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26 July 2006 @ 02:34 am
Original Sin - Brooke and Lucas Future Fic. Part Two  
Title: Original Sin - Part 2
Author: Jo
Fandom: One Tree Hill
Rating: T
Pairing: Brooke & Lucas
Summary: "What unsettled Lucas the most was how much he missed her. And with the way things were now there was no chance that feeling would ever go away." Future fic.
Notes: Work in progress


Author's note: This has been a baby of mine for quite a while. It's a B/L future fic. It's pretty canon based up until what we know from the show but then it's totally my own imagination run wild.

Flashbacks are in Italics and if you could let me know what you think, good and bad, constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own One Tree Hill. Or any of the characters that you know and love. I'd love to but I don't.



Original Sin

“Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand/ A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame/ Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name/ Mother of exiles.”

Emma Lazarus


2. There Goes the Sun


Durham, North Carolina, March 2008

Lucas’ hand hovered over the phone. Haley had told him to get the hell over himself, stop the moping and just call her. And he knew once his best friend Haley resorted to swearing it had to be a very serious matter. And maybe she was right.

Maybe happiness was just a phone call away.

Soon into their freshman year at college they had realized that the long distance thing was just not working for them. With Brooke in New York and him in North Carolina at Duke it was just too hard. They had really tried, but both of them had noticed how their love had slipped into this something else.

And this something else had proven to be even more painful than the actual distance.

Brooke had been the one to call him on it.

But they both knew that it had only been half of the truth. Ever since that fateful day during their senior year they had been on different roads that seemingly lead into very different directions. Even if the thought of not being together was almost killing them, they both knew they had to set each other free. At least for a while.

After their break up he had been devastated and, for a long time, they had barely talked. He had busied himself, worked harder.

Then came this weird, awkward phase where they both had looked for some comfort; some cheap resemblance of what they had had together in other people’s company. That phase where they heard through other people – notably Haley – about the various dates they had both gone on. The phase when they had revelled at the fact that neither of them seemed to be able to replace the other.

And now, seven months later, after the random dating and hooking up, after the partying and the trying to bury himself with work, Lucas was back to square one.

He still wanted her.

It had taken him some time to realize it, but it was how it was.

It had been one of those nights when his friends (i.e. Nathan and a few of his basketball buddies) had found him in his room doing something really worthwhile (i.e. reading this really lame existentialist novel for class). Under his loud protest they had forced him to go out with them. And he had succumbed, knowing it was probably good to go out again, to dance a little, flirt a little. Be around women in that way.

So they had gone out and by the end of the night he had found himself at the bar and inviting the blonde young woman across from him to a drink.

Later he couldn’t really say why it had been this girl in particular. Maybe it was something about the way she shook her head when she laughed or the coy smirk with which she had accepted the drink, but he had found it intriguing. She was pretty and bright and surprisingly, just as much into literature as Lucas. So they had talked and flirted a little and somehow, at some point, Lucas had caught himself staring at her freckles.

He was surprised at how good it felt to be in nice company again. Maybe it had been the beers or the night or just the loneliness but it had worked. They had probably been talking about the relation between Dostoievsky’s and Hemingway’s work for about an hour when he had repeated this silly joke his professor had made a week ago about Hemingway and bull fights. And she had smiled again. A wide, captivating smile, that lit up her whole face and showed the dimples suddenly engraved in her flushed cheeks.

It had hit Lucas like brick wall.

This woman was smart, witty and funny. She was perfectly good looking and obviously more than interested, but she wasn’t enough. Because she wasn’t Brooke. She wasn’t as flirty and quite as outlandish. She didn’t kink her eyebrows like Brooke or had the same devious smile or the same timbre in her full, throaty laugh. She sure as hell wasn’t as crazy or as fierce or as loving or as insecure.

And even if she had been, hell even if she was just as spontaneous and daring and bitchy and passionate; it didn’t matter.

It still wouldn’t make her Brooke. And Brooke was all he wanted.

So he had made a decision. Lucas Scott would win Brooke Davis back. Yes, it would be hard to make it work. And maybe it was naïve, maybe it was stupid but he had to. He just loved her so damn much.

Lucas had to tell her. Tell her that she was still the one. That he was sorry, that he wanted to be with her again.

On this particular Sunday evening, he had found himself in his dorm room, staring at the black cordless for about a half hour. And just when he had worked up the courage to pick up the phone and start to dial, there was a knock on his dorm room door. He let out an exasperated sigh and placed the phone back in its station.

“It’s open!”

To his surprise, it was Peyton. She had been accepted to UNC, majoring in studio art, and her department was located on the campus in Chapel Hill which wasn’t all that far from Durham. Despite that fact, he hadn’t seen her around that much lately, though.

They had to put an end to it about a month ago and barely talked to each other since. Lucas had a strong suspicion that the attempt to not cross ways was mutual.

He wasn’t sure if he was even able to find words to describe this thing between them or whatever it was. Technically, it hadn’t been more than hooking up twice. In a very drunken and desperate state.

And they had left it at that, had shrugged it off as a mistake, something two very lonely people did to get over their individual heartbreaks. One of those get-under-someone-to-get-over-someone things.

But he could not deny that there was more. That there were feelings involved.

He smiled gloomily. With him and Peyton, feelings had always been involved. They connected on a level that went beyond words. And even more so after the shooting.

There was a bond, running deeper than almost anything. Peyton got him in a way that even Brooke had never been able to. She knew. What it was like to lose a parent. What it was like to be an outcast. What it was like to have to give up the things you loved. What it was like to lose Brooke.

She had been there with him.

Although it was probably for the better that they had ended it, he cared deeply about her. Sometimes he wondered if that would ever go away. Or if he even wanted it to. Maybe he had never really let her go. Or maybe he was just holding on to a memory, to a place and a time that no longer existed.

The break up, if one could call it that had been inevitable but he had found himself missing her friendship lately. Just talking to her, being around her.

As soon as he looked into her face though, he knew something was wrong. She just stood there, awkwardly fidgeting with the strap of her black Arctic Monkeys hoodie.

“Lucas… I… I kinda need to talk to you.”

Brooke jumped at the sound of her phone blasting through her tiny dorm room. The entire space was covered up in sketches and fabric samples and basically looked like a huge tip. It was as if someone had stepped into Paris Hilton’s walk in closet and set a bomb off. The walls were plastered with cut-outs and color patterns and in the middle of the room, where the floor had once been, amidst a myriad of clothes and paper and twill and god knew what else, stood a dressing doll adorned with a top she was currently working on.

After a few moments of frantic hunt for her cell she located the phone under a pile of blue lace and grabbed it. When Brooke read the caller I.D. a huge smile spread over her face.

Lucas.

She had been doing a lot of thinking lately. She missed him so much. Maybe it was time to give it another go?

All this random hooking up; she hated it. And she knew he was thinking about getting back together, too. She had almost given up hope when he hadn’t called her over the last two weeks but he had probably just been busy. She spit out the pins she had in her mouth and flipped the phone open.

“Broody!”

“Hey Brooke…”

“How are things down in North Carolina?”

“Good.”

He cleared his throat. “Listen… I need to talk to you.”

”I know, me too. Look Lucas, I just…” She took a deep breath. “…I miss you so much. This whole arrangement sucks. I know I said that we needed a break but…” She paused. Why was she as nervous as a schoolgirl? This was Lucas she was talking to. She was just so damn scared that maybe he had found someone else. Or that he had simply moved on. “It’s still there, you and me, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. There was an awkward pause and then she heard him clear his throat on the other end. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse.

“Brooke… Peyton’s pregnant.”

Brooke was stunned for a moment. Then she found her voice again.

“What? How? I mean, I know how, but… how and who? Oh my god…is she ok? She must be so shocked… Oh my god Lucas we can totally talk about us later, of course this is way more important now. I’m just gonna call-“

“Brooke,” he cut her off. “I’m so sorry.”

Brooke frowned. Was Lucas crying?

“Lucas, what’s wrong?”

An icy lump was forming in her stomach. His voice, barely a whisper now, was proving her worst assumptions to be true.

“I’m the father.”

In New York City, New York, a young woman flipped the phone shut and broke down on the floor, sinking into a pile of blue lace.

Several hundred miles down south in Durham, North Carolina, stood a broken hearted young man with blond hair and blue eyes. And all he could hear in the line was the dial tone.


“The dust of exploded beliefs may make a fine sunset.”

Geoffrey Madan



 
 
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(Anonymous) on August 19th, 2006 03:11 am (UTC)
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(Anonymous) on August 19th, 2006 03:12 am (UTC)
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