Glass Figurine

You Say Second Chances, I Hear Happy Endings: Part Three

2009-02-10T13:00:04Z

Rating: Hard R / NC-17. There are scenes of a sexual nature in this chapter. Please only read if you are of age.
Characters: Nate/Jenny
Summary: Nate Archibald left New York and everyone in it behind years ago. He doesn't miss it. So why does he still dream about it?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show Gossip Girl. They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.

[three]

Nate does not dream for three weeks. He doesn't miss it.

When awake, he sees life in technicolor.

It's edging towards five o' clock and the sun starts its slow decent. Nate is wearing a beige trench coat, the collar pulled high around his neck, dark sunglasses shading his eyes from the distant sun. He feel ridiculous and, frankly, a little embarrassed, but at the same time exhilarated.

The teenage boy beside the ticket booth looks mildly curious at his appearance, and understandably so: Nate looks like a flasher. In the midst of a busy carnival full of hundreds of people - many of them children doing a half-run-half-skip and licking their pink cotton candy, and many of them small enough to fit under his uncomfortably long coat. He's already counted five mothers pull their young children a little closer and give him contemptuous looks.

He wanted to raise his hands and say, I'm not a pervert, honest! But then he couldn't exactly follow up with, I'm just trying to conduct an affair with a married woman who doesn't want to be seen in public with me…

"Did you get the package?" Nate says, moving his lips as little as possible, staring straight ahead.

The boy's eyebrows furrow. "The ticket, you mean? Yeah, here it is," he produces the token with not even an attempt or nod at subterfuge. "Where's my 20 bucks?"

Nate rolls his eyes and turns to face the boy fully. Kids, these days, he thinks. None of them had any subtlety.

"Here," he says, pushing the bill into the boys direction, "take it. When's the ride start?"

"This one's going now. You just line up over there."

Nate looks over and spots Jenny at the front of the line, ready to step into the carriage.

She is similarly dressed in a trench coat, but a short black one that bares her shapely legs, slim calves and stiletto heels. Her hair is long, messy and bright red, and she has thick blue liner around her eyes, reminding him of that phase she had in high school. Her disguise is good - he doubts that with those legs and that hair, anybody would be looking closely at her face.

"I don't have a partner," he can hear her tell the ride attendant.

"Anybody else going up alone?"

"I am," Nate calls, handing the ticket the attendant and climbing into the small space next to Jenny. "Thanks."

Jenny barely looks at him as the ride starts. When their carriage finally reaches mid-air against the now-dark sky, he turns to her and sheds his coat in the same motion, leaving a black button-down shirt and jeans. "I feel like a flasher," he jokes. "But I'm surprised you didn't get arrested. No offence, but you look like a hooker."

"Oh, Officer," she says sultrily. "Do you need to search me?"

His gaze falls on the small gape in the front of her coat. Up this high, their only light is from the moon and the stars. He can barely make out the valley between her breasts and a hint of lace.

"Oh, yes," he says, mouth slightly dry. "I think I will have to do that."

"I'm don't have anything on me, Officer," she whispers, quickly abandoning the seducer for the ingenue caught up in a bad situation. "Honest."

Nate takes in her shallow breathing (evidence of fear, of excitement) and the small tears at the corner of her eyes. He's not sure if she's decided on a different character to play, or if this is a ploy of the same persona.

"I think we both know that's not true," he says lowly, fingering the lapel of her coat. "You're a bad girl, aren't you? Lying to the police. That's not very smart."

"I didn't mean to," she whimpers. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared, I don't know what to do."

"Don't be scared," he says soothingly. "I just need to search you. I'm just doing my job, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good," he smiles quickly, "Now stand up and open your jacket, so I can see."

She slides the front open, keeping her arms close to the her body, ever so shy and in character.

"Wider," he instructs, his voice gravel-like as he stares at the vision in front of him. Underneath the trench coat, she has on a flimsy black bra, the sheer lace doing nothing to hide her rose-pink nipples that seem to pebble under his from his gaze. He can't help himself - he has to touch her along the tantalizing curve from her waist to her hips, where he finds more black lace. He slips a finger under the elastic, past the soft, blonde curls and dips into her heat, the wetness sucking him further inside.

A startled look comes across her face; she bites her lip and gasps, "Officer, what are you doing?"

"Shh," he murmurs, making sure that she's watching as he slowly licks her arousal off his finger. "Just relax."

By this time, their carriage has just passed the top and is slowly beginning it way back into view of the other carnival goers. He pauses for a split-second, then quickly tugs her panties down her legs.

Jenny tenses and drops the act immediately. Whatever she had imagined when she suggested this game, he knows it wasn't this.

"Nate!" She hisses, trying to bend down to retrieve her panties. "What if somebody sees?"

He stills her motions with a hand on hers. "Then they'll know you belong to me."

Far beneath them, there's the sounds of the loud and cheerful carnival music playing, and he can also the mechanical noises of the ferris wheel. What's the loudest, however, is the sound of Jenny's breathing, rapid and choppy as she stares at him, wide-eyed, still half-naked to his gaze.

Finally, when she drops her hand to the side, he smiles.

"Come sit on my lap," he orders softly. She turns around, and he guides her so that she is sitting astride him backwards, her ass is firmly against his dick, the length of him hard and straining against his zipper. Her legs are bent in a kneeling position, feet resting on each side of his body.

"Like this?" She asks with an experimental little wiggle, looking back at him innocently.

He groans, grips her hips to still the movement, and grits out, "You don't move unless I tell you, understand?"

She doesn't reply, but that could have something to do with his fingers which are suddenly inside her, one pressing up and then two, and Nate can hear her breath hitch with the sudden fullness.

"Do you like that?" He smirks, slowly the pace, dragging it out.

"I--oh!" she gasps when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, "Yes! More, fuck me faster, you son-of-a-bitch."

It surprised him at first -- Jenny Humphrey and her dirty little mouth.

"Touch yourself. Play with your breasts, and I'll reward you," he promises.

She doesn't need to be told twice, both hands cupping herself over the bra, then pushing the restrictive cups upwards until her breasts bounce free. When she arches back, moaning as she kneads and tweaks, soft whimpers with each pinch and squeeze, he has a sneaking suspicion that she's knows exactly the effect this is having on him. He's got a great view from over her shoulder, and he gets harder just thinking about whether she ever does this by herself, in private, and that this must be what she sees as well.

It's as if she can read his mind, because his gaze is locked on one delicate hand that makes its way down past her belly to join his, both quickly covered in her slickness.

"I said, faster, Nate," she says silkily, turning her head slightly so they're face-to-face. "Or do I have to finish it off myself?"

"Show me," he says, "show me how you would do it."

They both watch as she rubs herself, a few quick flicks to her clit, before resuming where he left off. There's no pretense to it, he can tell how much she wants to come from the fast pace and the jagged rhythm.

"Slow down, Jenny," he murmurs, guiding her and steadying her slippery rhythm.

The whole scene is getting him so hot, and he's fighting back the need to come in his pants like a ninth-grader as she slides back and forth across his dick, and every little whimper she makes nearly sends him over the edge. He's still fully-clothed with a practically naked Jenny Humphrey on his lap; they're sitting in a ferris wheel carriage while he fucks her with her own hand and she's chanting raggedly, "oh God, oh God, oh God..." until she's bucking up and she's there and oh God and there's a shriek which she muffles against her open palm.

When Jenny's shudders finally subside, she sags against him, chest heaving. He presses a kiss on the crook of her neck, warm and damn from sweat, and strokes the length of her arm, letting the sounds of her slowing breathing calm him down.

"Nate," she says after a while, still panting slightly, "we're still at the top."

And it's true: while they started their descent, their carriage never came into the view of the other people on the ground. Once it got anywhere near the bottom, the ferris wheel would start again the other way, keeping them near the apex (where nobody could see them).

"I bribed the guy," he says nonchalantly.

She makes a face. "I bet you think you're so smart, huh?"

"Yep," he says proudly. "I made you scream, didn't I?"

She mumbles something (it sounds like, "debatable") and slides over to the side, pulls the front of her coat closed.

"I didn't quite get that," he continues mercilessly. "Can you say it a bit louder? I know you can."

"Ha, ha," she says, but it doesn't come out quite as flat as probably wanted, especially when she moves to lie down with her head in his lap, stretching out languidly like a cat. "Whatever. Okay, you made me scream. I feel too good to argue with you right now."

He grins wolfishly at her. "You know, I kind of feel like I'm having lots of hot one night stands. The woman in the library? The woman in the supermarket? The woman at the carnival? And where do you get all these disguises?" Nate flicks the short and shiny coat that barely covers her. "They're all so… sexy."

Jenny sneaks a hand up his chest, playing with the buttons of his shirt. "I'm glad you think so. Maybe you should get something as well? Maybe dress up as surfer," she suggests playfully.

"Do you really want me to get long stringy hair and smell like sweat?" He deadpans. "Because I could just skip my next two showers."

"Maybe not," Jenny wrinkles her nose. "I was thinking that our next escapade could be in the cinema, though? One of those late night sessions… what do you think?"

Nate laughs out loud. "Going to the movies?" He teases. "I didn't think you did those things anymore, Jen. How pedestrian of you."

The VIP room at the Victrola is empty when Nate walks in, save for Chuck Bass and his personal cocktail waitress. The cocktail waitress looks remarkably like the various girls of Chuck's past — which means she is a skimpily dressed female — but Nate notices that unlike her predecessors, she keeps her distance. He imagines that Blair has trained somebody well.

The Basses returned from their honeymoon unexpectedly early, which sent tongues wagging. The official story was that Blair had an emergency at her company that needed her attention, but Nate suspects they were bored on a tropical island where nobody else understood them or their games. They might as well have gone to Kansas.

"Nathaniel," Chuck says, raising his glass in greeting. "I was very surprised to hear that you've been… around."

Nate chuckles. "Let's skip the innuendo, okay?"

"Alright," Chuck agrees. "I'm far too tired for that, anyway. It's Amanda LeFleur, isn't it?"

"Who?"

"The girl who pays homage to her family name by always wearing a flower — even if not everyone can see it. I thought you might get a kick out of that."

"I think that's your m.o.," Nate retorts. "Save a headband, wear a flower?"

"Touché," Chuck smirks. "But I don't hear you denying it. But Amanda LaFleur, really? That's all it took you to come home?"

"Well, fascinating as she sounds, I've never heard of her. And what makes you think it's a person that's keeping me here?"

"Do you really expect me to believe this is some sort of sea change? After years of being away, you've decided that you miss home?"

"It's true. I just realized that I needed to rearrange my life."

Chuck wears his patented stare of narrow-eyed scrutiny. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this, so you might as well tell me now."

Nate shrugs lightly and takes a sip of whiskey, savoring it on his tongue. Over the past few weeks, he's developed a taste for it. "What if I told you that I just realized that I wasn't happy in London? And coming home made me figure that out?"

The words are chosen carefully and not entirely untrue, but Chuck is unconvinced.

"Fine," he says, "don't tell me."

One week later, Chuck calls him and says his private investigator has reported some strange sightings. Has Nate been seeing a hooker? Two? And has he been experimenting with pretty boys?

Nate just laughs.

Or was the pretty boy just Nate's reflection in the mirror?

Nate hangs up.

He meets Adam Mayfair by complete accident.

It's the middle of a weekday and Nate is in the midst of resigning from his job when he decides to take a break in the hotel cafe. There's an attractive waitress who introduces herself as Shelley, and who bends a little lower than necessary to set down his drink. Nate is the middle of thinking that this is a scenario he and Jenny have not acted out yet, when parts of a conversation from the next table waft over to him.

The name 'Adam Mayfair' is mentioned. Apparently, he is late to a business meeting.

Nate would be content to pretend that the man didn't exist, and it wasn't often that he thought about the man Jenny was married to. If he didn't think of him, he didn't feel the faint twinges of guilt, and he didn't need to go through the process of rationalizing the guilt away. In any case, from what he has gathered from Jenny and Dan, her marriage is not a happy one. He may have a vested interest, but Nate doesn't imagine it worth salvaging.

He can't deny that sometimes he is curious, though. Who did she choose? What is he like? He and Jenny never talk about the man she is married to. They discuss almost everything else, from Dan and Serena's neverending saga, to whether the method of cooking eggs for breakfast resulting in differing energy levels (her: maybe; him: no), to how Jenny should re-launch her career as a fashion designer (her: too difficult, too soon; him: yes, now). Two topics are avoided though, and her marriage is one of them. This is an unspoken rule.

Nate imagines that Adam Mayfair is an older man, someone who used to sweeping young and impressionable women off their feet with promises that he can't possible keep. A sweet-talker, someone who is late to meetings and dates and can get away with it. By the time she realizes who he is, Adam Mayfair is already picking out his next conquest, the next in his collection of beautiful things.

Unfortunately, the man who appears shortly after is not like this at all.

Nate sucks in a sharp breath, frozen to his seat.

This is him. This is Adam Mayfair, except he's not in his 40s, he is maybe in his early 30s. He's not balding, but has midnight black hair cut a little too long. He orders a coffee from the very interested Shelly the Waitress, but he doesn't wink at her while he does and nor does he ogle her legs or her ass as she walks away. When he speaks to his colleagues, they're glued to his every word because he is charismatic and intelligent and persuasive, and Nate forces himself to turn away and stop staring and stop listening before he's convinced that this is the better man.

Adam Mayfair is not at all who Nate thought he would be.

But he's not the better man. Not from what Jenny has told him.

Nate stands abruptly, leaving a generous tip for Shelly's efforts, and strides back to the lobby.

Halfway there, he's stopped by a petite brunette who always knows a little too much for her own good.

"Archibald. I hear you've taken to seeing a couple of hookers," Blair declares with a flourish, not mindful of the many people milling around them.

Nate's only reaction is to splutter, "What—I—"

"With hearts of gold, of course," she smirks. "I'd expect nothing less from you." She's always loved to see him squirm.

"Is this a conversation I want to interrupt?" Says an amused voice that Nate is becoming increasingly familiar with.

"Adam!" Blair smiles in delight. "I didn't expect to run into you here."

"Oh, business to attend to," Adam shrugs with a smile that says, 'what can you do?'. "Aren't you supposed to be on your honeymoon?"

"Oh, business to attend to," Blair mimics. "It's so hard to find a second-in-charge, these days," she sighs.

Nate coughs discreetly.

"Adam, have you met Nate Archibald? He's a good friend of mine from high school. Nate, this is Adam Mayfair."

"Good to meet you," Adam says affably, offering his hand.

Nate takes it, making sure that his side of the handshake is strong and confident, not overly stiff like his spine. "You, too," he says far more easily than he feels. (He can be a good liar, too, when it counts.)

"I'm surprised the two of you haven't crossed paths before," Blair continues. "Adam is one of the best and most-sought after financial advisors in New York. Nate is in the same field, but in London."

Of course Adam Mayfair would be very successful. "Bigger world than we thought, I guess," Nate says.

"And Adam is, of course, Jenny's husband as well."

"Oh, how do you know Jennifer?" Adam smiles expectantly.

Nate wants to scratch the back of his neck (it's a spot Jenny often pays special attention to, and he feels the itch of her fingerprints on his skin) but refrains. Instead, he shrugs again and chooses his words carefully. "We knew each other a long time ago. We were friends."

If Adam notices the hesitation in his answer, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he goes on to exchange pleasantries, saying something along the lines of how he will mention this to Jenny, and that he's sure she would love to catch up with an old friend.

Blair, however, is watching him shrewdly. It makes him nervous, because while Blair cannot possibly know everything in the world, but she often does. He wouldn't be surprised if she has her minions working on this puzzle for her, trailing him alongside Chuck's PI. (This is a scenario he will keep in mind, as well.)

Adam excuses himself soon after, and Blair agrees that her meeting needs to be attended to as well.

"I trust I will the both of you at tomorrow night's Charity Gala?"

"Ay, ay," Adam says with a mock-salute before returning to his table. "Jen wouldn't let me miss it."

"I'll see if I can make it," Nate offers. He's avoided these high society events thus far, and would prefer to continue doing so.

"Nate," she calls as he is leaving. "You have a history of doing stupid things. Try not to, okay?"

His eyebrows knit together. "I'm… I don't know what you mean."

Blair sighs. "I didn't think you would."

Once he starts, Nate can't stop thinking about it.

Does Jenny love Adam Mayfair? What is she like when she is around him? Are they a perfect society couple that continues the facade at home? When alone, are they nauseatingly sweet; does he chase her around the house in underwear and socks; is their housekeeper frequently and unsuspectingly invading their privacy when she tries to clean the bathroom/kitchen/lounge?

The questions plague him as he arrives at the Gala. It's almost an unspoken rule that he doesn't participate in that world anymore, that they're paths only cross when she is someone else, but he needs to know.

How did they meet? Did he pursue her, or did she pursue him? Did she only marry him because of the money; is that somebody Nate can believe she has become?

"Nathaniel," Chuck says to him when he approaches the bar. "I have heard some very interesting news."

"You know I'm not interested in gossip."

"News is never gossip. Especially when it is a scandal involving the some of the most influential people in the city."

Nate snorts. Blair has a big mouth. "Don't believe everything you hear."

"I guess I'll just have to watch for myself, won't I?"

"Watch what?" Serena cuts in, current husband in tow.

"Nothing," Nate says firmly. "Chuck is just being Chuck."

Serena is a good foil, and she chatters on while he surveys the room, and while Chuck surveys him. Nate tries to keep his emotions under wraps, but he's not sure of his success. When Jenny walks into the room, she's on Adam Mayfair's arm and they look like they have hired an airbrusher to work in between each freeze-frame for their flaws.

This is a Jenny that Nate has not been with before. They met briefly before, but even then he could see the girl lingering underneath. (He likes to think he brings that part out of her.) He's been with a dozen Jennys, fucked a dozen Jennys, made love with a dozen Jennys, but not Socialite Jenny. When she is Jennifer Mayfair, she is not with him.

He's mesmerized, the way she expresses emotions with a smile equally cool and refined and the subtle movements of her eyebrows. Her eyes don't wrinkle at the sides when she laughs. She sips at her champagne class delicately, as if she hadn't sucked his cock into her mouth twenty-four hours earlier. She looks at him as if they've never kissed aside from those times in high school, back he wasn't sure he wanted them, and when they cross paths on the outside balconies where nobody can hear them, she pretends politely that they are only old acquaintances.

It's a great act, but he's not at all worried. Of all the Jennys that he has known, this is the only one that isn't real.

But throughout the night, he can't help but feel nauseated at the sight of Jenny and Adam: making their rounds of the room like a perfect society couple; speaking quietly with a few other couples who appear to be friends; dancing, their bodies close, her head on his chest, him stroking her hair.

Without his usual close up view, she's a much better actor than he thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Jenny murmurs sleepily. She's lying on her stomach, the white sheet low on her hips, leaving the smooth curve of her back bare. It's his side of the bed, but he lets her stay. He's been watching her for the last fifteen minutes as she slips in and out of slumber, tired from the night.

She came to see him after the gala, with no make up and no explanations. He didn't hesitate to let her in.

"I'm thinking," he drawls, "that you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

She laughs a little into her pillow. "You're a good guy, Nate Archibald. But sometimes? You say all the right things at all the wrong times."

Nate laughs and pulls her toward him until their bodies are close, their legs entwined, her head on his chest. Her breasts are pressed against his belly and she's warm on his side. He strokes her hair.

These moments in private, tucked away from the rest of the world, where's she's just Jenny Humphrey, no disguises, are the times he loves best.

TBC

I Live in Your Garden of Water

2009-02-07T15:04:05Z

Rating: PG-13/R (for sensitive issues)
Characters: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Her nails are bitten down to stumps and her eyes bloodshot, but appearance is not high on Haley's list of priorities right now. Not while her husband has been arrested for murder. Not when he’s innocent. Not when it’s all her fault.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show One Tree Hill (i.e. Mark Schwahn & co). They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.
Notes: I'm calling this an experiment in formatting.

I am these two, twofold. I ate from the Tree
of Knowledge. I was expelled by the archangel's sword.
At night I sensed her pulse. Her mortality.
And we have searched for the real place ever since.

— "Paradise", Czeslaw Milosz

[one]

Today is his father's funeral. In Nathan's last dream, the day was warm and sunny, but this time it’s raining. Most people bring umbrellas — big ones that shield their grief or their relief — but a few don’t. His mother doesn’t.

He can’t bear to see her like this: a broken doll, unsure of what to do now that her master is gone. He wants to tell her that she’s free now, that they’re all better off without Dan Scott, that the world is a better place with him gone, but he can’t. There are too many obstacles in his way, the least of which are the prison bars he is held behind.

The policeman only turned on the TV to torture him, he thinks. There’s a close up of his mother, the broken doll, and then there’s something else. A burning house, some talk of hungry children in Africa, he doesn’t know.

It’s blank after that, and he lies back down.

There was always a part of himself that thought he’d one day kill Dan. They shared more than just blood and genes; they shared love for basketball, and that was always one step away from hate of each other.

To be fair, Nathan doesn’t think Dan hated him so much as he hated what he represented: his own weakness. Nathan, after all, was only another symbolic reference to Dan’s old life in Tree Hill; Nathan was not a person in his own right. He thinks that’s why his father was so angry when he got himself emancipated — the puppet had cut off the strings and developed life. Haley gave him that. And that was why Dan, the man with enough fake charm and deceit for all of Tree Hill, despised Haley.

Her nails are bitten down to stumps and her eyes bloodshot, but her hair is clean for the first time in days. Her appearance is not high on Haley's list of priorities right now, not while her husband has been arrested for murder. Not when he’s innocent.

And it’s all her fault.

She remembers the night clearly, the feel of the heavy gun in her hand. She remembers waving it around while Dan had this half-crazed look in his eyes, watching his plan being ripped to shreds. Or maybe it was fear, and she’s just no longer able to see any semblance of humanity in people she can’t trust.

Either way, Dan is dead, and the wrong person is sitting the prison cell.

Nathan is not supposed to be there.

She hasn’t been clean in days and hasn’t felt clean for longer, but she’s made a special effort today. It probably doesn’t make a difference to the officers at the police station, but when she gives her confession, she wants to be clean.

They don’t believe her.

— Mrs. Scott, they say, I know you want to help your husband, but this is perjury. Obstruction of justice.

And this is just the patronizing temp reception who watches too much TV.

Haley wants to scream, tug at her hair or break some coffee mugs, anything that will make them believe her.

Finally, somebody she recognizes comes out to see her. It’s Detective Kurtz, the one who arrived first at their apartment. The crime scene. They put tape up around it, but she hasn't been back since.

Detective Kurtz takes one look at her and firmly leads her away. He explains to her gently that he knows she’s scared, and maybe there is a reason for all this, maybe even a good one. But he can’t just let Nathan go. That’s for the courts to decide.

She tries to tell him again that she was the one who killed Dan, but he doesn’t believe her.

— The evidence is there, he says.

The evidence, like pretty words and soothing smiles, can lie. Why won’t anyone believe her? It’s futile. She wants to see Nathan, and for once things go her way. Detective Kurtz lets them have a brief moment.

Nathan is led out, wearing a bright orange jumpsuit. She wants to touch him, but they’re not allowed, so they just sit. Quietly, for a while, until the words come pouring out and she can’t stop it.

— I’m sorry, this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it, he was right, I shouldn’t have—

— No, Haley, he wasn’t right, and I don’t want you to ever think that. And I don’t regret what I did.

And then he’s led away, because he never was supposed to be there or she was never was supposed to be there (sometimes she doesn’t know anymore) and it feels like she might have dreamt the entire conversation.

When she goes home that night, it’s to Karen’s, not the crime scene. She lies awake for hours before she can sleep.

[two]

She’d been on the tour for almost a full week before she returned. By then, Nathan had taken to drinking at school, and piling rubbish around the apartment. Among the boxes of take out were the ruins of their marriage board.

Haley set about cleaning until there is almost nothing left in their apartment. She unpacks her belongings from the suitcase, save for one. The suitcase goes back in the cupboard, zipped up and almost empty. The object she ignores is inside; it doesn't shine in the dark.

By the time Nathan comes home, she is sleeping, curled up in a chair in the living room. He can see the dark circles under her eyes, the sharper than usual curve of her chin, and a sharper version of his wife.

He's not sure if his perception of her had changed, or if there has been a real, physical change over the past six days. He thinks about waking her, yelling, walking out for the night and hurting her the way she hurt him, but somehow he can't work up energy.

The day he had was good, slow and uneventful, but that's what passes good these days. Tomorrow, he’ll ruin a fresh one.

Nathan covered her with a blanket and goes to bed.

Before she came back, maybe a day or two earlier, she called. He was half asleep; it was nearly three in the morning. It might have been a dream, but somehow he knew it wasn’t.

If it was, the dream would’ve gone much differently. She wouldn’t be calling, she’d be walking through the door, and she wouldn’t be returning from New York because she never would have left.

But it wasn’t a dream. And the things she said, he still didn’t quite understand.

Only a slight buzzing came over the line at first, and then some car noises in the background. He almost hung up when she spoke.

— Nathan? She said, her voice a little raw. It could’ve been from music or tears, he couldn’t tell, and he didn’t speak. I… I wanted to call you before. I’m so sorry…

— For what Haley? For leaving me? He rolled over a little on the bed. To reach the phone, he had to move onto her side and it was unnerving.

— I’m sorry for not being who you needed me to be. And I’m sorry for letting you believe it for so long.

And then she hung up, and it took him hours to fall back asleep.

A few days later, she was home.

He watches her sleep. It can’t be comfortable in that arm chair, but he can’t bear to carry her into their bedroom. If he’s honest, he's a little afraid to touch her. So, instead, he watches the little movements of her eyelids, the soft breathing of a slow rhythm.

It’s almost 10 when she wakes up, and it’s with a start. She’s impossibly still, staring out the window with wide eyes. He waits for her to notice him, and when she does there are teary eyes and trembling lips.

There’s a distance that shouldn’t be between them, but he doesn’t know how to breach it, and maybe he doesn't want to yet. But this passiveness… the quiet anger and quiet sadness isn’t them; it makes him uncomfortable. So he makes it go away.

— What are you doing here, Haley?

— Nathan… I need you to understand I never meant to hurt you.

— And you thought running off with another guy wouldn’t do that?

— This was never about him! She tugs her hair a little, doesn't notice when a few strands give way. I just wanted to give music a try. It’s always been a dream of mine, and I needed to see if I could make it come true.

— Then why are you back?

— Because I realized that I shouldn’t have left, not the way that I did. I was searching for something I already had. I thought I could find it on a stage, in front of an audience, holding my guitar… but I was wrong. It didn’t mean anything, being there, because you weren’t there with me.

What happens next, he never expected.

He gets up to pace around, maybe to punch a wall. There is so much he wants to say, to make her understand what she’s done to him in the seven days she’s been gone, but he doesn't know how. And suddenly she’s in front of him, on her knees with her arms wrapped around his legs, and she’s crying, breaths and words all coming out in gasps. Any satisfaction he might have felt slowly ebbs away, leaving only a dull pain.

— I’m sorry, Nathan, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. I don’t what I was thinking, how I could have left when everything I want is right here. Please don’t leave, please don't leave me…

— Haley, stop it.

And he slides down, until they’re both kneeling on the floor. He touches her cheek, wipes away a few tears with his thumb.

— Look at me, he says, and it takes her a while to meet his eyes. I’m not going anywhere.

— You’re not?

— No. I knew you were coming back. He’s relieved to see a little smile. It's easier this way, stepping into the familiar role of the comforter, the protector. I’m just angry, but I knew we’d always find each other. And I love you. Always and forever, remember?

— If I were you, I’d leave me, she says almost inaudibly, her head ducked low.

— Somebody wise told me the other day that you loved me when I was a lesser Nathan, so I can love you when you’re a lesser Haley.

She starts crying, so he pulls her into his arms, and they sit there.

And finally, it feels like everything is going to be all right.

[three]

Nathan doesn't know if he's imagining it, but everyone is staring at them when they walk into the café.

It was too awkward back in their apartment, both trying to be quiet and accommodating, and there was so much so much boiling up inside him, so much he didn't get to say. He wants to her know, maybe even feel it, because although he wants to forgive her, he doesn't know how to get rid of this resentment, this anger.

He was a fool to think it all would go away if other people were around.

They sit down at a table and Karen is the first to see them. She hugs Haley first, tells her she needs extra portions of mac 'n' cheese today because she's disappearing before her eyes.

It takes Haley a moment to hug back, but her back is so stiff and in her eyes Nathan thinks sees a wild look, the look of an animal desperate to run away.

Lucas comes out and when he hugs her, she begins to cry. She tells him she missed him too, and the three of them sit for a while. Eat. When she tries to tell him she's full after a few mouthfuls, Nathan holds her hand and she looks down shyly. She picks up her fork.

For a while, she could pretend that everything was normal again.

They go home and do the laundry together, and have a minor water and dirty clothes fight. He wins, but she lets him.

In the afternoon, they go grocery shopping and argue over which type of soda to buy, even though Haley can tell that he doesn't particularly care. Maybe he's noticed the silence too.

When they go to put the bags in the car, Dan shows up. She watches as they walk away a small distance away — it is for "privacy", she knows Dan just wants to make her an outsider. They speak heatedly for a few minutes, then Nathan storms away angrily. She thinks they were talking about her. She doesn't ask, and unlike before, he doesn't offer any explanations.

School is easier than she thought it'd be.

Brooke is the first to welcome her back, and she does so with open arms. Peyton is a little cool, maybe because she's been in Nathan's position, or maybe because she's preoccupied with Jake. Haley doesn't try to figure out that relationship, she still has to fix hers.

Mostly, everyone doesn't even know she was gone. Apart from whispers about a possible fight with Nathan (and him showing up drunk to school) nobody knows anything at all.

It's hard to believe for everyone else it's only been a few days. For her, it feels like she's been lifetimes away before she found her way back.

The pretending makes it difficult, but Nathan begins to realize something is not quite right. It's not a sudden realization. He doesn't look at her one day, or one night while she is sleeping, and just know that she is hiding something. It's not something she's said or done that's made him suspicious. It's… nothing in particular, it's a few incidents that could easily be explained, but the niggling feeling doesn't go away.

It would've been something that happened in New York. Maybe if he weren't so worried about the state of their relationship, he might have noticed it earlier. He took for granted that the haunted look in her eyes, the restlessness and the insomnia is there for the same reason his was. But he's starting to think it is something else entirely.

The next morning, he decides to ask her, point blank. He's never been one to try and be subtle about things, and when he does try it doesn't work anyway.

She's standing in the kitchen making toast, and he asks her then, but immediately he knows he should've waited until she turned to face him.

— Haley, why don't you ever talk about New York?

He thinks her back stiffened, but he can't be sure.

— It never came up.

— I'm asking now. Did something happen? He goes to stand behind her, and turns her so that she is looking at him. Her face is calm; her gaze steady.

— No… it just – it wasn't a great part of my life, Nathan. I went, I stood on a stage and I realized that wasn't where I wanted to be. And I realized that I wanted to be here.

He studies her face for traces of what he saw when she first came back: the fear, the anguish. He can't find it. Her words are a romantic notion, and he wants to believe. What else could he do?

Lucas has moved in with Dan, and nobody knows why.

Nathan goes to find him at Scott Motors, but nobody is there. The place is almost deserted for a Wednesday afternoon; everyone must be out at lunch. He wonders if Dan and Lucas are having a father-son day, if Dan is manipulating Lucas as he did to Nathan all those years.

He stands in the middle of his father's office and looks at the basketball jerseys on the wall. There's a bottle of whiskey on the table. Dan always started celebrating a little early.

And when Nathan is about to leave, something catches his eyes. A slip of paper, tossed carelessly to the edge of the table. Plane tickets to New York. Dated almost a month earlier. Three days after Haley first left. Maybe on the day that she called him, saying things that he didn't understand and forgot, but he can't remember.

The entire week is blurry in his mind, but he knows two things: Dan was in New York the same time Haley was in New York. And something went terribly wrong.

[four]

She goes back to the station. Detective Kurtz isn't there, but another detective is. Haley doesn’t remember his name. This one is meaner, older. She can tell he has been an officer for too long, is jaded, doesn't believe in the good in people anymore. He probably just thinks Nathan is guilty because he's a rich kid who wanted his trust fund early. Couldn't take living in a little apartment in that little hellhole. But they were happy. They were getting there.

She tries to convince the Older Detective that they're wrong about Nathan. But this time, she stays calm and quiet. There's only so much left she can do, and she wants to do it right.

— He didn't do it.

— I understand that you're upset, Mrs. Scott, but… it's here she stops listening. It's always the same.

— Yes, I'm upset. But it doesn't change the fact that he didn't do it. And I know because I, unlike you, was there.

— With all due respect, he drawls, we can't take only your word for it.

— Then run tests. Whatever evidence you have on Nathan, you'll have it on me too.

He leans back and regards her for a moment. She thinks she might've gotten through to him. A moment later he picks up the phone and calls someone, mumbles something that she can't quite decipher. One hour later she returns to the spot with a positive test for gunpowder residue. She thinks she's finally got to him, but then he starts to speak.

— Mrs. Scott, all this proves is that you've fired a gun recently. Not that you killed Dan Scott.

— And that's the only reason you think Nathan did it, isn't it?

— Your husband had the opportunity—

— As did I.

— And he had motive.

It's true. She can't deny this, but it's the wrong one. They think his motive is money, or greed. They don't know him at all.

The only way to convince him is to tell the truth. No more pretending. She couldn't even tell Nathan, even when he needed to know, but now she needs to say it. She needs to tell the whole story, because if she can't do it? Nothing will ever be the same.

[five]

Nathan drives around for a while, aimlessly, then parks by the side of the road until the sun starts to shine right into his eyes. It's late in the afternoon, and he's been sitting there for almost four hours. He needs to go home and find out what happened, but what if he's wrong?

Haley is doing homework at the dinner table when he comes in; she looks up and smiles. She starts to tell him about how she's been tutoring this football player, and how he expects her to do his homework for him. She pauses, and Nathan knows this is his cue to make some joke about the time she used to tutor him, but he doesn't.

He asks her again, and unlike the last time she can't stay calm. And he knows something is wrong, but he doesn't know what, he doesn't know how to get her to talk to him.

— Did my dad go to see you in New York?

— No, she answers, looking at him quizzically. What gave you that idea?

— I found plane tickets in his office. And you never tell me about the tour, so how am I supposed to know?

— Nathan, she sighs, not this again.

— No, we never talk about it, Haley. I'm sick of walking on egg shells; I'm sick of pretending that everything is okay. And I hate feeling like I've done something wrong when you're the one who walked out on me!

— She's quiet for a moment. She's hurt. You still blame me for leaving.

— No. Yes. Sometimes. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. We should talk about it. We haven't talked about this, or anything else since you've gotten back.

— We talk all the time.

— That time you called me, you said something, he continues over her protests. You said you were sorry and you weren't who I wanted you to be.

— Needed, she whispers, and it's like she's gone back into her shell because he can't quite hear her.

— What?

— Who you needed me to be. She starts crying, hiccuping through her words. I'm sorry, Nathan. I just can't talk about it. Every time I start thinking about it, it's like I'm reliving it and it was such a lonely time. And I was afraid. I missed you so much, you know? I hate thinking about it.

He still has questions. He still doesn't know why she left, why she didn’t call earlier, what she meant when she finally did call. But he doesn't ask them.

Haley falls asleep a while later, exhausted. He thinks he should ask Luke to talk to her, maybe Peyton. Maybe he's too close to this to help her… maybe he is just afraid to know.

Nathan starts a pot of water and begins to make mac 'n' cheese from a box, but it quickly becomes disastrous. Haley is still sleeping soundly, so he wipes a few streaks of tears from her cheeks and grabs the keys from the front table. If he hurries, he can get back from Karen's before she wakes up.

When he returns, his father's car is parked in front of their apartment.

A knock on the door wakes her up.

Haley sits up in bed for a minute, then pulls on a jacket when she realizes that Nathan is not getting the door. Maybe he locked himself out. She remembers him doing that a few times before.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as the makes her way to the front door. Her eyes are puffy and her nose is a bright red, but she manages to straighten her hair a little. The efforts are wasted, because the person on the other side is Dan Scott.

Haley hadn't seen him since that day in the supermarket parking lot, but maybe Nathan has. She wishes he would talk to her, even though it's hypocritical to ask him to do the one thing she can't. She can't tell him.

Dan smirks at her disheveled appearance, obviously enjoying her discomfort. He steps in uninvited and walks around their apartment.

— Very nice home you have here, Ms. James.

— It's Mrs. James-Scott, she says warily, but he ignores her.

— A little small, and a little emptier than the time I saw it last, but I suppose it's fitting.

— If you're looking for Nathan, I'll tell him you dropped by. She stays by the open door pointedly, waiting for him to leave.

— You mean I can't wait? Oh, I see, you don't know when he'll be back.

— I know you don't approve of me, and you've never wanted Nathan to be with me or anyone who takes him from you and basketball, but I'm telling you that you can't break us up. We're happy, and there's nothing you can do about it. She says these things firmly, but it doesn't have any effect on him. His smile just grows.

— Do you really think you can keep it a secret?

— What? The color drains from her face.

— How long do you think it'll be before he finds out? He's already suspicious. I know this for a fact because Nathan told Lucas and Lucas told me.

— Lucas would never tell you anything. It's telling that she only attacks this part of his statement, but she's never been good at these games.

— How do you think Nathan is going to react when he finds out that you cheated on him with Chris?

—You think I cheated on him with Chris? She grips onto the door for support; she can't believe the words being thrown at her.

— I know you did. Mr. Keller was kind enough to call me as soon as the deed was done. That kid will do anything for $10,000. It was a bargain in my book.

— You paid him? she whispers. Her grip on the door must have loosened because she's sliding but still standing, and it feels like she's drowning. You paid him… to… to rape me?

— Honey. He smirks. If that's what you need to tell yourself.

— Get out. Get out, get out, GET OUT!

— No, I think I'll sit right here and wait for my son to come home. This little charade has gone on long enough, don't you think?

Haley goes back into her room, reaches into the suitcase. She pulls out the gun. She remembers the night she bought it off some guy on the street. Her skin was still red and sore from all the scrubbing. She levels the gun at Dan, but he still won't go.

He won't go, and then Nathan is there and she doesn't want him to see her like this.

She can't tell him.

— Nathan, thank god you're here. Dan says. She just went off at me, she's crazy…

— No! She yells, but it's really a sob, and her hands are shaking so hard that the gun is pointing places she doesn't want it to. Don't you dare—

— Haley? Nathan says soothingly, and she backs away because she can't, she can't, she can't…

— She slept with Chris. She's trying to kill me because I know.

— That's not true, you son of a bitch! And the gun is still trembling and she's trying to back away from Nathan but he's so close. It's not true, Nathan, she pleads. It's not, please, don't believe him.

— It's okay. Please, give me the gun, okay?

The tears don't stop, not even she swipes at them with her free hand. He's like this blurry person in front of her, and she needs him to be clear again. She needs him to know what happened.

She can't tell him.

Dan can. And he does, but he uses all the wrong words and leaves some out, even she points the gun at him, steady, her voice a close second. He's sticking to this story that he did it for his son, even when he's got a bullet in his leg and more than just blood on his hands.

— I believe you, Haley. I know what happened, what he did to you. And then Nathan is clear, and she can see that he can see her. But you don't have to do this. You're better than this, Haley.

He's standing there with his hands held out, and she gives him herself and the gun in exchange for a place in his arms.

There is one minute of silence until he spins them around, a last dance.

He empties the bullets into his father's chest without letting her go.

END

”I promise you Haley. I will always be there for you, I will always protect you. Okay? I will always protect you. Always.”

— Nathan, in The Desperate Kingdom of Love (One Tree Hill, 2.01)

You Say Second Chances, I Hear Happy Endings: Part One & Two

2009-02-03T09:31:21Z

Rating: R
Characters: Nate/Jenny
Summary: Nate Archibald left New York and everyone in it behind years ago. He doesn't miss it. So why does he still dream about it?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, plots and themes are property of the creators of the TV show Gossip Girl. They do not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the writing and posting of this story.

[one]

It was remarkably easy to leave it all behind. Nathaniel Archibald is surprised sometimes, how it easy it was. He grew up in New York, with New York friends, in New York society. For the most part, he's left all that behind and he doesn't really miss it.

(Things he does miss... well, he's learnt by now that they were never really his to begin with.)

From inside the taxi, in standstill traffic, Nate can pretend it is just any other day. He can pretend that he is still in London, where he's been for years, staring out the window at the busy streets and the busy people and the busy rain that blurs his vision. He can make it all the way to the hotel pretending this (if he blurs his hearing too). He might even make into his room, but he knows he will not make it through the night.

At night, Nate will dream in technicolor. Always has. And so he resigns himself to the wondering of which moment in his past, seemingly so insignificant at the time (perhaps the time he almost tripped over somebody's forgotten sketchbook as he jogged through the park?) will haunt him tonight.

-- -- --- -- --

He finds Chuck in his old hotel room, chosen maybe for sentimental reasons, although Chuck will never admit it. He stands there in a navy tuxedo, bow tie undone, fiddling with his cufflinks.

"Nathaniel," Chuck drawls when he spies him. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to show up for the wedding."

"Like I was going to miss this."

"You did the bachelor party."

"Your whole life until this day has been a bachelor party," Nate retorts. "Seriously, though, how are you feeling? Nervous?"

Chuck scoffs. "Showing signs of weakness? Of course not. I'm not giving Blair an excuse to back out of this."

This is absurd, of course, because when Nate sees two of his best friends dance together that night, they both look ridiculously happy. They try to hide it, because they seem happiest when nobody else knows, but he can tell.

"Scary, isn't it? It's like that scene in the movies where the two villains join forces," Serena whispers to him jokingly, before being whisked off by her second husband -- or maybe third, Nate isn't sure -- to the dance floor.

Nate sips his wine and lets his eyes drift across the room. There's a flash of a woman there for a second -- blonde curls, lithe frame in a silk waterfall, red lips curling into a tiny smile -- before it's gone. She's gone. It could be a trick of the light. The way the couples move across the floor, so that he can barely glimpse what is on the other side, it might have been nothing at all.

Later, he tries to laugh it off, "You know, for a second I thought you'd invited Jenny Humphrey to your wedding."

"She was here. She managed to climb back up the social ranks after all," Blair said archly. "I almost admire her determination."

"What do you mean?"

"Not so Little J figured out the only way you really get to the top: marry someone who is already there, and high society will consider you born again… in her case, as Jennifer Mayfair."

-- -- --- -- --

That night, Nate dreams of a scene from a Brooklyn loft. He's just inside the doorway, trying gets his arms into his jacket so that he can lock the door. He can hear Jenny calling him to hurry up, and he makes it just in time to see the elevator doors close with her on the other side. He runs down the stairs instead, trying to catch up, and when he gets to the bottom she asks him, "what took you so long?"

-- -- --- -- --

He spends the next week sub-consciously taking second looks at every willowy blonde he passes, wondering if it is her. While he's staring at one across the street, he doesn't notice the one standing by his side.

"Nate Archibald," she says. "Ten years and I don't even get a hello?"

She has one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised, that tiny smile on her lips again, and an unreadable expression in those blue, blue eyes. He gets lost in those eyes. Every time he blinks, his vision is blurred, and he sees a blonde girl with a hopeful smile.

"Jenny!" he says. He is blonde. He is smiling. "I was hoping I'd run into you."

"Did you, now." Her voice is even, giving no clues to what she thinks (of him).

"I thought about giving you a call, but…." he shrugs, letting the words trail off. Truth is, he finds her steady gaze and innocuous smile disconcerting. It's been a long time since he could read her (since he bothered to try) and he supposes he thought he would still be able to. Jenny was one of the people who knew him best, and despite any words misspoken and intentional distance between them, he always thought he knew her too. "I wasn't sure if you'd hang up on me," he finishes.

"And why would I do that?" She says, and this time he can see the humor in her eyes. Some things are to be ignored, left in the past, and he follows her lead -- this is one of them. "Come on, walk with me. You can help me pick out a card for Dan's birthday."

"Is that coming up?"

"Tomorrow. I'm throwing him a party. You should come, he'd love to see you."

Nate laughs lightly. "Well, I don't know if he'd love to see me."

"Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to punch you for making moves on his baby sister."

He is dubious. "I suppose."

"Besides," Jenny gives him a sideways look. "I'm not a baby anymore."

He stares at her for a moment. For a second there, he thought he saw something in her eyes, glimmering under lowered lashes. A challenge, maybe, or a question. An invitation. Words from a letter she never read. It's something he has no business imagining to be there, when it clearly cannot.

"No, Jennifer," he says slowly, testing the words. She doesn't correct him. "I guess you're not."

-- -- --- -- --

Nate is not standing near the entrance of St. Jude's, but he did twelve years ago, and a part of his subconscious is there again.

It's the last day of school, and he never wants to return to this place, but he stands there anyway. He can see Jenny across the street, but he doesn't go to her. He's waiting for another girl who is going to break his strangely unbreakable heart, leave him behind for something or someone else (his friend, her friend, the promise of filming the people of another continent).

When Vanessa shows up, he spots her purple jeans from a block away, and when she starts to explain her reasons he already knows all the right expressions to give and things to say. He puts up a good fight. He's upset, but they've both already made up their minds. She leaves angrily, her bag swinging against her, and her parting words are, "This is my dream, Nate. When are you going to figure out yours?"

After Vanessa goes, Nate looks at Jenny again. She's not looking at him.

It was easy to leave her behind too. He is surprised, how easy it was. But then Jenny Humphrey and New York are more similar than he first thought. He left them behind. The other half of the story: they didn't ask him back.

[two]

Dan is amused to see him at the party, but friendly, and Nate is glad there are no grudges leftover. Nate chooses to arrive late, towards the end of the party, and while the number of guests must have dwindled, there are still a fair number of people there.

"You're probably one of the ten people I know here, tonight," Dan says in greeting. "It's true," he continues earnestly when Nate looks about the room. "They just all left already. And, man, am I kind of glad to see you. Unexpectedly. No offense."

"None taken." Nate has his hands upturned, palms facing up. He read somewhere that people are more likely to trust you. "I thought this was your party?"

"I think Jenny is taking the opportunity to audition to be host of The Love Game - Dan Humphrey edition."

"Is it working?"

"No," Dan leans forward conspiratorially, "but it's fun to see Jen come up with who she thinks my ideal woman is. So far I've been introduced to the one dancing there, the one who just winked at us," at that, Dan lifts his glass in return, "and, also, as what must be a last ditch effort, the twins near the stairs."

Nate laughs, pretending not to notice that all the women so far are tall, with wavy blonde hair. "I really feel for your pain. And what exactly is wrong with everyone so far?"

Dan shrugs. "I don't know. Not my type, I guess?"

Nate is unconvinced. "Right."

"Okay, you pulled it out of me: I'm already seeing someone, but don't tell Jenny that. I don't think she'll approve."

"Not the right type of girl?"

"It's, well," Dan says, eyeing Nate warily, "it's Vanessa."

"Oh," Nate says. "That's… great. Uh, how is she, these days?"

"How is who these days?" Jenny says suddenly from beside him. Nate looks up and realizes the other guests have left while he and Dan were talking.

"Don't be nosy," Dan admonishes. "Haven't you humiliated me enough?"

"I thought you'd like Elizabeth and Jessica. They seemed to like you," Jenny smiles impishly.

"Yeah, the fact that you found the Sweet Valley High girls is a bit scary," Dan retorts.

"And the fact that you know about the Sweet Valley High girls, Dan? Beyond scary."

Nate is about to add something to the conversation, for a second caught up in their sibling bickering, when Jenny turns to him. And he curses himself for not being fast enough, for breaking the spell that for a second brought one of things about New York he missed back. Because when she turns to him, that damn cool, even, tiny smile is back.

"Sorry about this," she says. "Dan brings out the worst in me. We -- or at least I -- am normally much more civilized."

Dan snorts. "Sadly, that is true."

Nate watches at Jenny shoots Dan a look, suggesting that this is a topic the two often disagree on.

"Dan," Jenny says suddenly, "Adam asked me to tell you that he's sorry he couldn't make it tonight. There was some sort of emergency at the firm in Boston, or maybe in Chicago," she shrugs, a dismissive wave of the hand to signal that she just doesn't care.

Nate has known Dan long enough to recognize the signs of a need to speak. Dan looks desperate to say something, maybe a crack such as "I'm beginning to think my sister is married to Superman, except he doesn't save people", but he holds back. There are topics that the Humphreys (he shouldn't still think of her as Humphrey, but he does) disagree on, and there are topics that are off-limits. When Dan says goodbye a few minutes later, leaving behind an awkward silence, Nate realizes that Jenny's high society marriage is one of them.

-- -- --- -- --

If this were twelve years ago, and if they were standing in the loft after a party, Nate would offer to help her clean up. It's not, though, and Jenny doesn't need his help, but he can't stop himself from trying.

He trails behind her as she steps into what looks like her husband's study. Every step he takes is two steps behinds, unsure if she wants him to follow. She doesn't give a little glance over the shoulder, eyelashes lowered. He's not given the opportunity to hold the gaze. She doesn't suddenly declare something to him, the truth maybe, or at least a truth, a secret she could never tell anybody else.

(This doesn't go anything like the twelve-year-old girl inside him seems to think it should go.)

There's not much finesse in his approach, little to none at all. He should have planned it better, but he's no Chuck Bass or Blair Waldorf. He is not a master puppeteer. Things come to him and he takes them as they are, even when he's been dealt a shitty hand in life. Nate has always played a half-hearted game with mediocre cards, but it's here, in another man's study, that he decides that he needs to bluff and gamble big to win.

Still, he should have planned it better.

"Are you happy?" The words tumble out of his mouth, stumbling over themselves on the way out.

The question doesn't seem to faze her.

"Of course I'm happy," she says, pouring herself a drink, making a wide gesture across the room, at the heavy drapes that frame the floor-length windows, at the chandelier sending brittle light fragments onto their skin, at the collection of books and whiskey that lines the wall. "I got everything I ever wanted, didn't I?"

"You don't look very happy."

"I guess you're the expert, Nate Archibald?" she says, arching on eyebrow, but he doesn't fall for the bait.

He quirks a smile. "You could say that." And then, gentler, "you can talk to me, Jenny. I know I never tried to hear what you were saying before, but I've… spent a lot of time alone. It's quiet. I learnt how to be a good listener."

She stares at him for a moment. A long moment. He has no idea what she's trying to find in him, but it makes him feel like he's being stripped bare. Her gaze on him feels hot as it rakes across his body, and then abruptly she turns away.

Jenny takes her glass with her to the window. Her back is to him, and he traces the curve of her neck with his eyes, takes in her bare feet as she shifts her weight back and forth. When she starts to speak, her voice is low.

"I'm a trophy wife. My husband is fucking 5 other women that I know of. Two I have lunch with regularly, two who works for me, and one I speak to every time I call for him at the office. I have the connections and the resources to produce my own clothing line now, but… I can't design any clothes. I haven't gone to see my dad in over three months, because every time I go to Brooklyn…. I don't like it there. Everything starts to feel wrong, and I'm reminded of how things used to be."

She stops here. He can see her making patterns, letters on the window with her finger.

B E C

"How did things used to be?" He prompts.

"Different," she whispers. "They were... different."

A U S

A bolt of lightning darts across the sky, and Jenny snatches her hand back from the window. A flash of light ricochets off her diamond ring and into his eyes. When he recovers, her back is ramrod straight, chin lifted proudly.

"I bet you're thinking, didn't she learn her lesson back in high school?" She says, her tone mocking. "You can say it. I know you want to say it."

Nate shakes his head, slowly. His steps towards her are padded by the soft carpet. "That not what I'm thinking at all."

Jenny whirls around, surprised by his sudden closeness. She wets her lips, not bothering to hide her startled expression. "What are you thinking?" She says, voice barely more than a breath.

"I'm thinking that I… really missed you. I didn't realize how much until now."

This close, Nate can smell the whiskey on her breath, and when the flow of air ebbs across his lips, he swears he can taste it too.

He stays still, waiting for her reaction. It's like a thousand emotions flitter in those blue, blue eyes of hers, from surprise to disappointment to wonder to hope. He waits for her to settle on one when she closes her eyes, lips pressed together tightly. Jenny leans into him, but they're not touching, and he waits until they do.

His fingers itch with the thought of her hair, gleaming in the dim light, knowing it will feel impossibly soft when it twines around his hands. Finally, she drops her head against his shoulder, her forehead resting on the smooth wool of his jacket, and she smells like one of those flowers he can't pronounce. But just before he can reach up and touch her, wrap his arms around and hold her, she steps away, taking countless backwards steps before she's halfway to the door.

"It's late, Nate," she whispers. "You should go."

Nate is left with the image of her leaving, and the scent of whiskey and unpronounceable flowers. Together, they smell like regret.

-- -- --- -- --

This is just a dream:

They're in the park, lying by the pool, on the kitchen bench in his hotel room, in her bed. She's sitting astride him, pressing up from beneath him, torturing him with her hands, her mouth, her tongue.

He knows this is a dream because his subconscious won't let him forget it. Between kisses, she whimpers and moans and say, "we could've had this." When he reaches for her, she giggles girlishly and dances out of reach.

Her hair trails down his body as she kisses his throat, swirls her tongue around his nipple, dips into his navel. Before she goes any lower, he grasps her by the shoulders, pulls her up.

"Wait," he says, breathing heavily, the tree leaves in the park shaking above them, the sheer curtains in her room billowing behind her. "Jenny," he says, "I think I'm in love with you."

She reaches up and traces the line of his cheek to his chin, gives him a soft smile. There are patterns on his cheek, left by the strokes her finger, but unlike the writings on the window, he can't see what they read.

"I love you," he says again.

When she replies, all he hears is static.

-- -- --- -- --

What happens next is still a dream, until Nate wakes up. Days after, he's sure he must have kept on sleeping.

There's a tentative knock on the door, but Nate doesn't hear it. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey (he shouldn't call her that, still), losing himself in her smell and her touch and her taste.

He's trying to pinpoint everything about her, know her unconditionally and with certainty. She tastes like cinnamon, maybe, or peaches. A fruit with nectar or a tangy sweetness For some reason it keeps changing.

"You should get that," she breathes, stilling the movement of his hands with her own. "It's important."

He hears the urgency in her voice, so he reluctantly pulls away. "All right. Stay here, okay?"

Jenny laughs as if he's just told her a joke (knock, knock), one hand resting on his arm for balance. "It's easy," she says. "All you have to do is not let me go."

Nate's eyes snap open to find himself alone in his darkened hotel room, quiet except for the faint shuffles he can hear outside the door.

"Give me a second," he calls and sits up on the bed, resisting the urge to put his head in his hands give a long sigh. (The move is far too cliche, even if no one else can see him.)

It's the second night in a row that he dreamed about Jenny (with a focus on Jenny, not-so-little Jenny, and not her Brooklyn loft with the hasty elevator, or her sitting across the street, or the sketchbook she must have left behind). It's the second night that he dreamed about things that never happened, never knowing what will happen next. He's unused to this, the not knowing, but feels strangely alive. It's been a while since he's felt that, in life, in sleep, in dreams.

The person at the door knocks again, impatiently, at 12:51am in the morning, as the digital clock on the bedside table blinks at him sleepily. He flips the switch on the bedside lamp, using the dim glow to find his way to the door.

There's a woman on the other side. She wears the non-descript outfit of a white T-shirt and jeans, no make up except for half-bitten off lip gloss, and he instinctively knows that while standing there, she had been fiddling with the ends of her chin-length dark hair.

"Why are you still here?" She says in lieu of a greeting, pushing past him inside the room and taking a seat on the couch. "I thought you were only going to be here for the wedding."

Nate blinks in surprise, first because he barely recognized her, and then at her words. "Well, hello to you too," he says sarcastically, closing the door behind him. "I'm fine. A little sleep-deprived, but otherwise doing great. How about you?"

"Fine," she replies shortly. "Now answer my question. Please." The pleasantry is tacked on, an afterthought.

"Honestly? I should have been back in London last week, but I felt like I needed to stay."

She stares at him. "Is it… because of me?"

Her hair shifts with her movements, and he glimpses a piece of lighter hair gleaming underneath the dark brown. Nate imagines that she entered a busy bar somewhere, a respectable and upscale one, entered as a blonde and exited a brunette.

He reaches across the couch, across the space between them, and pulls the wig off. Her long curls tumble down, disheveled and slightly sweaty from being pressed against her head, transforming her back into an amalgam of the girl he used to know and the woman he's trying to understand.

"Is that what you came to ask me, Jenny?"

Because for all her bravado, he's not sure if she wants his answer. Not yet.

"Why did you leave?" she says instead. "The truth, Nate. You left so suddenly. I mean, it wasn't that I expected a goodbye, but all of a sudden you were gone…" she says, flushing with embarrassment. He hates that he put that there, the way he left things. Even if they weren't together, he should have made amends.

"After college…" he drifts off for a second, then shrugs. "At the time, I didn't think there was a reason for me to stay. My dad was in jail. My mom moved to Paris. My only real friends were Chuck, Blair and Serena, and they all had their own lives. I couldn't stay just for them."

"I was your friend too," she says softly. "I wanted to be."

"I know. I just didn't know it then." And he does. When he let her, Jenny was possibly the best friend he ever had.

"I guess I thought it was easier," he continues. "My whole life, I've always taken the easy way out. It was, well," he gives a slight smile, "easier. It's funny, you know, I always fought my dad when he had all these plans for me, an expected path that was all set up for me to follow. At one stage, I must have wanted something else for myself, but after he went away there was no one to rebel against and… I guess I just forgot that I wanted something too. These past few weeks have made me remember that. I'm just figuring out what that something else is."

"What have you decided?"

"Well, for starters, I'm quitting my job." Nate makes a a face. "I hate finance. I'm going to travel for a bit. Do what I want. Pick up sailing again."

"Maybe grow your hair out," she suggests.

"Yeah, and not shave until it gets itchy," he grins.

"I think that would be good for you. You need to relax a bit."

He can't help but laugh at this. "Oh, I need to relax."

Jenny narrows her eyes. "Are you calling me uptight?"

Nate raises his hands in defeat. "Me? No, never."

She rolls her eyes and smiles good-naturedly. "Yeah, I know I kind of get caught up in the Stepford Wives thing."

"Kind of? I was starting to wonder if you had a bad plastic surgeon because there was no expression in your face."

Jenny gasps in outrage and shoves at his shoulder. "That's a horrible thing to say, Nate Archibald!"

"Yes," he counters with an easy smile, "but it's okay, because we're friends now. With me, you can be whomever you want." He has one hand outstretched, palms facing up, and it feels almost like a lie because he's offering so much more than platonic friendship.

"Friends," she agrees, taking his hand.

And now because they're friends, he wants her to know.

"I'm here because of you," he says. "You're the reason I'm staying." Her fingers tightens almost imperceptibly around his, and then slackens in his grip but he doesn't let go.

(She did tell him it was that easy.)

They stay like that for a moment, hand in hand on the couch, before his hands are finally in her hair (feathery soft, silky), cradling her head, mouths moving desperately against each other in a rhythm of unspoken words. He pulls her flush against him, their legs in a tangle, until he's leaning comfortably against the armrest and she's leaning on him.

There are many words he should have said.

(They could be outside, in the park, under the cool shade of leafy trees, the grass beneath them a lush green and damp with dew. They could be next to the pool, the ridges of the copper and blue tiles stiff against their backs, the ground growing wetter as the water laps at their feet. They could be anywhere; he doesn't notice. He's too busy kissing Jenny Humphrey.)

The last thought of the night: his dreams were wrong. She tastes like honey, whiskey and second chances.

Against her lips, he smiles.

TBC

Google?

2009-01-31T15:11:50Z

Is anyone else having a problem with Google? It's telling me that every site (including Google itself) may harm my computer. I don't know what to trust! =/

ETA: Never mind. Seems to have been fixed. I can trust blindly again...

Haley James, where did you go...?

2009-01-30T03:10:52Z

A conversation with burstoflight got me thinking about the good old days of One Tree Hill. Back when I used to enjoy watching the show, back when I used to refresh the, uh, TV, to see if it was available for, uh, watching. (Legally, of course!)

I miss those days. *sigh*

Along with others, my biggest complaint of the show these days is their underuse of Haley's character (and their overuse of certain broody people I have absolutely no interest in watching, but that's a topic for another day). But you know, thinking back? I'm not surprised they went that way with her character. She's always been defined by her relationship with the other core characters (the best friend of, the girlfriend of, the wife of), and even her personal storylines were tied in with other characters (she tutored Nathan, she left Nathan for music). It was kind of inevitable that once those relationships reached their endpoint (read: happiness) there was nothing for Haley to do BUT be a supporting character.

And don't even get me started on the whole Nanny Carrie thing. What was that? I watched very little of that season, but it just... GAH! Why was there so little fall-out over that? There was, like, no follow through. The whole thing felt so Single White Female for about two seconds, and then swept under the rug, and then it became Misery. And then under the rug it goes again.

Maybe I'm just resentful on Haley's part. (Which is worrying, because not only do I have my own personal issues to deal with, I've burdened myself with a fictional character's as well? Creators of One Tree Hill, I am sending medical bills.) I mean, the show has always been pretty contrived, no denying that, but how come everyone is *so* successful on a grander scale (famous author, basketball comeback, fashion designer, erm... music label person) except for Haley? And there's a part of me that kind of kicks in here and says, well, being a mother and a teacher has count for something, and they are probably more fulfilling, but that's *not* what the message of the show is.

Alright, now I'm off on a tangent about responsible screen writing, something I'm not even sure applies in this situation because, overall, I'm. just. annoyed.

Let's pretend that the show finished at the end of S4, da?

Things We Knew Were True: Part Thirteen

2009-01-28T13:42:06Z

Rating: R
Characters: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Some years later, Haley sees Nathan in the supermarket, framed by boxes of memories. Memories starting from when they were sixteen, back when they didn't know how one single choice could lead them to this very moment... separated by those same boxes of memories...

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Mark Schwahn & co.

***

Part Thirteen

In our junior year of college, we moved off-campus and into our own apartment. In the pages of one of your sports books--something which probably had not been opened in years--I found a photo. It must have been twenty-years old, but it was neat and glossy and as clean as clean could be.

It was a photo of Keith, Karen and Dan in their teenage years. She had one arm around each brother, and they had their arms around her. It must have been before 'the fallout', before the betrayals, the hurtful decisions had been made and lies told. At first glance, I noticed two things: fleeting youth, and the fact that Keith had loved Karen for all these years. But with every subsequent glance, one other thing became startling clear: looking through history-colored glasses will provide you with so much clarity, but at the same time it will obscure things that at one time you were certain you would always know.

The picture was of Keith at the beginning of his quiet love. But it also showed that Dan Scott, adoring eyes and soft smile, without a doubt had loved Karen Roe as well.

Looking back, I think it was one this day, the beginning of junior year, that the fights between us started.

An unexpected twist of fate: upon going away to college, we also inherited a seven-year-old girl--or at least for one day a week. As it happened, Vivian and Jason had their own reasons for recommending the colleges in their area.

Allie loved mac 'n' cheese, so that was the designated dinner every Wednesday, much to my delight. You complained every week without fail, but I could tell you liked it too.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the two of you with a smile. You were lying on the ground in front of the TV, pretending to sleep. Every time Allie thumped you on the stomach with her two little hands, you would spring up and make a funny face before falling into your faux sleep again. Allie giggled uncontrollably as if she were a wind-up toy.

In actual fact, Allie was just overloaded with sugar. Earlier, I'd heard her wheedle for an ice cream, finally winning the battle when she proclaimed that you were her favorite uncle ever. It might have sounded like a ploy, but I think we could both hear the truth in it too, which is why I didn't say anything when you caved and handed her a cone.

"Dinner time!" I called.

"What are we having, Aunt H?"

"Pizza."

You perked up from your spot on the floor. "Really?"

"No," I said. "We're having mac 'n' cheese, like always."

"Yeah, Uncle Nathan." In a flash, Allie was in her chair and bouncing with excitement (and sugar). "We always have mac 'n' cheese."

You shook your head. "The James women and their weird taste buds. I don't get it."

"Hey! I am a Etherington woman." Allie said.

I shot you a warning look; you were trying hard not to laugh. It wasn't too long ago that Allie could not pronounce her last name.

"And I," I said, coming to stand beside you and scooping some food onto your plate. "I am a James Scott woman."

You grinned. "Is that so, woman?" You pulled me into your lap--rather dangerously, as I was still holding a very hot pot and a wooden spoon.

"Don't call me woman," I said.

Allie covered her eyes as we kissed. "Gross," she pronounced.

We separated and shared a secret smile.

"Disgusting," she continued. "D-I-S-G-U-S-T-I-N-G."

"Sweet," you said. "S-W-E-T."

I stared at you for a moment. Then Allie and I exchanged a look and burst into laughter.

"Aunt H," Allie said when we tucked her into bed, "was Lucas always your best friend?"

"Ever since I was five years old," I said. "He was crying because some bully was kicking him, so I decided to avenge Lucas's honor."

"What does 'avenge his honor' mean?"

You snorted. "It means Aunt H here started crying too."

I shot you a dark look but you smiled unrepentantly. Spoken like a person who had heard the story too many times.

"It means," I said to Allie, "I beat the bully up. But violence is not the answer," I added quickly. "If you're having problems with someone at school, you should talk about it. Don't hit them."

"Okay," Allie said slowly. "So to avenge my best friends' honor, what should I talk about?"

"Is your friend being bullied?" You asked.

"Sort of. Miss Harper won't let Steffy sit with me."

"Again, violence is not the answer," I said.

You snickered. "Yeah, don't go beating up your teacher now, Al."

I shot you another dark look before turning back to Allie.

"Is your teacher being mean to Steffy?"

"She keeps giving Steffy's seat to Peter Albridge. He stinks. I hate sitting next to him."

"Why does she do that?"

"She says Steffy isn't a real person, and that she doesn't have real parents who pay the school."

I paused. Didn't see that one coming. I hadn't realized that Allie had an imaginary friend. Vivian never mentioned it, although she must've known -- and not been too concerned.

"So what does Steffy do when that happens?"

"She sits at the back. I play with her at lunch time, but I know she gets lonely."

"You know, Allie, I think your teacher is trying to make sure you have a lot of friends. Steffy may be your best friend, but you should get to know other people as well. And there's always lunch time to play with Steffy, right?"

You cleared your throat. "Hales, can I talk to you for a second? Outside? Al, why don't you pick out a story you want me to read you."

"You mean a story for me to read you!" Allie replied quickly.

You ruffled her hair before following me outside. "Yeah, kiddo."

"Nathan, what's wrong?"

"Don't you think it's a bit unhealthy to encourage an invisible friend?"

My mouth dropped, and I let my voice drop as well. "And, what, you think it's better to tell her that Steffy doesn't exist?"

"Steffy isn't real. She's going to find out sooner or later."

"But right now, Allie thinks Steffy is real. Telling her now could traumatize her for life! You heard her: she worries that Steffy is lonely." I saw that you weren't convinced, and decided to change tactics. It was something you'd taught me during one of our earlier arguments. "Besides, most kids grow out of this stage, anyway. What's wrong with letting her pretend if it helps her?"

"Help her what? Delude herself? She needs to know what reality is."

"But she and Steffy--"

"Haley, do you hear yourself? Steffy isn't real! Why doesn't that bother you?"

I pressed my lips into a thin line.

All of our fights had been like this -- seemingly innocuous to begin with, and then suddenly threatening to burst forth with all this anger. There was so much simmering beneath the surface, and I knew that one day -- possibly today -- it would finally break through.

"You don't understand." I said tightly.

"Understand what?" You followed me as I paced aimlessly along the hallway. "Understand what?"

"Look," I said, turning to face you. You stopped just before we collided. "This is pointless. It's not our decision to make anyway -- it's up to Viv and Jason. Let's just go in there and read the story, and go home."

Back in Allie's room, she made us act out her favorite fairytale. If Allie noticed that Rapunzel didn't particular want the prince to save her, or that Prince Charming was more interested in regaining his freedom and his eyesight than the love of his life, she didn't mention it.

"So you're giving me the silent treatment, now?" I said, watching as you headed from the shower and then to bed without a word.

"No, I just don't have anything to say to you right now."

"Oh, and that's—"

"Actually," you said, "that's not true. I have a lot of things to say, but what's the point? You've already decided what you're going to hear. You've already got this picture in your head where I'm the bad guy and you're the lonely one. You see yourself as the invisible friend that I'm going to outgrow -- don't you?"

"That's not true." I shook my head vehemently. "You're completely twisting the issue. The truth is, you don't want an invisible friend, and you don't want me!"

"You know, Haley," you said lowly, "I'm getting sick of having the same arguments. All we do anymore if fight, and I'm getting sick of it--"

"Oh, and you think I'm not? You don't think this is hard on me, too?" I stared at you, and the anger just drained out of me until I felt like a deflated balloon. I hated how things were between us lately, how quickly they would go from highs of anger and passion and happiness to the lows of tired and complacent. I hated that neither of us ever pushed the issue, instead choosing to ignore it all while it gnaws at our insides. And I was afraid because today, for some reason, there was no keeping it back.

"I know you, Nathan. I know that when you're with the guys from basketball, you want that life back. It was so easy then, wasn't it? All you had to do was worry about the next party, the next game, the next shot."

You didn't say anything, but your eyes dared me to continue.

"I think that you regret this -- you regret us. That's what you meant when you said Allie was living a lie. You meant that we were living a lie."

I feel like you're punishing me, I wanted to say, the way Dan punished your mother for not being strong enough to let go. So, here I am, letting you go.

But these words I couldn't say.

Funny thing is, I always thought when all this was out in the open, I would feel like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Instead, my own words were burning an acid-spilt hole through my heart.

Worse than that, when I looked at you, I had no idea what you were thinking. I was always bad at that, but over the years I had picked up a few things. I wasn't sure if it was because I knew you better, or because you started to let me in, but somewhere along the line I learnt how to read you. Now, it was like you were wearing a mask and holding everything within.

"Yeah, well, I know you too, Haley," you said stiffly. "Even if you don't think I do or don't want me to. I know you're really good at pushing people away. You've been doing it your whole life. And I know that I'm tired of..." You turned away and I didn't think it was possible, but your voice dropped lower than my heart. "I'm tired of trying."

You pulled on a jacket and your running shoes, not even bothering to change out of your pajama pants. (You always let me have the matching top.) "I'll be at Luke's."

I cursed the mirror in our room that made me watch you go.

For one week after that, I slept alone in our bed and next to the cold imprint of your body on our sheets.

And then I slept alone for a few days more.

For two weeks, we didn't speak directly. I saw you at the basketball games, but I was so angry I couldn't approach you. Sometimes you went out of your way to walk past the Tutoring Center, much larger than the one in high school, but you never came inside.

For two weeks, I spent the days wishing that I'd never said yes, that I'd left your proposal unanswered, and the nights wishing you were there.

"I brought coffee!"

I didn't look up. The Tutoring Center in college was much bigger than the one in high school, but just as empty. I knew it the coffee-bearer could only be my tardy student.

"You're late," I said.

"Hmm. I'm going to take that as a 'thank you'."

"Thank you, Josh. But I'm still not doing your homework for you."

"Did I ask you to do my homework for me?" He said, voice laden with hurt. "I only wanted to do my good deed of the day, and instead you go and accuse me of dishonest intentions. You wound me."

I couldn't help but smile at his theatrics. "I knew that was your romance novel."

His cheeks pinkened. "I told you, I don't know how that got in my bag."

"Right."

"Don't you go ruining my rich boy reputation, now." He waggled a finger in my direction. "I worked very hard to get this far."

I froze.

"Haley?"

I shook myself out of the daze. "I... For a second there, you just reminded me of someone, that's all."

"Anyone I know?"

"No." I said quickly.

Josh eyes narrowed, and then he started laughing. "Your husband?"

I shook my head again with more conviction, but less convincingly.

It was day eight, and despite many sightings of husband, no contact had been made.

"I'm flattered, Hales."

"Don't call me Hales."

He held up his hands. "Alright, don't worry. I won't tell anyone that you find me quite irresistible."

"I don't find you irresistible."

"You find Nathan Scottt irresistible, don't you?"

"No! I mean, yes! I--that's not the point."

"Not to worry, Haley. You don't need to explain anything to me. No one will ever know. Just like no one will ever know about my Princess of Shadows."

I giggled despite myself. "That's one of my favorites, too."

By chance, I looked out to the doors of the Tutoring Center and saw a boy with two coffee cups: you and a peace offering. I was just close enough to smell a hint of hazelnut: my favorite. I could have been at any distance and still seen the hurt in your eyes and it felt like steamroller over my heart.

The Tutoring Center was completely out of the way, but I'd seen you here at least four times this past weeks. I never saw your face this clearly, but I would recognize the way you walked, the way your hair fells, the way your elbow bent anywhere.

But maybe I imagined all that. Maybe the boy who walked away from me in the hallway, the boy whose hair was slightly too long at the nape, the boy whose elbows were angry and defensive... that boy could have been anyone.

Maybe you never came to see me at all, because when I blinked, you were gone.

When Luke opened the door, he looked like he had just rolled out of bed and continued rolling. His eyes were barely open, and I was surprised he recognized me.

"Hales? What are you doing here?"

I made the split decision to channel Brooke.

"Nice to see you too, best friend," I said breezily and pushed past him into the room. I reached the fold-out couch, with the pillow and blanket thrown haphazardly to the side, and stopped short.

I was no scientist, but I knew that if I compared the imprint that had been on our bed to the one on this couch, it would be a perfect match.

"He just left for practice, a little while ago," Lucas said from behind me. "You just missed him."

"I know." I turned with a bright smile. "Besides, I came to see you."

He stared at me silently for a moment.

I didn't believe myself either.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lucas offered.

I sighed and returned my gaze to the couch. "No," I said. "I really, really don't."

Peyton once told me that I had changed you for the better. The thought had bothered me, but I didn't quite know why until much later, when you echoed the sentiment.

We were at the Rivercourt, and Tim was ribbing you about some girl you used to know.

"Come on, Nate-dawg, you tapped that."

"Tim," you said warningly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Exactly who did you 'tap'?"

"No one that matters, baby," you said. "Just Tim being stupid about stuff before I met you."

And then it hit me. I didn't deserve this credit that everyone had been giving me.

You hadn't changed.

I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Nathan, but the person you were before you met me was the same person you were after.

You never changed. Nobody ever does.

It just takes some longer than others to realize who they really are.

Some parts of my life I remember more clearly than others, but a few moments I can recall with perfect clarity are linked by My Best Friend's Wedding.

The first time I watched the movie, I was eight years old. Vivian had gone to see it with her friends at the cinema, and Taylor and I would not give up until she agreed to let us tag along. After she bought our tickets and popcorn, she sent us to sit six rows in front.

I didn't mind. I didn't understand much of it at the time, but my favorite scene was when Julia Robert's sunny best friend broke out in prayer or song.

The second time I watched the movie, we were at the beginning of our relationship or the end of our non-relationship, and in my mind you were still tied up with Peyton. At the time, I thought that Julia wanted someone else's man and the ring that came along with it, but I was wrong.

In the middle of the Cold War, Peyton came to visit us. At the time, she was so dreamy about the new man in her life that I didn't need to tell her about us until three days had passed.

"He's so..." Peyton flopped back on couch and sighed. "I don't even know how to describe him. I've never felt this way before."

"Not even with Luke?" I teased. "I thought he was the love of your life."

"I never said that!"

"Oh. Maybe that was Brooke, then."

Peyton scoffed. "Brooke would never say that." She paused. "Well, not sober, anyway."

"But you're saying it about... uh, what's this mystery man's name, anyway?"

"I— Hey, how did that meeting with Professor What's-His-Name go? You seemed a little off before."

I waved a hand dismissively. "It was nothing. He likes to give that big speech once in a while, 'Haley, I feel that you are drifting. What do you want to be? I think you could achieve great things if you put your mind to it, but you don't seem to want to...' Blah blah blah. But you're not getting off that easy! What's your new boyfriend's name?"

"Not telling. I don't want to jinx it."

"Wow, Peyton Sawyer being all superstitious," I teased. "You really do like him."

"I do," she said dreamily. "He's so smart and sweet. I met him in the park where he was walking his dog, and I was doing some painting."

"I think I've heard this story before."

"I kind of thought he was gay, at first, you know?" She laughed. "I mean, he was so... neat. And nice. I don't usually go for that, you know, but we really clicked." Her voice lowered. "And he's not always so nice."

"Peyton!" I said, scandalized. "I thought you said this was new."

She threw a cushion at me. "Oh, don't look at me like that. How long did you know Nathan before the two of you hopped into bed? And now you're married and living happily ever after. Maybe going fast is the way to go."

I muttered darkly. "Yeah, if that were true, Nathan would have found his 'happily ever after' a long time ago."

"What do you mean? Did... did Nathan do something stupid?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing like that. Things just aren't really good between us at the moment."

"What happened?"

"We had this huge fight. I just... I don't think he wants this anymore, and I think he's going about it in a really passive aggressive way."

"And what did he say?"

I shrugged, nonchalant. "He thinks I'm imagining things. And he's been at Luke's for almost two weeks."

"Oh, Haley." Peyton said sympathetically.

But I didn't want sympathy.

"Enough about that. I'm starving -- let's go have dinner now."

Peyton laughed nervously. "Yeah, about that..."

Two hours later, I found myself sitting across from you and Lucas. From beside me, Peyton kept shooting apologetic looks.

"So, how's New York treating you, Peyton?" Lucas said.

"I..." Peyton shot me another apprehensive look. "I'm doing alright."

"Nothing new?" Lucas prompted.

"Nope."

I rolled my eyes. "It's okay, Peyton. You look like you're about to burst." To Lucas, I said, "She's in love."

You were staring at me, but I ignored it. You didn't have any coffee with you, but I could feel the steamroller and taste the bitterness all the same.

"I am in love!" Peyton said.

"Must be the season. I got an email from Brooke the other day. She's seeing Chase something or other. Apparently he went to our high school, but I can't remember him."

"I remember him," I said. "He was a Clean Teen."

"Nope," Lucas continued. "Not ringing a bell."

"How weird is it that she moved thousands of miles away, only to end up with someone from Tree Hill," Peyton said.

"I think it's kind of sweet," I said. "Like they were always meant to be together, but had to wait until he right time."

You shook your head, but was otherwise silent.

I'd known you long enough to recognize a challenge when I saw one.

"Is there something you want to say?" I asked politely.

"Maybe they just wasted a lot of time," you spoke up finally. I looked over to find that your eyes had not left mine. "They could have been together a lot earlier if they knew the other person existed."

"Maybe they had to wait until they both wanted to be with each other," I countered.

"Are you saying that Brooke didn't want to be with Chase in high school?"

"No! I'm saying that Chase didn't want to be with Brooke!"

Your expression was inscrutable.

"You have no way of knowing how I feel."

I felt tears welling up and swiped at them angrily. "You're right. I don't, because you never tell me."

Lucas leaned in. "Uh, guys? You're kind of loud. People are looking."

Your eyes softened. "Hales, why don't we go outside."

You reached for me, but I pushed my chair back, dancing just out of your grasp.

"No," I said. "I'm not hungry anymore. I'm just going to go home."

I was in bed at 9:30pm. By 10pm, I found you skulking along the shadows of our apartment.

"Nathan?" I whispered disbelievingly, dropping the baseball bat to the ground. You were leaning against our front door, and I could hear your breath over the thumping of my heart.

"Hales," you said, your voice uneven. "Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?"

I ignored your words, narrowed my eyes and slowly stepped towards you. The stench was unmistakable. "Are you drunk?"

"I miss you," you confessed, stumbling across the room and onto the couch next to where I stood. Your eyes were bleary and red-rimmed as you stared at me, and one hand was outstretched towards me.

I shivered. The way you looked up at me, it felt like you could see right through me.

"I miss you a lot. It's weird not seeing you everyday... in the mornings and every night. So I look for you, but sometimes when I see you, it's like it doesn't get better."

I rarely saw you like this, but on the odd occasions you were I had learnt not to take note of your drunken ramblings. Suddenly a thought struck me. "Oh my God, did you drive here like that?"

"No, I walked from across town," you mumbled, your eyelids heavy and your hand dropped to your side. I grabbed the blanket off the back of the couch to cover you. "I know how you feel about that..."

And then you were out cold.

I turned off the light and then we were bathed in darkness. The shadows disappeared with a flick of a switch.

I sat on the edge of the couch and listened to your breathing.

One of our first fights was about something trivial like choosing a movie. In the end, you accused me of being controlling and I said you were resentful. I suppose that was the underlying theme in all of this. I still thought you or a part of you resented me.

I never before considered that it was me, or a part of me, that might be wrong.

Because I missed you too—a lot—but I couldn't let myself take your hand.

The third time I watched My Best Friend's Wedding was in our apartment before your last game of the season. Normally, we had our own warm up routine before you joined the team for the official warm up, but that day...

Well, being warm was over-rated anyway.

"I really have this gigantic favor to ask of you. Choose me. Marry me. Let me make you happy. Oh, that sounds like three favors, doesn't it?"

Watching it again, I knew that she was really trying on another woman's life. Not necessarily a better woman, or a happier woman, but just a life that was not her own.

The buzzer sounded, and my thoughts were drowned out by the crowds. You had just made the winning shot in the last minutes of the game, but as our eyes met you seemed every bit as defeated as the other team.

"He really misses you." Lucas said from beside me as sat in his dorm room after the game.

"I know. He told me."

"You talked?"

"Not really. But he always thinks I'm always pushing him away," I said, pacing the length of Lucas's dorm room. "Isn't that ridiculous?"

"So you aren't pushing him away?"

I whirled around angrily. "Great. Now you're on his side."

Lucas sighed, and stood from his perch on the couch. "I'm not picking sides, Hales. I just want you guys to work things out. I mean, I know I didn't think he was good enough for you in high school... but you're not a trophy or a game to Nathan."

"I know I'm not, Luke, but that was never the problem. I stopped worrying about his intentions a long time ago. I've always known that he was one of the good guys."

"Then what's the problem?"

"It's just..." I bit my lip. "Sometimes, I think that he's not with me because he's a good guy. Sometimes, I think he stayed because he thinks I'm the proof."

As expected, Lucas stared at me with those furrowed brows. He didn't understand. At the time, I didn't want him to.

"I need to talk to Nathan." I said simply, and this Lucas understood. But I waited for hours with jittery nerves and thought that you didn't come home.

Truth was, you were there first. It was me who was somewhere else.

I let myself into our apartment and found you standing in our bedroom, looking at the collection of photo frames. Most of them had photos of us and our friends, but a one or two still had the perfect photo frame models in them. I put those on display anyway.

"Nathan?"

"Hey, Hales," you said, turning to look at me. Unlike the last time I had seen you, you weren't drunk and mumbling desperately, and unlike the time before that, you weren't angry and itching for a fight. You were just… quiet, and a part of me (the part that was wrong or right, I wasn't sure) was afraid of what that meant.

You reached out and held my cheek in your hand. I closed my eyes and let myself lean into your touch, but only for a moment. When the moment passed, I stepped back and sat down on the couch. You sat down on the edge of the coffee table, firmly in my line of sight.

"You look tired."

"So do you," I countered. Your eyes had dark circles underneath like half-bruises, and your face was drawn.

"Lucas's couch is very lumpy."

I nodded. There was no neutral explanation for my lack of sleep.

The last time I'd seen you like this was after a basketball game in high school. You'd had a sprained ankle and watched from from the sidelines while your team lost. First you'd looked desperate, then helpless, and then finally defeated. You looked that way now. Except this time, your team has won.

No, I was wrong. You looked defeated earlier, standing in the midst of the celebrations. Now, you looked determined.

"I think we should make this more official," I said quickly. I wanted to rip this bandaid conversation off before I remembered that it hurt. But I was also being a coward. I didn't want to rip it off myself. My words could have been about anything, even though we both knew what it really meant. I just didn't want to be the one to say it.

"This separation, you mean." You said the words evenly, your eyes hooded and dark.

I nodded.

(I was wrong again. You were still angry.)

"No," you bit out.

"I think--"

"No, it's my turn to talk now! You've been making all these decisions without me, without even telling me that you've made them! Don't you think I should know how you've decided I'm feeling about all this, and how you've decided we should deal with it?"

I bristled at all the accusations. "Do you think I want to do this, Nathan? I'm just trying to make it easier. It's not like you're doing anything."

"Oh," you shot back, "don't put this on me. And while we're at it, don't paint yourself as the martyr. You're not doing this because you think it's easier or you think it's best. You're just scared! You think that we're not going to work out…"

"That I'm not where I'm supposed to be," I whispered.

You paused. "Well, yeah. But I'm scared too."

"So you know." I felt a strange weight lifted off me. I thought it would be harder than this. I thought I would have to fight you to let this go.

"No, I don't. And neither do you, Hales." You ran a hand through your hair. "You think too much. All the time. I feel tired just thinking about how you think. I love that that about you, but sometimes you just have to have a little faith. Stop running, Haley."

I stared at the ground, at the door, at anywhere but you. "I'm not running."

You kneeled down in front of the couch so that we were face to face.

"You are. And I keep chasing you because what we have is worth it, but can't do it forever. I don't want to…" You stared at me for a moment, eyes narrowing, then suddenly looked hurt. "You've been planning this for a while, haven't you."

Dread welled up inside me. "What are you talking about?"

"You're leaving. It's that you're afraid that I'm missing what I used to have. It's about you wanting more."

The phone rang in the background, but we both ignored it.

I shook my head. "That's not true."

"As long as I've known you, you've wanted to do something important. Make your life mean something. But you've always been so afraid to, because you don't know what to do. And you don't want to figure it out because then you'd have to face the fact that you don't who you are."

I shook my head again, vehemently. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

Maybe it was. Maybe that part of me you knew better than I knew myself, but you were only half-right. There were still parts of me that I always kept to myself, that I knew better than you.

"Haley, it's Lucas. I've been trying to call you and Nathan on your cells…"

"I love you, Nathan," I whispered. "But how… how do I know that's enough?"

I regretted my words as soon as I spoke them, but I needed to say them, inelegant as they were. They were hurtful, but they could mean many things, and hurtful was not how I meant them.

"I've never tried to hold you back," you said stiffly.

"No," I said, " I mean…. How do I know…"

"Viv asked me to call…"

"…why you're here?" I finished.

You looked confused. "Where else would I be?"

I shook my head once more. This was the closest we'd ever come to the right words. For the longest time, I pushed their absence away, pretended I didn't need them. But I needed to hear them.

"Why are you here?" I asked again. I licked my lips, trying to soothe the dry cracks, maybe just to prolong the moment and gather courage. "With me?"

Your voice was low and tight when you replied. "How can you not know? Damn it, Haley, after all this time, are you still wondering if I have some ulterior motive?"

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. Maybe this is my fault. I've never been good with words, but I'm with you and I'm married to you because I want to…."

Whatever you said next, I didn't hear. Because, suddenly, the Lucas's words drowned everything else out.

"...Allie is in the hospital."

Hospitals have this thing where if your health problems are really serious, you're not allowed to have the people you love with you, or at least not for long, and not at the same time.

It starts from when you are born. If you're small, can't breathe, they keep you in an incubator, their version of plastic amour to guard you. Later, if the care you need is intensive, it's one at a time, family only, visiting hours and no exceptions.

Allie was lucky. When we got there, she was awake but tired, and we saw her immediately. Vivian explained that she had collapsed, but it was just dehydration and heat stroke. She would be fine.

"You two should go home," Viv said, stifling a yawn. "The nurse said I could stay with her overnight, but that's it. I know you have early classes tomorrow."

"We'll come back tomorrow to see her, okay?" I promised.

"Come over to the house, they should be releasing her in the morning. It's just a precaution to keep her overnight, anyway."

And so we left, pausing for a minute to watch them through the window. I leaned back against you, you put an arm around me, and we watched.

A mother and a daughter, the fear and the relief, the tiredness and the love. We saw all this from the outside, and they were in the incubator. These were things we were not apart of. In another world, we would be standing here looking at something -- someone -- else.

The other thing about hospitals is that they bring people together. The ones kept out.

We all cling to the things we know.

"Let's forget these past few weeks ever happened, okay? Pretend it's all a bad dream?" I said quietly, earnestly.

(Here, I should have added something like, "I think I have an identical twin out there that I've never met." Untrue, but easier than, "I'm scared, because even with you here… I don't know if you're really with me and I feel like I never belong." )

"I want to be with you and you want to be with me," I said instead. "I realize, now, that nothing else matters."

(Because if you weren't with me, here, where would I be?)

You nodded. "Let's go home."

And we did.

***

to be continued...

Out, damn'd words! out, I say!

2009-01-19T05:59:38Z

I need an icon that has this look: =X or =S or =/. In the meantime, those little non-smiley faces will have to do!

Anyone else sign up for getyourwordsout? I did, and already I'm struggling to keep up with the word count.

The whole thing is based around the notion that only 10% of your writing is actually usable, so if everybody pledges to write 200K+ words in 2009, they should ideally end up with a 20K word masterpiece. Or, short of that, a 20K word readable something.

The problem I have with this, though, is that I normally agonize over every. single. sentence. that I write. (Should I use "said"? Should I have the character say it blandly? Should the dialogue stand on its own and speak for itself? Grrr....! That's it, time for a break.) I edit as I write, really, so the process takes months on end to churn out a chapter. (Anybody who read/is reading the still incomplete Things We Knew Were True will know this all too well.)

I kind of feel like it's wasteful to write and then discard the majority of what you've written. The upshot of this, however, is that I usually end up with only 15% of what I would have written if I didn't simultaneously write and edit, and still only 70% of that is actually usable. (My math is pretty poor these days, but I think that's still roughly 10%.)

So, hopefully this exercise will encourage me to write more, even if a lot of it is crap.

ETA: I still post the crapness, though, all 100% of it. This may be progress in the other direction. =|

Learning Curves

2008-09-01T08:06:49Z

Rating: PG
Characters: Nathan/Haley
Prompt: #092 Turbulence (from theechochorus table)
Summary: Haley is a fabulous tutor with fantastic learning tactics. Nathan has to agree.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to somebody else.

Maybe she didn't do it very often, but Haley James was a damn good driver. She maneuvered the roads of Tree Hill with ease, dodging trees and pedestrians like a real pro. So what if the ride was a little bumpy? It wasn't as if Nathan, who was not trying very hard to hide his theatrical little winces from the passenger seat, hadn't experienced worse. He used to date Peyton, for crying out loud.

"Can you slow down a little," he said. "My hands are starting to hurt."

"Huh? What's that supposed to--"

"Keep your eyes on the road!"

Haley swerved and narrowly missed a pole. "Heh, that was close one," she laughed nervously.
"Yeah," he mumbled. From the corner of her eye she could see him flexing his hands, then quickly grip onto the door. "Listen, are you sure you don't want me to drive?"

She nodded. "I'm sure. I love driving. Thanks for letting me borrow your car, by the way. And it was a great idea to move our tutoring session to the beach. Maybe we should make it permanent?"

"No!" Nathan cleared his throat. "I mean, uh, I have lots of studying to do from now on, so we should probably go back to the docks."

"Ah, gotcha," Haley winked in the midst of another breakneck turn. "You're trying to be efficient. So I have taught you something!"

Nathan smiled tightly. "Yep. Definitely."

The Little Mermaid icons

2008-04-18T08:12:11Z

Who says procrastination is unproductive?

8 The Little Mermaid icons

Please comment and credit if you use these!


1	2	3

4	5	6

7	8

- Caps by fever-of-fate.com
- Icon table by The Icon Table Generator

One Tree Hill Fic Recs, Nathan/Haley pairing

2008-04-15T11:14:02Z

And in the spirit of continued procrastinating, here are some of my favorite One Tree Hill fics:

Love For the Damaged by lunarlanding
Lucas/Haley, Nathan/Haley, PG-13, incomplete
Lucas and Haley and Nathan, after four years of silence. Post The Hero Dies in This One.
Note: I generally don't read much L/H, but there's this one is just so well written.

Worth the Battle by Alex the fire girl
PG, complete
Nathan needs a way to punish Lucas for intruding on what he believes is his territory in Tree Hill and he finds the perfect means to do this in Haley... until he gets to know her.

Heartless by xo going nowhere
Nathan/Haley, Lucas/Haley, R, one-shot
His sworn enemy is the one that his girlfriend carries on with behind his back. There's a malicious sort of irony attached that you find undeniably appealing.

Love Me, Love Me Not by Tutorial Girl
PG-13, incomplete
Can one moment really change everything? After a fight with Nathan, Haley wishes they never met. She wakes up in a world where Nathan beat Lucas in the one on one game. But can true love triumph twice? Or is this too much to overcome?

How To Play And Win by Grace
PG-13, incomplete
The way to deal with this Lucas thing is through the only way I understand: basketball.

The Ones Left Behind by Brynne
PG-13, complete
Life in Tree Hill after HS graduation.

More Than He Should by GwenhwyfarRose
PG-13, one-shot
Because he saw more than he should.

Partisan by theSnuffaluffigus
PG-13, incomplete
People say, You dont know what you have till you lose it. But life has taught me differently... That, you've always know what you have... you just never thought you would lose it.

Five Times Nathan and Haley Were Almost Caught by Lee
NC-17, one-shot
Glimpses at five times Nathan and Haley were almost caught by their friends and family.

Distant Memories by Kate
R, complete
Following an accident, Nathan loses all memory of the last 15 years, including his life with Haley. Can they rebuild their relationship after all that's been lost?

Priceless by Kate
R, complete
A reversal of the Boy Toy Auction but this time the girls are up for auction.

Heat Rises by Charli
PG-13, one-shot
A day at the country club proves eventfull for Nathan and Haley.

Lick My Lips by Annie
NC-17, one-shot
Haley and Nathan take a night swim in the Scott pool.

My Brothers by Nancy
R, one-shot
Set in late Season 1, tensions are still high between Nathan and Lucas and Haley finds herself constantly caught in the middle as she tries to maintain her friendship with Lucas as her relationship with Nathan intensifies.

The Journey by Fes
PG-13, complete
A promise made to their mutual friends forces arch enemies Haley James and Nathan Scott to spend 10 days on the road together. If you think driving 3500 miles across the country is tough, try doing it with a person who drives you crazy.

Alias fic recs, various pairings

2008-04-15T08:04:40Z

I've always wanted to make one of those comprehensive rec sites, but hey, I might as well admit it's never going to happen. And so, in no particular order:

Raising Atlantis by Geogirl
Jack-centric, PG-13, complete
What happens when your world collapses?

Uninvited and RSVP by Ossian
Sydney/Sark, PG-13, complete
All's fair in love... and bio-warfare.

Forty Winks by elise2
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, one-shot
Syd, Sark, and a shot of tequila. Lines are crossed, liberties taken. AU, Syd POV.

Left Turns by Kim
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, one-shot
She thought back on all the choices she made to get to this place, looked for the single obvious detour. The pattern revealed itself only as a series of small turns to the left instead of to the right.

Salt Water Secrets by poisontaster
Nadia/Sark, NC-17, one-shot
All families have their secrets, written in salt water--tears, semen, blood--and visible only when exposed to very strong light. This is hers.

Nothing More to Say by Legalblonde2005
Sydney/Vaughn, PG-13, one-shot
The choices we make when we fall apart.

Magenta by Eretria
Sydney/Sark, R, incomplete
When he talks to her she never responds.

Elysium by Lila2
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, incomplete
Sydney discovers where she's been for the past two years

Scylla and Charybdis by Nes
Sydney/Sark, PG-13, complete
Sydney is caught between a hard place and Sark's ex-girlfriend. Er, not that hard place. Ahem.

Fade by Agent Otter
Sydney/Vaughn, PG-13, one-shot
It's safer that way, to remain constantly on the move. But this isn't the first time that they've sacrificed safety for something else.

Graffiti by darkstar
Sydney/Vaughn, PG-13, complete
Sydney and Vaughn attempt to reconstruct their lives after barely surviving SD-6's discovery of their identities.

Unravel the Mind by Nic-chan
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, incomplete
With Sark lost in a coma, it’s up to Sydney to use a Rambaldi device to save him from himself and from death.

Surveillance by Kantayra
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, complete
Basically, Syd gets stuck doing surveillance on Sark, is not amused, and so entertains herself by staring at his butt. Isn't that a lovely, non-literary summary?

This is Not a Truce by equisetum
Sydney/Sark, NC-17, incomplete
The winner, as ever, is a mystery. But I think it’s clear that both of us are losing.

How to Sleep Like a Man

2008-04-10T09:45:13Z

Rating: PG
Characters: Nathan/Haley
Prompt: #059 Insomnia (from theechochorus table)
Spoilers: After Season One finale. You know, the M-word.
Summary: Haley can't sleep. Nathan gives his words of wisdom.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to somebody else.

"Nathan," Haley whispered.

She got no response.

Haley glared at her husband—her utterly selfish husband who had no qualms about sleeping when his wife was so unable to.

She'd been lying awake for an hour listening to his steady breathing, then a cricket chirping outside their window, then a car backfire. She'd tossed and turned and kicked at the covers, expecting Nathan to sit up and talk to her through her sleeplessness, but instead his steady breathing evened out into a snore.

"Nathan," Haley hissed louder.

"Mmm-hmm. What's wrong, babe?"

"I can't sleep."

"Just close your eyes..." he mumbled.

"I tried that. I also counted sheep, turtles and chickens; recited the Greek alphabet; conjugated all the verbs we learnt last week in French—"

Nathan pulled her back against his body and mumbled something again.

"What?"

"Close your eyes and don't think of anything."

"Okay." Haley closed her eyes and snuggled further into Nathan's arms.

This is nice, she thought.

"You're still thinking."

Damn! Haley thought. How'd he know? Okay, no more thinking.

When she next opened her eyes, it was morning.

Babies Can Play Scrabble Too

2008-04-10T09:41:56Z

Rating: G
Characters: Haley, Lucas
Prompt: #001 Games (from theechochorus table)
Summary: Haley and Lucas in their unpopular incarnations. They play Scrabble.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to somebody else.

"Scrabble, again?" Lucas groaned, letting his head fall to the table dramatically. His next words were muffled by the wood. "Hales, don't you ever get sick of that game?"

"Do you ever get sick of basketball?" Haley countered. "Just because I always beat you at Scrabble..."

"You do not always beat me," Lucas said indignantly.

"You're right. There was that one time I let you win because you were being such a baby."

"Hah! I know that's true—you're way too competitive to let anyone win."

Haley grinned inwardly. It might have been a lousy way for the populars to spend Saturday night, but she loved Game Night with Lucas, especially nights when she chose the game. NBA Live nights, she didn't love those so much.

"As if you're not just as competitive. Who does the happy dance every time they win?" Haley put a finger to her chin and pretended to think. "Oh, right, that's you!"

Lucas narrowed his eyes at her. After several rounds, his eyes flickered to his tiles and then his features set into a serene smile.

"What?" Haley said warily.

Lucas remained silent, but set down his seven letters after her es: MARQUESS.

"And it's a triple word score!"

Haley looked at her tiles and refused to watch Lucas's happy dance.

In the Madness There Are Words That I Can't Say

2008-03-11T11:59:32Z

Rating: PG-13
Characters:Mark/Addison
Summary: A twisted retelling of Season 1 and 2. Sort of.

Notes: Many thanks to grand_delusions and roadtoforever for beta of an early draft (which, in all honesty, isn't very different from this one).

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes & co.

***

I was never good at writing love letters

Mark,

I was going to leave a week ago. I left my key at the door. My suitcases were all packed, and I had them hidden in the closet when I kissed you good morning (and goodbye).

That morning, I told you I would see you soon. At the time, it was a lie.

I think your kiss did something to me. It has no problem making an adulteress but not a liar out of me.

(The phone rings, and the rest remains unread.)

My husband's girlfriend knows the meaning of "adore"

Seattle rains like nobody's business. It rained when the plane touched down, it rained on the way to the hotel, and it rained on my walk to the hospital. My hair frizzed up before each careful curl had time to bounce.

Richard said to drop by when I arrived and we'd go over the finer details of his offer. There was a crackle through the telephone line. Nobody said the words, but we both heard "and Derek is here."

As luck would have it, I see Derek and The Intern upon my first steps into the hospital. He is fiddling with her collar, and she smiles up at him adoringly. I imagine he is admiring his skill.

Watching them gives me a headache the size of Manhattan. When I shake my head, a wave of nausea sweeps into the city.

The Intern sees me first, but her gaze flickers past me. I'm sure she doesn't realize who I am. Derek left our home in the middle of the night; he wouldn't have had time to spirit away a photo of me to display in his office. If I know Derek, I'm sure he's done his best to pretend that I don't exist: Addison Forbes Montgomery, that redhead he met in med school. Someone he knew at twenty-four. That is all.

When he sees me, he quickly turns back to The Intern and speaks fervently. She listens and then nods, goes back up the elevator. When she is safely gone, he stalks over to me.

"What are you doing here?"

I tried to call you, I say. Richard offered me a job here. A few seconds pass, his eyebrows raise impatiently, and I realize that I haven't spoken the words at all. My voice, taking the cue of many other things in my life, has jumped off the ship into the sea of failure.

"Look, you know what, I don't care. I'm not interested in what you have to say. Just don't talk to me. And stay away from Dr. Intern."

Of course, he uses her actual name, the most respectable form. I don't hear it.

I should follow him; I should explain. At the very least, I should head in the same direction and find Richard, but all I want to do is to go to that dismal-looking bar I spotted across the street.

"That, Addie, is probably your worst idea yet."

I turn around, slowly.

Mark. He is leaning against one of the columns, arms crossed, an unreadable expression in his cool eyes. He has followed me to a place I'm not sure I wanted to go.

I want to say to him: What are you doing here? Wait, I don't care, I'm not interested in what you have to say, but the words don't come out. My throat has dried up. There is a drought in me.

"Come home," he says, implores.

I shake my head, and then more frantically when I hear the Intern's voice in the distance, accompanied by Derek's low laugh. I push Mark to the side and out of sight, cringing at the thought of what will happen when Derek sees him here. I'd probably need a suturing kit, and my hair is still frizzy.

Instead, Derek walks to entrance and pointedly ignoring my presence. The Intern looks at me curiously, but she follows his lead.

"He can't see me," Mark says quietly.

I roll my eyes. Thank God.

"No," he says, "You're the only one who sees me."

Today, you are here; tomorrow, I will be there

I'm still in Seattle. My voice is still elsewhere. Mark is doing an incredible impersonation of Casper (and racking up his frequent flyer miles along the way). The other alternative is that I am going insane.

Dr. Yang collapses in Dr. Burke's OR, and then she is wheeled into mine. An ectopic pregnancy, I'm told. Her insides are tied up, and the fetus wants out.

I wait for the anesthetist to put her out before I start.

The scalpel -- my sixth finger -- does most of the work.

"I love your hands."

This is Mark again. He stands next to me, watching my hands flick and flex from over my shoulder. He reaches over and traces the vein along my wrist. He has surgeons' hands too, and his finger pauses in precisely two spots: where my pulse is the strongest and where it makes me flinch.

I glance around. No one seems to notice him.

And he is the only one who can hear me.

You're not supposed to be in here.

"Are you coming home yet?"

I shake my head.

"Addie," he sighs, this time a whisper against my ear, "I need you to come back."

He's gone some time between the third and the fourth cut.

The nurse starts suction without my asking. Surgery while mute is not as difficult as I might have thought.

Then, suddenly, I watch in horror as Yang wakes up. I freeze, my finger still half-buried in her abdomen. She stares up at me, eyes bulging with pain. She shakes for a long second, and then relaxes, smiles.

"Don't worry," she says. "I'm going to sleep now." And then she does. She looks peaceful.

I go back to saving her life and killing her baby's.

You always leave me in stitches

I'm getting better at ignoring him. Sometimes, if I walk fast enough, he can't follow.

Other times, I forget that I should run.

The Intern is clever; she knows many things. She's very good at making my husband jealous, sometimes even without trying. Today, she only needs to talk to a man in a leather jacket before Derek punches him out.

"That's Mark," Derek tells her, before leaving in search of some ice for his hands.

Mark gets up, and there is a cut on his cheek. Derek's ring, the one that ironically symbolizes our marriage, can do more damage that it may first appear.

Mark follows me into a room where I have a suture kit ready.

"Oh, come on. You're not even a little happy to see me?"

I silent sew up the gaping wound.

I don't touch his wounded expression.

I thought only I could see you.

But this time, he doesn't hear me.

"You know, all three of us made mistakes -- you, me, Derek. But somehow, I lost my best friend and the woman that I love. Somehow, I lost you."

I cut the last thread and turn to leave. He catches my hand before I can go.

"I'm here to bring you home, Addison. Your marriage is over. All you have to do is admit it."

Please, just go.

He pulls a plane ticket from her jacket, presses it into my hand. "The flight is at 7. I'll wait for you."

I shake my head and let the ticket fall from my hands, leave it and him behind.

This much he understands.

Everyone sings in the right key but me

I watch my husband walk out of the elevator, and I am relieved. He is alive. The grounds shook when the bomb went off, but he is alive.

He is relieved too, because the Intern is alive.

What a death-defying pair they are, I think. Explosives have nothing on them.

That night, Derek tells me, "Bailey's husband is going to be fine."

I nod.

"I saved their marriage. I thought that warranted a souvenir."

He shows me the scalpel from the surgery. The sharp edge winked at me. We are all friends here, it says.

Derek places a hand on my shoulder comfortingly, gives it a firm squeeze. "Don't worry, Addison," he says. "Everything is going to be okay. It's been crazy these last few weeks, but I know what to do now. I can fix this."

The three of us, we all have surgeons' hands. We know how to make each other cut and bleed, but we have the training to do it gracefully.

Tonight, Derek wields it like a steak knife: a quick jab to my side, holds it in place.

I want to scream. I want to fight him off but I am frozen.

He smiles reassuringly. "I'm saving your voice now."

And then the steak knife hits a rib, and I scream and scream, and I know he can hear me but still he smiles at the sound. He smiles because he can leave, and then he does and Mark returns.

"Come home," he says again. "I miss you."

He looks tired, like he hasn't slept for days. (What does he do in the moments I don't see him? Where does he go?)

My hand is slippery on my stomach. "I can't," I say, my voice rusty from non-use. "We don't work. You drive me insane."

"I have a good shrink. She gives a discount for couples."

"I think," I say, "you're the only one who would want me like this. You must be insane, too."

"I am."

And then I smile, because this makes no sense, but he is here, and Derek's trailer has all of our things, and we are home. "Mark," I say. "I'm going to sleep now."

He says, "I'll be here."

Things unread are not things unsaid

I said many other things in the letter, but I ended it like this:

This was a mistake. I'm sorry I dragged you into the mess that is my life.

Goodbye.

-- Addison

The skies are brighter than I have ever seen

Derek is standing by the window when I wake up. Outside, I can see the grays of the New York City skyline.

There are bandages around my head. When I press down on my left temple, I feel a searing pain.

"Derek," I croak.

"Addison." He smiles at me soothingly, like a shark. "I'm glad you're okay."

"You're here," I say, but it is a question because he's not supposed to be here anymore.

"You were in a car accident. Mark asked me to come back to operate." He pauses and leans down to touch my hand. "That's all."

My mind is fuzzy, but I manage to say, "thank you" before he leaves. I wonder if while operating he spilt some of that Seattle rain in my head.

Mark is sleeping in a chair, his head resting on my bed. His wrinkled doctor's coat is draped lazily across the back of the chair.

I run my fingers through his hair. There's an intravenous needle in the back of my hand, and the plastic tubing grazes at his face.

"I came home," I whisper.

He smiles in his sleep and tightens his grip on my hand. Our surgeons' hands.

I imagine that he is dreaming of a place where we have no scars, and where therapy is free.

I close my eyes. I think I will join him there.

FIN

***

All comments will be much, much appreciated. =)

A Love Letter to my Yuletide writer

2007-10-19T14:19:57Z

Dear Writer,

I'm sure I'll absolutely love whatever it is you may (or may not) have planned, but just in case you want more of a nudge, I'll post a little about myself and what I generally enjoy in fics.

If you read my requests and immediately had a story mapped out, feel free to ignore all this. If you're scratching your head because the request was sorely lacking in details, read on, my friend. But read on tomorrow, as first I must sleep. =)

ETA:

Things I look for in a fic: coherence in plot, strong characters and believable interaction with other characters. I'm pretty open in terms of the content of the fic as I enjoy reading pretty much everything, whether it's drama or comedy, adventure or one of those coming-of-age stories that used to be so popular but aren't anymore. I'm sure I'll even enjoy reading a bodice-ripper style fic, if you're up to that sort of thing--although which request that would be, I have no clue. =D

I'm pretty easy to please in the endings department as well: I like happy endings that make me smile goofily (but not so much when I'm in a library and have to bite my lip to avoid looking like an idiot) or tragic endings that make me bawl like a baby, because everyone needs a good cry every now and then. I even like those endings that are a bit of a mindtrip, where it leaves me desperately asking, "BUT WHAT DOES THAT RED CAR MEAN???" So I guess I like most endings--as long as it's an ending, and doesn't leave everything up in the air.

Things I am terribly uncomfortable with: incest. I'm okay with slash, gender benders, male pregnancies, characters inexplicably sprouting wings, and probably every other weird thing out there, but no incest, please! It sends those really bad shivers down my spine.

Love,
Prosperina

The Would-Be Thief and a Handful of Time

2007-10-17T06:50:06Z

Rating: PG-13
Characters:Mark/Addison
Summary: As surgeons, we all see ourselves as "fixers". But sometimes, we disagree on how (and if) things can be fixed.

Notes: Written for the Altered Mental State Ficathon at hawkfromhandsaw, but submitted ridiculously late. (I don't know why I always think I can be reformed and, you know, punctual.) Many thanks to grand_delusions, roadtoforever and lareina95 for the beta.

Feedback: All comments and constructive criticism are much, much appreciated. If you like menial labor, my email is prosperina@gmx.net.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes & co.

***

“Men will always be mad,
and those who think they can cure them are the maddest of all.”-- Voltaire

twenty-two

Living in a hotel had certain hazards: unwanted dinner guests was just one of them.

Addison Montgomery had just finished the last of her steak when Mark Sloan sauntered into the hotel restaurant. As usual, he wore his unshaven jaw and blue jeans ensemble. She pointedly ignored the way his t-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and chest.

"Mark," she said, placing her cutlery in the middle of her plate.

He slipped into the seat across from her. "Addie."

Day twenty-one of the pact had come and gone with too little fanfare, Addison thought. He'd blindsided her when she should have seen him coming.

She took a small sip of her red wine and swirled the liquid around in her glass. Other hospital employees may be able to take their tequila and hard liquor on a daily basis, but Addison could not. She was loath to admit, but she was... advancing in age. With that came thoughts about babies, thoughts about backyard barbequing, and thoughts about family vacations in the Bahamas. If Addison was honest with herself, she wanted it all.

This was a picture she could not see Mark Sloan in--not then, not now, not ever.

All he had ever been able to promise her was a good time.

But at least the promises he made always came true.

"I thought you were avoiding me," she said. "Are my feminine wiles getting too difficult for you to resist?"

"On the contrary," he drawled. "I just thought I'd give you a break. We both know that out of the two of us, I can hold out longer."

Addison scoffed. "I'll believe that when you get to 60 days."

"I'll have you begging," he promised.

"I'm sure I will be--for you and your ego to move out of the way so I can breathe!"

Mark grinned. "Is that the best you can do? I'm pretty sure you used that line back in med school."

"Well, you and your ego left a big impression on me."

"I'm sure that's not the only part of me that left a... big impression."

She stared at him incredulously and then let out a laugh. "I almost can't believe you just said that. It's official, I'm back in high school."

"I think I would've liked that. Knowing you in high school."

"I had braces and no breasts in high school. You wouldn't have talked to me."

He gave her an appraising look as she stood up. "Oh, I don't know about that," he said softly. "I think I definitely would have talked to you."

She shook her head. "You're shameless. Come on, I'll let you walk me to my room."

Addison missed this part of their relationship the most: the talking and the (somewhat) innocent teasing. Over time it'd been buried by the booty calling, the towel wearing and the rolling in damp sheets. The sex was fabulous and Mark's relentless black t-shirt would not let her forget it... but she still missed the words.

As it happened, living in hotels had other hazards: sex and infidelities, just to name a few.

A man with wild eyes stood at the reception. When he spoke, his voice shook with rage. "I know my wife is up there, damn it. The whore is up there with the asshole she's seeing. Give me the room number, now, or I'll look for them myself."

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave..."

The next part happened in a blur. A gun was pulled. Someone screamed. Addison could feel Mark tugging her towards the safety of the elevators, but she didn't follow.

Instead, she found herself moving towards the man with the wild eyes; she felt his fear, his anguish and his desperate need to save his marriage. She felt like she understood him.

The man did not understand her.

"Addison, no!"

Suddenly, she was falling at an awkward angle, a heavy weight pressing on her side. A loud crack sounded and then there was searing pain.

Then nothing.

minus three

For their ten-year anniversary, she and Derek were heading to the Bahamas for a long-deserved break. Work had been hectic with both of them gaining recognition in their own fields of specialty, but she was slowly burning out. She needed a break.

The Chief agreed. "Take two weeks," he'd said. "You might not think this, but we do have other surgeons in the hospital."

Derek left the arrangements up to her. "Just give me the flight number," he'd said. "I'll be there."

At the airport, Addison shifted impatiently and checked her watch for the third time. All around her, comers and goers milled about. Her husband was not among them.

She sighed when a familiar figure approached. "I was afraid this might happen."

Mark shrugged, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Sorry, Addie. Derek said there was an emergency."

"Of course there was." She handed him a ticket--'Mark Sloan' clearly printed across the top--and started toward the departure gate. She tucked Derek's ticket back into her purse: an early souvenir. "We should check-in, the plane is boarding soon."

Mark trailed behind her, silently climbing up the steps of the plane and into the allocated seats. They didn't speak much on the flight over or on the drive to the hotel.

Addison broke the silence when they checked into their room. The blonde behind the reception desk brazenly flirted with Mark, and Addison scoffed loudly as they walked away. "For all she knows, you could be my husband. This is officially the worst anniversary ever."

He pressed the button of the elevator. "I thought the first anniversary was pretty bad, myself."

She grimaced at the thought. "Oh, yeah. I must have been repressing that memory. Why on earth did Derek think it would be a great idea to have you, of all people, to cook for me?"

"On the bright side, the night ended cozily. The three of us on the bathroom floor, fighting about who got the toilet..."

"What a let down."

"Why, Addison Montgomery," he said, grinning suggestively. "I didn't know you thought of me in that way."

"I meant the dinner! Mark, don't say things like that to me on my anniversary. You have absolutely no morals whatsoever." She muttered, "You and that blonde deserve each other."

He raised one eyebrow. "I wouldn't be calling anyone immoral if I were you. I'm not the one who stole custard cups from my patients."

Addison felt a flush warmed her cheeks. "They weren't going to eat it, they were in vegetative state! Besides," she sniffed, "that was ten years ago."

He unlocked their room and she dropped her bags inside.

"I'm going down to the beach," she said. "The sunset is in about a half-hour."

Mark pulled a pair of shorts from his bag. "I'll come along to keep you safe."

Addison rolled her eyes.

She rolled her eyes again when they were standing on the beach. Mark made a big show about building a fire. Addison was almost certain he didn't need to take his shirt off to do that.

"Great," she said. "I've got the sunset, I've got the romantic bonfire... and I've got the husband's best friend. What a wonderful story for the grandkids."

Mark threw his hands up. "This isn't exactly how I imagined my week going either! I had a date with two hot brunettes lined up--two of them. Possibly twins. And then Derek had to go and call in his favor."

She blinked. "Well. I'm sorry I'm such a burden."

He softened when he saw the beginning of tears. "Hey. You're not a burden. To anyone. Derek's just being an idiot. Any guy would be lucky to have you blow your nose on their shirt."

"Really?" She sniffled. "You're just saying that so I won't cry and blow my nose on your shirt. Or hit you."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I've been hit harder by five-year-olds."

For good measure, Addison punched his arm as hard as she could.

"Ow!" He laughed, rubbing the spot. "Okay, ten-year-olds, then."

"Don't make me hit you again," she said, raising her cramping fist.

"Alright, alright. Enough. Come here," he slid an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. "Hey, your shampoo smells nice."

"Thanks, I bought it yesterday."

"This isn't so bad, right? I mean, I'm no Derek, but I think we've got the bickering old married couple part down."

She paused. "Derek and I don't do that."

"Oh."

She sighed and leaned back into his arms, one hand absently raking through the sand. The sun was low on the water, and they watched as it disappeared beneath the horizon.

"This is nice," he whispered. The only light left from the flickering flames.

Addison smiled for the first time since the airport. "Yes. Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Happy anniversary."

"It is our anniversary too, you know. Ten years ago---"

"I don't want to talk about that."

twenty-three

The day she'd had the abortion, Mark had come home to find Addison curled up on her side. He had taken one look at her and known from the stringiness of her hair and the paleness of her face. He'd left her there while he went into the next room and put his fist through the wall.

This was so much worse.

Addison lay on the hospital bed in the Intensive Care Unit, thick bandages wrapped around her head. A machine monitored her heartbeat; another monitored her blood pressure. Tubes connected her lungs to a ventilator and her veins to an IV drip. Mark saw these things everyday, but never on her. Mark was a doctor every other day, but not today.

"Is she going to be okay?"

Derek stood beside him, holding Addison's medical chart low over his stomach. "The bullet grazed her left temple," he said haltingly, "and there was a skull fracture. We found an epidural hematoma."

"I know all that," Mark ground out. "Is she going to be okay?"

"The operation was successful. I removed the clot. But that's not what you're asking either, is it?"

"You know it's not."

"And you know I can't answer." Derek sighed and ran a hair through his hair. It was flatter than usual from hours under a scrub cap. "Addison is in a coma. I can't tell you why or when she is going to wake up. All I can tell you is that, medically, she has an excellent chance for a complete recovery."

"Okay," Mark said. He nodded slowly twice, and then once again. "Okay."

"Hey," Derek said, "You pushed her out of the way and saved her life. You did good."

"Not good enough. I could have--" Mark stopped and pressed the heel of his palms against his eyelids. They were bloodshot from lack of sleep and too many tears. "We made this bet. Addison said that if I could go 60 days without having sex, she'd give us a shot. We were going to try, and I knew it was going to work this time because there was no way I was ever going to mess it up."

Derek hesitated for a moment, and then made himself comfortable in the second chair. "Medically, she has a excellent chance. Not medically? Addison is a fighter. She's the most stubborn person I know. She's going to be okay."

Mark nodded again. Maybe if he nodded enough, he could accept the words. "Do you think she can hear us?" He said finally.

"I bet she's laughing at us right now and making us sweat for having such little faith."

"Yeah. That sounds like Addie."

minus eleven

Superstition said that a bride and groom could not see each other on the day of the wedding.

Addison was not taking any chances.

She stood in the middle of her hotel room, the green goop of a cucumber mask on her face, and stared intently at the man lounging on her bed. She held a television remote in her left hand and occasionally pointed it at him as if it would make him speak faster, slower or pause.

Mark had his shoes kicked off and sat comfortably against the headboard, his phone held to one ear. "Derek says he doesn't understand why he can't talk to you directly. He can't see you over the phone."

"Tell Derek I'm not gambling away our future and our happiness."

Mark relayed the message and then paused for a reply. "Derek says you're being ridiculous."

"Tell him I'm not getting married tomorrow if I hear his voice before the ceremony."

"Derek says--Dude, I am not saying that."

Addison giggled when Mark's ears turned a dark shade of pink. "What did he say? What did he say?"

"If you make me tell you, I am going to turn the speaker phone on and then you can explain to your parents why the wedding has been cancelled," he threatened.

"Okay, fine." She pointed. "You are a terrible best man."

"I'm pretty sure these aren't traditional best man duties--what? Oh. Fine. Dude, I cannot believe you're still holding that against me." Mark rolled his eyes, and deadpanned, "It's only been a few hours but I miss you already."

"Aw," Addison said. She sat down on the bed and pushed at his legs to give her room. "I miss you too."

"I can't wait to see you walking down the aisle. I can't wait until you're my wife."

"I wish it was happening right now," she sighed.

Mark took in the sight of her fluffy pink robe and green face, and snickered. " Me too."

Addison sent him a sharp look. "Shush, you."

"What was that, Derek? Okay. I'll tell her."

"What? What did he say?"

"I hope we have a daughter who is just like you."

She smiled softly.

"I want her to have your red hair and your eyes and your laugh, and nothing of me. I want us to be a family that has barbeques in the backyard and vacations in the Bahamas. I don't think it's possible for me to ever stop loving you."

Addison's eyes welled up, and she fanned her hands at her face as if it would ward off the tears. She dashed to the bathroom before she started to cry her mask away.

Mark watched her go and then let out a long sigh. He hung up the phone. There was no need to tell Derek goodbye; during the last few 'messages', there had been nothing on the other side but a dial tone.

twenty-five

Mark stood outside Addison's hospital room, his head leaning against the cool glass of the window. Two days had passed since the operation and Addison had not woken up.

Derek had assured him that all the signs and tests had been encouraging. Sometimes, people just took longer to come back. In their old Neuroscience professor's voice, they both heard the unspoken words, and sometimes people don't come back at all.

"You're waiting for her to wake up."

In the reflection of the glass, Mark could see an elderly woman standing behind him. "Excuse me?"

"Your girlfriend. You're waiting for her, aren't you?"

He focused on Addison again. Even her normally vibrant, red hair looked pale in this light. "Yes."

"My mother was in a coma for seven years before she came to."

Mark laughed humorlessly. "That's not exactly encouraging."

"But she woke up. And do you know what she said?"

"What's that?"

"She said, 'I would have come back sooner if you'd given me grandchildren.'" The woman shook her head and cackled. "Crazy old coot."

Mark frowned, "I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me."

"Young man, sometimes it's not about sickness. Sometimes it's about the flowers, the sunshine, the songs."

"So, I should get her flowers?" he guessed. "Play music for her?"

"Maybe your girlfriend just needs to figure out that whatever she has when asleep, it's not as good as what she has awake."

minus fifteen

Addison Montgomery was fabulous at everything she did, save one: handling a motor vehicle. Still, she did not admit defeat. If legions of other college students could drive, why couldn't she? Sure, she had a small problem with parking, but who didn't forget to look in the rearview mirror from time to time?

"Hey," she heard someone yell, and then loud thumping on the back of her car. "Watch where you're going!"

She threw on the brakes, put her car into park and jumped out. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you! Are you hurt? Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

A guy her age was standing behind her car -- another two inches and he would have been hit. He had dark blonde hair and gray eyes. Addison had seen him leaving the room of a girl on her floor the day before, and the room of another girl the day before that.

"I'm fine--no thanks to you," he fumed. "You almost killed me!"

She flicked a lock of hair out of her eyes, all traces of panic and sympathy now gone. "I did not. Besides, maybe you should watch where you're going next time. Why are you walking behind moving cars, anyway? Didn't your mother ever tell you that's dangerous?"

His mouth opened and closed a few times. "I can't believe this," he muttered as he stormed away. "Crazy redheads should not be allowed behind the wheel."

Addison stomped off too, but, unfortunately, they were headed in the same direction. "Nice to meet you too! Ass."

He stopped mid-step. "What are you going on about? We already met. I'm the one who saved your life."

"You're crazy," she shook her head.

"At the hotel, remember? You got shot, and I pushed you out the way."

"Mark, you are really going insane."

His eyes lit up. "So, you do remember me."

"Names don't mean anything. Many people know your name. Lots of girls in my dorm know your name."

He stared at her, and then slowly smoothed a lock of hair away from her left temple. "You have a scar there." He touched the light puckering at her hairline. It was still tender. She flinched. "See? Proof."

Addison pushed his hands away, suddenly accusing. "Then clearly you didn't try hard enough to save me."

At her words, Mark grew quiet and subdued, and she wished she could take them back.

"I tried, Addie." His eyes were dark and sad. "Isn't that enough?"

She didn't answer.

If she had, she would have said: I want more.

twenty-six

"I brought you passion roses -- your favorite," Mark said to her sleeping form. "The florist in the hospital didn't have them, but I managed to get them in. Had to promise Stevens a good surgery, but it was worth it, right?"

He smiled and paused in wait. She didn't say anything or twitch a finger in response.

"I know it's hard to resist me, but you don't have to go into a coma for the rest of the 60 days." He grinned teasingly. "I won't hold it against you."

Another minute passed before Mark sat down. Someone had replaced the uncomfortable plastic chair with the plush leather seat from his office, but he didn't know who. Another day he would have appreciated the gesture, but today he didn't even notice.

"I'm sorry about New York. I don't think I've ever told you that. I'm not sorry that we were together, but I'm sorry that I pushed you before you were ready. Sometimes I think that if I had waited, you and Derek would have split on good terms, and this wouldn't be so hard.

"I think I must have been in love with you since that day in Anatomy. You were the bossiest lab partner I'd ever had." He smiled to himself. "You had this no-nonsense way about you -- very sexy, even though I don't think you knew it then.

"I just--" Mark swallowed hard. "Come back, Addison? I don't like being here without you."

minus seventeen

It was Spring Break and, like all the cool kids, Addison and Savvy drove down to Florida for the week. They made a pit stop at a gas station and split up the tasks: Addison would fill the tank with gas, and Savvy would get the snacks. Addison did not trust Savvy with flammables.

She had the cap back on the tank when a couple emerged from the next car and scared the crap out of her. They didn't look like criminals or in any way mentally deranged. The woman just looked far too similar to herself for comfort, only with the differences that fifteen years might bring. The man had dark blonde hair and a strong smirk. Addison instantly had a reaction of some sort to the smirk.

"I told you to ask for directions!" The Redhead said, smacking the man on the arm.

"You said you could follow directions! And jeez, a fifteen-year-old, okay?" He winced, rubbing his arm.

"At least I know when to admit a mistake. You are hopeless, Mark." The Redhead turned to Addison and smiled. "Excuse me. Can you tell us which way to Miami Beach? We're kind of lost because of Doofus, here."

Mark started to splutter, but both women ignored him.

"Well, actually" Addison said, "I'm not from around here. I could make a wild guess, but I wouldn't want to get you even more lost."

Redhead shrugged. "Eh, that's okay. We just came from the Bahamas, so it's not like we haven't seen a beach in years."

"The Bahamas? That sounds nice."

"Yep," Mark added. "The big ten year anniversary."

"Oh, wow, congratulations."

Mark and the Redhead looked at each other and then laughed uproariously. Addison frowned. God, their laughs were loud.

"Us? No, we're not married."

"Well, I'm married, but not to him."

Mark wiped a tear from the corner of his eyes. "Ah, I haven't heard anything that funny in years. Alright, I think it's time we go home."

"Home?" Addison echoed.

Mark smiled at her, and then tapped her nose. "Yes. That's where you should be going, missy."

The Redhead nodded. "He misses you. Don't take too long, okay? It's just going to make it harder."

When Savvy returned, the mysterious couple was long gone. "What are you looking at?" Savvy asked, peering over Addison's shoulder. The highway looked deserted.

Addison shook her head. "Nothing. Hey, Sav? Maybe you should drive."

thirty

Another four days passed and Addison was transferred out of ICU. She could breathe on her own, but was still in a coma.

Mark had lunch with her daily.

"Okay, let's see what we have here," he said, examining the contents of the hospital lunch. "Hmm. Eggs? Could be mashed potatoes. The jell-o, as always, looks good. And here's the custard. I know that's your favorite."

"Talking to yourself?" Derek said as he entered the room. He came around to Addison's other side and quickly reviewed the chart.

"Talking to Addie. I think it helps."

"She's definitely improving. And the stitches look like they are healing nicely."

"You should have let me do that. It wouldn't have left a scar."

"I don't think that's going to make a difference to Addison."

"I don't know--, she can be pretty vain. Look at how much beauty sleep she's taking."

Derek frowned. "I don't think--"

Mark quickly cut him off. "I know." He sighed. "I know. It's just easier. For me. To tell myself that she's just sleeping. And she'll be waking up any second. Because she is, right?"

"Right," Derek said after a beat. "Maybe... you should go see someone in Psych. Just to talk."

"I've been doing a lot of talking with Addison lately."

At that, Derek looked at him--really looked at him. Here was the man with dark blonde hair and dark circles under his eyes; the man he used to call a best friend; and the man who was probably the soul mate of the woman Derek used to love. "You can talk to me, too, you know," he said.

"I'm fine. But I could use a little company. Addie's not really holding up her end of the conversation these days."

Mark smiled again, but there was no hiding the bleakness in his eyes.

Derek sat down.

minus twenty-two

At seventeen, Addison had her priorities straight. While other girls were practicing their cheerleading routine for the homecoming game, Addison sat underneath a tree in the courtyard, three chemistry textbooks spread out around her. Three was just enough to send the message: I am busy, do not interrupt me.

Mark Sloan was the smart jock, and he may have been good with math and science and almost every other subject that ever existed, but he was terrible with messages.

"Can I help you?" Addison said politely when he plopped down beside her.

He smiled lazily. "Just wondering why you're doing homework when the world is clearly telling you to have some fun."

"Contrary to what you might have been told, you are not the world."

"Well, I wasn't actually talking about me, but okay. I say you should be letting loose and having fun. Also, the clouds say you should be having fun."

"The clouds?" Addison repeated doubtfully.

Mark nodded. "Yes. The signs are clear. See?" He pointed to a particularly fluffy one in the distance. "Books are burning in that one. Crackle, crackle."

"Right."

"And that one there?" This time he pointed to one right above them, just visible through the tree leaves. She had to lean closer to him in order to see. "A drink. Looks like vodka, but I guess it could be anything in a shot glass."

"Hmm." Addison was not impressed. "Well, as enlightening as this has been, I have things to do--"

"You realize this isn't real, right? The anniversary, the night before the wedding, the way we met. I mean, you did try to run me over once. But that's not how it all happened."

She started to deny it, but then instead said, "None of that has happened yet."

"It has. You know this."

"It hasn't happened to us -- not to this Addison Montgomery, and not to this Mark Sloan."

"No. But we're not real either." He gave her a small smile. "And, anyway, it's not going the way you planned, is it? You're not getting all the things you want, and you can't keep me at arm's length. Even in your dreams, I still get closer than you think I should."

She stared at him, and then lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry about the baby."

"Me too."

"I just thought... if I went back far enough, I could change things."

He put one finger under her chin and tipped it gently so that she would meet his gaze. "Nothing really changes here. Wake up, Addie. You can only change it if you go back."

"I know," she admitted. "It's just so much harder there."

"I'll help you." He took her hand. "We'll do it together."

"Wait, I still need to know: the night before my wedding... the things you said..."

Mark shook his head. "Derek didn't really say those things. Neither did I."

"Oh."

"I wasn't ready then, but I will be. I'm ready now."

"Now?"

"Yes. See that cloud over there? That's now."

She squinted. The cloud was white and fluffy and, like the rest, did not look like anything but a cloud.

Suddenly, everything went black.

Somewhere in the background, she could hear Mark laughing, "I pushed you hard enough this time."

thirty-two

When Addison opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was a firm grip on her hand. The second thing was the tray full of custard cups.

Mark was sleeping in the chair beside her bed. She shifted her fingers, and he woke. He gave her a broad smile.

"Addison," he breathed. "I saved you the custard."

"Hi," she said, and it was only after the third attempt that the word came out. Mark helped her sit up and poured some water for her parched throat.

Her eyes wandered over to the passion roses.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "They're a bit wilted now."

"That's okay."

She stared at him. Mark Sloan looked different. Maybe he was a new man. Maybe waking from a coma had given her new eyes.

He couldn't stop smiling or touching her hand and her cheek. "I'm so glad you're okay. Derek thought I was going crazy, and I think I was as well, but... I needed to talk to you. It was the only way I could feel close to you. I was so afraid, and there were all these things I needed you to know."

Words from her dream niggled at the back of her mind, and she struggled to remember them all. "Mark, when I was... out of it, you said you wanted to have a daughter with me. You said you wanted her to look like me. Everything of me and nothing of you."

"I--Yes. You heard me."

"I think I heard everything." She lifted her hand to his cheek. He had six days worth of stubble and the softest skin. "I want her to have your smile."

He smiled warmly. There was so much happiness, relief and love mixed in; Addison wondered how she could have thought the dreams were better than this.

"Okay."

"Mark?"

"Yes?"

"When I get out of here, let's go to the Bahamas. I've never been before, and I want to go with you."

"Okay."

Addison yawned. Her eyes felt droopy again, but she didn't worry. She wasn't leaving this behind again.

"Mark?"

"Yes."

"Thank you for saving me."

FIN

Everyone Has A Plan: Part Three

2007-09-07T08:04:18Z

Rating: PG
Character: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Haley resigned herself to the fact that Christmas had been hijacked.

Part Three

For the third time in ten minutes, Haley wondered what on earth has possessed her to allow Brooke to choose her clothes. If it were the middle of summer it would be another thing, but as she walked from Lucas’s car to the house, she swore she could feel windburn on her ass.

Before they’d even reached the stairs, the front door swung open and a little dark-haired girl flung herself at Lucas.

“Luke!” She said. “Where is the present my bestest big brother brought for me?”

Lucas laughed. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Elise. And you’ll get your present the same time you’ll get all your other presents: tomorrow morning.”

Haley deduced that Elise was Lucas’s adorably bratty sister that Brooke sometimes spoke about. Apparently, she and Brooke got along fabulously.

Elise’s pout turned into a curious smile, and then quickly back into a very pronounced pout when she spotted Haley. “You’re Brooke’s cousin,” she said sourly. “Now that you’re here, I’m not allowed to sit next to—“

The rest of her words were muffled by Lucas’s hand, who gave a nervous laugh. “Uh, should we go inside? It’s a little cold out here.”

Haley’s curiosity about what Elise was saying was overcome by the cold. “Yes,” she said. “I’m freezing out here.”

They made it past the hallway, where Haley very reluctantly parted with her coat, and into the family room where they were warmly greeted by Lucas’s parent.

“Brooke, I’m glad you could make it,” Karen said. She then turned to Haley, “You must be Haley. Brooke has told me a lot about you.”

Haley fought the urge to apologize for her outfit. She feared the little black dress made her seem like she was on a hunt for a man – which was completely inappropriate since the only ones in attendance was Karen’s husband and Karen’s son. “Thank you for inviting me. Your home is beautiful. Brooke told me that you designed everything yourself?”

“Well, with a lot of help from Lucas. We redecorated when Lucas was about eighteen months old, and I used to ask for his opinion.”

Keith laughed. “Oh yeah, I remember she’d hold up different pieces of fabric and ask which one he liked better. Except his vocabulary was limited to ‘goo’ and ‘dada’.”

“But he was very good at gesturing” Karen affectionately pinched Lucas’s cheeks, “weren’t you, baby?”

“Mom!” Lucas exclaimed, quickly turning red.

“Aww,” Brooke teased. “You’re blushing! That’s so cute.”

“Hear that, Luke?” Another voice said from the hallway. “Your girlfriend thinks you’re as cute as a button.”

Haley’s breath caught in her throat when the figure became visible: all six-feet of him. She took in the dark hair that was wet from melting flecks of snow, and the well-muscled body clothed in jeans and a black sports jacket. After greeting the others in the room, his eyes lazily settled on her and he grinned.

Haley tried to inconspicuously tug her dress up at the top and down at the bottom. First chance she got, she was going to kill Brooke.

***

As it happened, her first chance came only five minutes later. It came about when she grabbed Brooke’s arm – missing her originally target, the hair, by mere inches – and excused them to the closest bathroom.

“Brooke. I am going to kill you.” Haley said.

“I know, don’t you just love me?” Brooke sighed happily. “You’re in a fabulous dress and four-inch heels, there’s a really hot guy who is totally checking you out… This story is going to have a happy ending.”

Haley sighs. “Is that why I’m wearing this? If you had just told me you were trying to set me up with someone, I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would’ve made an effort…” To choose something less revealing, Haley added inwardly.

“But if you had told me you were trying to set me up with Nathan Scott, I would’ve spent Christmas with Taylor and Chris.”

“You hate Chris. And Taylor is not Christmas material unless you don’t plan on remembering it.”

“Why are you telling me things I already know?”

“Nathan is a great guy, Haley, just give him a chance. I know you’ll hit it off. After all, when have my plans ever failed?”

Haley knew better than to touch the question posed. “I gave him many chances in high school. I know what he’s like.”

That gave Brooke pause. “Uh… I don’t know what TV show you’re watching, Hales, but you and Nathan did not go to high school together.”

Haley sighed. “Remember those four or five weeks when my parents had the great idea to ship off to North Carolina?”

“Yeah?”

“We stayed in a town called Tree Hill.”

“Yeah?”

“I went to school there.”

“Oh. That’s funny, Nathan never mentioned that.”

“Are you seriously telling me that you and Nathan have deep and meaningful conversations? Or conversations at all?”

Brooke expertly sidestepped the question. “You know what? This is a sign. You were high school sweethearts… tragically torn apart… never able to forget each other… and now fate has brought you back together… isn’t that what all great love stories are made of?”

“Uh, it’s not like we dated or anything. I was his tutor.”

“Even better! He was one of your first students, the one who inspired you, the one who made you want to become a teacher…”

“I stopped tutoring for three months after that.”

“Because you were so heartbroken about being tragically torn apart…”

Haley stared at her cousin: Brooke-the-Romantic, stars in her eyes. Who would have guessed?

“I give up.” She said. “Let’s just go and have some turkey.”

***

to be continued...

Ill (Prompt #009)

2007-09-04T12:05:25Z

Rating: PG
Characters: Mark/Addison
Prompt: #009 Ill (from the 100_situations table)

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes & co.

***

Mark tried to stay still and calm when Addison leaned close and peered into his eyes. It was difficult, but not for the normal reasons: when she'd entered the room she'd let the curtains fall open, and the sun -- the bright, bright sun -- glared into his face.

"You're not sick," she declared finally. "I know a hangover when I see one."

"Addie, I'm on death's door here," he groaned. "Have some mercy."

"No way," she shook her head. "You got yourself into this mess. You can't expect me to bail you out. And I don't even know you that well -- why didn't you ask Derek?"

Mark sulked a little. "He already said no."

Addison shook her head again. "Right. Well, I'm going to leave now. Good luck."

And true to her word, she quickly left, taking her oh-so-precious exam notes with her.

But later, when he ventured out to the kitchen, he found a tomato-juice/prune-juice/aspirin concoction on the kitchen bench. A note sat beside it, and scrawled in Addison's neat handwriting were the words, "Here's some chicken soup for your cold."

The Gift

2007-09-02T13:45:42Z

Rating: PG
Characters: Mark/Addison
Summary: Addison receives a gift, and she's the only one who doesn't care what it is. (Except she does.)

Notes: Written for irinafan as part of the greys_exchange.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Shonda Rhimes & co.

***

It was a glorious day at Seattle Grace. The sun was finally shining high in the sky, and everything else seemed to have fallen into place. It was positively chirpy inside, and Addison Forbes Montgomery had not caught a single ill-disguised giggle or sly glance from the doctors and nurses who usually had one reserved especially for her. Even the spy-nurse who had been unofficially assigned to her – Addison suspected all doctors were assigned at least one spy-nurse; Meredith Grey most likely was being trailed by two – had greeted her with an innocuous smile.

I should move to L.A., she mused, before laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

Derek may now officially be her ex-husband, and he may be dating Meredith Grey, but Addison honestly could not care less. She even smiled beatifically at them as she made her way to the Chief, but only received two very baffled looks in return. From somewhere to her left, she heard Dr. Stevens whisper, “Wow, McSteamy really does do miracles…” but Addison ignored that as well.

“Good morning, Richard,” she said.

The Chief put his charts down on the nurses’ station and regarded her with a bemused smile. “Morning, Addison. You’re in a good mood today.”

“I certainly am.”

“It’s sunny,” Mark said suddenly from beside her, appearing out of nowhere.

“It certainly is,” she replied.

One week earlier, in one of their many tête-à-têtes, he’d told her that he would be flying back to New York to sell his share of the practice and to sub-let his apartment. She’d half-expected him not to return. She had been adamant that there was nothing here for him in Seattle: no best friend, no her, and definitely no good weather.

Despite this, he had apparently opted to stay.

She was slightly afraid to find out what else would just fall into his lap upon his return.

“Why, Addie, I haven’t seen a smile like that from you since New York.”

“I usually wait until you have your back turned. It’s a bit dangerous, you know, to have too much of the full effect.”

He grinned at her, and suddenly it struck her how easy it was to fall back into that easy banter with Mark. It felt like it was way back when, before the affair, before the unhappy marriage that was not between them, before the unspoken words and secret looks. It was uncomplicated, like when they were just friends. (And, here, it struck her how far back she had to cast her mind to get to that point.)

“What’s changed?”

“It’s sunny.”

He nodded. “It certainly is.”

“You know, this is the first time since I’ve moved to Seattle that I’ve seen the whole thing, unobstructed by bits of Grey Fluff?” She sighed wistfully. “Four months, and this is the first time.”

“Well, here’s to many, many more sunny days.” Mark brought out a beatific smile of his own, and added, “This is for you.”

Addison looked down and noticed for the first time that he had been carrying a large white box with an equally obnoxious silver ribbon on top. He handed it to her. She reluctantly took it. He gave one last smile – now threatening to turn back into the normal smirk – and wandered off down the hall.

With that, her good mood dropped. It dropped with a plomp! and was followed by a hiss.

She wasn’t sure whose eyes were wider: hers or the spy-nurse’s.

(The Chief’s eyes were probably staring down an incompetent intern in some far-off hospital room; Addison did not even notice him leave.)

She mourned the spell of uncomplicatedness, so easily broken, and it might have been her imagination, but Addison would swear that in the distance she heard the first droplets of rain.

***

She ignored it at first – or as best she could when her arms was full of it and its awkward angles.

Addison unceremoniously dropped it into the black-hole-corner of her office in the hopes that things would rewind, in the hopes that when she returned after the scheduled surgery, The Box would be gone.

She hoped.

***

Alex Karev pricked that dream like a five-year-old with a balloon.

The first words to leave his mouth were, “So, I heard you got a special delivery today,” and her first words were, “So, I’m sending you to the pit.”

It wasn’t until much later that she realized he’d been referring to the conjoined twins due in the afternoon. Oh well. She was sure the punishment was not undeserved, even if she didn’t yet know of the act that made it deserving. Besides, he wasn’t allowed to call her Satan for nothing.

One successful surgery and an up-to-date set of post-op notes later, Addison returned to her office to find the box still there, shiny and untouched (and un-disappeared).

She closed the door with a huff.

***

Two hours later, in the cafeteria, Addison was ambushed by Callie Torres.

“So, I heard you got a special delivery today,” to which Addison bit into a particularly crunchy apple and replied, “Yep. Conjoined twins.”

But, of course, she wasn’t that lucky.

“Yeah, yeah, conjoined twins, conjoined triplets, quintuplets – whatever. I meant The Box that Sloan gave you. What is it?”

Damn that spy-nurse and her unbelievable powers!

“I don’t know. I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Callie rolled her eyes. “You can flick your perfect red hair, bite that ridiculously crunchy apple and make everyone else believe that you are not at all curious about the gift your ex-mistress, ex-and-maybe-sometimes-current-lover gave you, but I am not fooled. Do you hear me? Not fooled.”

Addison tried to suppress a smile.

“Bad night?”

“You have no idea. But we’re not talking about me – what’s in The Box? How can you not be in your office right now, tearing into that thing like it’s Christmas?”

“Uh, because it’s May. And I don’t care what’s in it.”

“Right.”

And she didn’t.

But that wasn’t to say that, during the short walk from the nurses’ station to her office, she hadn’t picked up some clues:

It was bigger than a breadbox. Too big to contain a cake – unless it was a wedding cake, but that was extremely unlikely.

Too heavy to be a cake – again, unless it was a wedding cake, because who knew what sort of things they put in there? (Addison made a mental note to slip that question into a conversation with Dr. Stevens.)

It rattled lightly when she shook it. God, she hoped it wasn’t a slutty nurse’s outfit.

No immediate odors were detected upon the very scientific process of sniffing.

Not fragile – she’d dropped it from a little higher than necessary to determine that.

“Not curious at all.”

Callie’s eye twitched. Addison recognized this to be the start of the next Inquisition, but luckily she was saved by the pager.

“You are so lucky there are people with broken bones in this hospital…” Callie grumbled.

Addison waggled her fingers in lieu of a goodbye.

Lady Luck. It looked like she was back.

***

Alex Karev rejoined her for the afternoon surgery with a surly and petulant look on his face, but at least he didn’t mouth off. The surgery again (and of course) was a success. She scheduled another for the following week to separate the babies.

Lady Luck abandoned her for the second time at approximately 2:30pm, when Derek spotted her from the other end of the hallway.

Addison paused for a moment. It was too late to duck around a corner as he had already seen her; it was too late to pretend to wander back in the other direction because he knew that she’d already seen him.

Addison briefly wished for Meredith Grey to suddenly appear between them, as she had many times throughout the recent months, but Addison supposed even that would not help. The way Derek was all thunderstorm at the moment, he looked like he would have huffed-and-puffed and blew Meredith and her skinny frame away.

“If you’re not here to congratulate me about the conjoined twins, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“Congratulations, also,” Derek said pleasantly, “on your new happy and adulterous relationship.”

“And who would I be committing adultery on – you? In case you’ve forgotten, and it wouldn’t surprise me considering the number of times you’ve forgotten the state of our marriage over the last five years, we are no longer married.”

“So you are in a relationship!” He said triumphantly.

“It’s none of your business whether we are or aren’t.”

“And what was the present? Probably something sleazy,” he mused. “Something designed to get you in bed with him.”

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense, Derek, because according to you, I’m already there.”

“You’re forgetting, Addison, I know how Mark works. He doesn’t really care about you, he just wants a challenge. And you’re the biggest challenge of all: his best friend’s wife.”

She took a deep breath against the cutting words.

“That’s not how it was, Derek.”

“And you fell for it.”

“Maybe that is how it was,” Mark’s smooth voice cut in. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t there.”

These were the two men Addison knew best in the entire world, but as she watched them engage in staring contest, she found their expressions to be utterly unreadable. They almost mirrored each other: jaws clenched, eyes narrowed, nostrils caught in an ever-so-slight flare.

Derek was the reflection to walk away.

And then there were two.

“You didn’t open my gift,” Mark said finally. “You should. You’ll like it.”

She watched as he strode into her office as if it were an everyday occurrence (although if it was, perhaps her black-hole-corner was not that much of a mystery after all). He reappeared a few seconds later with The Box and deposited it into her arms for the second time.

Addison stared at it warily.

“Don’t worry. It’s not a French maid outfit.” He smirked. “Or a nurse’s.”

“It’d better not be.”

She carefully pushed the bow aside and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled against sky blue tissue paper were three (or technically six) things Addison had thought she would never see again.

Navy slingbacks accented with silver by Christian LaCroix.

Caramel-colored pumps by Prada.

Black suede peep-toes by Manolo Blahnik.

The last time they met, she’d been hurling them at Mark’s head after a particularly vicious argument. They all missed, but one clipped his shoulder. She had a special place in her heart for those peep-toes.

“Oh, Mark,” she whispered as she stared up at him, one hand still caressing the suede.

He grinned. “I knew you’d like it.” He pressed a quick kiss against her cheek and ambled down the hallway.

She watched him go.

Outside, the birds were chirping.

***

finis

Everyone Has A Plan: Part Two

2007-07-19T05:04:05Z

Rating: PG
Character: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Haley resigned herself to the fact that Christmas had been hijacked.

Part Two

This is how Haley James was going to spend Christmas Eve… according to Brooke Davis:

First, she was going to wear a fabulous dress and four-inch heels. She was going to walk into the Scott mansion and trip right into Nathan Scott’s arms. Then they would fall madly in love.

Lucas snorted. “Cheery, I love you, but that is a ridiculous plan.”

Brooke put her hands on her hips. “Have you ever seen Haley walk in heels?”

“I meant the part about them falling madly in love.”

“Hey, you were the one who thought they’d make a perfect couple! Your cousin… my cousin… a perfect match!”

Lucas shook his head. “Yeah, but I thought we’d just introduce them or something, not push them together… literally. Besides, how are you going to get her in heels anyway?”

“Broody, you have no faith.” Brooke smiled slyly. “I have my ways…”

***

to be continued...

Everyone Has A Plan: Part One

2007-07-19T05:01:43Z

Rating: PG
Character: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Haley resigned herself to the fact that Christmas had been hijacked.

Notes: Written for Nats as part of the Secret Santa challenge at dareyouto_write.

Part One

This is how Haley James was going to spend Christmas Eve:

First, she was going to wake up at midday – a luxury had not been able to afford since the previous Christmas Eve. Then, at approximately 1pm, she would go to the corner shop and buy herself a turkey sandwich, and spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on next semester’s readings; as a teacher she found it was always important to know just a little bit more than her students. She would have chow mein for dinner, and then watch Seinfeld to her heart’s content (or until 12am).

Haley has planned this day down the minute since November.

The plan did not include her cousin, Brooke Davis, barging into her apartment at the crack of dawn.

“Rise and shine!” Brooke sang as she drew back the curtains.

“Brooke?” Haley mumbled from underneath the covers. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“You gave me an emergency key, remember?”

“…And what’s the emergency?”

“Well,” Brooke said, “you have a difficult decision to make. Will you be wearing the black dress or the red dress to the Scott’s Christmas dinner? I like the red myself, but I know you like to do the whole classic look…”

Brooke swiftly pulled back the covers without disregard to what Haley may or may not have been wearing, but luckily Haley was fully covered in Snoopy pajamas. Pulling the covers off a sleeping Brooke, however, was not a move Haley would have attempted.

“Uh, Christmas dinner? At your boyfriend’s parent’s place? Why would I be going to that?”

“Because you’re invited, of course! When I told Karen that my favorite cousin would be spending Christmas alone because your family are out of the country, Karen insisted that you come.”

“I really don’t mind, Brooke, I’ve actually got a really busy day ahead…”

“Now, Haley, I know you’re trying to be all non-intrusive and all, but I could never forgive myself if you had to spend this Christmas alone.”

This is where alarm bells should have started ringing. ‘Favorite cousin’? ‘Never forgive myself’? Haley loved her cousin dearly, but these were not words Brooke sprouted everyday. Perhaps it was the cold, or the lack of sleep, or the idea of her carefully planned-out day slowly slipping away, but instead of hearing alarm bells, Haley merely resigned herself to the fact that Christmas Eve had been hijacked.

***

to be continued...

Things We Knew Were True: Part Twelve

2007-07-10T12:44:41Z

Things We Knew Were True: Part Eleven

2007-01-18T02:08:34Z

Things We Knew Were True: Part Ten

2006-09-22T09:02:20Z

Things We Knew Were True: Part Nine

2006-08-28T05:41:03Z

Rating: R
Characters: Nathan/Haley
Summary: Some years later, Haley sees Nathan in the supermarket, framed by boxes of memories. Memories starting from when they were sixteen, back when they didn't know how one single choice could lead them to this very moment... separated by those same boxes of memories...

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Mark Schwahn & co.

***

Part Nine

My grandmother was a small woman with a big heart. After my grandfather died, she started taking a camera wherever she went. Every time I saw her, she insisted that we take so many photos that my eyes would begin to water.

When I asked her why she did this, she told me that in the years following my grandfather's death, she had started to forget his face. He was the love of her life, but she could no longer remember the way his eyes slowly crinkled when he laughed, just that they crinkled. She couldn't recall the texture of his hands, even though at one time she knew it better than her own. The exact blue of his eyes had escaped her, but she knew it was somewhere between the Pacific Ocean and the ink of a pen that she had since misplaced.

She told me: the human memory is a wonderful and flawed thing. It'll hold you back and it'll force you to go on, and very often it’ll be nothing like what you want.

I didn't see you again until exactly one week later.

This wasn't unusual for us, but I spent the week with an unsettled stomach. Everything felt so unresolved. I had never been one to cry and run, but that night at your apartment, that's what I did. I left you with your soggy shirt, and I counted on the fact that your legs would be so numb from the weight of me that you would never catch up.

I smoothed out my wrinkles on my jeans and tried to remain calm. This was Tutoring Centre, I told myself. At least we'd be meeting on my turf. You may have owned the rest of the school, but in this room it was my name on the scoreboard, and you were the visitor.

But as soon as you walked through the door, it was like all the tiny particles in the room decided that they'd rather belong to you than to me, and I was the outsider coming in.

"Traitors," I grumbled.

You smiled this easy smile, your eyes slowly crinkling at the sides, and I immediately relaxed.

"You know," you started conspiratorially, "talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity."

"No," I countered, "thinking that somebody else is talking to you is the first sign."

"Huh?"

"Wake up, Nathan. I'm not really here... and you're late for school."

You smiled again. "Can't fool me with that. When I dream of you, you don't smell like peaches or apples or some other fruit."

I stopped for a moment, unsure of what to say. You dreamed of me? Enough to tell the difference between real-me and dream-me? I wanted to ask, make sure that you weren't just joking because there was a twinkle in your eyes, but my voice failed me.

"So," you said after a moment. "What math trick are you going to teach me today?"

I cleared my throat. "Ah, this one's a real crowd pleaser. It's called integration." Thankfully, when I spoke it didn't come out as a croak. "Prepare to be amazed."

"Great. Fantastic."

Strangely enough, I now felt more comfortable with you than with anyone else. And, I supposed, if I had to have a nervous break down in front of anyone, I'd want it to be you. You were the only one who didn't expect perfection from me; you were the only one I never tried to appear perfect to.

It occurred to me then that I never found out the reason you brought me to your apartment. I hadn't given you much of a chance to speak.

"What did you want to tell me, Nathan?" I asked. "You know, that day."

Slowly, you turned away from integration –- "Okay, so we've got numbers and letters. Why are there now little numbers?" you'd said earlier –- and studied me carefully. You looked at me in almost the same way you looked at math, and for a split second I thought you were going to say, "well, I know those are eyes and that's a mouth, but why would anybody ever put them together?"

"That's my apartment," you said finally.

"But... there's nothing there."

"There's a mattress," you shrugged. "It's in the bedroom."

We didn't get that far.

"I've been living there for a few weeks," you said.

"Oh," I said.

It wasn't very articulate, but "oh" was what I said when I didn't know what to say.

"Haley, when you first told me that you were going to have a baby, I was scared shitless. I had all these nightmares about dropping the baby on its head, or it finding my beer stash and getting alcohol poisoning. And then after a while, I was still completely freaked out -– cause that never went away -– and I still didn't really know how I felt. But one thing I did know was that I had to make sure my dad couldn't relive his life through this baby, make another clone of himself. And I thought emancipating myself would be a first step."

You smiled wryly at my expression. "You're wondering why I'm telling you this," you said, and I nodded mutely. "You're easy to talk to. And, I feel like this is something you need to know."

I had to moisten my tongue before speaking again.

"I hate him for what he's done to you and Lucas."

"Then you've done better than me. Because I hate him... but I still need him to be proud of me. And I was afraid the baby would've felt the same way about me -- hate and love at the same time."

"You're not your father."

"Maybe not," you said, "But I'm like him. And with you as the mother, the baby definitely would have been smarter than me, and maybe she wouldn't have had mixed feelings and just not want to have anything to do with me altogether."

Stop! I wanted to say. Stop turning the subject back, and stop using past tense!

But you were right. These were things I need to hear and these were things I needed to say.

These were things you needed too.

I took a deep breath.

"Nathan," I said, placing a hand on yours across the table. "You wouldn't have been a bad father. And don't ask me how, but I -- I just know she would have loved you."

And then you smiled at me, in relief and in gratitude, and things finally seemed a little better. They weren't perfect, and there wasn't a magic word or sentence or action that made everything okay again, but I knew that with time, they would be.

And so things continued. Once a week we would meet in the Tutoring Center, away from the rest of the world, and it was like we'd found our own little corner of the universe.

In high school, there were things that never changed and things that always changed. Things that never changed included which teacher you tried to avoid standing too close to, and the fact that there was a bright and uneven line called popularity. Things that always changed was the gossip.

My hair had grown about one inch and the basketball season had ended by the time my name was barely remembered.

It was a little over two months later.

One thing that hadn't changed but probably should've was that my lunchtimes were still spent in the library.

I liked the calmness and the solitude, but the reason I had come here to begin with was because I needed the time. I needed to escape and do my homework, and I needed to make plans, but those reasons didn't apply anymore. Suddenly, I had all this time and nothing to do with it.

And so, some lunchtimes like today, I found myself six chapters ahead and staring out the window, my chin resting in my hand.

It was a gorgeous day outside. The weather in Tree Hill was usually pleasant, but we rarely had this never-ending clear blue skies -- and when we did, it never lasted for longer than a forty minute interval.

But today, it was blue and it was clear... and it felt like a sign.

I quickly shoved my books into my bag and ventured back outside.

A little while later, I spotted Brooke, Peyton and Lucas sitting at a wooden picnic table in the sun. They all looked so... carefree. And although they always tried to include me in everything, I always had the feeling that they were waiting for me to become normal again, and I didn't know when or if that would happen.

I stood on the border -- not quite inside the school, but certainly not out -- and wondered if I should join them.

I had almost turned around when you came up beside me and, without a word, led me to the table. You had your hand in the small of my back to guide me, and we weren't touching but we were close enough that I could feel the warmth of your hand. There was no contact, but it was enough to help me move forward.

Brooke was the first to look up as we approached.

"Haley, Nathan!" She said with a quick smile, then wrinkled her nose. "Wow, you two really need to get a tan! Even my mom's butt isn't that white, and do not ask me how I know," she said with a shudder.

“Uh, okay,” I said as we sat down. “I won’t.” I smiled over at Lucas and Peyton. “Hey,” I said. “I’m so far ahead in al my subjects now that I can’t remember what’s happening this week. Thought that was a sign to stop.”

“Liar,” Lucas said. “I know for a fact that you’re behind in PE.”

“Well, what’s so great about putting a ball through a hoop, anyway?” I rolled my eyes.

I’d thought that you and Lucas would both jump to defend the sport, but instead Lucas shot you a hard look and didn’t say anything. You returned an equally nasty glare, but again no words were exchanged.

Peyton coughed. “Well, anyway. Great weather, ain’t it?”

Brooke nodded emphatically. “Mm-hmm. It better stay this way until after my party.”

“Does it matter either way?” Peyton said. “As long as you’ve got music and beer and a roof, no one’s going to care. You probably don’t even need the roof.”

Brooke then said something about another party, one that either failed spectacularly or was spectacularly spectacular. I tried to pay attention, but I couldn’t. I felt like I had aged years, could not reverse the process, and could no longer bring myself to care about normal high school things like parties and clothes and boys.

Maybe I was being unrealistic. After all, these were things I had never cared for much at all... but I cared enough because I was a teenager in high school, not Haley James in a vacuum. Before, I wasn’t an outsider.

I could feel the smile on my face, the one that said, “I’m interested in what you’re saying”, begin to wan.

Underneath the table, you took my left hand in your right.

You had been silent during the conversation, and I wondered if you felt the same way.

If anybody noticed that you were eating awkwardly with your left hand, they didn’t say anything.

Throughout our relationship, I’d told myself that I knew who you were, and I had refused to change this belief even when you surprised me at every turn. I’d convinced myself that you were shallow and did not know how to care.

Eventually, not too long ago, I realized that these things weren't true. But that didn’t mean I knew which things were. I think I was so afraid that I’d managed to blind myself, shut my eyes for fear of what I might find.

Truth was, we were more alike than I had realized. Not just now -- bound together by beautiful or meaningless (or both) moments leading to a tragic event -- but long before this.

All our lives we had walked under the weight of expectations, trying to find our own place.

Long before this, we had both been lost.

My family is not particularly religious, but something about Adam, Eve and the Garden of Eden must have had some special meaning to my father, enough that he was incredibly fond of telling us that every garden had its own snake.

My family’s garden snake was that nobody bothered to separate the weeds from the grass, and everything was left to grow wild. Your snake was that there was no garden, just the same concrete and glass that made up the home we would later share. Brooke’s garden was neatly manicured, but on this particular night there were about a dozen people who had wandered outside, in various states of dress and undress, and various states of inebriation.

This probably was not what my father had meant, but it was telling all the same.

I lay on my back and stared up at the dark sky. If I kept my head one inch to the left of center, I didn’t see those people at all.

“You know,” Peyton said from her spot beside me. “If there’s one grass stain on that dress you’re wearing, Brooke is going to kill you. She takes her clothes very seriously.”

“Well, she should have let me wear my jeans then.”

“You should be flattered that Brooke thinks you’re a doll.”

“Literally.”

Peyton paused. “Okay, maybe not so flattered.”

I was about to reply when a shaggy-haired guy with a drink in both hands leered down at us.

“Alright!” He said. “Two babes frolicking in the grass -- now this is my kind of party!”

“Beat it, Evans,” Peyton ordered without batting an eyelash.

“Okay, Blondie, you’re still mad that I hit your car that time. That’s fine. But what about your friend here?”

I saw it coming. I waited for your shadow to fall across me like a long, silk red cape, and you didn’t disappoint.

“I think you should keep moving,” you said, “if you know what’s good for you.” The even tone of your voice was betrayed by your clenched fist.

Evans -- presumably his last name -- took a step backwards and raised both hands in a sign of surrender, the same hands that help plastic cups of beer. I watched as the splatters landed on my skirt and left a growing dark stain.

“Right, gotcha,” he said. “You don’t want anyone moving in on your girls, your territory. You don’t have to tell me twice.”

And with that, Evans left.

You lay down on the other side of me and stretched out, your hands folded behind your head. I was surrounded, feeling a bit like the meat in an old sandwich.

“What are you two doing?” You asked.

“Nothing,” Peyton and I both replied, but somehow my answer sounded much more forced and defensive. You raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” Peyton said after a moment. “I’m going to get a drink. Do you want a drink?” I shook my head. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

Very smooth, that Peyton.

“So... what are you really doing?”

I shrugged, feeling a little silly. “Nothing really. I’m just looking at the stars.” When they twinkled, it sometimes felt like white flashes of a camera. “It’s so bright, it’s making my eyes water.”

I quickly wiped at my eyes and snuck a look at you, finding an amused smirk on your face.

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “It’s making me all weepy, too.”

I laughed wetly. “Shut up!”

“It’s okay,” you continued. “I know it’s just that time of the month for you.”

I gasped in mock outrage and playfully shoved your shoulder. “You better watch it, Mister! I know where you keep your Michael Jordan shirt.”

“It’s a jersey.”

“Whatever.”

"But seriously, don't you think the stars are so beautiful? Every night, at this very moment, they're in the same spot. No matter what happens during the day, no matter if it's sunny or raining, at night the stars will always be the same. Same place, same distance apart."

You shrugged. "I never really found them that great. Aren't they just things burning in the sky?"

I spent the rest of the night trying to convince you how they were amazing and wondrous, with little success. What I didn't realize then was that the stars didn't hold the same meaning to you as they did to me.

I had never liked changed. I might even go as far as to say that I abhorred it. Even though I recognized the flaws in the present -- that change was necessary, that change was vital -- I never wanted it to occur. And the stars -- they were always the same, and I found comfort in that.

"Do you think it means something," I said, turning to face you. You were still looking up at the sky so my mouth and your left ear were about four inches apart. "Do you think it means something that the two parties I've been to were spent outside, away from the party, with you?"

And I wondered, although words were spoken this time around, were we still the same distance apart?

"Maybe," you said.

"What—" I started, but was interrupted by something tickling the side of my bare ankle, shoes kicked off sometime earlier in the night. "Are you trying to feel me up?" I said.

"What?"

"Your foot," I explained. "My foot. They touched."

You laughed. "Uh, no, they didn't."

I looked in your eyes, trying to decide if you were telling the truth. Had your eyes just flickered to the left? Wasn't that a sign of dishonesty? But when I looked at your feet, sure enough, your shoes were still on. And there was no way your Nikes could have done any tickling.

"Well, what was it, then?" I said brusquely, more than a little embarrassed. "Cause it definitely felt like a sock covered foot."

"A rat might feel like that," you so helpfully said.

If I hadn't been deathly afraid of those rodents, I might have seen the teasing gleam in your eyes, but instead I scrambled to my feet and almost past the pool before you caught my wrist and pulled me to a stop.

"I'm kidding," you said. "There's no rat."

"How do you..." I looked at your feet again.

Laces untied, one heel not quite inside your sneakers.

I spluttered as the realization dawned. "You -- you—"

You laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders. "Come on. I'll walk you home."

Being the youngest of six, most of my material possessions weren't originally mine. My bedroom used to belong to my oldest sister Vivian. My computer originally belonged to my brother Kyle. My mirror and the few clothes I owned that bordered on indecent used to belong to Taylor -- and still did whenever she was back in town.

It felt strange to be walking through a furniture store, touching fabrics and leathers and wood with no name and no history.

"Haley!"

I turned to see you making your way towards me from the entrance.

"Okay," you said. "Let's get this over with."

Your lips were in a slight pout, and your expression almost surly, but I knew you were just pretending. You were trying to hide it, but I knew you were looking forward to this too. You might have been a boy, but wooden floors were just as hard on your boy-butt as they were on mine.

It'd been three months since you moved into your apartment, and it was still bare. Naked as a newborn. I'd visited you a few times, but had refused to return until there was something for me to sit on -- your mattress and its rumpled sheets not included.

"Okay," I grinned, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of my jeans. "I made a list of all the things you need—"

"Whoa," you said, putting your hands up. "Let's not go crazy here. We're just getting chairs."

"And already that's a couch and some kitchen stools."

"What do you need the stools for? You can eat on the couch."

"Nathan..."

"Fine, fine. So, two stools and a couch. You quickly glanced around and pointed to the nearest couch and silver things that might have passed for chairs in space.

I narrowed my eyes. "The couch is... actually, that one is nice. And dark, which is important. But those things over there are ugly."

"So we'll get the wooden ones, then," you waved dismissively.

"Okay," I said, crossing off a few items on my list. "Now, you need a coffee table."

"Why? I don't drink coffee. And if I did I'll just put it on the ground."

"Nathan, face it. You're a slob. You'll just put the coffee next to your feet and kick it over when you stand up."

"Thanks, Hales. Nice to know what you really think of me."

And so we bickered our way to the pay counter, choosing a TV cabinet and a bed frame along the way. The dinner table would have to wait.

"—wrong with donuts for breakfast?" You said as you handed over your credit card to the lady behind the register.

I snorted. "It's all sugar! If you didn't play basketball 24/7, you'd be 400 pounds by now."

"Well, you have coffee for breakfast! That's not much healthier. And don't get me started on your obsession with mac 'n' cheese. That's just creepy."

The lady laughed. "Gosh, you two remind me of my husband and I. Fighting to the very end. Have you been married long? Newlyweds?"

We shared an uncomfortable look before stumbling over words like "uh" and "um" and "no, not married."

And just like that, the mood between us darkened.

And I wondered, if things had been different, would we still have found ourselves in this very furniture store? Would we still be choosing tables and chairs for your apartment? Would I have been waddling along in an unstained sundress as we looked at that section in the far corner, the one with cribs and bassinets?

I kept gazing into the distance, into far corners, until you led me outside and into the sun.

We stood on the sidewalk, unmindful of the cars that drove past.

"So," you said a little uncertainly. "I have furniture now."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah."

"Will you come with me now?"

"I said I would."

You watched me for a moment, in a way that made my lips and toes tingle. "Will you stay?"

This was something we had not talked about.

Ever since that first time at your apartment, when I shed some clothes and many more tears, we hadn't kissed or touched as anything more than friends.

After that day, a sort of hesitancy crawled into the space between us.

But there were moments when you looked at me, like I was someone who could be looked at but never touched, in a way that made me feel boneless like when you used to kiss me, and I wondered who it really was doing the waiting -- you or me.

When I looked at you, I still saw our daughter the only way I wanted to -- a little girl with your hair and my nose and a wide smile, a little girl who ran into our bedroom at night because of a nightmare.

And I wondered what sort of girl -- what sort of little girl -- you saw when you looked at me.

Will you stay?

Like I -- or some innate part of me -- could not be touched.

I nodded, took your hand, and let you lead.

My dad's sister Clover once told me that we James women were destined to be unlucky in love -- we either lose it, or destroy the love we have. It wasn't exactly an ordinary bedtime story for a twelve-year-old, but Clover had never been the ordinary type.

Those were the words that came to mind when my sister Vivian called me with news of her engagement.

"Haley, I'm getting married!" The last syllable ended on a shrill note and I pulled the phone away from my ear, wondering where my sensible sister had gone.

"Wow, congratulations!" I said, then paused. "Uh... to who?"

I expected her to launch into a story about a man she'd met at a corporate function, or opposing counsel on one of her cases. Instead, I got:

"Jason!"

Jason, my brother.

Well, no, not exactly. But I wanted to gag and shriek "incest!" all the same.

Jason was my brother Mike's best friend since high school, and was practically a permanent addition to our household when I was growing up. He used to tease Vivian mercilessly, and helped Mike warn -- read: chase -- away all of her boyfriends, losers that they usually were.

Actually, in light of the marriage announcement, it all started to make sense.

"Wow," I said.

"He's so wonderful," Vivian continued dreamily. "You know how I told you at Thanksgiving that it turns out we live in the same building? We started hanging out all the time, and he'd babysit Allie whenever I had a work emergency, and... it just happened."

"So... he proposed while he was babysitting?"

"No! We were having a picnic in the park last weekend, and Jason had booked a horse-and-carriage but the driver couldn't make it, and it started to rain so it wasn't anything like he'd planned. But eventually it was just the two of us, and the things he said was so romantic... I had to say yes..."

Some time later I put the phone down in a bit of a daze. I missed the cradle and the phone clattered across the kitchen counter. You came out of nowhere, it seemed, and caught it before it went over the edge.

When I snuck out of bed earlier this morning, you were sleeping on your stomach, snoring slightly.

These days, I always woke up first, and you'd tell me "I'll see you later" when you left.

I smiled, wondering which ones of my exclamations woke you, unsurprised that even half-asleep and bleary-eyed your reflexes were as sharp as ever.

"Who was on the phone so early?" You yawned.

"It's almost twelve," I said.

"On a Sunday," you countered, shaking your head at the coffee I'd made, and instead headed over to the fridge. I had done the groceries the week before, so it had more than its usual meager offerings.

I wrinkled my nose when you drank orange juice straight from the carton. Shirtless or not, I refused to see that as anything other than an ugly sight.

"It was Vivian," I said finally.

"Number two, right?"

I nodded. You'd taken to referring my siblings in order of birth. At one point, you'd tried to call me "six", but I'd made sure that didn't last long.

"She's getting married and the wedding is going to be this weekend, here in Tree Hill," I continued as you shuffled over to the cupboard to pull out boxes of cereal -- something sugary for you and muesli for me. "And get this, she's marrying Jason—"

"One and a half?"

"Exactly! He's practically our brother; he's been around for so long. Yuck!"

"Like it'd be if you and Lucas got together?"

You chewed on your cereal innocently. I couldn't tell if it was just another snide remark directed at Luke or evidence of some sort of insecurity, and the fact disturbed me.

"Yeah," I said slowly.

To say that things had changed over the last few months was an understatement. Logically, I knew this, but in my heart it didn't feel like things had changed. It felt like things had always been like this. It felt things were as they should've been.

After that day in the furniture store, I followed you home like a lost puppy, and we settled into a sort of routine. We spent most of our time together, not just sessions in the Tutoring Center and not just secret meetings amongst homeware. Either you or Lucas -- I wasn't sure who -- had called a reluctant truce. Along with Peyton and Brooke, the five of us always sat together during that lonely lunch hour, but it was never all five outside those sixty minutes. I hadn't gone back to cheerleading after that disastrous first incident, but you had dropped thinly veiled hints about the uniform.

I stayed the night with you on Fridays, Saturdays and Wednesdays, but not Thursdays or Sundays or Mondays and never on Tuesdays.

Being together felt right. Being together was easy.

A part of me was afraid how much of that was real, and how much was just pretend.

"Come to the wedding with me," I said suddenly.

A spoonful of cereal stilled, halfway to your mouth. "Really? You want me to come?"

I shrugged. "It'll give you a chance to see who 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5 are. And I could use the company."

"Okay," you said. "But only if you play basketball with me before I leave next week."

I frowned. For some reason that I could not fathom, you always wanted to teach me how to play basketball, despite the fact that I was the worst player on the planet and had shown no signs of improvement over the last sixteen years. And now that the date when you would leave for High Flyers approached, you had become adamant in your need to teach me something, and would never explain why this was so important to you.

High Flyers. When you flew down on Monday morning, it would be the first time in three months that we would spend more than two days apart. Eight days from now, our carefully constructed routine -- now far more than just one hour in the Tutoring Center -- would start its unraveling.

If x was you, y was me, and z was basketball, what did z(xz + y)equal?

"Haley?" You prompted, waving a hand in front of my face.

For some reason, you needed to teach me.

I smiled. "Deal."

It's strange how you can live somewhere you whole life, know all the nooks and crannies like the creases on your palm, and never see the heart line.

Vivian and Jason had found this beautiful little restaurant by the riverside to hold their reception. It was nothing fancy, but it had a gorgeous view of the moonlight reflecting off the water.

It was perfect, just like Vivian and Jason were. Although the mere thought of them had originally made my insides churn, when I saw them standing together at the alter, I could tell that they were both happier than they had ever been.

I looked away from the window to find you pulling at the neck of your tie, trying to loosen it.

"It's itchy," you complained, "and I can't breathe."

"Well, I think you look adorable," I said, brushing your hand away and straightening the knot.

"Adorable? I thought I looked hot."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, you look hot."

"That's not very convincing," you said, then, "Hey, is that Two's daughter?

You pointed at the little girl doing pirouettes next to the bride and groom.

"Yeah," I said. "Her name is Alicia. She's just the cutest thing."

"Who's her father?" You asked, finally giving up the struggle with the tie.

"A few years ago, Vivian was engaged to a man named Steven. We all thought he was perfect for her. He was kind, funny... kind of a goofball at times, which was good because sometimes Viv could get a little too serious. Allie is a lot like Steven."

Alicia was getting to that age where she would notice other fathers, and the absence of her own. I wondered if she ever asked Vivian about Steven, and I wondered if Steven had seen her, even if only from a distance.

"They were supposed to get married," I said. "And then one day, Viv found out that she was pregnant. The day after, Steven disappeared. Left a note, said this life wasn't what he wanted, he was sorry that he didn't figure out until then, and that he had to go."

I wondered if he regretted it.

"Shows you how you think you know someone, huh?"

"Did he ever come back?" You asked.

"No," I said. "Not yet. But I think Vivian has finally stopped waiting."

I stared at Alicia, at her porcelain doll skin and soft, curly hair. She saw me looking and immediately granted me one of those smiles only an unbroken child could have. Vivian bent to say something to her, and then Alicia nodded. She started walking in my direction, stopping to talk to my parents along the way.

Something about that story always saddened me. When Steven left Vivian, it was the last thing anyone of us expected. We thought he was perfect, we though he was going to be around forever.

But Vivian didn't.

One day, she had confided in me that Steven had always been unsettled. He had run from so many things in his life, and she'd known all along that one day he might run from her as well.

And at the time, I could never understand her willingness, her need, to be with somebody who at any moment could leave.

"Aunt Haley!" Alicia said when she skipped over. "Do you like my dress? It looks just like Mommy's."

"It's gorgeous," I said. "You look very pretty."

"You look very pretty too, Aunt Haley." Her eyes darted over to you. "Is that your boyfriend, Aunt Haley?" She whispered.

I hid a smile at her serious tone. "This is Nathan," I whispered back.

"Hi, Nathan," she said. "My name is Alicia, but you can call me Allie. Everyone calls me that. I like your tie, Nathan."

You shot me an accusing look. "Thanks, Allie," you said warmly, but a little awkwardly. I think you were a little afraid of her, this tiny girl with delicate features and an impish smile. She intimidated you in a way that very few people did.

"Are you excited to be staying with your grandparents for the week?" I asked.

Alicia nodded. "Yes, but Mommy forgot to pack Mr. Long Ears. I can't sleep without him."

I was about to reply when I realized that you were watching me intently, an unreadable expression on your face.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

You looked like you weren't going to answer, but then finally you said simply, "She looks like you."

And then I looked at Allie -- really looked at her -- at her dark red hair, her wide and curious eyes, and I just froze.

Standing in the doorway, a teddy bear almost as big as herself trailing behind.

"Mommy? I can't sleep. I had a nightmare..."

"Come here, baby. You can sleep with Daddy and me."

My mind was flooded with what-ifs, with possibilities, with could-have-beens.

Suddenly you twirled Allie out to the dance floor. You let her giggle and step on your feet -- saving me.

You always knew how to save me, except that one time when it mattered the most.

From my table, I sat and watched the two of you dancing. I think Allie had a bit of a crush on you, the way she was gazing up adoringly. And although at first you were all stiff arms and legs, now that you'd relaxed I could tell that you were quite enamored with her as well.

And as I watched this beautiful scene, for a moment I was overtaken by an irrational sense of jealousy, that there was a bond between the two of you that I was not apart of, that I was on the outside.

And that wasn't where I wanted to be.

But eventually, the song changed. You stayed on the floor while Allie ran over to me.

"Nathan asked me to ask you if you wanted to dance with him," she reported breathlessly.

I smiled softly. "Do you think I should?"

She nodded emphatically. "He's a very good dancer."

"Okay," I said, and walked over to where you were waiting. I let you fold me into your arms, and we moved with the music.

"This is the first time we've ever danced." My words were muffled by your shoulder, but I knew that you could hear me.

When you spoke, your voice was rumbling and soft in my ear. "I know," you said, and then almost hesitantly, almost guiltily, "Are you okay?"

I leaned back a little to look at you. You smoothed a piece of hair away from my face.

"Yeah," I said. "I am."

And then I kissed you, and we continued to sway.

I don't think I've ever told you this, and I don't know if I ever will, but every time I was in your arms, there was nowhere else I'd rather be. You made me feel safe and wanted. If there was anything I could have done to help it, I never would have let go.

It was late when we left the wedding. By that time you had your tie loosened and the top buttons of your shirt undone. You offered me your jacket, but the night was balmy and hot, so I declined.

We were both quiet on the drive home until you passed the turn to my house, and kept on driving.

"Nathan," I said, "it's Sunday."

"I know," you said. "But why should it matter what day it is?"

You weren't leaving until the next morning, but already our routine was coming apart.

You seemed to want it to.

I wasn't so sure.

"It doesn't," I said finally. "It doesn't."

And so we went.

The second time you asked me to marry you, I was lying atop your sheets, trying to ignore the humidity that seeped through the broken window. I stared drowsily out at the night sky, at the brightness and the darkness that mingled, but managed to stay altogether separate.

You curled up behind me, your lips grazing my neck, and suddenly I was wide awake.

We lay there in silence for what felt like an eternity. But I knew it wasn't. The stars had not moved, and I had been watching.

I could tell that you weren't asleep by the slightest of hitches in your breathing pattern every few minutes. Your arm felt heavier than usual on my waist.

You held me differently when you were sleeping.

The second time you asked, it was summer once again. My stomach was flat, my belly empty, and neither of us could sleep.

"Marry me, Haley," you said, and it came out wrong.

It came out like an empty plea, a hopeless wish.

You wanted something else, but this was what you asked.

The stickiness that had long ago crawled into the space between us lay still, keeping us together, keeping us apart.

I still didn't think you loved me, but by now I was sure that I loved you.

So I said yes.

***

to be continued...