Priestly is wearing the biggest, fluffiest, warmest winter coat he can find when he shows up on Brooke's doorstep. And over his arm he has another one, a little less enormous, a little more girly, just in case she needs it. Because damn is it cold outside.
There's a part of Brooke that wants to curl into a ball at the sound of his voice. She knows Priestly would let her, and would watch over her until she was ready to act like a big girl again, but Brooke resists. He's probably about to ask her why she's outside, anyway, rather than in. There's no time for illusions, and no time for coddling either.
"I usually like my presents shinier, but this one's perfect." She reaches for it, blanket falling away to bare her shoulder in perfect illustration of her point. "Thank you."
"Well, if I find a shiny coat the next time I go diving, I'll make sure to keep it for you," he says. "You must be freezing out here. I'm freezing out here, and I've only been out here about five minutes."
He pretty much freezes right where he is, and they're serious enough now that he knows she doesn't mean guest guest, but he still has no idea what's going on.
"Uh, sure, okay," he says. "Your guest kick you out here or something? Cause I'm not sure I'm down with that."
"I kicked me out," says Brooke. She shrugs outwards towards the snow. "I didn't expect to exile myself to this, exactly, but she needs to rest." She bites at her lip, watching him through her hair. "She's from Tree Hill."
"I think so," says Brooke. "I mean, it will be." The stupid vial is hard against her palm, cold in a way Brooke feels leaching into her, but that's probably just the guilt. Rachel's problems aren't hers to talk about, but Brooke has learned to hate secrets, hate them, and the thought of keeping even one from Priestly makes her want to cry.
"Ohhh," says Priestly, moving to try to wrap his bulky arms around her. "Like, sick sick, or I should run back to the compound for chicken soup sick? Cause I would totally do that for you. No problem at all."
"I know you would," Brooke exhales, wrapping her arm around his and kissing his cheek. She stays there for a moment, nose to his jaw and breathing him in.
"But it's not that kind of sick." Silently, she frees her other arm from the blanket, holding the vial into the light between them.
"Oh, jeez," says Priestly, and there are a whole lot of other words he wants to add to that but Brooke looks freaked out enough and he doesn't want to make it worse. "Did you know? Before she got here, I mean? Shit, Brooke."
Brooke nods, and the look on his face is all it takes for the first of what will be many tears to spill over onto her cheek. "I didn't take care of her," she gasps, breath already hitching dangerously. "She was one of my m-models, and my mom made me fire her, and she overdosed and - " Brooke pauses for breath, but it doesn't help. Her voice is raspy at the best of times, now it's little more than a wheeze. "I took her back to Tree Hill with me but she ran off again and I found her on the beach yesterday and she had a needle in her arm."
"Okay, hey," says Priestly, and this time he doesn't hesitate to just wrap himself around her and hold her close. "You don't think this is your fault, do you? This isn't your fault. Unless you, like, held her down and forced it on her, it's not your fault. Now is she okay in there? Do we need a doctor?"
"But I didn't help her," Brooke whimpers. "I knew she was in trouble and I fired her anyway. She always played too hard, and I knew that, and I did it anyway."
Brooke pulls back with a shake of her head, trying to get a hold of herself before Rachel hears. She forces her fingers to uncurl around the vial, tucked so tight inside her palm that the lid has left tiny indention in her skin. "She's okay. I went through her pockets, this is all I found, and she's not using."
"If you fired her, it was for good reasons," insists Priestly, "cause I know you. Her problems are her own problems, and they're not your fault. Okay?" That's his position, and nothing's going to make him back down from it. "What are you going to do with that?"
Yorick's lost in his own thoughts, breath coming out in puffs that trail behind him a moment before disappearing. He doesn't expect to find anybody outside, especially not looking...completely upset.
He stops short, mouth hanging open. "Hey," he says finally. "What's going on?"
To him, anyway.
"I brought you a present!"
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"I usually like my presents shinier, but this one's perfect." She reaches for it, blanket falling away to bare her shoulder in perfect illustration of her point. "Thank you."
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Her fingers curl around the vial, sleeping it deeper inside the blankets as she tugs him down to her. "I've got a...guest."
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"Uh, sure, okay," he says. "Your guest kick you out here or something? Cause I'm not sure I'm down with that."
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She very nearly does, choking out, "She's sick."
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"But it's not that kind of sick." Silently, she frees her other arm from the blanket, holding the vial into the light between them.
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Brooke pulls back with a shake of her head, trying to get a hold of herself before Rachel hears. She forces her fingers to uncurl around the vial, tucked so tight inside her palm that the lid has left tiny indention in her skin. "She's okay. I went through her pockets, this is all I found, and she's not using."
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He stops short, mouth hanging open. "Hey," he says finally. "What's going on?"
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