Title: Who You Were

Author: sera_rocks / Sera

Rating: M

Summary: After his father's death, James Lucas Scott is forced to go back to Tree Hill and the house he abandoned years ago to search for the will. What he finds goes beyond mere bequeathed possessions as he uncovers the secret past of the father he never knew, and the unforgettable love of two people who were destined to be together.

A/N: Hey y'all! Thank you for all the nice reviews. I'm so glad this story has been receiving such positive feedback. It's definitely different from anything I've ever done, but hopefully, different is good. Anyway, funny story; I was reading one of your reviews and I just laughed so much when one of you noticed my little JLs hint in the first chapter. It just amused me so much that someone noticed it. I didn't put it there for nothing, so y'all know who I've always been rooting for. ;) Oh, and someone also asked about why I set NH during the 30's. I was really inspired by the 40's episode and I just wanted to write something set around those times. You'll eventually see another reason why I set their story during those times, but that will come later.

Again, thank you to Lillie for helping me out. This story would be nothing without her. I know this story could get confusing in the long run (I get confused myself sometimes), so if any of have any questions, feel free to ask. Oh, and please review! I'd love to know what you think. ;) Three days before Christmas! Happy holidays, guys! :)

Chapter 3

James sat in the middle of the attic, still rummaging through the chest as eagerly as he had been hours ago. He had no idea what time it was, nor did he care anymore. All he knew was that time was irrelevant now. The more he went through the things inside, the more he wanted to know and the more he wanted to find. The problem was, the more he searched for answers, the more questions he had.

Around him, settled in a circle, were different photographs. Each one varied with where it was taken, who was in the frame and more importantly, when it was taken. He looked around the photographs, his eyes darting from one to the next. His brows furrowed as he realized that there seemed to be a huge time gap in between several of the pictures. There were pictures of his father looking quite young, to much older, to something between. The locations were also confusing. He hardly seemed to be in one place more than once. The pictures were so old and worn that it was difficult trying to distinguish where he was without making several guesses all at once.

James tore his gaze from the photographs and decided to go through them again later, maybe when he, hopefully, had more answers. He turned back to the open chest and peered inside. Aside from pictures, there were a lot of things in there – many of them not making any sense as to why his father would keep it. There was one thing in particular that confused him as he picked it up and stared at it lying flat on his palms.

It was a black notebook, roughly about the same size as his hand. The corners and top portions of the notebook were molding and the pages were a dull yellow with age. James gingerly opened it and was surprised to find the first few pages to be completely empty except for the bottom right corner of the first page; it had his father's name scrawled on it but aside from that, there was nothing else. James flipped through pages gently, afraid that the old notebook would fall apart in his hands.

Deciding that there was nothing much to see there, he was just about to put it down on the floor with the other things James had dismissed as merely ordinary when he saw a tiny corner of one page of the notebook folded in such a way that it overlapped beyond the page. It was so small that if James hadn't stared at the notebook for as long as he did, he probably would have not noticed it. He picked it up and immediately opened it to where the fold was.

James' eyes widened as he softly murmured, "Whoa,"

Tree Hill, 1935

It had officially been two weeks and three four days since Nathan saw that brown-haired girl. Nathan felt stupid counting down every single day he hadn't seen her, but he couldn't help it. He was so used to catching glimpses of her every day, sometimes even more than once a day. He never got more than a quick glance at her but just to see her tiny figure walking down the halls, or the peculiarly plain and long brown hair of hers … it was enough somehow. The more he didn't see her, the more he silently worried about her.

Was she already in California? Was she alone? Was she with her family? How was she getting along? These, among so many other questions, constantly ran through Nathan's mind and with each day that passed, he had a new question. What was she doing right now? What did she have for breakfast, if she did have one?

Nathan was pretty sure he was going insane. There was no plausible explanation as to why he was acting the way he was, always concerned and thinking about some girl. But she wasn't just "some girl" to Nathan – she was something else entirely. There was just something about her that Nathan could not let go of. She represented everything Nathan wanted; the way she did her own thing without caring about what other people thought, the way she could carry herself with such pride and dignity like she was just as good as Nathan and his friends, and the way she seemed so … complete. Content.

Nathan realized with such shame that even if he was, technically, more fortunate than many especially during these hard times, he was never content. He was never really happy, and this girl – whoever she was – who probably didn't even have half of what Nathan had, didn't mind at all. She was content and perfectly fine.

Not anymore, he thought to himself rather bitterly. She was anything but fine now. She was probably somewhere in California, tilling soil or carrying heavy sacks of food somewhere really far, working so hard just to have something to eat. Nathan knew this because it was all over the radio, at least it was how he pictured it to be, anyway. They really didn't describe it in detail, figuring that people knew enough tragedy already. The news just got more and more depressing lately and even Nathan could no longer ignore this, now that this girl was one of them. He actually felt for these people now. He wanted them to have a better life. He remembered how shocked Tim had been the other day when Nathan gave spare change to a beggar, and even wished him good luck.

Tim had declared Nathan crazy, and he most probably was. He never saw himself this way, not in a million years. How could one girl he had never spoken a word to, much less actually seen, have this much effect on him? Nathan regretted not even trying to make friends with her when he had the time. He felt like he had lost a lot not talking to her.

Nathan had been so deep in thought that he didn't realize his friends were talking to him until Lucas suddenly nudged his side. "What?"

"You've been out of touch so much for the past few days. Are you feeling well?" Lucas asked him, looking concerned.

Nathan looked around and realized that they were in the hallway, walking to their next class. He sighed, running his fingers through his dark hair and tried to look as tired as he possibly could. "I've been having trouble sleeping."

It was sort of true. Nathan wasn't entirely lying to them. For the past days, he had been having such a hard time getting sleep but it wasn't just for that reason that he had been acting strangely. Nathan wasn't going to admit it to anyone, not even to Lucas whom he trusted completely. He decided to keep things to himself for awhile; at least until he had some sort of concrete idea to what was happening to him. He inwardly groaned when he saw the skeptic look on his brother's face. Nathan eyed him, telling him to drop the topic before any of their other friends caught on.

"I got a D on that last test," announced Tim loudly as he got out of the classroom, joining them. "What did you get?"

"Don't bother asking Lucas what he got. We all know how brilliant he is," remarked Peyton, waving her hands in the air in mock awe. She sighed when she glanced down at the paper in her hand. "I didn't do as well as I should have."

"Neither did I," admitted Brooke rather bitterly as she hid the paper deep into the recesses of her bag. For the first time since they've been friends, Nathan saw how worried Brooke was. As far he was concerned, Brooke didn't care about anything else but partying, boys and clothes. But there she was now – actually caring about something. Had he really been so ignorant before?

"What did you get, Nate?" Tim asked Nathan eagerly, trying to catch a glimpse at the paper Nathan was holding in his hand.

Nathan noticed and hurriedly shoved it into his bag, crumpling it as he did. He tried to shrug it off. "I've had worse."

"You've hard worse than an F?" Lucas asked him in an undertone.

"It's none of your business," replied Nathan with tightly gritted teeth. He looked back at his friends. "It's not like I'm going to need to get an A in that class, anyway. I just need to pass and it won't even make much of a difference when I get older."

"So you are going to get a job?" Peyton teased him.

Before Nathan could snap back with a retort, at the very corner of his eye, he noticed something. It was her – that girl he had tirelessly been looking for. She was actually there, her back turned him but he was so sure it was her. Her hair was longer now, a stark contrast to everyone else's hair and she was wearing the same clothes the last time he had seen her. God, he had never felt this relieved for anything or for anyone but it was there, making his heart swell so much at the sudden rush of emotion of it that he couldn't stop a small smile appear on his face.

She was turning now, actually turning to face him and right now, Nathan did not even care if she didn't meet even half of his expectations. He forgot all about his friends who were probably staring at him by now as he anxiously waited for her to turn. She finally did and Nathan was not disappointed. She was beautiful. She was nowhere near his type and nowhere near glamorous but she was – by herself, without even trying so hard – beautiful.

She was approaching them now and with each step she took towards them, Nathan could feel his heart swell even more. Much to his surprise, she must have felt his gaze on her because she actually looked up at him with a pair of the most captivating doe eyes he had ever seen, light brown in shade and full of shock and wonder to be catching him staring at her. For a moment, she stopped in her tracks and looked back at him, the expression on her face not changing one bit.

To Nathan's disappointment, she quickly tore her gaze away and after giving Peyton a small smile, she walked away. Nathan watched her for a few seconds, still full of relief she was alright and that she looked okay. He hadn't expected her to look that way. Sure, he knew she wouldn't look movie-star stunning, but she had taken his breath away. There was a strength and conviction in her and he could clearly see that she had been through so much but she was there now … she was fine. She handled it.

Nathan quickly turned to Peyton and was shocked at how desperate he sounded when he asked her, "Who is she?"

"I don't know. We have one class together," answered Peyton with a casual shrug. She then narrowed her eyes at him. "Why?"

When Nathan didn't answer immediately, she let out an agitated sigh. "Oh no, Nathan … please don't tell me you like her."

"You like her?" Brooke repeated, her eyes widening.

"I don't like her!" Nathan said defensively but no one seemed to believe him. Everyone gazed back at him with a look of hesitation. Nathan racked his brain for something … anything that sounded as a plausible excuse but he couldn't. They took his lack of defense as the answer.

"You like her!" Tim proclaimed.

"Could we just not talk about this … please?" Nathan pleaded. He wasn't even sure of what he was feeling right now and he didn't need anyone else making any more assumptions. "We'll talk later, okay?"

"I can't believe you like her." Brooke said, shaking her head in disbelief. "She's the one you've been looking around this hallway for, isn't she?"

Lucas took his brother's silence as a sign of something to be worried about. "Nathan, what are you planning to do?"

"Nothing," he replied. "I mean it … nothing. She's just pretty, that's all."

"She's not your type."

"Maybe I've changed my type."

And with that, Nathan broke off into a brisker pace as he walked further away from them. He was in no mood to talk about something as utterly ridiculous as his feelings and he was confused enough already. He heard footsteps following him and thought it was Lucas but when it turned out to be Peyton, he turned to her and asked, "Is it so wrong to like someone like her?"

"She's a nice girl, Nathan and let's be honest, you don't have the cleanest record when it comes to relationships. Don't go taking advantage of her."

"You honestly think I will?"

Peyton looked him straight in the eye. "You stay away from her, Nathan. I mean it. She doesn't deserve to get her heart broken. She's been through enough."

All Nathan could do was nod. Peyton was right. He could hurt this girl in the long run, and even if he didn't want to, he'll end up doing it anyway. He always ended up hurting people he cared about and this girl, whoever she was, didn't need that kind of drama in her life. She didn't deserve someone like him.

Tree Hill, present time

James traced the edge of the page with his finger, his mind still trying to take it all in. In the middle of the page was a pressed flower. It was entirely brown now but there were still traces of color there – a very light shade of purple that he could probably only see because the light above him was so bright.

He remembered the yard outside and how his mother always gave special attention to one part of it – the one where it had purple wildflowers growing. Sometimes, she would sit outside and just tend to them and every time James walked through the door, there was a vase full of purple flowers. There was never a time that it was empty or that it had a different kind of flower in it. She loved those flowers – her face would suddenly light up whenever she saw them, as if she was reliving a particularly fond memory.

And to pique James' interest even more, beneath the pressed flower was his mother's familiar handwriting; Haley James. Not Haley James Scott, but Haley James. This was obviously before his parents were married. But when was this? And more importantly, why?