucas rears back, horrified at what that could mean. Sickened at the thought of her having to listen to the doctor say something like that.
Peyton continues, "The tests came back okay—good news, right?" She interjects dryly. "Anyhow, he kept saying that the brain isn't predictable. So I could die, could wake up, or remain comatose for the rest of my life!"
Her pitch raises, so she's almost shrieking by the last words. He struggles to regulate his breathing and formulate any kind of thought at all. The only thing really getting through is Damn it. Not Peyton. He doesn't know what to say to her, how to alleviate the fear on her face as she obviously tries to collect her own emotions.
Huffing out a breath, she slumps further against the headboard. "Then I started thinking about the blanks some more."
"The blanks?" Lucas manages to ask, mind latching onto the new topic a little gratefully. "What about them?"
"That maybe they happen when my coma gets worse." She answers wearily.
He frowns, countering, "Or maybe when it's better." At her cynical glance, he elaborates, "Like I said this morning, the blanks could happen when you're reconnecting. Like you're trying to wake up, so all your energy has to be there. You can't be...separate, and trying to wake up at the same time."
"Or," She argues, "They probably happen in the moments I'm so deeply unconscious, I can't even exist in this way. And eventually, I won't be able to return at all, and then you'll find out—"
"Damn it!" Lucas seethes, jerking his hand through his hair, "Didn't we just have this conversation? About outlook? About giving up?"
Pulling her legs up to wrap her arms around them, she nods, chastised. "Yeah. Sorry. But I'm not giving up—I'm really not." She explains earnestly. "I just—I'm scared, Luke."
"So am I." He sighs.
This time the silence is heavier, almost crushing. He raises his eyes to hers, trying to decipher the thoughts behind them. He apparently doesn't have to try too hard, because she offers them up rather easily with her next words, "And I—I really do know I'm not alone in this. I have my dad. And Brooke's been there...and Nate, Haley." She smiles softly, "And I have you."
"You always will." He can't help but interject, wanting her to know that.
She nods once before ducking her head. Apparently needing to regain composure, as she takes a moment before raising her head again. "Having people like that...it helps, mostly."
"Yeah. I know." He attempts a grin, "But what's with the qualifier?"
"It doesn't make it less terrifying, Luke. It matters—it matters a lot—but I can't see what having people around while I'm in a coma is going to have anything to do with me waking up from it."
He contemplates her words for a moment. Finally saying, "Maybe nothing."
"Thanks." She murmurs, obviously caught off guard by his comment. And not too pleased with it.
He scoffs mutely. "See? You have this...defeatist way of looking at the situation, but I don't even think you honestly believe that. I think you're like...a closet optimist."
"Am not!" The words practically fly out of her surprised mouth. "If anyone—you're the optimist! You're the one who's always like, 'yay Fate' and stuff."
He can't stop the muffled chuckle, especially with the truly affronted expression on her face. "Yes you are. You've been...like my rock through all of this, since I walked into the hospital room. You've been there, at every low point, trying to cheer me up. You've—you said you were really hurt thinking you've been abandoned by us, but you still open up and let us in. Mostly me and Nate, but still. You just have this...this huge capacity to, I don't know, forgive everything that we've done that hurt you in this situation. And you still visit your mom, even when you're like this."
She's shocked. And apparently speechless, as she opens and closes her mouth a few times. Fidgeting in place for a moment as she stares at him silently.
He nods firmly. "You always seem to see the good things, and all the possibilities. But not for yourself. Not really. So that's why your optimism is still hiding in a freaking closet."
She stares for a moment more, before seemingly deciding to tackle one thing at a time. "Um, how does visiting my mom make me an optimist?" Her tone is meek, almost subdued. But the hint of challenge he can read in her eyes has him grinning at her.
"Well, just something I thought of, when I was with Keith this morning. I didn't believe in the idea of it...but you do. And I was thinking, that maybe I was a skeptic or something. At least until I realized that I have no problem with talking to you while you're...basically, a—"
"Spirit?" She supplies with a quirk of her eyebrow.
"Or something." He continues, without missing a beat. "It took having this kind of experience to give me any sort of hope that Keith can still know things about my life. You believed that before all of this. Through everything you've been through since I've known you. When you, more than most people, would have a reason to not believe. Face it, you're not as pessimistic as you like to pretend."
"I—I don't know what to say to that. I think I just needed something to believe in. So why not all of that, you know?" She murmurs, lowering her eyes to her hands, which are gripping her legs tightly.
He shifts his body, neatly clambering off the bed. She startles, looking at him quizzically. Before she can question him, he seats himself right next to her, leaning against the headboard with a low sigh. "It's more than that, Peyton. I don't get why you don't see that. But it's there. Now, you just have to apply the things you say to us, to yourself, too."
She attempts a smirk that fails miserably, "You got all this from a thanks?"
"What can I say, I'm talented that way." He jokes, trying to lighten the mood a little. Afraid that maybe he might have pushed too far, too fast. But he feels better for having brought her actions to her attention. With the way she was speaking, it almost sounded like she's already given up. But she's still there, so he doesn't think she could've lost hope. Not completely. And he thinks that means something important.
A short pause lingers before she breaks it. "Um, can we change topics or something? This one...I need—I think—"
"You need time to process it?" Lucas suggests knowingly. "You do that. Take whatever time you need." He smirks, "You'll see I'm right. Like usual."
She scoffs and shakes her head slightly. The quiet that falls next isn't suffocating. It actually feels a little more hopeful. Lucas turns his head to take a peek at the girl beside him, to see her staring at the wall across the room, deep in thought. He smiles to himself, giving his attention to the wall as well, as he thinks about a lot of things that happened that day. And the things he'd wanted to tell her, when he next got the chance. And right now, seems like a pretty great one.
Because she's still here.
He still has a chance to tell her how he feels, still has the chance to build something amazing with her once she wakes up. A chance Keith never got to have with Karen, the one he'd talked to his uncle about this morning. And he doesn't want to miss it because he didn't tell her. He doesn't want to waste whatever time they'll have, just because he was too afraid to take the chance.
So he just leaps.
"'If I say, I love you, right now, will you hold it against me?'"
She jerks next to him in surprise, darting a wounded look his way. "The library? This topic—I don't—"
"'Because I do, Peyton.'" He interrupts, voice firm and low. He meets deep green, watching her eyes blink rapidly as she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. "I really do. And I want you to know that."
"Luke..." His name comes out a tiny whimper, sending a vise grip around his rapidly beating heart. He's scared as hell, but he can't recant it now. He says nothing, letting it sink in for her.
She abruptly stands, leveling him with an unreadable look as she firms her stance at the end of his bed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You love me as a friend. And I love you, too." She states resolutely. "And you're in love with Brooke."
"No. I'm not." Lucas straightens his posture, the words tumbling out before he can stop to think about them.
Her eyebrows fly up and she graces him with a cynical parody of a smile. "Yes, you are. I was there, Luke, when you fought for her! I think you're just confused right now, with everything that's going on. And once you start thinking clearly, you guys will get—"
"I am thinking clearly!" Luke seethes, sliding off his bed to stand in front of her. Not bothering to hide his wince when she takes a step back. "I care about Brooke, I do. But, it was easy to fight for her—"
"Easy?" Peyton exclaims in utter disbelief.
He ignores her interruption, "—because no matter what she did, it never hurt that much. Not like when you ran away from me the first time. Or walked away the second time!"
She shakes her head, whispering, "You can't."
"But I do."
"But Brooke—"
"Will be fine." Lucas stresses, trying to make her see the truth that he already figured out for himself.
Peyton gives him a look of desperation mixed with guilt. "She's not fine. She's hurting."
"Brooke's hurt because you're hurt. I'm hurt because you're hurt." Lucas grinds out between gritted teeth. "But I'm hopeful, because you're here with me, at least in this way."
She darts her gaze around wildly, gesturing absently as she tries to speak. giving him a look of complete panic before she simply vanishes.
"Damn it!" Lucas curses aloud, kicking his bed in an effort to release tension, "Damn it all to hell!"
0.o o_o o.0
Peyton finds herself back in her hospital room, thoughts swirling around in her head in one big mix of confusion. He can't possibly be in love with her, he just can't. It would be too good to be true, and she knows life doesn't work out that way.
She had a plan. To bury her feelings, sit back and watch Lucas and Brooke live happily ever after. She didn't plan for this. Not even remotely.
And she has absolutely no clue how to handle it.
Turning towards the hospital bed, Peyton takes one step forward and freezes in place at the sight before her. Brooke is lying curled up next to 'her,' still gripping the unconscious girl's hand tightly, even in sleep. That, right there, is another reason she doesn't know how to handle Lucas' confession. It's always been Peyton and Brooke, since they were little kids. And a boy—Lucas—had come between them before. She can't bear the thought of that happening again.
Approaching the bed, Peyton looks down at her own hands, realizing that there's still a hint of sensation around one of them. The one her best friend is holding onto.
Maybe she is a reason the brunette is hurting right now. But she doesn't want to be the reason in a different way. Not again. Brooke stirs a little, shattering Peyton's train of thought as she watches the other girl sleepily look around in confusion. Brooke just makes a face and adjusts her position around her bedmate, murmuring, "Love you, P. Sawyer. Wake me when you get up." before drifting back to sleep.
Peyton smiles, feeling the slight urge to cry, "Love you, too, B. Davis."
And maybe they'll probably be okay, no matter what. She'll make sure of it.
She thinks herself back to Lucas, regaining her bearings at the abrupt shift to her surroundings. The boy in question is sitting on the edge of the bed, head buried within his hands. He looks defeated, and she hates that.
"I'm in love with you, too." She announces before losing her nerve. "It scares me."
His head shoots up, staring at her incredulously before a wide smile stretches across his face. "It scares me, too. Loving you, I mean. Been that way since the beginning, because...you hurt me so easily."
"Ditto." She gives a half-laugh, "Which is probably why we got where we are."
Lucas nods, moving to stand right in front of her. "Yeah. Probably." He offers her a sweet smile, blue eyes twinkling. "Can we try this again? This time with no running?"
She laughs, nodding at him with a grin she can't help. Emotions running high as she locks eyes with the boy who holds her heart in the palm of his hand.
"'Peyton Sawyer, I love you.'"
"I love you, Lucas Scott." She responds in a near whisper, watching his smile get even bigger.
A smile that dims a little, as hers does, when he reaches out unthinkingly to touch her. Only to connect with air. They stare at each other in silence, reality intruding on their moment of happiness.
"What do we do now?"
"You wake up." He says simply, with a slight pleading look lurking in a sea of blue.
She bites her lip, "I don't know how."
And there's really not much to say to that. They both know the situation, both know the odds she's been given. But it doesn't stop hope from growing, or cause the smiles to completely drop from either face. For Peyton, it's because the boy she loves, loves her back. And it doesn't matter that the feeling is tinged with the slightest desperation at the moment. It's still an amazing thing to get to feel. Because she's still here to feel it.
A/N: Let me know where your head's at! I'd love to hear it :)