Fic: Kiss You Later (OTH)
Title: Kiss You Later
Pairing/Character: Nathan/Brooke; Lucas/Brooke, Nathan/Haley, Lucas/Peyton
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for all episodes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. ;/
Rating: M
Summary: She had everything she ever wanted, and in a single breath, she ran away. Back home, after two weeks of M.I.A., Brooke's homeless, heartbroken, and destroyed. In search of a place to live, Brooke finds an unlikely companion in a lonely Nathan, and a spare couch in his once-filled with light apartment. (Futurefic.)
Notes: (Cross-posted at ff.net. Please review there, too.)
Lyrics: Kate Dearaguo - "Faded".
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02. House of Whores
you try to fit
fit me in a perfect box
you let me slip between the cracks
The door is open once Brooke arrives on the doorstep, and she doesn't bother to knock. It isn't like she ever did, anyway. This place was once her home, as well as many other places, but for some reason she found a bond within these walls.
She opens the door quietly, as slowly as possible, and shuts it without a squeak. She's definitely a pro. at sneaking in. She can hear the radio blasting from upstairs, and she takes the route she used to know that leads her to a room.
She walks inside, and notices not much has changed. "Hey slut," Rachel says, appearing from the bathroom with a large smile on her face. She turns off the radio, and stands looking at Brooke.
Brooke can't help but crack a smile as she crosses her arms over her chest and demands, "Where's my car, whore?"
"Why, aren't you friendly this morning. Lucas didn't put out?" Rachel smirks smugly, and Brooke feels a sharp pain in her chest. Her face must have shown this as Rachel's own features soften, and so does her voice. "Okay, fine, that was harsh. I'm sorry." With a roll of her eyes, Rachel plops down onto her bed.
Brooke knows she's sincere - this is as sincere as Rachel will get - and feels a smile tugging at her lips as she says, "Do I need to slut-free my car?"
Rachel shakes her head, picking up a magazine that's laying on the bed, suddenly flipping through it like she's looking for some kind of distraction within the ink. But she's not. They both know that.
"I didn't disrespect your car, Davis," she looks up at Brooke, a smile taints her face, brightening it up and making her look like a decent, emotional and kind human being. "As much as you wish to believe the worst in me, I can actually do good." Rachel's smile falters as her voice quietens and her eyes are cast down, "I'm sorry about the wedding."
Brooke forces a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes and shrugs as if it's nothing, and quietly breathes, "Me too."
Rachel breathes in deeply, the toxic aroma of her heavily scented perfume, and lifts herself off of her pink bed. She walks over to a chest of drawers, and grabs something shiny and noisy off of the wood, "So, great way to put a damper on things, here's your keys." She tosses them to Brooke, who catches them nicely in her hands.
Brooke looks at them, as if she's seeing them for the first time, running her fingers over the dull silver, and looks up at Rachel and quips, "Thanks. You better have taken care of my baby, Gatina."
Rachel makes a face as she sits back down on her bed, "You bet I did. That baby is hot. What fine pieces of ass you must pick up, Davis."
Brooke chuckles, looking to the bathroom and noticing it hasn't changed. "Yeah. Right. I never had that kind of luck."
"Really? Wow, you must suck." Rachel looks around, the silence in the room is comforting as it allows Rachel to take in Brooke's appearance, and for Brooke to memorise everything in this room. The desk, the drawers, the forgotten garments peeking from behind corners . . . Rachel breaks Brooke's mental photography as she asks, "You have a place to stay?"
Brooke smiles widely, nodding as she remembers her two offers, "Yeah. Two, actually."
"Make that three," Rachel mimics Brooke's smile, her voice showing the emotion of happiness only Brooke will ever get to hear. She's forgotten what it was like with Rachel, back then when everything was technicolour and so messed up.
Brooke refrains from pouncing on Rachel, knowing the other girl wouldn't appreciate human contact - or maybe her marriage curse. "You sure? Last time we almost tore each other's hair out."
"I came so close to bleaching yours." Rachel shrugs, tilting her head to the side, she's almost trying to convince Brooke to stay. Maybe she really does miss her company. Brooke feels the tears burn her eyes as Rachel continues, "It was fun. Come on, you can't deny it. Even though you were all mopey - like you are now - you still had fun."
She gives in, and with a roll of her eyes, Brooke shrugs lamely, "Yeah . . . I guess."
"Plus, I heard the position for Brooke Davis' BFF was up for grabs. Thought I might apply. What do you think?"
Brooke laughs, tapping her chin as she pretends to think. As if she really needs to think about this offer. Rachel had always been there - not from the beginning - but when Brooke really needed someone. Rachel had stepped up to the plate, waiting to take a swing at whatever Brooke would throw at her, and she always seemed to get a homerun. "You may have a chance . . ."
"You know I'm here for you, right?"
"Yeah."
Rachel's up again, walking around, searching for something. "Great. Thank god we got all that girly-girl BFF crap out of the way. You want to go to some killer college party tonight?"
"Can't. Old habits die fast. Sorry."
The red head dismisses the rejection with a wave, obviously not offended or mad at Brooke's changed ways. "Eh. Don't be. I guess I should've expected a lot more from you than that. You've grown up, Brooke. Kind of sad, really." With a sigh, Rachel threw a couple of shirts towards the other side of the room, they hit the wall and slid down, landing in an unattractive heap on the side. Ironically, Brooke thinks, it is like how she treats boys. Use them, get bored, then throw them away. She used to be like that, but not anymore. "Anyway. I've got to kick you out. You're really putting me down with all this emo undertone you have going on. Just know, my door is always open. Just, not when there is some sort of sock or scrunchie or something on the doorknob."
Brooke nods appreciatively, watching as the other girl looks up to witness a genuine smile from Brooke Davis, "Thanks Rach."
"No problem, B. Davis. Now, get out! I have a pair of panties to find," Rachel's back to looking around, almost forgetting the girl who was standing in her room.
Brooke shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she sees a pair of black panties hiding behind the chest of drawers, and she looks back at Rachel, an amused smile on her face. She decides to stay quiet about the found garment, and walks towards the door, "Good luck with that."
-
Karen's leaning over Brooke, patting the pillow for the nearly tenth time since that evening, and Brooke smiles at the genuine thought. Karen asks, in a motherly tone that has never really been directed to Brooke by her own mother, "Are you sure the couch is okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow, anyway."
"Where will you go?" Karen says as she sits on the couch, almost forgetting how much time and effort she put into smoothing out all the creases in the blanket.
Brooke runs her fingers over the cotton, it almost burning into her skin as she watches her fingers trace invisible patterns and words into the gold fabric, "Nathan's, believe it or not. I convinced him to let me bunk with him."
Karen leans forward on her knees, her eyes shining with something Brooke isn't used to. "Are you sure that's such a smart idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Brooke frowns, confused at what may be happening behind Nathan's dully coloured door. She mentally notes that she'll have to change that.
Karen fiddles with her hands, looking down at her bare fingernails as they battle it out in an almost war, "Well . . . he only has one bed."
Brooke shrugs, and coolly responds, "Couch. The couch is fine."
Karen's tone is full of concern and almost bordering on motherly. Brooke knows she's about to pull the 'Mom Card' as she stretches out her name almost menacingly, "Brooke . . ."
She's thought about it. The complications of staying with Nathan - a male with one bed - but Brooke finds his apartment - and his couch - a lot more promising and comfortable than her car. Brooke sighs. "I'd love to stay here, Karen, I really would. But I hate doing this. Camping from house to house just because I don't have my own, and I don't want to stay here out of charity or you feeling obligated to. I know I've hurt you - and . . . Luke - and that will never go away, but I've got to move on, and allow you to, too."
Karen sighs, a smile proudly spills onto her face, "Okay Brooke. If this is what you want . . . just know there is always a spare couch for you whenever you need it." Karen gets up, patting the spot she just occupied with her hands, and took the glass on the table in front of Brooke in her grip.
Brooke laughs, watching Karen walk away, "It seems like that offer is just wanting to burst off of everyone's tongue. I will, Karen. Thank you."
-
"This is it?" Nathan asks, watching Brooke easily glide her wheeled bag in through the door.
Brooke looks up at him, her eyebrow perked as she places the bag beside the door, leaning it against the rather boring coloured wall, "Yeah. Why, were you expecting a castle?"
"Well . . . yeah." Nathan scratches the back of his neck, and at her offended look, he quickly adds, "I'm just surprised, is all."
The impression she must have given everyone. She shakes her head, thinking that she wasn't really a spoiled princess, was she? She never seemed to think so - but no one ever really told her that she was a princess. No one really said anything. This seemed to place pressure on her heart; Did Nathan think she was some sort of spoiled little troll?
Nathan clears his throat, and Brooke breathes in the new atmosphere. No tension. "All my stuff is in storage," Brooke says simply as she takes in the apartment. Dull walls, less furniture, male odour.
His eyebrow is perked up, now, "Storage?"
She looks up at him, and she knows she can't lie to him - about this, anyway - and she rolls her eyes as she dejectedly narrates, "We - Luke and I - were going to buy a house right after the honeymoon. We'd been saving up for a house, since we'd been talking about moving in together. We wanted a nice place, you know? A house, apartment, whatever. Since I kind of didn't have a solid place to stay - and since I moved out of my apartment before the wedding - Luke had suggested I place my stuff in storage. For safe-keeping and all."
"Didn't you stay with Peyton?"
Pang. There it goes again. Except it isn't a good sort of pressure placed on her chest. She feels suffocated, all of a sudden, even when she thinks of that name, she feels like she can't breathe.
She never could when Peyton was in the room.
"Yeah. But putting all my crap in her house just didn't seem logical. It wasn't like I was marrying her or anything." Brooke rolls her eyes - this is becoming a habit she really doesn't want - and takes a seat at the stool at the counter. She remembers eating cake with her fingers here, four years ago. All because she slept with a musician whose ego was even bigger than the oceans of the world combined, and broke her poor boy-toy’s heart. She wasn't even committed to him - exclusively, anyway - and he still managed to hold it against her.
Moron.
Nathan chuckles, appearing in front of Brooke as he leans against the smooth counter, breaking her out of her darkening trance, and boyishly says, "That would've been kinky."
"Do you ever think with your head, Nate?" Brooke shakes her head, a toothy grin apparent on her face. She draws unintelligible pictures on the shiny surface. A face, a dress, her name.
Mrs Lucas Scott.
Nathan chuckles, "Occasionally."
Brooke groans, bringing her palm to rest on her forehead as she leans on it, "Mental images, Nate."
They stay silent, Brooke's head still laying in her palm as she listens to Nathan's even breathing. It's a calming melody, and thoughts of a distressed Haley being calmed by just her husband's breathing bat all her other thoughts away. She wonders if she could have had that with Lucas. The mood changes quickly, and Nathan's tone is serious, "You sure the couch will be okay?"
"Yeah, why? Are you offering the bed?" Brooke snipes, knowing full well what his answer would be. She hopes she knows, anyway. He's not the same womanising Nathan he had been six years ago, before Tutorwife, and before Peyton and Brooke's hoes-over-broes fights.
"No. I was offering the floor."
"Oh my, I have a gentleman in my presence," she says with her hand to her heart as she swirls her head around, causing herself to be momentarily dizzy while seeing silver dots.
"Hey, I never said anything about giving up my place to sleep for you. You were the one who initiated this."
Brooke's about to protest that he was the one who asked, but she exchanges it for a grunt, "Fine, whatever. Go cry Justin Timberlake a river or something." She gets up from the stool, sliding it back under the counter so it is out of the way and just something for her to do in this semi-awkward moment between acquaintances. Roommates. "Just know, I don't cook," Brooke walks towards the bathroom, escaping from any arguments or negotiations that may happen between them. She just wants to get settled in and be able to boss Nathan around until his ears tinge red and steam comes from his ears and nose. "And I need more bathroom space."
It isn't long - two hours and twenty two minutes, to be exact - before Brooke is picking out colours to repaint the living room. Nathan, sitting on a stool, nods disinterestedly as he reads a sports magazine, lost in the world of basketball, sweaty men and skimpily clad cheerleaders.
This is the life.
Except Brooke's noticed he's not paying attention - after five minutes of her yapping on about pinks and blues and paint brush textures - before she's in his face, flicking his nose, his ear and snatching the magazine from underneath his fingertips.
"Hey! I was reading that!"
"Yeah, and I was thinking about getting a sex change. Small world, huh?" Nathan's eyebrows shoot to his hairline as Brooke stands with her hands on her hips, her own eyebrow perked up in a challenging stance, "You gonna pay attention now, Natey?"
"Haven't you drained the world for your need for attention already?"
"You're cute, Scott, I'll give you that, but my need for attention is not the issue here. The walls are bland. We need colour! How can you live in this hell of a hole without some brightness?" She says as she makes hand waves towards the walls, Nathan follows her wild gestures. By the look on his face, he doesn't see anything she's saying.
Does he need a dictionary?
Nathan gathers his wits as he looks at Brooke's fuming face, "How is it that people let you walk around the streets without thinking you need to be institutionalised?"
"It's because I'm hot, Nathan. You should know this already," she answers almost robotically, and his cheeks flush a light pink. Brooke smirks, and ignores it as a sign of Nathan being a boy, and quickly whips two colour palettes she somehow picked up during the time she spent leaving Karen's to driving to Nathan's from behind her back. "Now, baby pink or baby blue?"
"What?"
"This room," Brooke gestures to where the blank television is, "It's kind of my bedroom right now, so, pink or blue?"
"How about keeping it as it is?"
Brooke shakes her head. Boys. "How about you look at this room, hmm?"
"I'm looking," Nathan says as he quickly glances at the room. Brooke watches him like a hawk, knowing he's looking longingly at the television. It's big, shiny and - just like all small children crave - sweet. It's Nathan's candy, to the world of basketball, and she knows he's going to miss some game with her bickering about colours.
"And what does it say to you?"
Nathan's gaze calmly settles on Brooke as he says, "That the crazy woman standing in my kitchen needs to take her medication?"
She rolls her eyes, scoffing in offence as she immediately starts to raise her voice, making them both think of Whitey, "Wrong, Scott! How the hell did you graduate Tree High with your failing capacity to use your brain?" She rolls up the magazine, and before he can even protest about the curling pages, she hits him on the head.
"Jesus, Brooke!"
"That should teach you to not pay attention." Brooke places her hands on her hips and breathes in deeply. She drops the magazine onto the counter and smacks his hands away when he tries to grab for it. Brooke then grabs the two rectangular cards with the colours she's previously shown him, and she excitedly says, "Now, pink or blue?"
Nathan groans.
-
Brooke's sitting on a stool with her legs crossed delicately at her knees, and in her grip she holds a magazine. She quietly reads it, occasionally humming an odd tune, and she tops immediately as she hears Nathan's loud footsteps. She can see - and the reminder she can always sense with her nose whiffs into her personal bubble - Nathan standing before her, but she chooses to ignore him, "What are you doing Brooke?"
"Reading," she says as she doesn't take her eyes off of the magazine. She, instead, turns the page and starts to read the text and look at the pretty pictures.
"You can read?"
This makes Brooke raise her head, and she pokes her tongue out. Holding the magazine up so Nathan can fully read the title without tilting his head and spilling any of the muck that occupies the space where his brain should be through his ears, she evenly says, "Interior design."
"Brooke!" Nathan whines with a roll of his bright eyes. Brooke grins widely, knowing he doesn't want her to do anything to the apartment. But, in her own mind, she knows he wants something different. And, even if he doesn't, who cares? It isn't like she was going to get him to help her.
That'd be hilarious.
Brooke returns to her magazine, shaking her head in disappointment as she quips, "Whining is for babies, Nathan. I'm pretty sure you've matured to a five-year-old by now."
Nathan ignores her as he starts his tirade of protests, "We don't need to change my apartment! You're temporarily staying, remember? Weren't you getting an apartment soon?"
"Yes," Brooke pouts as she rests the magazine gently on her lap. She can sense Nathan's need for an argument, but she won't deliver. She's too comfortable in her zone to argue with him. Plus, seeing Nathan lose his "cool" is very amusing.
"So, why do you need to permanently change my apartment when you're gonna be gone?"
Brooke shrugs, and quietly says, "Project?"
"Design something. A dress, a t-shirt, whatever. Just not my house!"
"But I am designing."
"You're gonna change the place where I live into a dress?" Nathan says incredulously, and Brooke can't help but picture the apartment in a dress.
"No! I'm designing your house. Styling it up a little. Adding a feminine touch." Brooke says as she places the magazine onto the counter beside her. She folds her arms in front of her, and calmly looks at Nathan as he looks at her with wide eyes and an almost dark pink face.
Nathan huffs, "But it doesn't need a feminine touch. Especially when there is a male living here!"
She rolls her eyes, and calmly says, "Nathan, I know you're a boy. Okay? It never slipped my mind that you were born with a p -"
Nathan groans and covers his ears, "Brooke!"
"You know, you sure are whiny for a twenty-two year old guy."
"And you sure are bitchy for a twenty-two year old woman."
"I'm not! F.Y.I., Nathan Scott, I should've been married by now. On my honeymoon with my husband, having lots of hot, wild and heated sex! But instead, I'm back here, in this spit of a town, with you, who isn't grateful at all for my assistance in trying to help you get . . . I don't know . . . laid, perchance?" She scoffs. "Men. So ungrateful." Brooke composes herself as she starts to walk towards the bathroom, wanting an escape from Nathan and her suddenly heated body, "I'll be in the bathroom, taking an excessively long shower." Brooke yells as she slams the door dramatically. She smirks behind it, hearing his footsteps approaching.
She can sense Nathan behind the door as she looks at herself in the mirror. There's humour in his voice as he rests his head on the door (she hears a thump and stifles her giggles), "You wanted me to get laid?"
Brooke approaches the door, opening it a little so she can have a look at him. He backs up as she honestly replies, "Like you need any help with that. God Nathan, whatever happened to the big ego I once knew?" She moves back and closes the door.
"It's with Dan," Nathan says lightly, amusement flickering into his voice. Brooke's glad for the mood change. She's beginning to hate teasing and taunting Nathan. He carries on like a girl. Brooke runs her fingers through her hair, feeling the silkiness in her tresses, and she sighs. She wonders if she should curl it, and she smiles at this idea.
Then she thinks of Peyton, and the smile slips off her face like a ball rolling off a cliff into a sea of rocks.
Smack!
Brooke returns to the world and places her hands on the edge of the counter, leaning forward as she checks her face for anything out of the ordinary, "Oh, yes, I forgot. You're the offspring of Dan Scott."
"The devil reincarnate himself."
Brooke laughs, gathering her toiletries in a bundle on the counter. They threaten to fall as she quickly pushes them towards the wall, "See, that is why I like you."
"You like me?" She can sense the smile through the door, and she smiles in return. She opens the cabinet above the sink and starts placing some of her products in there.
"You're not a cheating bastard, you're not a son of a bch - although, you were before Lucas came into my life - and you're, dare I say it, nice. Which is okay. You know? It's not like I love you or anything."
"Pity. I just wanted you to love me," Nathan says sarcastically, and Brooke feels a blush creeping up her neck. It's faint, and it doesn't really matter. It isn't like Nathan caused it. She's just working too fast at organising her stuff.
Right.
"Yeah, yeah, stop pouting. And I am really going to become Mrs Tim Smith in nine months." Brooke closes the cupboard, and she doesn't know where she's put the container with the soap that forms white foam. She opens the doors underneath the sink, skimming through the messy contents that Nathan calls 'toiletries'. Bug spray? Closing the door shut, Brooke looks towards the door and demands, "Where are the bubbles?"
"You don't need bubbles for a shower."
She rolls her eyes, and places her hands on her hips as she glances around the room, wishing she had x-ray vision like Clark Kent. "A bath, what are you, stupid?"
"You said shower."
"I lied," she shrugs, and even though he can't see it she knows he knows. It's some weird connection roomies have, right?
Whatever.
"Do you ever tell the truth?"
Yes. All the time.
"Will you ever grow some balls?" Brooke says robotically as she takes another chance and looks underneath the sink. It's disgusting - as before - but she moves some of the cans and small baskets around. "Found it!" Brooke stands up, closes the door and pumps a fist in the air as she starts to turn on the taps in the rectangular bath.
"I'm gonna stop talking to the door."
Brooke smirks, placing the plug on top of the silver drain that isn't as clean as the pearly white bath, and takes the lid off of the bubbles. "You should do that."
"I'm leaving."
"Goodbye," she says after she squirts some of the pink liquid into the water and closes the cap. She places it on the sink - which is clear of her toiletries now - and she ties her hair up again.
"Don't miss me too much. I'm just a room away."
"Are you sure your big head can fit into a room?" She moves towards the door and makes sure it is locked. It's not like Nathan would walk in - he's a changed Nathan Scott who respects someone's privacy. Unless if it was his wife.
Brooke shivers at the thought and makes sure she knows it is locked. Better safe than sorry.
Nathan laughs, "I love you too."
She feels a pang in her chest, and quickly dismisses it as she evenly says, "Hate you."
"Stop poking your tongue out at the door."
Brooke gasps as she walks towards the bath and starts to undress, "Stop perving on me! What is this, Big Brother?"
Nathan chuckles, and she hears him pat the door. This must signal his leaving as she hears his footsteps grow softer.
It is suddenly quiet, and she's aware she's all alone.
She sinks into the bath, sighing as the warmth takes over her. She leans forward and turns off the burning taps, and settles back against the white smooth surface of Nathan's tub. Brooke gets comfortable within bubbles, palming them and blowing them in the air like she used to.
Closing her eyes, she allows her imagination to take her to a place that always makes her relax. Today, her wedding seems to be that specific place.
She finds herself walking down the aisle on a white carpet on the grass leading towards the front. Everyone's standing, and as her gaze rests up the front, she smiles even wider at the groom up the front. It doesn't startle her, but it makes her stomach feel like it's floating as she approaches her husband-to-be, Nathan Scott.
yeah i'm faded
my true colour's gone
like a picture nobody sees
eta; This story is being re-written. You can find it here.
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Pairing/Character: Nathan/Brooke; Lucas/Brooke, Nathan/Haley, Lucas/Peyton
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for all episodes.
Disclaimer: Not mine. ;/
Rating: M
Summary: She had everything she ever wanted, and in a single breath, she ran away. Back home, after two weeks of M.I.A., Brooke's homeless, heartbroken, and destroyed. In search of a place to live, Brooke finds an unlikely companion in a lonely Nathan, and a spare couch in his once-filled with light apartment. (Futurefic.)
Notes: (Cross-posted at ff.net. Please review there, too.)
Lyrics: Kate Dearaguo - "Faded".
-
02. House of Whores
you try to fit
fit me in a perfect box
you let me slip between the cracks
The door is open once Brooke arrives on the doorstep, and she doesn't bother to knock. It isn't like she ever did, anyway. This place was once her home, as well as many other places, but for some reason she found a bond within these walls.
She opens the door quietly, as slowly as possible, and shuts it without a squeak. She's definitely a pro. at sneaking in. She can hear the radio blasting from upstairs, and she takes the route she used to know that leads her to a room.
She walks inside, and notices not much has changed. "Hey slut," Rachel says, appearing from the bathroom with a large smile on her face. She turns off the radio, and stands looking at Brooke.
Brooke can't help but crack a smile as she crosses her arms over her chest and demands, "Where's my car, whore?"
"Why, aren't you friendly this morning. Lucas didn't put out?" Rachel smirks smugly, and Brooke feels a sharp pain in her chest. Her face must have shown this as Rachel's own features soften, and so does her voice. "Okay, fine, that was harsh. I'm sorry." With a roll of her eyes, Rachel plops down onto her bed.
Brooke knows she's sincere - this is as sincere as Rachel will get - and feels a smile tugging at her lips as she says, "Do I need to slut-free my car?"
Rachel shakes her head, picking up a magazine that's laying on the bed, suddenly flipping through it like she's looking for some kind of distraction within the ink. But she's not. They both know that.
"I didn't disrespect your car, Davis," she looks up at Brooke, a smile taints her face, brightening it up and making her look like a decent, emotional and kind human being. "As much as you wish to believe the worst in me, I can actually do good." Rachel's smile falters as her voice quietens and her eyes are cast down, "I'm sorry about the wedding."
Brooke forces a small smile that doesn't reach her eyes and shrugs as if it's nothing, and quietly breathes, "Me too."
Rachel breathes in deeply, the toxic aroma of her heavily scented perfume, and lifts herself off of her pink bed. She walks over to a chest of drawers, and grabs something shiny and noisy off of the wood, "So, great way to put a damper on things, here's your keys." She tosses them to Brooke, who catches them nicely in her hands.
Brooke looks at them, as if she's seeing them for the first time, running her fingers over the dull silver, and looks up at Rachel and quips, "Thanks. You better have taken care of my baby, Gatina."
Rachel makes a face as she sits back down on her bed, "You bet I did. That baby is hot. What fine pieces of ass you must pick up, Davis."
Brooke chuckles, looking to the bathroom and noticing it hasn't changed. "Yeah. Right. I never had that kind of luck."
"Really? Wow, you must suck." Rachel looks around, the silence in the room is comforting as it allows Rachel to take in Brooke's appearance, and for Brooke to memorise everything in this room. The desk, the drawers, the forgotten garments peeking from behind corners . . . Rachel breaks Brooke's mental photography as she asks, "You have a place to stay?"
Brooke smiles widely, nodding as she remembers her two offers, "Yeah. Two, actually."
"Make that three," Rachel mimics Brooke's smile, her voice showing the emotion of happiness only Brooke will ever get to hear. She's forgotten what it was like with Rachel, back then when everything was technicolour and so messed up.
Brooke refrains from pouncing on Rachel, knowing the other girl wouldn't appreciate human contact - or maybe her marriage curse. "You sure? Last time we almost tore each other's hair out."
"I came so close to bleaching yours." Rachel shrugs, tilting her head to the side, she's almost trying to convince Brooke to stay. Maybe she really does miss her company. Brooke feels the tears burn her eyes as Rachel continues, "It was fun. Come on, you can't deny it. Even though you were all mopey - like you are now - you still had fun."
She gives in, and with a roll of her eyes, Brooke shrugs lamely, "Yeah . . . I guess."
"Plus, I heard the position for Brooke Davis' BFF was up for grabs. Thought I might apply. What do you think?"
Brooke laughs, tapping her chin as she pretends to think. As if she really needs to think about this offer. Rachel had always been there - not from the beginning - but when Brooke really needed someone. Rachel had stepped up to the plate, waiting to take a swing at whatever Brooke would throw at her, and she always seemed to get a homerun. "You may have a chance . . ."
"You know I'm here for you, right?"
"Yeah."
Rachel's up again, walking around, searching for something. "Great. Thank god we got all that girly-girl BFF crap out of the way. You want to go to some killer college party tonight?"
"Can't. Old habits die fast. Sorry."
The red head dismisses the rejection with a wave, obviously not offended or mad at Brooke's changed ways. "Eh. Don't be. I guess I should've expected a lot more from you than that. You've grown up, Brooke. Kind of sad, really." With a sigh, Rachel threw a couple of shirts towards the other side of the room, they hit the wall and slid down, landing in an unattractive heap on the side. Ironically, Brooke thinks, it is like how she treats boys. Use them, get bored, then throw them away. She used to be like that, but not anymore. "Anyway. I've got to kick you out. You're really putting me down with all this emo undertone you have going on. Just know, my door is always open. Just, not when there is some sort of sock or scrunchie or something on the doorknob."
Brooke nods appreciatively, watching as the other girl looks up to witness a genuine smile from Brooke Davis, "Thanks Rach."
"No problem, B. Davis. Now, get out! I have a pair of panties to find," Rachel's back to looking around, almost forgetting the girl who was standing in her room.
Brooke shakes her head, rolling her eyes as she sees a pair of black panties hiding behind the chest of drawers, and she looks back at Rachel, an amused smile on her face. She decides to stay quiet about the found garment, and walks towards the door, "Good luck with that."
-
Karen's leaning over Brooke, patting the pillow for the nearly tenth time since that evening, and Brooke smiles at the genuine thought. Karen asks, in a motherly tone that has never really been directed to Brooke by her own mother, "Are you sure the couch is okay?"
"Yeah. I'll be out of your hair by tomorrow, anyway."
"Where will you go?" Karen says as she sits on the couch, almost forgetting how much time and effort she put into smoothing out all the creases in the blanket.
Brooke runs her fingers over the cotton, it almost burning into her skin as she watches her fingers trace invisible patterns and words into the gold fabric, "Nathan's, believe it or not. I convinced him to let me bunk with him."
Karen leans forward on her knees, her eyes shining with something Brooke isn't used to. "Are you sure that's such a smart idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?" Brooke frowns, confused at what may be happening behind Nathan's dully coloured door. She mentally notes that she'll have to change that.
Karen fiddles with her hands, looking down at her bare fingernails as they battle it out in an almost war, "Well . . . he only has one bed."
Brooke shrugs, and coolly responds, "Couch. The couch is fine."
Karen's tone is full of concern and almost bordering on motherly. Brooke knows she's about to pull the 'Mom Card' as she stretches out her name almost menacingly, "Brooke . . ."
She's thought about it. The complications of staying with Nathan - a male with one bed - but Brooke finds his apartment - and his couch - a lot more promising and comfortable than her car. Brooke sighs. "I'd love to stay here, Karen, I really would. But I hate doing this. Camping from house to house just because I don't have my own, and I don't want to stay here out of charity or you feeling obligated to. I know I've hurt you - and . . . Luke - and that will never go away, but I've got to move on, and allow you to, too."
Karen sighs, a smile proudly spills onto her face, "Okay Brooke. If this is what you want . . . just know there is always a spare couch for you whenever you need it." Karen gets up, patting the spot she just occupied with her hands, and took the glass on the table in front of Brooke in her grip.
Brooke laughs, watching Karen walk away, "It seems like that offer is just wanting to burst off of everyone's tongue. I will, Karen. Thank you."
-
"This is it?" Nathan asks, watching Brooke easily glide her wheeled bag in through the door.
Brooke looks up at him, her eyebrow perked as she places the bag beside the door, leaning it against the rather boring coloured wall, "Yeah. Why, were you expecting a castle?"
"Well . . . yeah." Nathan scratches the back of his neck, and at her offended look, he quickly adds, "I'm just surprised, is all."
The impression she must have given everyone. She shakes her head, thinking that she wasn't really a spoiled princess, was she? She never seemed to think so - but no one ever really told her that she was a princess. No one really said anything. This seemed to place pressure on her heart; Did Nathan think she was some sort of spoiled little troll?
Nathan clears his throat, and Brooke breathes in the new atmosphere. No tension. "All my stuff is in storage," Brooke says simply as she takes in the apartment. Dull walls, less furniture, male odour.
His eyebrow is perked up, now, "Storage?"
She looks up at him, and she knows she can't lie to him - about this, anyway - and she rolls her eyes as she dejectedly narrates, "We - Luke and I - were going to buy a house right after the honeymoon. We'd been saving up for a house, since we'd been talking about moving in together. We wanted a nice place, you know? A house, apartment, whatever. Since I kind of didn't have a solid place to stay - and since I moved out of my apartment before the wedding - Luke had suggested I place my stuff in storage. For safe-keeping and all."
"Didn't you stay with Peyton?"
Pang. There it goes again. Except it isn't a good sort of pressure placed on her chest. She feels suffocated, all of a sudden, even when she thinks of that name, she feels like she can't breathe.
She never could when Peyton was in the room.
"Yeah. But putting all my crap in her house just didn't seem logical. It wasn't like I was marrying her or anything." Brooke rolls her eyes - this is becoming a habit she really doesn't want - and takes a seat at the stool at the counter. She remembers eating cake with her fingers here, four years ago. All because she slept with a musician whose ego was even bigger than the oceans of the world combined, and broke her poor boy-toy’s heart. She wasn't even committed to him - exclusively, anyway - and he still managed to hold it against her.
Moron.
Nathan chuckles, appearing in front of Brooke as he leans against the smooth counter, breaking her out of her darkening trance, and boyishly says, "That would've been kinky."
"Do you ever think with your head, Nate?" Brooke shakes her head, a toothy grin apparent on her face. She draws unintelligible pictures on the shiny surface. A face, a dress, her name.
Mrs Lucas Scott.
Nathan chuckles, "Occasionally."
Brooke groans, bringing her palm to rest on her forehead as she leans on it, "Mental images, Nate."
They stay silent, Brooke's head still laying in her palm as she listens to Nathan's even breathing. It's a calming melody, and thoughts of a distressed Haley being calmed by just her husband's breathing bat all her other thoughts away. She wonders if she could have had that with Lucas. The mood changes quickly, and Nathan's tone is serious, "You sure the couch will be okay?"
"Yeah, why? Are you offering the bed?" Brooke snipes, knowing full well what his answer would be. She hopes she knows, anyway. He's not the same womanising Nathan he had been six years ago, before Tutorwife, and before Peyton and Brooke's hoes-over-broes fights.
"No. I was offering the floor."
"Oh my, I have a gentleman in my presence," she says with her hand to her heart as she swirls her head around, causing herself to be momentarily dizzy while seeing silver dots.
"Hey, I never said anything about giving up my place to sleep for you. You were the one who initiated this."
Brooke's about to protest that he was the one who asked, but she exchanges it for a grunt, "Fine, whatever. Go cry Justin Timberlake a river or something." She gets up from the stool, sliding it back under the counter so it is out of the way and just something for her to do in this semi-awkward moment between acquaintances. Roommates. "Just know, I don't cook," Brooke walks towards the bathroom, escaping from any arguments or negotiations that may happen between them. She just wants to get settled in and be able to boss Nathan around until his ears tinge red and steam comes from his ears and nose. "And I need more bathroom space."
It isn't long - two hours and twenty two minutes, to be exact - before Brooke is picking out colours to repaint the living room. Nathan, sitting on a stool, nods disinterestedly as he reads a sports magazine, lost in the world of basketball, sweaty men and skimpily clad cheerleaders.
This is the life.
Except Brooke's noticed he's not paying attention - after five minutes of her yapping on about pinks and blues and paint brush textures - before she's in his face, flicking his nose, his ear and snatching the magazine from underneath his fingertips.
"Hey! I was reading that!"
"Yeah, and I was thinking about getting a sex change. Small world, huh?" Nathan's eyebrows shoot to his hairline as Brooke stands with her hands on her hips, her own eyebrow perked up in a challenging stance, "You gonna pay attention now, Natey?"
"Haven't you drained the world for your need for attention already?"
"You're cute, Scott, I'll give you that, but my need for attention is not the issue here. The walls are bland. We need colour! How can you live in this hell of a hole without some brightness?" She says as she makes hand waves towards the walls, Nathan follows her wild gestures. By the look on his face, he doesn't see anything she's saying.
Does he need a dictionary?
Nathan gathers his wits as he looks at Brooke's fuming face, "How is it that people let you walk around the streets without thinking you need to be institutionalised?"
"It's because I'm hot, Nathan. You should know this already," she answers almost robotically, and his cheeks flush a light pink. Brooke smirks, and ignores it as a sign of Nathan being a boy, and quickly whips two colour palettes she somehow picked up during the time she spent leaving Karen's to driving to Nathan's from behind her back. "Now, baby pink or baby blue?"
"What?"
"This room," Brooke gestures to where the blank television is, "It's kind of my bedroom right now, so, pink or blue?"
"How about keeping it as it is?"
Brooke shakes her head. Boys. "How about you look at this room, hmm?"
"I'm looking," Nathan says as he quickly glances at the room. Brooke watches him like a hawk, knowing he's looking longingly at the television. It's big, shiny and - just like all small children crave - sweet. It's Nathan's candy, to the world of basketball, and she knows he's going to miss some game with her bickering about colours.
"And what does it say to you?"
Nathan's gaze calmly settles on Brooke as he says, "That the crazy woman standing in my kitchen needs to take her medication?"
She rolls her eyes, scoffing in offence as she immediately starts to raise her voice, making them both think of Whitey, "Wrong, Scott! How the hell did you graduate Tree High with your failing capacity to use your brain?" She rolls up the magazine, and before he can even protest about the curling pages, she hits him on the head.
"Jesus, Brooke!"
"That should teach you to not pay attention." Brooke places her hands on her hips and breathes in deeply. She drops the magazine onto the counter and smacks his hands away when he tries to grab for it. Brooke then grabs the two rectangular cards with the colours she's previously shown him, and she excitedly says, "Now, pink or blue?"
Nathan groans.
-
Brooke's sitting on a stool with her legs crossed delicately at her knees, and in her grip she holds a magazine. She quietly reads it, occasionally humming an odd tune, and she tops immediately as she hears Nathan's loud footsteps. She can see - and the reminder she can always sense with her nose whiffs into her personal bubble - Nathan standing before her, but she chooses to ignore him, "What are you doing Brooke?"
"Reading," she says as she doesn't take her eyes off of the magazine. She, instead, turns the page and starts to read the text and look at the pretty pictures.
"You can read?"
This makes Brooke raise her head, and she pokes her tongue out. Holding the magazine up so Nathan can fully read the title without tilting his head and spilling any of the muck that occupies the space where his brain should be through his ears, she evenly says, "Interior design."
"Brooke!" Nathan whines with a roll of his bright eyes. Brooke grins widely, knowing he doesn't want her to do anything to the apartment. But, in her own mind, she knows he wants something different. And, even if he doesn't, who cares? It isn't like she was going to get him to help her.
That'd be hilarious.
Brooke returns to her magazine, shaking her head in disappointment as she quips, "Whining is for babies, Nathan. I'm pretty sure you've matured to a five-year-old by now."
Nathan ignores her as he starts his tirade of protests, "We don't need to change my apartment! You're temporarily staying, remember? Weren't you getting an apartment soon?"
"Yes," Brooke pouts as she rests the magazine gently on her lap. She can sense Nathan's need for an argument, but she won't deliver. She's too comfortable in her zone to argue with him. Plus, seeing Nathan lose his "cool" is very amusing.
"So, why do you need to permanently change my apartment when you're gonna be gone?"
Brooke shrugs, and quietly says, "Project?"
"Design something. A dress, a t-shirt, whatever. Just not my house!"
"But I am designing."
"You're gonna change the place where I live into a dress?" Nathan says incredulously, and Brooke can't help but picture the apartment in a dress.
"No! I'm designing your house. Styling it up a little. Adding a feminine touch." Brooke says as she places the magazine onto the counter beside her. She folds her arms in front of her, and calmly looks at Nathan as he looks at her with wide eyes and an almost dark pink face.
Nathan huffs, "But it doesn't need a feminine touch. Especially when there is a male living here!"
She rolls her eyes, and calmly says, "Nathan, I know you're a boy. Okay? It never slipped my mind that you were born with a p -"
Nathan groans and covers his ears, "Brooke!"
"You know, you sure are whiny for a twenty-two year old guy."
"And you sure are bitchy for a twenty-two year old woman."
"I'm not! F.Y.I., Nathan Scott, I should've been married by now. On my honeymoon with my husband, having lots of hot, wild and heated sex! But instead, I'm back here, in this spit of a town, with you, who isn't grateful at all for my assistance in trying to help you get . . . I don't know . . . laid, perchance?" She scoffs. "Men. So ungrateful." Brooke composes herself as she starts to walk towards the bathroom, wanting an escape from Nathan and her suddenly heated body, "I'll be in the bathroom, taking an excessively long shower." Brooke yells as she slams the door dramatically. She smirks behind it, hearing his footsteps approaching.
She can sense Nathan behind the door as she looks at herself in the mirror. There's humour in his voice as he rests his head on the door (she hears a thump and stifles her giggles), "You wanted me to get laid?"
Brooke approaches the door, opening it a little so she can have a look at him. He backs up as she honestly replies, "Like you need any help with that. God Nathan, whatever happened to the big ego I once knew?" She moves back and closes the door.
"It's with Dan," Nathan says lightly, amusement flickering into his voice. Brooke's glad for the mood change. She's beginning to hate teasing and taunting Nathan. He carries on like a girl. Brooke runs her fingers through her hair, feeling the silkiness in her tresses, and she sighs. She wonders if she should curl it, and she smiles at this idea.
Then she thinks of Peyton, and the smile slips off her face like a ball rolling off a cliff into a sea of rocks.
Smack!
Brooke returns to the world and places her hands on the edge of the counter, leaning forward as she checks her face for anything out of the ordinary, "Oh, yes, I forgot. You're the offspring of Dan Scott."
"The devil reincarnate himself."
Brooke laughs, gathering her toiletries in a bundle on the counter. They threaten to fall as she quickly pushes them towards the wall, "See, that is why I like you."
"You like me?" She can sense the smile through the door, and she smiles in return. She opens the cabinet above the sink and starts placing some of her products in there.
"You're not a cheating bastard, you're not a son of a bch - although, you were before Lucas came into my life - and you're, dare I say it, nice. Which is okay. You know? It's not like I love you or anything."
"Pity. I just wanted you to love me," Nathan says sarcastically, and Brooke feels a blush creeping up her neck. It's faint, and it doesn't really matter. It isn't like Nathan caused it. She's just working too fast at organising her stuff.
Right.
"Yeah, yeah, stop pouting. And I am really going to become Mrs Tim Smith in nine months." Brooke closes the cupboard, and she doesn't know where she's put the container with the soap that forms white foam. She opens the doors underneath the sink, skimming through the messy contents that Nathan calls 'toiletries'. Bug spray? Closing the door shut, Brooke looks towards the door and demands, "Where are the bubbles?"
"You don't need bubbles for a shower."
She rolls her eyes, and places her hands on her hips as she glances around the room, wishing she had x-ray vision like Clark Kent. "A bath, what are you, stupid?"
"You said shower."
"I lied," she shrugs, and even though he can't see it she knows he knows. It's some weird connection roomies have, right?
Whatever.
"Do you ever tell the truth?"
Yes. All the time.
"Will you ever grow some balls?" Brooke says robotically as she takes another chance and looks underneath the sink. It's disgusting - as before - but she moves some of the cans and small baskets around. "Found it!" Brooke stands up, closes the door and pumps a fist in the air as she starts to turn on the taps in the rectangular bath.
"I'm gonna stop talking to the door."
Brooke smirks, placing the plug on top of the silver drain that isn't as clean as the pearly white bath, and takes the lid off of the bubbles. "You should do that."
"I'm leaving."
"Goodbye," she says after she squirts some of the pink liquid into the water and closes the cap. She places it on the sink - which is clear of her toiletries now - and she ties her hair up again.
"Don't miss me too much. I'm just a room away."
"Are you sure your big head can fit into a room?" She moves towards the door and makes sure it is locked. It's not like Nathan would walk in - he's a changed Nathan Scott who respects someone's privacy. Unless if it was his wife.
Brooke shivers at the thought and makes sure she knows it is locked. Better safe than sorry.
Nathan laughs, "I love you too."
She feels a pang in her chest, and quickly dismisses it as she evenly says, "Hate you."
"Stop poking your tongue out at the door."
Brooke gasps as she walks towards the bath and starts to undress, "Stop perving on me! What is this, Big Brother?"
Nathan chuckles, and she hears him pat the door. This must signal his leaving as she hears his footsteps grow softer.
It is suddenly quiet, and she's aware she's all alone.
She sinks into the bath, sighing as the warmth takes over her. She leans forward and turns off the burning taps, and settles back against the white smooth surface of Nathan's tub. Brooke gets comfortable within bubbles, palming them and blowing them in the air like she used to.
Closing her eyes, she allows her imagination to take her to a place that always makes her relax. Today, her wedding seems to be that specific place.
She finds herself walking down the aisle on a white carpet on the grass leading towards the front. Everyone's standing, and as her gaze rests up the front, she smiles even wider at the groom up the front. It doesn't startle her, but it makes her stomach feel like it's floating as she approaches her husband-to-be, Nathan Scott.
yeah i'm faded
my true colour's gone
like a picture nobody sees
eta; This story is being re-written. You can find it here.
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