Fic: You're All That I Have
Title: You're All That I Have
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: One Tree Hill (Peyton and Lucas!)
Rating: G (only minor mentions of slightly indecent activities)
Summary: "Luke! No affectionate touches when I’m pissed at you!"  She's angry and she doesn't know why, her husband can't even seem to remember they're in a fight, and as the icing on the cake, her baby still doesn't have a name. How come no one told her happily-ever-after wasn't easy? Futurefic. Oneshot. Title and lyrics scattered throughout are from the Snow Patrol song by the same name (an old favorite that always reminds me of Lucas and Peyton!)

Strain this chaos turn it into light
I've got to see you one last night
Before the lions take their share
Leave us in pieces, scattered everywhere

The ground was cold and hard on her knees, but it wasn’t enough to make her move.

She could kneel on her knees in that tiny little room for years, and the pain would never be enough to force her to her feet. The only light on in the room was a revolving teddy bear night light that Haley had bought them, and it threw teddy bear-shaped shadows on the pale green walls.

That didn’t matter either, though. The curtains weren’t closed, and the full moon outside lit the room well enough for her to look down at the perfect slumbering angel in the crib that she had spent so much time and energy putting together.

Peyton reached out a hand and softly laid it on the baby’s chest, so that she could feel her tiny daughter’s chest rise and fall with each breath. It was amazing, how tiny that little person asleep in the crib was. At the same time, it was amazing that something so alive could have come from inside of Peyton.

She had created that baby. There was a whole little person lying there, sleeping and breathing and living, and Peyton had created her, she had created her tiny ears and tiny nose and tiny pink cheeks, she had created her tuft of blonde hair and little pink lips.

“I made you,” she murmured to the slumbering little girl.

The day she was born, Peyton nearly thought she’d done something wrong. The baby was covered in something that made her want to scrunch up her nose and look away, she smelt terrible, and her head was, to Peyton’s utmost horror, distinctly cone-shaped.

And Lucas had told her, his eyes swimming with awe, “She’s beautiful.”

Peyton hadn’t seen it.

But then they’d cleaned the little girl up, and they’d wrapped her in a pink blanket, and Peyton had held her and looked at the little pink cheeks and the tuft of blonde fuzz and the tiny little fingers and tiny little toes and the soft blue eyes, and she was sold.

So what if her daughter was a cone-head? It happened. Lucas was right. She was still the most beautiful thing that ever existed.

“She has blue eyes,” Peyton had whispered almost reverently to Lucas a few minutes after the little girl was born.

“Most babies do,” a nearby nurse had said, giving her a small smile, “It might change soon.”

But Peyton had known her daughter’s eyes would stay blue. Two weeks later, long after they had brought her home and she was fast asleep in her nursery, her eyes were still blue. Peyton wouldn’t have it any other way.

Thankfully, the cone-shaped head had disappeared only a few days after she was born. The blonde hair had thickened ever-so-slightly in the past two weeks, and best of all, her daughter was still the most perfect specimen on Earth. Even as Peyton thought it, her hand still resting softly on the baby’s chest, her little girl hiccoughed in her sleep.

Peyton smiled inadvertently. “I love you,” she whispered. “You hear that? I want to you to remember that. I’ll tell you everyday so you’ll always know it. I love you,” she told the baby, “Your mama loves you, kid.” Her voice softened so that she was barely even whispering as she murmured, “You’re mine. And you’re perfect.”

She let her fingers trace over her daughter’s face, over her tiny nose, over the shell of her tiny ears, over her tiny, chubby limbs, over her little itty-bitty curled up toes. Peyton had never thought she’d make a good mother. The very thought had terrified her in high school and, if someone had put it to words, would certainly have elicited a biting remark from Peyton.

In those three years when she and Lucas were apart, when she’d imagined over and over again saying yes to his proposal in that hotel room, she had begun imagining what her children would be like. They would be Luke’s children, too, of course, perfect little children that they’d raise after they’d been happily married and settled for a few years.

Things hadn’t worked out exactly that way, but when she’d found out she was pregnant, despite the initial terror that had surrounded it all, the news had still surpassed all of Peyton’s fantasies without fail.

But as the months passed and she began to show, as a baby shower was thrown and maternity clothes were purchased, as a nursery was painted and a crib built, as parenting books were bought and Lamaze classes attended, Peyton began to doubt.

What the fuck did she know about being a mother?

“You’re gonna be a great mom, you know that, right?”

She didn’t know how long he had been standing in the doorway watching her, but she didn’t care. And she certainly didn’t acknowledge him now. She didn’t look away from her daughter, she didn’t reply to his soft, affectionate comment.

“Peyton?” he murmured, audacious enough to sound slightly amused. So he thought her ignoring him was funny, did he? She couldn’t keep quiet after that. “Peyton —”

“I bet Lindsey would have made a great mom, too, if you were wondering.”

He sighed, saying tiredly, “Don’t be like that.”

“She probably wouldn’t have even had to use pain medication during the birth. And she wouldn’t have had to go to Haley because she was having trouble nursing the baby, and she wouldn’t be keeping you up all night because she couldn’t keep the baby calm for more than an hour and, hey, she probably would have even had a little suit to wear with a giant M on it for Supermom! and —”

“I don’t want Lindsey to be the mother of my baby,” he broke in empathetically. “And I know she couldn’t do half as good a job as you. You’re already a great mom.”

“Flattery will get you no where, Scott,” Peyton replied dryly. In actuality his words had, as he had probably intended, been the perfect words to say. They had even wiggled their way to her heart and softened her anger slightly. But she would not give in that easily.

“Peyton, I know you’re upset, but come on — what — what did you expect? Lindsey and I almost got married. It makes sense that we would have talked about having kids!”

Scoffing, Peyton finally turned away from her daughter and pushed herself to her feet. The only thing she wore was a large t-shirt of his, her hair was messier than usual, she hadn’t showered in two days, she weighed more now than she had at any other time in her entire life, and she was suddenly in a foul mood.

“You know, while we’re on that subject, why don’t we talk about you and Lindsey almost getting married. Remind me again why you didn’t? Oh, right, because she called it off! You were perfectly happy to marry her!”

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him, the anger licking at her insides. She loved that stupid man, she really did, but she was tired and she was angry and she was a little bit hurt, and it was all bound to come up someday, so why not now?

“You do realize that you look unbelievably hot like that?” he asked, stepping towards her with a smirking half grin on his face.

“Do not change the subject,” she hissed. “It doesn’t do you any good considering I can’t have sex for another four weeks — doctor’s orders. Oh, but hey!” her eyes widened mockingly as she carried on, “I bet Lindsey would love to have sex with you!”

“Peyton!” he shouted, apparently unable to hold it in.

“Don’t yell in front of the baby!” Peyton replied, her voice a harsh whisper.

They stared at each other. Lucas seemed to deflate all of a sudden.

“All those times Lindsey and I talked about having kids, I hated it. Whenever Lindsey would bring it up, I would change the subject,” he told her. “You know why? Because it made me feel guilty — I was guilty that while she was talking about what our kids would look like and what’d we name them, all I could see was a little girl with curly blonde hair and bright green eyes.

“Peyton, I only ever wanted you to be the mother of my kids. And I have never, ever been so happy as I am now getting to go to sleep with you every night and waking up to take care of our daughter . . . even if we can’t come up with a name.”

Peyton didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say.

She believed him; she did. And she had long ago forgiven him for their separation those four years. They’d both made mistakes, and she was old enough — she had seen enough, experienced enough — to know that it was better to forgive and forget, because at the end of the day, she’d always love him more than anyone, no matter what.

But old feelings had surfaced earlier that afternoon, when they were sitting at the Café, surrounded by all their friends and family, and Brooke had teased her that the baby still didn’t have a name only for Haley to say, “But, Luke, I thought you wanted to name your kid Sarah.”

“What?” Peyton had given a puzzled smile, looking back and forth between the two of them. “You never mentioned that when we were talking about names.”

“It wasn’t . . .” he shrugged awkwardly, “it wasn’t really my top choice.”

“I thought you said . . .” Haley’s voice had trailed off and she’d looked away.

“I don’t understand,” Peyton had said, still smiling as she shook her head.

And that’s when he’d mumbled it: “Lindsey loved the name.”

Lindsey. Peyton shouldn’t really hate her. The woman had never done anything to Peyton personally. Except try and replace me, Peyton thought vindictively to herself. She forced the ill thoughts away. It wasn’t Lindsey who had married Lucas. It wasn’t Lindsey who had a perfect little girl with Lucas.

It was Peyton.

Lucas had chosen her. And as if to emphasize it, he chose that moment to say softly, sincerely, “I chose you, Peyt.” Then suddenly it seemed wrong. He hadn’t really chosen her, had he?

“No,” Peyton shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, “You chose me after Lindsey had already turned you down.” Lucas opened his mouth to protest but Peyton cut him off, “I know that she called and said she loved you, so that you could have gotten her back if you wanted but instead you chose me. I mean that wedding. You said ‘I do.’ You can’t deny that.”

“What do you want me to say?” he asked, his eyes pleading with her. “I thought we got past this a long time ago. I thought you had gotten past this a long time ago.”

Peyton was silent. She glanced back at her sleeping daughter, nameless but still beautiful. She let out a deep breath and looked wearily at Luke. “I thought I had gotten past it, too.” And while he simply stood there, unable to come up with anything to say, she brushed past him out of the nursery.

She knew she ought to take this opportunity to get some sleep, especially considering it was about one in the morning. But she didn’t want to go to bed. If she went to bed, then either she’d have to talk to Lucas or she’d have to face sleeping right beside him and not being able to curl into his side. Neither were prospects she wanted to face.

So instead she hopped in the shower and spent nearly half in hour rubbing shampoo through her hair over and over again, shaving her legs and letting water pour over her face. What would have happened if Lucas had married Lindsey? Would she have gotten pregnant right away? What would have become of Peyton?

“Peyton?”

The sound of his voice startled Peyton and it took her a moment to gather her wits and reply bitingly, “What? I’m not really in a ‘Let me take you on the wall of the shower’ mood right now, Luke.”

“She’s crying,” Lucas replied hesitantly. “She keeps making a sucking face and I think . . . you know. . . .”

Peyton sighed. Lucas couldn’t really help the baby with that one. Peyton turned off the shower and pulled back the curtain. Luke was waiting for her, leaning up against the bathroom counter. His eyes ran quickly up and down her as she stepped out and grabbed a towel.

“Do you mind?” she snapped at him.

“I’m good, actually,” he smiled.

Peyton’s anger flared, even as she ignored that gleam in his eyes that always got to her. “Would you please stop forgetting that we’re in a fight?!” she glowered. “And where’s the baby?”

“In the nursery,” he answered, as if it were obvious.

“You just left her there crying?” she asked, already pushing past him and stomping across the hall to the nursery.

“I don’t want to be in a fight!” he called, apparently following after her.

“Too bad! No one asked you!” Peyton yelled back over her shoulder. Peyton’s little girl was lying in her crib, kicking her little legs and crying out, her face red and wet.

“Come here, baby, come here, Mama’s got you,” Peyton murmured, picking up the baby even as she let the towel drop and started nursing the little girl. It was the strangest feeling in the world, and a little painful, but it gave Peyton a kind of satisfaction to be able to do it for her daughter.

She cradled the little girl to her, using her free hand to wipe away the few tears that clung to the tiny pink cheeks. The baby’s fingers curled and uncurled, her eyes drifting shut. Peyton felt her heart surge with a kind of love she hardly even understood.

“You’re really not helping your cause standing there naked like that,” Luke said, breaking her train of thoughts. Peyton didn’t turn to look at him.

“You shouldn’t have left her crying in her crib,” she replied tightly. “And stop looking.”

“Haley says sometimes babies have just got to cry.”

“And Haley knows everything, does she? Maybe you should have married her.”

“Are you kidding?”

“It’s called sarcasm, Luke!” Peyton finally turned to look at him.

“After all these years with you,” he replied, “I think I know what sarcasm is.” He really didn’t look all that upset, and that only served to make her more upset. She stalked towards him, one arm still tightly clutching her nursing baby to her, and watched as his eyes went wide.

She shoved him in the chest and out into the hallway. “Peyton —” he began.

She slammed the door shut.

Just give me a chance to hold on
Give me a chance to hold on
Give me a chance to hold on
Just give me something to hold onto

When Peyton woke up the next morning, Lucas was still asleep and had, as she had told him in a biting voice the night before, stayed on his side of the bed. It had taken her about half an hour before she’d finished nursing her daughter and then screwed the courage to wrap herself back up in the towel and go to the bedroom.

He had been lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” he’d told her.

“I know,” she’d replied. “Don’t touch me. You’ve got your side, I’ve got mine.” She’d slipped on pajamas and burrowed under the covers, not acknowledging him.

She had probably only been asleep for a few hours. The clock read five in the morning. She sighed. She could never go back to sleep once she was up. She might as well make some coffee and check on the baby. It was a wonder that the little girl hadn’t cried at all in the last few hours.

Before she forced herself out from under the covers, Peyton glanced at her sleeping husband. His hair had grown out some and it reminded her of their senior year, which served only to create an affection puddle out of her insides.

She knew they would get past this, whatever this was, but she wasn’t ready to forgive him yet. She didn’t know why. She was just. . . .

The baby monitor beside the bed crackled as her baby’s cries started up.

Peyton immediately reached over and turned it off, silencing the sound before it could wake Lucas. She slipped out from under the covers and headed to the nursery. It took five or six minutes to calm her girl down, and it was during those minutes that Peyton realized the baby was dressed differently than she had been when Peyton had put her down four hours ago.

So the little angel had woken up, and Lucas had gotten her.

He was a good man; Peyton would never deny him that.

Two hours later, Peyton had made herself coffee and eggs, dressed to go into the studio, and arranged her schedule for the day. It was her first day back at work in a while; she had stopped coming in a few weeks before the baby was born. She was eager to return to work, but she was taking her girl with her.

There was no way she could part with the precious child for an entire day. Still, at this rate, the day wasn’t beginning anytime soon. Lucas still wasn’t up. Peyton didn’t have to meet that new band she was recording for another three hours.

So what the hell was she supposed to do now?

She didn’t know why it occurred to her so suddenly, but as soon as the idea began winding its way through her mind, she couldn’t help but follow through. She looked through all her old boxes and found all her old art supplies, spreading them all around her as settled down on the floor in the nursery.

It was strange, what had happened to her two greatest high school passions: music had gone from an inspiration and a lifeline to a life’s pursuit, while art had gone from life’s pursuit to . . . an escape.

During those years that she and Lucas were apart, she had used art to calm her down, to let her escape the world and create one of her own, a world where she could let her feelings take over completely. Now, though, with how wonderful things had been for so long between her and Luke, art had been sadly abandoned.

Maybe it was true what they said about great art coming from suffering.

When Nathan has asked her a few weeks ago why she didn’t draw as much as she once did, she’d only shrugged him off. “Been busy,” she’d said breezily. Besides, it was really only a hobby.

As she sat on the floor beside the crib, though, and began opening watercolor paints and sharpening pencils and putting lines and swirls and shapes to large, wide-open canvases, she felt herself lighten just the way she had in high school, just as she had when she’d used art as an escape.

It wasn’t just an escape.

And maybe it wasn’t what it once was for her, but she’d always love it.

When Lucas found her an hour later, she was working on her third picture of the baby. She’d never gotten around to using the paint, but stuck instead to her pencils, trying desperately to capture her love for that precious little girl, to put it on paper and immortalize it.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted softly, his voice still slightly husky from sleep.

“We’re still fighting, Lucas,” she told him flatly.

“I figured,” he answered, kneeling down beside her. “I just want to say that I really did mean everything I told you last night. Every word. You’re it for me, Peyton Scott. You’re all I’ll ever need or ever want in this world.”

Peyton Scott. Those words still sent little butterflies exploding within her. Peyton Scott.

She’d been P. Sawyer for so long that once upon a time she couldn’t have imagined having a different last name. Her name was too much of who she was. But she’d changed. She’d grown up. And she liked her new name better. It fit her.

Lucas reached out a hand and tucked an unruly curl behind her ear, before running a hand over her hair. “Luke! No affectionate touches when I’m pissed at you!”

He let out a frustrated grunt. “Peyton, please, what do you want me to do? Just tell me.”

“I want you to . . . I want you to acknowledge that we have a problem and just let me be mad at you! I still love you, and I’m not going to leave you, but I’m just . . . I’m hurting right now!”

“I know there’s a problem, Peyton, of course I do, but I can’t just go to work with you hurting and —”

“Lucas!” she snapped. “Let me be mad!”

“You don’t want to try and fix this?” he asked, and she could feel his eyes burning holes in her as she finally gave up on her painting and pushed herself to her feet, slowly closing up all her supplies.

“Try and fix what?” she questioned.

“I don’t know what!”

“Exactly!” her eyes flashed as she glared at him, “Exactly!” She picked up the baby and started out of the room. Peyton had to get out of the house. There was nothing wrong with getting some work down at the studio earlier, and there was no one to stop her from setting up a crib in her office for the baby.

“We haven’t finished this discussion yet,” he said, following after her as she walked down the hall to the kitchen.

“We’re not having a discussion,” she replied.

“See, I was under the impression we were,” he leapt in front of her, desperately trying to catch her eye. “You know: a conversation about why you’re pissed at me and why you want to just be mad. Why? Is this still about Lindsey? Peyton . . . that was the past; it’s done, it’s over with. I made a mistake. I should have been the one to call off the wedding.

“But I can’t change the past! I can tell you right now that I am glad I married you, and that we’re going to grow old together, and that we have a kid. And I don’t care if it takes you a month to name the baby, I really don’t. Please, just, I thought all the stuff with Lindsey was over. . . .”

Peyton sighed, placing the baby in her carrier and fastening the sleepy girl in.

“Peyton?”

“I’ve got to get to the studio,” she replied softly, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll see you tonight.” And before he could stop her, before he could say another word, she walked straight out the door, not letting him even try and give her a goodbye kiss.

You're cinematic razor sharp
A welcome arrow through the heart
Under your skin feels like home
Electric shocks on aching bones

“Did somebody stumble across an old yearbook?” Brooke said, striding perkily into the studio. Peyton, who had been working at her desk and trying to come up with a game plan for the newest band she’d signed, didn’t bother looking up.

“Hey Brooke,” she sighed. She sometimes wished all the artists she came across were as easy to work with as Mia. But that was life in the music business: there were arrogant bastards everywhere.

“You didn’t answer my question, P. Scott,” Brooke carried on, sitting down across from Peyton. “Hey,” she snapped her fingers at Peyton, “Pay attention!”

“What?” Peyton looked up, tossing down her pen. She couldn’t help but be a little distracted, what with the new, unruly band, and then that whole thing with Lucas. . . .

“I was asking you if you’d been looking at our old yearbooks, because I’m thinking maybe you got a little reminiscent and wanted to pretend to be high school Peyton for a little while,” Brooke said.

“Ah . . . okay, I’m still lost. What?” Peyton asked, smiling despite herself.

“Peyton, I stopped by the Café earlier. Lucas was there. He said you two were fighting, and when I asked him what about, he said he didn’t know.”

“Couples fight, Brooke,” Peyton dismissed. She really didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t you two still be in the crazy honeymoon phase right now? And besides, you and Lucas haven’t fought in months . . . not since you got back together. You’ve been, like, the couple since you found out you were pregnant.”

“Then maybe we were due for a little fighting,” Peyton said, her voice almost challenging Brooke to argue with her. “And we have too fought . . . or bickered or something like that.”

“Come on, honey, just tell me why you’re upset? Luke mentioned something about Lindsey. Is this about what Haley mentioned the other day — about Lindsey and Lucas talking about having kids?” Brooke’s voice had softened and her eyes were large with concern; it was times like this that reminded Peyton why that crazy brunette was and always would be her best friend.

“I honestly don’t know,” Peyton admitted, leaning back in her chair. “I just . . . something inside me went crazy when that was mentioned . . . I just hate remembering him and Lindsey together. I hate remembering that wedding and when he said ‘I do’ and . . . I don’t know,” she sighed again.

“But I thought — I thought you and Luke were way over that. I mean, I figured you had talked about it and already gotten over it.”

“I know, I know,” Peyton assured. She didn’t know what else to say. The entire day had been consumed dealing with the newest band, yet the entire day her mind had been elsewhere. It had been with Lucas. She glanced at her daughter, fast asleep in the cradle Peyton had set up that morning.

“Ooh, I didn’t realize my favorite baby girl was here!” Brooke exclaimed, already jumping to her feet and reaching for the baby. Peyton smiled at the eager expression on her friend’s face. She was more than glad to forgo any conversations on Luke for one on her daughter.

“Just don’t wake her up, okay?” she said as she lifted the little blonde angel and handed her over to Brooke. “It takes way too long to get her to sleep.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” Brooke dismissed as she cradled the baby. “If anybody’s ever come close, though, it’s nothing on you, babe,” she whispered to the sleeping girl. “Oh, God,” she sighed, looking up at Peyton, “This baby is adorable. My maternal instincts are kicking in and I want to run away with her and raise her as my own.”

“Ah . . . as sweet as that is, how about you hand me back my kid now?” Peyton teased, standing up.

“Hey, I’m nurturing!” Brooke defended, and Peyton only laughed. “Much as I love Sam,” Brooke went on, “she’s just not that cute. I can’t kiss her itty bitty toes or talk to her in funny voices or spoon feed her.”

“You could try,” Peyton offered.

“Yeah, that’d go over well,” Brooke said, exasperated. “That case would definitely be on the six o’clock news.”

“‘Psycho fashion designer Brooke Davis tries to turn foster teen into baby,’” Peyton quipped teasingly.

“Victoria would love that one,” Brooke sighed, settling back down into her seat with the baby still safely in her arms. Peyton fell into her own seat as well, leaning back and rolling her shoulders.

“How is Victoria these days anyway?” she asked.

“Not a part of my life,” Brooke answered succinctly.

“Okay, then, I won’t go there,” Peyton held up a hand.

“You’re right,” Brooke shifted dramatically in her seat and set her eye on Peyton. “Let’s talk about Lucas, more specifically, you and Lucas. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill!” protested Peyton. “Honestly, Brooke. I’m just . . . I’m tired.”

“That’s the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard worse,” Peyton countered.

“Peyton!” Brooke snapped. “Seriously! Are you just jumbled up over this whole Lindsey thing? Because you say you’ve gotten over it, but you’re angry now and it seems to be the only reason . . . have you not gotten past it? ‘Cause that’s okay, but, honey, if you haven’t dealt with it yet, you need to.”

“But we have dealt with it,” Peyton told her, leaning forward in her seat as if to emphasize it. “We have. When we first got back together, when he called me from the airport —”

“That boy always was a little crazy,” Brooke inserted. Peyton gave her a look, and she added, “Sorry, sorry, go on.”

“Well, when we were on the plane, he said all this stuff, about how he loved me and he had always loved me and the biggest mistake he’d ever made was not waiting for me when I said I wasn’t ready to get married.

“He said that he always tried to follow his heart, but sometimes his head managed to trick his heart into making him believe that he was over me. At the end of the day, though, he said that he always came to see the truth: I was the one that truly had his heart.” Peyton’s voice softened as she spoke, her heart warming just remembering the affectionate, passionate admission of his feelings all those months ago.

“He does have a way with words,” Brooke nodded.

“Look, anyway,” Peyton shook her head as if to clear it, “the point is that I forgive him, and we both agreed to start fresh and let the past go. And I have. I love him. That’ll never change. But I guess I’ve just been feeling so emotional with the baby and stuff . . . and I just got upset. And I can’t seem to shake the feeling.”

“I think maybe sometimes people just need to be a little angry,” suggested Brooke.

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“But you’ll be okay,” she smiled, “You and Luke and Baby Scott will all be okay. You’ll stay one big, happy, blonde family. You’re all too cute not to be happy.”

Peyton chuckled. Still, the words tugged at her heart. Brooke immediately picked up on it. “What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter? Do you not want to be cute?”

“No,” Peyton shook her head. “It’s just . . . did I ever tell you how I found out I was pregnant?” Not giving Brooke a chance to answer, she went on, explaining, “I had this sharp pain in my stomach, this terrible, terrible pain, and I went to the doctor. He thought,” she let out a humorless chuckle, “he thought I might have ovarian cancer. It came out that I was pregnant pretty quickly, but . . . even once I knew, I was scared.

“What if I get sick? Even when the doctor told me I was pregnant, he went on and told me about my increased risk of getting cancer and . . . what if I leave this baby without a mother? Have you ever really thought about all the things that can go wrong with a baby, Brooke? All the ways you could mess up? It just . . . it freaks me out, B. Davis. It really freaks me out.”

As always, the confession felt slightly cathartic to Peyton. It always did, and every time she let the words pour out of her, she wondered why she had even been so afraid to let them out earlier.

“Of course I’ve thought about it,” Brooke replied gently. “I think about it all the time with Sam. I mean, here’s this teenage girl who’s been so hurt for so long, and now she’s depending on me. She looks at me like I’m some kind of hero and it terrifies me how much she looks up to me . . . how much she counts on me.

“But Peyton, that’s what makes it great, too. Because I love Sam so much. I’ve barely known her for more than a year, but I love her as if she really were my kid. And that’s kind of scary, too, but it’s also the best feeling in the world, the feeling of having someone counting on you, needing you, and knowing that you can help them and be there for them.”

“I guess that’s what family is,” Peyton said softly. Her eyes fell to her slumbering baby.

“I wouldn’t really know. But I think so,” Brooke murmured, her eyes also cast down on the little girl. After a soft moment of silence, she looked back at Peyton. “You’re going to be an amazing mom, Peyton. That’s one thing you never have to worry about. This kid is so lucky to have you.”

“She’s pretty lucky to have such a cool Aunt Brooke, too,” Peyton smiled.

“Oh, definitely!” Brooke exclaimed. “We should have a girls’ day soon. What are you doing tomorrow? We can have one tomorrow! You’re your own boss, right? So you can totally take the day off. We can teach her some cheers and help prepare her for her cheerleading days!”

“I think she might be a little young for cheerleading, B. Davis,” Peyton laughed.

“You can never be too young for cheerleading,” Brooke dismissed. “And Baby Scott is going to be the best cheerleader there ever way. Captain of the squad her freshmen year; I can already see it. ‘Ravens will lose nevermore! Yeah, Ravens! Go Ravens!’”

Peyton only shook her head, saying, “Do you have to call her Baby Scott?”

“It does sound a little sterile, doesn’t it?” Brooke scrunched up her nose, before saying airily, “But you leave me no choice, refusing to name her and all.”

“I’m not refusing to name her!” Peyton protested.

“Then how come she doesn’t have a name?” Brooke cocked an eyebrow at her. “You poor thing,” she added at a mock whisper to the sleeping baby nestled in her arms.

“I can’t think of one, honestly.”

“You’ve had two weeks, Peyton! Not to mention, oh, you know, the nine months you were pregnant! How much longer do you need? At this rate the kid’s gonna be entering kindergarten and still not have a name!”

“Plenty of kids don’t get named for a few weeks,” Peyton argued.

“Name one,” challenged Brooke.

“Okay, so I don’t actually know any of them, but —”

“There are plenty of good names out there,” Brooke interrupted. “If you really can’t think of something, you’re welcome to use Brooke. I happen to know some fabulous people out there named Brooke. Especially me.”

“Yeah, well, as tempting as that is, I kind of want her to have a name all her own.”

“So Anna and Ellie are out?”

“No . . . not necessarily,” Peyton shook her head, “It’s just . . . I don’t want to saddle the baby with anything. I think names are important. I want . . . I just want her to have the perfect name. Maybe one that means something . . . or something. Is that so bad?”

“Nah, I guess not,” Brooke smiled. “Do you know what Peyton means?”

“According to babynames.com, it means from Pacca’s town — whatever that means,” Peyton answered.

“You’ve been to babynames.com? God, you really are desperate.”

“Brooke!”

“What? It’s true! So, what does Lucas mean? Does Brooke mean something other than stream? ‘Cause that’s kind of a stupid meaning.”

“Sorry, I don’t think so,” Peyton replied, smiling again.

Even as she spoke, Brooke’s phone began buzzing. In a mess of awkward limbs, the baby was transferred from Brooke to Peyton, and as Peyton buckled her baby into the carrier, Brooke began pacing the room and talking angrily to someone on the phone.

Peyton glanced at the clock. It was almost five o’clock in now. She hated staying at work this long. Besides, her girl would be waking up soon, and Peyton wanted it to be when they were home again.

“Tell me, Mariah,” Brooke said loudly, “how many fashionable babies do you know? None? Oh, and you know why that is? Because no designer has been daring enough to make a truly amazing baby line—until now! I’m going to be that designer! Baby Brooke is going to be a household name with or without you, mark my words!” she slammed the phone shut.

“I guess things are going well with Baby Brooke?” Peyton raised an eyebrow at her friend.

“We’re hitting a few speed bumps is all,” Brooke waved her hand as if to wave away the subject. “Are you heading out? I should probably get going too. I really only stopped in to say Hi and check in on you.”

“Yeah, I think I’m heading home. Baby Scott’ll be wanting dinner soon, and I’d rather do that in the comfort of my home,” Peyton explained.

“Plus,” Brooke said as she started towards the door of the office, “somebody needs to talk to Lucas.”

“Don’t be silly, Brooke,” Peyton said, following after Brooke, one arm holding her purse and the other the baby carrier, “Baby Scott can’t talk yet. She can only spit, poop, and sleep.”

“Kind of like Julian!” Brooke said viciously.

“Things are going well with you two, then?” Peyton asked as they crossed through TRIC and Peyton once more paused to lock the door as they left the building.

“Let’s just say we’re on the off-again stage of our on again-off again relationship,” Brooke said tightly. “Honestly, I need to find a dependable man, and if he’s not the one, then I can no longer waste my time. Tree Hill has been reduced to two couples, their babies and Brooke, and let me tell you, it’s getting old!”

Peyton shook her head. “I really do think he loves you. And I think he might be the one, you know. You two do look good together.”

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Brooke said vaguely, staring off to space. They stopped walking when their paths veered off into two different directions. “But enough about me and Julian,” Brooke said, catching Peyton’s gaze. “You and Luke are gonna be okay. Just talk to him. He loves you, P. Scott, as much as you love him. Don’t stay angry at him for too long.”

“I won’t,” Peyton gave her a reassuring smile.

“Good. ‘Cause he does love you. And he’s been there for you for this whole pregnancy and he’s going to be there for the rest of your life — and Baby Scott’s too — and you two deserve to be happy.”

There is a darkness deep in you
A frightening magic I cling to

The phone was ringing when Peyton opened the door, and she set the baby down on the table and rushed to get it. It was Derek, and not having talked to him in months, Peyton was eager to fill him in on all he had missed. Half an hour later, she had put the baby in her crib and then curled up on the living room couch and was still taking to Derek.

She hadn’t even bothered to kick off her high heels, and she didn’t notice when Lucas arrived home. Derek was saying how in another week he’d be back in the States for at least the next six months and he’d love to come up and spend some time with her and the baby, and Lucas completely passed Peyton’s notice.

When she and Derek finally got off the phone, it was after six o’clock, it had gotten dark outside, and Peyton quickly realized that Lucas had long since come home. She finally slipped off her coat and took off her shoes, stashing them away as she headed down the hall.

Her husband’s soft voice carried from their bedroom, and she slowed down as she came to stand in the doorway and watch him. He was sitting up on the bed, leaning against the headboard as he cradled their perfect little baby to his chest with one arm. The other hand held Go Down Moses and he read from it with practiced ease. It was an old favorite of his.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words wash over her. She loved it when he read aloud. It made her wonder if all writers were as good at reading aloud as he was. And it certainly made her hope that someday that little girl in his arms would grow up to love literature as much as he did.

“Hey,” he said softly, and her eyes flickered open.

“Hi,” she murmured.

“How was your day?”

“It’s been a long day,” she answered honestly. In response, Lucas began to close the book and sit up. “No!” Peyton said suddenly.

She pushed off the doorframe she’d been leaning against and came over to the bed, quickly climbing on and crawling across the bed over to them. “Keep reading,” she directed, even as she reached out and took the girl from him.

He didn’t say anything, but he cleared his throat and started up again, the words falling from his mouth soft and sure. The baby was asleep. And looking up at Lucas, Peyton realized she wasn’t angry anymore.

She wondered if she’d ever been angry at all.

All the fury from last night, all the hurt from this morning, all the worry from the day, it was all simply gone. All that was left was the love that’d been there all along. Everything that Lucas had said to her in the last day echoed in her head, mixed in with Brooke’s parting words: . . . he’s going to be there for the rest of your life — and Baby Scott’s too. . . .

“Luke?” she murmured. He stopped reading, looking over at her. “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” he said, his eyes softly reaching out to hers.

“Promise me you won’t ever leave.”

She didn’t know if that was what she’d meant to say all along or if it had only slipped out at the last moment. But it was true. Lucas had always saved her, but he’d also been the one to hurt her most, even if unintentionally. He was always there, yet he always left her. It didn’t even make sense anymore.

“Of course I won’t leave you,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity. “How can you even ask that?” He’d closed the book now, pushing it to the side as he learned towards her as if hoping getting physically closer to her would make him emotionally closer.

“I got scared,” she whispered, not meeting his gaze. “Seeing you here right now, listening to you reading to our kid, it makes it all seem silly . . . but sometimes I still get a little scared, Lucas. I love you so much, and I know that we’ve grown up and gotten past everything that’s always kept us apart, but . . . I still worry.

“Having this baby,” she went on, determined to let it all out, “It’s so scary. What if we mess up? What if I get cancer and die and leave her without a mother? What if we get in a fight and things get as out of hand as they did when you left me in that hotel room? What if . . . what if this baby doesn’t know how loved she is, the way I didn’t know in high school? What if she can’t find her own Lucas Scott?”

“Peyton,” he murmured.

“Don’t you ever get scared, Luke? I mean, things have been so great for so long now that I feel like I’ve been living my life just waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ve been waiting for things to go wrong. I’ve never gone this long without something bad happening to me. Not since the day my mom died when I was nine years old.”

Lucas reached out to her and took her free hand in his. “Bad things are going to happen,” he told her, his eyes firmly holding her own, “Things won’t always go as well as they’re going right now. But I will always be here. You will always be loved, Peyton Scott. And our baby will be, too. No matter what, my girls will always be loved.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, ashamed of the sudden tears that had sprung to life in her eyes.

“If you believe nothing else,” he said gently, “believe that.”

“Yeah,” she repeated. “I guess . . . I guess hearing about Lindsey reminded me of a time when everything was going so wrong and it just . . . it freaked me out. I don’t think I’m normal, Luke.” She gave an awkward chuckle. “I’m emotionally stunted. I can’t be happy for extended periods of time.”

“That’s okay,” he said, smiling, “I like you just the way you are, sarcasm, angst, emotional issues and all. The tortured artist and the tortured athlete, right?”

“Right,” Peyton grinned.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he offered, “That little baby, no matter what we name her, is never going to be emotionally stunted. ‘Cause no matter what happens she’s going to have the best mom in the world. And really,” he added, straightening up slightly, “If she doesn’t meet a boy to fall in love with until she’s thirty five, I’m okay with that. I think I can handle being the only man in her life.”

Peyton laughed aloud at that, and somehow she found her way into Lucas Scott’s arms, a place she always ended up in. Her baby, nameless but loved, slept peacefully in her arms, blissfully unaware of all the worry that had consumed her parents that day.

“So you . . . you don’t doubt how much I love you? Even after what happened with Lindsey?” Lucas spoke hesitantly.

“I forgave you for that a long time ago,” Peyton assured him. “In a way — this is going to sound super dorky, but — in a way, I think maybe it made us even stronger, you know? Like honestly, at this point, what out there hasn’t happened to us and is still left to pull us apart?”

“That’s a good way to look at it,” he nodded, running a hand over her hair. “But there is one thing we still have to figure out.”

“Yeah?” Peyton pulled away from him slightly to look up into his face.

“I can’t dedicate my next book to our baby if she doesn’t have a name,” he gave a teasing half smile. Peyton let out an exasperated groan.

“Not you, too!” she protested while Lucas laughed.

“Don’t worry about it, Babe. The perfect name’ll come. I told you I’d wait a month if you wanted, and I’ll wait longer than that, even. Take your time,” he kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into him again. The baby squirmed slightly where she lay with her cheek pressed to Peyton’s belly, and Peyton smiled down at her.

“Are you sure you don’t want to name her Sarah? Maybe Sarah Lindsey Scott in loving honor?” Peyton taunted playfully.

“Positive,” Lucas answered adamantly. “To be honest . . . I kind of like Elizabeth. It’s a good name, and it means something to you, so it means something to me, too. And if . . . if you don’t want to name the baby that because you don’t like the name, that’s okay. But if you don’t want to name her Elizabeth or Anna or Rebecca because you’re afraid it’ll be fating the baby to an unhappy future — it won’t be.”

“I should hope not,” Peyton replied, “Considering if names can determine people’s fate, this baby is going to have one hell of a ride with the last name Scott! Or at least, we’ll have a hell of a ride raising her.”

“Is that so?” Lucas looked down at her with an amused expression dancing in his eyes.

“Yes, actually, I was talking to Karen yesterday, and she had some interesting stories to share about you . . .”

Lucas groaned. “I thought you’d heard them all by now,” he lamented.

“Oh, no, I haven’t heard nearly all of them!” Peyton grinned. “But I have heard enough to know that raising a Scott kid is no walk in the park!”

“Maybe we should make sure she’s got Sawyer in her name, too, then,” Lucas suggested suddenly. She gave him a puzzled smile.

“You want to name our kid Sawyer?”

“As a middle name, maybe?” he replied. “Plenty of people use maiden names for middle names. Besides, this girl . . . she’s you and me, Peyton. She’s the best of us, she’s our love all wrapped up into one person. My book is about our love, but this baby is our love. She should have both our names.”

“You know what?” she said softly, her smile growing. “I think you’re right. Elizabeth Sawyer Scott sounds good, doesn’t it? The best of us.” She didn’t know why, but all of a sudden the idea of the little girl in her arms having a name made everything even better. This wasn’t just her baby; this was her daughter Ellie Scott. A real person, one who would grow up and love books and music and basketball, one who would read about her parents’ love and how it brought her into existence.

“You’ve got my vote,” Lucas answered, running a finger over Ellie’s tiny nose.

“Of course, you know what this means, right?” Peyton gave him a devilish little grin.

“What?” he asked warily.

“Brooke is totally going to hold me at gunpoint to name the next one Brooke.”

“The next one? And named Brooke? Now that would really be giving the kid something to live up to,” he told her, laughter dancing in his voice. He grew slightly more serious as he added, “Do you want to have another one?”

“Ask me in another five years,” she answered immediately. He chuckled again.

“We’re not going to mess this up,” he told her, “I promise. We’re in this together, and we’re gonna do it right. We are. We can.” He smiled down at her, his dark blue eyes swirling with adoration that never failed to leave her breathless, not since that day he towed her car and gave her that look all those years ago.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice growing firmer as she spoke, “yeah, I think we can.”

It's so clear now that you are all that I have
I have no fear now you are all that I have
It's so clear now that you are all that I have
I have no fear now you are all that I have

Fin.

A/N: It got stuck in my head, and once I started writing, I couldn't stop. Please review? :)