Disclaimer: I do not own One Tree Hill or any of its characters.

A/N: Hey guys. Yeah, surprise, a sort of quick update! Been a while, huh? As always, I want to thank all my readers and reviewers. You all rock for sticking with me through this story. Love you!

"It wouldn't matter if you were his wife," the plump nurse replied to Peyton's attempt at using the fiancé card. "No one is to see him for another forty-eight hours."

"Ok, listen," Peyton protested. "I get that it's your hospital policy and all that but, trust me, he'll want to see me, so if you can just bend the rules this once…"

"If we do it for one, we have to do it for all of them," the nurse returned. "Sorry, honey, but I can't. Even if I wanted to, I'm not allowed."

Sighing deeply, Peyton ran her hands roughly through her already unruly curls. The nurse didn't understand how imperative it was that she see Nathan, as proven by the fact that she was walking away.

Stealing a glance at Brooke and Chase, who'd volunteered to drive her to the hospital, she called out to the departing nurse. "I want to talk to his doctor."

"I'm afraid that's impossible," the nurse said, now standing at the nurse's station. "Dr. Lankin is attending to other patients."

"Well then, interrupt him because I need to speak to him right now."

"Her," the nurse corrected. "And she's only to be disturbed for emergencies."

"What do you think this is," Peyton bit out.

"Not an emergency," the nurse replied, taking an instant dislike to the girl. Pretty girls like her seemed to think the world revolved around them.

"Fine, we'll wait."

"Suit yourself, but you'll be wasting your time."

"We'll see," the blonde said as Brooke and Chase led her to a group of chairs.

…

"Dr. Lankin," the nurse called out, causing the therapist to turn. "There's a Peyton Sawyer here to see Nathan Scott," she said, gesturing to the waiting area.

The therapist shook her head. "No visitors for another forty-eight hours," she said.

"I told her that," the nurse replied. "But she insists."

"Peyton Sawyer, huh?" Dr. Lankin replied, seemingly mulling over the name. Nathan had certainly mentioned her in their session this afternoon. Perhaps it would do him some good to see her. "Give me a minute. I might be able to work it out," she said before disappearing down the hall into Nathan's room.

She returned just minutes later and said something to the nurse that made her smile.

"Oh please, allow me," the nurse said in amusement, already making her way toward the group of teens while Dr. Lankin went off to check further on her patient.

…

Peyton stood abruptly as the nurse approached them. She couldn't help notice the vindictive smile on the lady's face.

"Dr. Lankin has okayed the visit," the nurse informed the young blonde before her.

Peyton smiled happily, until the nurse went on.

"However, upon conferring with Mr. Scott, he has made it known that he doesn't wish to see you."

Peyton's face fell, but she looked at the nurse in disbelief. "You're making that up," she accused. "Nathan would never say that."

"He's asked that we send you home," the nurse went on unsympathetically.

Peyton shook her head in denial. Clearly the nurse was lying because Nathan would surely want to see her. "Look, I don't know what your problem is, but I know he'd want to see me."

"No, honey, apparently he doesn't. Now if you'll excuse me."

"No, I won't excuse you," Peyton said to the retreating figure. "I demand to see my fiancé this second."

Her comment went either unheard or ignored. Probably the latter, Peyton figured. Surely the nurse didn't think she could be dismissed just like that.

Apparently she did, for she walked away despite all of Peyton's protests, and before she knew it, security was there ready to escort her out.

She couldn't believe it. They expected her to just leave without having seen her beloved fiancé? Not a chance. But she had to think quick, come up with something on the spot that would allow her to stay, thereby increasing her chances of seeing him. "I guess money really does talk, huh?" she blurted out at the nurse. "Nathan gets all this special treatment, meanwhile I swallowed half a bottle of percusets just yesterday and nobody does anything."

Oh shit! Had she just admitted that? The look on Brooke's face told her she had.

But there was no turning back now for the nurse was already upon them once again.

"You mean to tell me you attempted suicide?" the nurse questioned.

For a second her words faltered. She could deny it and then it would be as though her little slip of the tongue hadn't happened.

Except that she had the nurse's attention now. "Yes," she confessed.

With that small word came a flurry of activity. The nurse seemed to become a totally different person as she ushered Peyton to a trauma room and immediately took a blood test. And despite vehement protests on Peyton's part, Larry was called.

She silently wished she'd have thought this through a little more—or at all—because apparently once a suicide attempt was claimed, you could be taken seriously.

Damn it, she'd just wanted to see Nathan, but now her father would have to hear about what she'd done. Or attempted to do. It was bad enough that Brooke knew. She hadn't intended for anyone to find out unless her ultimate goal was achieved, and clearly that goal had failed.

For her failure she could be grateful now. Nathan was obviously struggling and needed her by his side. She couldn't do that if she were dead. Thank God her foolish attempt had backfired.

And Nathan's too, she thought with relief.

Weird how they'd both attempted to end their lives on the same day. Somehow that knowledge made her feel even more connected to him. He was spiraling as much as she was.

Larry and Ellie arrived surprisingly quick. They must have sped all the way over.

She couldn't meet her father's eyes when he walked in, his features etched with concern, though that look was nothing new these days. He'd been wearing it for weeks now. This situation, she knew, would only make it worse.

It felt like an eternity later when a doctor came in and asked to speak to her parents alone.

Strange, she thought, yet she stayed put as told. She considered taking this time to sneak off into Nathan's room. If only she knew where that was. She could find out from Brooke, who remained in the waiting lobby with Chase.

She had to toss that idea when Larry and Ellie returned just minutes later.

The look on both their faces was pure turmoil. Of course it would be, Peyton reasoned. She couldn't even look at them right now.

"Why would you do that?" Larry questioned sharply, causing her to avert her eyes all the more. She knew this was coming, however much she dreaded it.

She was taken completely off guard with what he had to say next.

"Suicide is no laughing matter, Peyton. What on bloody earth would ever possess you to lie about that?"

Her head shot up, confusion marking her expression. Lie?

He scoffed at the questioning look she threw him. "Don't even think about playing dumb with me," he told her sternly. "There was nothing in your blood stream," he revealed.

Her brows rose in wonder. Nothing? Sure, she'd wretched until she felt she had nothing left, but seriously, nothing? No trace of the pills at all?

On the spot, she decided it was a good thing. Now she really could take back her confession, and no one would be the wiser. "I just wanted to see Nathan," she began weakly. "And they weren't letting me so…"

"So you made up a suicide attempt of your own?" he spat angrily. "You don't speak for weeks and when you finally do, this is what you say?"

"You don't understand," Peyton lamented. "They weren't letting me see him."

"I don't care, Peyton!" he shouted. "The hell with Nathan! There has to be a limit to what you'll do for him!"

"There isn't," Peyton responded honestly.

"Well, apparently he's got a limit," Larry returned.

"No," Peyton denied. "He's just having a hard time. If he could be there for me right now, he would," she said, knowing in her heart it was true.

Larry, however, put his hand up to stop any further comment she would have made. He was sick to death of his daughter bending over backwards for a kid who clearly wasn't inclined to do the same for her. He couldn't believe she'd go to such extreme as faking a suicide attempt just for the mere chance of getting a glimpse at him.

It wasn't until the silent ride home that he considered her violent wretching of the day before.

They'd chalked it up to the stomach flu, but the truth suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks.

She didn't have the flu at all.

She hadn't lied to the nurse earlier; she was lying to him now.

His heart shattered in that very moment, though he was relieved she'd failed. It broke his heart to think she'd resort to such drastic measures to escape her pain.

He had no idea what to do. Now, more than ever, he wished she'd talk to someone.

A professional.

He silently wondered if Ellie had come to the same conclusion as he. He figured she likely had, seeing as she seemed to be more perceptive than he was in most cases.

He stole a glance at his daughter through the rearview mirror. She stared out the window sullenly.

His beautiful, precious daughter, nearly taken from him. He wanted to cry, and he vowed to himself to keep a closer eye on her because if he lost her…

He shook the thought away, unable to bear just the idea of it.

And he prayed that someday soon things would turn around. To himself he acknowledged that Brooke was right—he may just have to accept that, in order for Peyton to recover, that Nathan would have to be involved. Certainly, just hearing his name and what he was going through had been the only thing to snap her out of her frozen, unfeeling state.

He would still have that in mind when Peyton would ask to return to the hospital the next day, and every day after that.

….

Meanwhile, in Chase's vehicle, he held Brooke tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably in his arms. He couldn't help feeling resentful at Nathan and Peyton both. Did they never stop to consider how their actions affected their best friend? Didn't they know how much killing themselves off would hurt her?

Did they even care or were they too self-absorbed in their own dilemmas? For all the time she spent worrying and fussing over them, they couldn't give her even an ounce of the same consideration? Granted they'd been through a lot, but Brooke had also been in that boiler room and still had nightmares about the things she saw in there. He wanted to bang her friends' heads together and tell them to open their eyes; they weren't the only ones suffering.

He didn't say any of that to Brooke. Instead, he gently wiped her eyes with the base of his thumb. If it were up to him, she'd never shed another tear as long as she lived.

Now if only it were up to him.

…..

"Twenty-four hours left," Brooke reminded Lucas Monday morning at his locker.

He nodded, not needing the reminder. He knew. He shrugged helplessly. "She won't even talk to me now," he said regretfully, not knowing what to do about it, or even if he should be doing anything. "She dodged me all weekend," he admitted.

"Damn it," she said in frustration, rubbing her hand hard over her face. "Can't you try harder?"

He threw her an ominous look at the insinuation that he wasn't trying hard enough. He let it go and admitted he didn't know what else to do. "I thought I could convince her, but instead she keeps pushing me away," he added sadly.

Brooke sighed, but could only nod solemnly. One look in his soft, misty eyes and she knew she couldn't fault him for lack of trying. Clearly he'd been trying and was getting nowhere.

She didn't know what to do with that. Convincing Haley to talk to Nathan was basically her last hope. If that didn't work, she didn't know what else to do.

"How's Peyton doing?" Lucas asked.

She shook her head, disheartened. "Not good."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to stop by her house," Lucas said. "But I wasn't sure if it was appropriate anymore, with everything that's happened and all."

She didn't know how to answer that either. Only Peyton could say where she and Lucas stood now that all the truth had come out. Not that she was saying much. "Right now it doesn't seem to matter who goes over if it's not Nathan. He's the only one she wants to see but, for that to happen, he needs to stop blaming himself for stuff, which doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon so…"

"I'll try again with Haley," he interrupted to say. Poor girl. Even he could see that she was at her wit's end. "Who knows?" he added. "Maybe tenth time's the charm."

A small chuckle escaped her lips. She kind of liked this guy, and she could see now why Peyton had befriended him at one time. He seemed like a genuine good guy. "I hope so," she whispered softly.

"Me too," he agreed.

….

"Damn it, Lucas!" Haley shrieked when he broached the topic again at lunch. "I don't know how many other ways to say…"

"Look, I know you're scared…"

"What makes you think he'd even want to talk to me?" she questioned. "How are you so sure that this would work?"

"I'm not sure," he said, his tone an octave higher as his frustration became apparent. "But isn't it worth a shot? This is my brother's life, Haley. Do you even care about that?"

"I am not responsible for his suicide attempt," Haley fumed. "He has to be accountable for his own choices."

"I'm not saying it's your fault," Luke countered. When had he ever blamed her? He was always the first one to tell her none of what happened was on her. "But he's drowning, Hales," he went on. "You might be the only one who can save him, but you won't even try. I don't understand why not." He was getting really angry now at her constant dismissals. He knew she was scared to face Nathan, but couldn't she grasp the sheer gravity here? If he didn't get help soon his brother would sink to such a low that no one would be able to reach him. He could feel it. "Especially since he saved you from a bullet in the head," he couldn't help but throw in her face. "Why wouldn't you, at least, attempt to do the same for him?"

Haley, in turn, was getting irritated as well. She couldn't face the guy. Why didn't Lucas get it? He said he did, but if that were true, he wouldn't keep persisting. Yes, Nathan had saved her from Damien even after she'd all but ruined his life with that damned accusation. All the more reason she couldn't look him in the eye. "I'm done explaining this to you," she grumbled, standing up abruptly to leave the table. "You clearly don't see my point and if all you're going to do is hound me about it, then I'd rather not talk to you at all."

"Haley," he called out as she walked away.

She didn't turn back. Only when she rounded the corner did she stop to take a shaky breath. This was supposed to be over.

Damn it, it was supposed to be over.

It was then that she was approached by Rachel Gatina, and she sighed deeply in aggravation. "Look," she snapped irritably. "I said I'm not doing it so will everyone just get off my back?"

"Relax," Rachel said with a snicker. "I'm not here to force you to do anything you don't want to do."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Haley thanked the redhead.

"I just think it's funny," Rachel said next.

"Funny?" Haley questioned, her brows rising curiously. How could any of this be even remotely funny?

"Yeah, you know, how most people think of Nate and our friends as the self-centered, assy ones," Rachel replied, "but you guys as the nice, caring ones," she continued, "when meanwhile, Nathan didn't even blink when he saved your ass and there was a gun involved, yet you can't even be bothered to extend your hand when he's sinking."

Haley didn't reply so Rachel shrugged indifferently and went on. "Just goes to show how wrong common conceptions can be," she said, before strutting away haughtily, leaving the other girl to stew on her words.

…

Brooke and the others needn't worry that time was running out quite so soon, for when the initial 72 hour watch was up, Dr. Lankin suggested to Deb and Dan that Nathan be kept for an additional amount of time, as she wasn't confident at that point that he still didn't pose a significant threat to himself.

The reason for her lack of confidence? Not because he'd said anything suspiciously threatening, but rather because he hadn't said much of anything at all, leaving her little to base her opinion on. The majority of the three days he'd been, as many were, sulky and uncooperative, angry at having been put in the hospital's psyche ward and binded to the bed. Their sessions, therefore, had proven non-progressive, to say the least. He'd spoken a little on Peyton Sawyer, which is why Dr. Lankin had thought it possibly beneficial to him to see her, but he hadn't been ready for that, and the rest of the time he'd chosen not to answer any of the therapist's questions.

She'd explained to his parents that it wasn't unusual to extend these patients' stays for up to four weeks, depending on their progress or lack thereof. As it was, Nathan had become angrier when the three days passed and he learned that his parents had agreed to leave him there longer. However, after an extra four days, he came to realize that the grudge he held against his mother and father wasn't getting him anywhere, and if he wanted to get out of there, he was going to have to start opening up to the therapist.

And so that's what he did. It took some doing, but after a while everything he was thinking and feeling came spilling out of his mouth.

He was rewarded two days later by having the restraints removed from his wrists and being allowed visits from his parents. He hadn't cared much for the latter, still being angry at them, but he was grateful to get rid of the chains. For the next three days, someone from the hospital staff came to check on him every fifteen to thirty minutes and he was told he could have a select few friends visit if he liked. He chose not to. He didn't want to see anyone right now. Or rather, he didn't want anyone seeing him. Not like that. Finally the checks were dropped to every hour and that's what he'd had ever since.

It was two weeks after the initial three days were up that Dr. Lankin called Deb and Dan to her office and revealed that she was clearing Nathan to go home the next day.

"Tomorrow?" Dan gasped in shock. "That's not too soon? You said four weeks he could stay," he reminded her. It's not that he didn't want his son home. It's just that he was terrified of what he might do once he got there.

Deb nodded, sharing the sentiment entirely.

"We could keep him up to that long, yes," the psychiatrist said. "However, there's no need. I believe he is psychologically fit to be cleared."

"You believe?" Dan scoffed. "Lady, we're talking my son's life here. You better be sure."

"All I can give you is my professional opinion."

"So you think he's better?" Deb questioned hopefully, yet skeptically. "Because, I don't know, to me, he still seems so surly & troubled. He barely says two words to us during our visits."

"Certainly he has more issues to work through," the doctor answered calmly. "But he doesn't need to stay here to do that. I don't believe him to be a threat to himself any longer. He's expressed sincere regret over his actions so it's time to let him go."

"No offense," Dan mocked, "But I know my son. How do you know he's so sincere and not just saying that to get out of here?"

"Let me explain something to you," the doctor said. "Generally, self-harming is not related to suicide at all. Statistics show…"

"Spare us those, will ya?" Dan huffed. "I think my wife and I would agree that we only want to hear about Nathan, not the other billion lost souls out there."

Dr. Lankin smiled apologetically. "Of course," she said with understanding. "His mind process was not to end his life…"

"The noose he hung in his closet says otherwise," Deb intervened.

"Two entirely different situations there," Dr. Lankin stated firmly. "With two different expected outcomes from him as well."

"I don't understand."

"Cutting he used as a way to punish himself for things he still feels were his fault. It wasn't a means to escape his pain, but more so a way to induce it because he felt he deserved to suffer."

"He could have died," Deb argued.

"Agreed," the doctor said. "But only because he accidently hit an artery, and granted you don't want him doing that, but his intention for cutting himself was not to die."

"And the noose?" Dan challenged. "You gonna tell us he would have accidently hung himself too?"

"No. That was his escape, in case the pain became intolerable. His way of controlling his torture, so to speak—when it became too much, he could just end it all and everyone would be the better for it," the therapist answered regretfully, watching both parents' expressions fall at the very idea of those thoughts running through their son's mind. It was hard to hear, she knew.

"From my experience as a psychiatrist," she went on, "he would have never used it. He would have never reached the point when he thought he'd suffered enough. Mr. and Mrs. Scott," she continued. "Your boy is traumatized. He's hurting, he's struggling, but, in my opinion, he's not suicidal. The best place for him is at home, surrounded by people who love him."

"No offence, but that's where he was when he pulled this stunt," Dan countered.

"I understand that, but with a lot of love and support, and a little help from therapy, he will come to grips with all that's happened and learn to realize that blaming himself for everything is too heavy a cross to carry. In the meantime, keep an eye on him, give him lots of love, and let him know you're there if he needs to talk. That's more important now than ever."

She smiled encouragingly at the worried couple in front of her. "You can do this," she said. "He will be okay."

Dan and Deb exchanged glances and each took a deep, strengthening breath. He took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly, and she smiled in turn. They could do this, they both muttered. They had to.

The doctor nodded at the resolve she saw come over both parents' faces, glad to see it. Their son would need all their strength. "Ok, Mom and Dad," she said chirpily. "Shall we go give him the good news?"

…..

You got everything, sweetie?" Deb asked Nathan the next day as she glanced around the room.

Man, was he happy to get out of this place. He was tired of all this 'observation' crap. Sure they'd taken off the restraints after a while, but the incessant checks from the hospital staff had quickly become annoying too. He was lucky, he'd been told, for some patients required constant supervision and had to have someone with them 24-7, even to relieve themselves, shower and change. He was glad to have, at least, been spared that humiliation. Even so, he was more than ready to go home.

He gave his mother a small nod in answer to her question. Of course he had everything. It wasn't like they'd allowed him much stuff so the likelihood of forgetting anything was slim to none.

"Where's Dad?" he asked.

"Just talking to the doctor," Deb replied. "He'll be in in a minute."

Nathan eyed his mother warily. Last time his parents had 'talked' to the doctor, he'd been forced to stay another two weeks. "Mom…" he spoke silently, desperately.

"They're just going over follow up schedules," she said.

"I have to come back?" he asked, appalled at the thought.

"Once a week for therapy, but you won't have to stay," she told him.

He nodded but he looked saddened by the news. Sometimes she wondered if putting him in here had been a mistake. But what else could she have done? He needed the help. Certainly it would be a long while before he understood that.

Or so she thought.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he said, his tone barely above a whisper.

But she heard it all the same, and when she looked up, it was to see his beautiful blue eyes glistening with tears he struggled to keep hidden.

Her heart went out to him even as it rejoiced that it seemed he did understand why they did this, and that, finally, he wasn't pushing her away. "Oh, sweetie," she said tenderly. "What on earth for?"

"For everything," he answered gloomily. "This," he elaborated, lifting his arms to indicate the still visible scars. "For being a bad son," he added, his gaze dropping shamefully to the floor.

She swallowed hard, her own tears threatening to fall as she wrapped her arms around him. "Don't ever think that," she told him sternly. "You are not a bad son. Any and all problems in our relationship are on me so don't you dare go blaming yourself."

"I made you want to kill yourself," he countered. It was the first time he'd ever addressed her attempted suicide to her.

And what he thought of it broke her heart. Had he been harboring this guilt all these months? "Honey, no," she replied. "I was sick. Weak. Don't take that burden on. It doesn't belong to you."

"I didn't help," he insisted emotionally. "I yelled at you. I pushed you away, even afterward. I didn't even learn. Still acted like an idiot. I was so pissed at you."

"I know, sweetie," she said, reaching up to touch his face softly. "And that's ok. To tell you the truth, I'm angry at myself too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was never there for you like I should have been. I deserved almost everything you said to me that day. I say almost because no mother deserves to hear her son call her an f…ing bitch, no matter how bad she may be."

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

She nodded. "Me too," she said. "As for this," she continued, her fingers softly running up and down the marks on his arms, "your father and I should have been paying more attention to what you were going through and gotten you help sooner."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he shook his head and denied that it was either of their faults. They'd both, more so her than him, tried to draw him out of his room. He was the one who'd wanted nothing of it.

"I'll tell you what?" Deb stated suggestively. "How about, from now on, we both try and do better? Instead of suffering alone, and doing something potentially dangerous, what do you say we just talk to each other?"

He nodded agreeably. "Kay," he said before pulling back from her and sitting on the bed. "I really didn't try to kill myself," he told her next.

She sat beside him and gave him a small smile. "That's good to hear," she responded, though a little doubt crept in her tone. "But if it's all the same to you," she had to add, "we'll be watching you like hawks for the next little while."

The comment actually made him smile a little, something Deb was more than happy to see. It seemed like ages since she'd laid eyes on that beautiful smile. Maybe because it had been.

Progress? She only hoped.

"I figured," he said.

"Ahh yes," she replied lightly. "But did you count on the removal of both your bedroom and closet doors?"

He snickered at the question. "You don't have to do that."

Shrugging her shoulders, she returned with the comment that it was too late. It was already done.

"You serious?" he asked, flabbergasted at the prospect.

She nodded, recalling how Dan had ripped the doors right off their hinges the very day Brooke had revealed the rope in his closet. "Among other things," she said. Together, she and Dan had gone through every nook and cranny of his room, removing any object he might use to try to harm himself when he got home, essentially 'suicide proofing' the entire room.

When she told Nathan so, he was stunned, a little put out even, but Deb noticed he didn't seem angry. The truth was, with all the time he'd had to think in this place, he'd come to the conclusion that he was tired of being angry. Tired of all the negative feelings eating him lately, really. He just wished he knew how to deal with those.

"Not to worry, though," Deb continued, his lack of rage encouraging her to tease him, if only a little. "We left your stash of Playboys under your bed where you've been hiding them since you were twelve."

He didn't embarrass easily, but his mother bringing up those magazines and implying she'd always known about them, did it. His face reddened just the slightest bit and he turned his head so as not to have to face her.

He cleared him throat uncomfortably and decided to ignore her last comment and instead ask if the bathrooms still had doors.

"Doors, yes," Deb answered. "Locks, no." Invading his privacy wasn't their goal, but he wasn't going to be able to lock himself in either.

He shook his head in bewilderment, but didn't mention to her that if he really wanted to kill himself, none of their proofing techniques would make a bit of difference.

He didn't have to tell her that. She was well aware that if someone really wanted to die, they would find a way, no matter what. But if her son was one of those people, she and Dan would certainly not make it easy for him. They would thwart every access point to make it near impossible, until hopefully, one day, he was better.

And if he wasn't one of those people, and pray to God he wasn't, well then, all they'll have lost would be a few replaceable door hinges.

Dan came in shortly after with the news that everything—billing, discharge, etc—was taken care of and they could be on their way. "Ready to come home, son?" he asked.

"I was ready two weeks ago," Nathan answered, his voice strong now, still hating to show any trace of vulnerability in front of his dad. He didn't know why that was exactly, but it was important that his father didn't think of him as weak. Granted, this latest incident probably didn't help with that, but he didn't have to make it worse either.

Dan nodded and grabbed Nathan's bag from the floor. "Ok, I'll take this," he said before turning his gaze on Deb. "Wheel him out to the front doors," he said. "I'll bring the car up."

Deb nodded agreeably, however, Nathan protested. "Guys, I can walk."

"You want to argue hospital policy with big Bertha?" Dan replied playfully, referring to the heavy set nurse they'd gotten to know pretty well over the last seventeen days. Competent nurse, maybe, but also a bit stern and abrupt at times. Even downright mean sometimes. "Didn't think so," he added when Nathan didn't reply. "Sit," he ordered his son, pulling out the wheelchair from the corner of the room.

Nathan didn't argue, just sighed heavily and grumbled how stupid it was even as he did what he was told.

…..

"Hey, Mr. Scott," Dan heard once he'd exited the front doors and was about to make his way through the parking lot for his car.

Recognizing the voice, he glanced toward the vehicle already parked in front and smiled. "Miss Sawyer," he greeted in a friendly tone. "Pleasant surprise."

"Yeah right," she said, knowing her presence was no surprise to him. She'd only been here every day for the last two weeks. No, that bitch nurse Bertha never allowed her in to see Nathan—always claiming that Nathan didn't want to see her—but she'd run into Dan and Deb several times so she knew her being there was kind of expected by now. He was just being friendly, she knew.

Just as she knew that Bertha was a lying witch of a woman. Of course Nathan would want to see her, and Bertha was a bitter and cranky old shrew who obviously basked in the misery of others. Why they'd put her in charge of suicidal patients was beyond her. Weren't their problems big enough? You'd think they could have chosen someone with a little, make that a lot, more people skills.

She opened the passenger side door and stepped out with amazing ease, considering she was still on crutches. In the driver's side was Larry. She had no idea why he suddenly deemed it okay for her to visit Nathan—even coming so far as driving her—but whatever his reasons, she wasn't going to argue.

"Handling those things like a pro," Dan commented lightly of her crutches.

She smiled again and shrugged her small shoulders. "Just used to them, I guess," she said.

"Must be coming off soon," Dan said before nodding his head at Larry in acknowledgement.

"Another week or two," Larry answered.

"Good, good," Dan returned. "Anyway, gotta go."

Peyton nodded and smiled again. "Today's the big day, huh? Is Nathan excited?"

Dan chuckled at the question. "Excited might be too strong a word, but he's anxious to get home."

"I'll bet," Peyton returned with understanding. If there was one thing Nathan hated, it was being cooped up. He'd had way too much confinement lately with prison and the boiler room, and now this.

Dan went off, claiming he'd never hear the end of it if Deb and Nathan made it to the front doors before he did.

"Don't worry, I'll stall them," Peyton offered in jest.

"You do that," Dan said, even as he jogged away.

Peyton turned to face the doors once more with a wistful sigh. Excited may be too strong a word for Nathan, but she was ecstatic. It had been over a month since she'd laid eyes on him. Even in their worst times, their countless breakups, she'd still, at least, always been able to see him. It had been too long and she couldn't wait.

Yes, he was struggling—they both were—but they would make it. Together they would work through everything and get past it. They'd be happy again.

She was sure of it.

….

Nathan heaved a great sigh as the front doors came into view. What a bumpy ride that had been, with his nerve-wracked mother nearly colliding with every object in sight. Apparently she was nervous—obviously that he'd hurt himself again once he got home—because look out to anything that even remotely stood in their path, and in his whole life, he'd never seen his mother as a klutz. He wished he could assure her, and his father too, that he wouldn't be going down that road again. That he really didn't want to die even though he had yet to find a way to deal with all the foreign emotions engulfing him lately.

But he knew there was nothing he could say that would guarantee, in their minds, that he spoke truthfully. They would just have to wait and see.

He was only too happy to stand up out of that wheelchair once they'd reached the entrance. "If that ride was supposed to be for my safety," he said lightly, "they need to re-evaluate their policies."

She gave him a light tap in the chest, but really she couldn't be happier for the ribbing. He was getting his sense of humor back, even with her. It seemed an eternity since she'd seen that. "Well, if you'd kept those long legs of yours in like you're supposed to, it would have gone a lot smoother," she teased back.

"Oh sure," he scoffed as he opened the doors to freedom. Good riddance all things hospital. He never wanted to set foot in it again. Okay, so he had to for therapy, but he never wanted to stay again. And so long Bertha. If he never saw her again in his lifetime, it would be too soon. "Blame me for your lousy driving."

He was still chuckling softly when he stepped out into the warm, fresh air and spotted her leaning against her father's car, her crutches at her side.

And that's when it all came crashing back down on him, just like he knew it would the next time he saw her. And the smile Deb had been so thrilled to behold, instantly vanished.

…..

Peyton bit her bottom lip nervously as she saw him exiting the doors, laughing with his mother. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst from her chest.

And then he looked at her and his boyish grin disappeared.

Her face fell; her heart dropped. He turned his gaze away, seemingly searching for something. She realized soon enough that it was his dad's car he looked for. It was just coming up to the curb, and he started his way toward it.

Her heart broke to pieces at his lack of acknowledgment toward her. He'd looked right at her. He'd seen her. She knew he had.

It was hard to breathe when she realized that Bertha hadn't been lying at all. He really didn't want to see her.

Tears flooded her eyes, but anger kicked in just as fast.

Somehow, even on crutches, she made it to his father's car before he did, so that when he reached out for the handle, she stood between it and him.

He quickly pulled his hand away, but not before she saw the scars on his arms and gasped in horror.

She reached for him, but he pulled back even more.

She couldn't believe he was acting this way. That he was shutting her out specifically. It hurt like hell but also increased her anger tenfold.

"So after all we've been through," she said, her tone dripping sarcasm and venom, "we've come to you dissing me in a parking lot?"