AN: This is another version of Season six. Lucas went to Vegas with Peyton, and got engaged. Brooke got beaten up by Xavier. Two weeks later, while Brooke is still recovering, she receives a call from the adoption agency. Angie developed complications from her surgery and must return to the United States for further treatment. This time, it's not a single surgery, but treatment plus a series of surgeries over a period of a year or more. Would Brooke take her back, this time permanently?

I don't own OTH.

Prologue

I've been staring at my phone for the past half hour. I have never been this lost, this bewildered, in all of my eventful twenty one years. Damn it. I'm still hurting from the beating of two weeks ago, and from the near certainty that my mother was behind it. I've been talking to Deb, have been learning to use a firearm, and I have just been preparing myself to go to New York, confront my bitch of a mother. I've been trying to wrap my head around Lucas and Peyton's engagement, and the stupid sense of loss that comes with that. And I have been nursing the pain of returning Angie to her family. I'm Brooke Davis. Beautiful, brilliant and brave, but these past two weeks I've nearly pointed that pistol to my own head a half dozen times. Now they call me and tell me Angie is coming back. Complications following her surgery. Prolonged treatment, more surgeries, one or two years at least. This time, if I accept, it's not temporary. This time she would be mine, for good. Fuck. I want to say yes, more than anything in the world. But she need a mother. Not this broken down, near suicidal piece of garbage that I've become. But who is going to take her in, desperately sick, and nurse her back to health? I need to do it, but how? I know the answer. The only answer. It's not about me. It's about what she needs. And I know what she needs, what we need. There's going to be severe consequences. But now it doesn't really matter. Now it's all about her. And I cannot possibly do this alone.

I dial. "Lucas. I need to talk to you. Would you please come to my home?"

Chapter One

She sounds concerned and serious. I have seen her only once in the past two weeks, seriously hurt. I heard that bullshit story of falling down the stairs. As if stairs could give you bruises shaped like handprints. I tried to get her to open up, to accept some help, but she is Brooke Davis, fiercely independent and stubborn as a rock. In the back of my head I knew, that in a million years, she would not accept help from Lucas, fiancee of Peyton Sawyer. It killed me, but I let her go, firmly clutching her bullshit story. I hoped that she would find the help she needs somewhere else. There was nothing else I could do.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Half an hour max."

"That's fine. There's no hurry."

I hang up the phone and turn to my fiancee. She gives me that luminous smile of hers, so rare when we were in high school, but so easy to see these past two weeks. We are still honeymooning in our renewed intimacy. "Haley? Anything wrong?"

"No. Brooke."

"Really? She pushed Peyton away just like she pushed me. Peyton appeared to take her lies at face value. Maybe she was afraid of the guilt over what happened while we were having our little adventure in Vegas and LA. Maybe she was just too wrapped up in her own happiness to worry too much about her best friend's needs. Peyton is a good person, but she only sees what she wants.

"What did she want?"

"She said she needs to talk to me. I'm going there now."

"Should I come along?" The way Brooke put it, Peyton would not be welcome.

"I don't think so." She is clearly uncomfortable with that. Too bad.

"She's my friend too, you know?"

"Of course. I'll keep you posted."

"When are you coming back?"

"I have no idea. I'll tell you when I know more." I'll do anything for Brooke. It's not just that I love her, probably a little more than just as a dear, dear friend. I also owe her.

"I think I'll go to Nathan and Haley, maybe have dinner there."

"That's a good idea. Please tell them I said hi, and give my godson a kiss from me."

"See you later, then."

I go to the bathroom and wash my face. I'm presentable enough, in jeans, t-shirt and black canvas shoes, and the early fall weather doesn't warrant a jacket. I pick up my car keys and leave.

I knock on her door, and, a bit to my surprise, she answers almost immediately. "Luke..."

I look into her eyes, and what I see terrifies me. She is tired, scared and vulnerable, perhaps more vulnerable than I've ever seen her. She wraps her arms around my chest and starts to sob.

"Brooke." I wrap her in my arms and let her have it. A couple of minutes later, she is still going, so I pick her up, bridal style, and I carry her to her own bed. She is skin and bones. I take off my shoes and lie down besides her, embracing her as she grabs at the front of myshirt and continues to cry. A couple of times she begins to stop, and looks like she'll talk to me, but soon the tears resume. After about half an hour, she falls asleep in my arms. I give her another fifteen minutes and carefully get out of bed, tucking her, giving her a light kiss in the forehead. I step back into the living room. I call Peyton.

"Lucas."

"Peyton. She cried herself to sleep, without telling me what's up. I'm staying here until she wakes up . Don't wait for me."

"You sure you don't want me to join you?"

"Yes. Please, leave this to me, for now. I'm going to see if I can prepare some dinner while she sleeps. Bye. I love you."

"I love you too, Luke. Bye."

I find some leftover roast chicken and some veggies in the fridge, and decide to make soup. I shred the chicken, and cut up carrots, peas, onions, tomatoes and mushrooms, toss it in a stock pot, half full with water, together with a handful of uncooked rice salt and seasoning, and let it simmer. About forty minutes later, the smell of the soup brings my broken sleeping beauty from her slumber and into the kitchen. She passes her hands over her hair, trying to get it to behave. "Broody. What are you doing?"

"Chicken soup. Want some?"

She looks at me like I grew a second nose in my face. "Yes, please."

I set places for myself and for her, and serve two steaming bowls of soup. We drink the soup in silence for about five minutes. Finally, she begins to talk. "Thank you, Lucas. And I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, Brooke. And you're welcome. What's up?".

She looks grim. "It's complicated."

"As I told you before, I'll do anything for you."

"Break up with Peyton, then."

I just look at her, letting a bit of annoyance show in my eyes. The honest truth is that I would. In a heartbeat. But she doesn't know that, and I fervently hope she never finds out. However, I'm not in the mood to be toyed with.

"Sorry."

"Quit stalling, Brooke."

She takes in a deep breath. "This is not the reason I called you here, but before I get into that, there's something I need to clear up."

"All right."

"I lied about my injuries. I didn't fall down the stairs."

"You were attacked. I know."

"You do?"

"Stairs don't leave bruises in the form of hands Brooke" I slide a finger over her shoulder, and towards her right arm."

"And you didn't say anything?"

"I know you, Brooke Davis, and I have banged my head bloody against your stubborn pride. I knew I had to wait for you to come to me, and just make myself available when you did. That's what I'm doing now. Aside from chicken soup, I mean." I give her what I hope looks like a reassuring smile."

There's something in the look she gives me, a profound yearning, that nearly makes my damaged heart stop. The walls soon come up again. She speaks in monotone. "Someone broke into my store, the night after you and Peyton left for Vegas. He was wearing a mask, and he beat me senseless."

"Did he..."

"No. He didn't. He broke into a locked drawer and took my sketches for next spring's CoB collection. There were five hundred dollars in an unlocked drawer next to it. He didn't touch that."

"You suspect your competition?"

"I'm pretty sure it was my mother."

I just stare at her for a second, absorbing that. "Fuck." Brooke is no fool. There must be a good reason why she suspects her own mother.

"She had come here two days before, demanding to see those sketches. Without them, I can't really fight her when she attempts to steal CoB from me. Today, I was psyching myself to go to New York and confront her about it."

"The beating is nothing compared to having your own mother going to these lengths to screw you over."

"That's right. I knew you'd get it."

"Damn, Brooke. I'm so, so sorry."

"It's ok, Broody. At least she didn't kill anyone I care about. Yet."

"Not a healthy standard for saying that she crossed a line."

She laughs softly. "I guess not."

"So, do you want me to go to New York with you?"

"No. I'm handling this. I was just clearing the air. The reason I called you is something else. It has to do with Angie."

My heart gives a somersault. "What about Angie?"

"There were complications. She developed an infection, which damaged her heart again. She needs surgery, probably more than one, over a period of a year or two. She is coming back here, and her family is asking me to take her permanently."

I breathe in, taking a moment to let this sink in. "How bad is it?"

"It's bad. She is a very sick little bunny."

"You know I'll be here for both of you. All the way."

"Luke. I'm in bad shape. I haven't slept properly in two weeks. In fact, that nap I just had was the first decent bit of sleep I had since the attack. I'm scared of everything. I'm not eating regularly, I can't work. I can't possibly take care of a very sick little girl. I need help. Angie needs her Daddy."

I look in her eyes. I see the fear, and the determination in them. "You want me to adopt her with you. Joint custody and all."

"Yes."

"Yes, Brooke. Of course I'll do it. I'm honored." And again, in one moment, everything changes.