A/N: So. This is it. The final chapter. Thanks for tagging along for the ride, I hope you enjoyed it and sorry again about that wait. ;)

It was a bad idea. It had been a bad idea since Brooke had first broached the subject with her, but just like anything the blonde asks of her lately, Sam had found it impossible to say no. Even when her better judgement was screaming at her in that ear-splitting, high-pitched kind of way.

Sam doesn't enjoy breaking rules and she enjoys breaking the law far less; it just didn't give her the same thrill others seemed to garner from it. She isn't above bending them per say, in the name of a journalistic intent for example, but outright, purposeful disobeying of them makes her want to up-chuck all over her shoes. And they're nice shoes, expensive, bought especially for this grossly illicit outing and she isn't sure they'd survive a puking. So she swallows against the bile rising in her throat and flashes Brooke what she hopes looks like a real reassuring smile.

"Sam, if you don't want to do this we can just-" Apparently, it doesn't.

"No, no." Sam interrupts, gesturing dismissively with one hand. She glances down the line and lets her eyes roam the faces of her friends. Carmen seems to be the only other one of their group outwardly displaying any signs of anxiety; her eyes keep darting around like a paranoid psych patient. Harrison and Josh are lanky strings of excitement at the back, Sugar exhibiting signs similar to those of a person overdosing on his namesake beside them. Lily and Carmen are ahead of the boys, the Latina chattering animatedly about how thrilling it is to defy the man and leap over the unrealistic boundaries set upon them by the government. Carmen doesn't seem to be paying as much attention as Lily would like, the redhead keeps being distracted by the other people milling about, her eyes like saucers as if she's expecting a cop to pluck her from where she stands and throw her in a cell for the next ten to fifteen years.

Nicole and Mary Cherry are at the head of their little group in line, looking for all the world as though they belong. Aside from Mary Cherry's attire that is; the Texan is encased in leopard print. From her cowboy hat, right down to the chunky heels on her feet, and if Sam didn't know better she'd swear that the girl had gone out and hunted down her very own large cat and made the entire ensemble from its pelt. Actually, she didn't know better. With Mary Cherry something like that couldn't be entirely ruled out. After the fit Lily had thrown upon seeing the outfit, there had been barbs tossed around about a safari trip gone awry that Sam had taken to a joke at the time but was now seriously reconsidering.

And then there's Brooke. She stands tall beside Sam, more so than usual thanks to her heels and in spite of the ones Sam wears. She'd chosen a spaghetti strap dress, pale blue and cut short above her knee, and Sam's heart had had some kind of unearthly visceral reaction when she'd first seen her earlier than night. Blonde hair hung long and loose about her shoulders and she'd kept her makeup to an elegant minimal, not that she needed any at all.

"Are you sure?" It's only when Brooke speaks that Sam realises she's been looking at her for a handful of seconds already without saying anything. She blinks, dazedly, and nods with another strained smile. Though this one has nothing to do with the nerves over the night's plans.

"Game faces, girls." Nicole says, not looking back at them as the line starts to move forward. "We're up." The line shuffles towards the door and the bouncer takes the ID cards from the two blondes ahead of them. He looks them over for a second and Nicole says something to him in a tone too quiet for Sam to catch but whatever it is, it makes the guy smile lecherously and he stands aside to let them in. When it's their turn Sam fumbles for her ID, searching the small purse she's brought with her for a second too long before Brooke takes it out of her hands and finds the card in less than a heartbeat, handing it to the guy along with her own and passing the purse back to Sam with an indulgent smile. Dark eyes roll but she takes the purse without comment.

"Enjoy your evening, ladies." And just like that, their cards are back in their hands and they're making their way inside. Sam's palms are sweaty and she almost loses grip on the piece of plastic as she tries to get it back inside the purse. Brooke laughs and even though it's swallowed by the thumping bass beat of the music flowing through the club the second they enter, Sam hears it crystal clear.

They follow the two would-be professionals towards a table against the far wall and settle themselves into the booth. It's long, spanning the length of the wall, and upholstered in a deep purple. Sam is surprised, she wasn't aware that their town was capable of upper class looking places like this. She had thought The Novak was as good as it got. But this place is nice, the decor is a kind of modern-classy that works and the floor isn't sticky, which is always a bonus in her books. The rest of their troop looks suitably impressed as well as they filter in and find them at the table.

"This place is off the hook!" Josh announces over the thrum of music as he drops into a chair across the table opposite Brooke, who smiles at him with a small eye roll. It's a familiar gesture, one Sam can imagine them exchanging multiple times during the course of their relationship and it makes her shift uneasily. Niggles at something she tries to keep buried deep. But jealousy is something she has a hard time keeping a lid on at the best of times. She likes to think she does an okay job of hiding it though.

She feels Sam shifting beside her. Can practically see the green rolling off of her in waves. It doesn't make her smile, not quite. It shouldn't. But there's something about it makes her feel all the more certain about this.

Because Brooke has made a decision, one she's going to make sure she goes through with. After the close call with Harrison - that hadn't actually been any kind of close call at all - the fact that she couldn't just wait around forever had sort of cemented itself in her mind. If she didn't take a step, Sam might never, and before either of them knew it might be too late. And Brooke has let a lot of things slip through her fingers in her short lifetime, but this wasn't going to be one of them. She's a big girl and she knows what she wants. Has known for a long time now. It's just taken a while for her to be ready.

"Yo, this DJ is sick." Sugar says as he drops into a chair, looking over at the booth where a guy with oversized headphones slung around his neck and one held up to his ear stands spinning records. Brooke watches him as he stares at the guy, eyes wide and star struck, like he can see his future right there in front of him.

"You could run circles around that guy, Shug." Josh says, and Brooke is reminded that he's a good guy. Not the one for her, but a good guy nonetheless, and he'll make someone happy someday. It makes her smile again.

"Do you see what the waitresses are wearing?" Lily almost shrieks as she and Carmen take a seat beside her and Sam on the bench seat. Their gazes turn as one towards the bar where, sure enough, a line of waitresses stand ready to serve drinks - some already serving - wearing a scaled down variation of a tuxedo. Very scaled down. Sleeveless shirts with a waistcoat over top, first few buttons undone to show a hint of cleavage and, as one of them rounds the side of the bar, they see the tight black hot pants and fishnets that complete the bottom half of the outfit. It's shooting for classy but Lily obviously finds it sleazy and she turns away with a disgusted expression, and no doubt an unheard noise to match.

"Did you see what these waitresses are wearing?" All eyes swivel to Harrison. He makes the observation seconds before the DJ's current track ends, which results in him practically shouting the majority of it to the entire room. He pauses in the middle of dragging a chair back and glances around self-consciously before he finds Lily's fiery eyes on him. He instantly knows his mistake and quietly sits down.

"I don't know about you girls," Nicole says, addressing them all and getting back to her feet. "But I'm not waiting another second to get my Cosmo on." And she heads to the bar, a wide-eyed and grinning Mary Cherry on her heels.

"Really?" Sam asks as Josh and Sugar move after them. "We're going to risk getting caught drinking underage too?" Brooke's smile is soft but teasing around the edges and she sees Harrison give the brunette a disbelieving eyebrow raise.

"What did you think we were going to do tonight? Sip tonic water?"

"I really like tonic water." Carmen's tone is that hyperactive nervous kind that Brooke has learned is sort of the girl's trademark. "My grandma never drank anything else. Used to swear by it, before she died." She pauses, eyes darting again, and lets out a burst of short lived laughter before her face turns serious. "I don't think the tonic water had anything to do with that though." Harrison gets to his feet and moves around to the back of his chair as the DJ queues up another song. He rests his hands on the backrest and leans in towards the table.

"Tonight is about having fun, Sammie." He rocks the chair on its legs for emphasis. "You should try it. Have fun." And then he smirks at Sam, subtle but Brooke sees it like a neon light. "Take a risk." And it sends a thrill through her, because she knows what he's saying – though the why and how of it escape her – and glancing askance at Sam, seeing the scowl on her face, Brooke knows she does too.

It's not like she's ever really considered murdering Harrison. Throttle maybe, maim a little, but never outright murder. Tonight is probably the closest she's come to that but it still isn't quite there. She glares at him as he backs away from the table and turns, disappearing through the bodies moving about the dance floor and heading in the direction of the bar. She takes a deep breath to steady herself, composure is key, and settles back into the booth. She starts when she notices Brooke is looking at her. Smiling. She jerks her head back in surprise.

"What?" Brooke just laughs and Sam feels her heart thump harder than it should.

"You're just..." She trails off with a shake of her head and another chuckle, then remains silent for a moment. Leaving Sam to wonder what it was that she was about to say. It's a sentence destined to remain unfinished though, because Brooke stands suddenly. "I'm going to get us drinks." And apparently there's no room for argument - though Sam could probably find some wiggle room if she tried hard enough - because Brooke is leaving before she can get a word of protest out.

"I for one plan to indulge a little." This from Lily who, judging by her size, should seriously consider keeping it to a little if she wants to remain standing at the end of the evening. "Carmen?"

"What? Yes? What?" Carmen's jitters makes Sam smile despite her unease and when Lily just stares at the redhead, Carmen nods a few times in rapid succession. "Oh. Yeah. Okay, yes." And they head to the bar together, leaving Sam alone to grumble silently and watch the crowd.

She enjoys people watching. Trying to figure out body language and read their expressions. It's something she thinks is important when considering her future line of work. To be able to find a story underneath the exterior bullshit that so can so often coat a person like tar. She likes to think she has a good handle on how to spot liars and the little ticks that give people away, but she still has a long way to go.

"It has an umbrella." Brooke is suddenly back at the table, placing a brightly coloured drink in front of her and, sure enough, there's a little umbrella resting against the lip. "You have to drink it." She sits back down beside the brunette and sips her own drink through a yellow straw.

"This is a prerequisite I did not agree to." Sam says, scrunching up her nose as she eyes the peach-pink coloured liquid, giving the umbrella that has, somehow, offended her a poke. It sways in the glass. Brooke watches her, fingers of her right hand playing along the length of the straw as she sips. Sam feels her knee get bumped under the table.

"Just drink it, you big baby."

"You know, I figured peer pressure would be beyond me by now." Brooke just grins at her.

"Listen to your elders." Sam barks a laugh and Brooke's eyes twinkle in the dimness of the room.

"You're like three months older than me, Princess." The blonde shrugs and then waves a hand at her, a coy smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

"Stop stalling and give in already." And it's probably just Sam and her penchant for reading too far into things, but the way Brooke says it makes her feel like she's nudging at something else. Something she can't possibly know about.

Right?

She shouldn't tease. She's berated herself over this a hundred times by now, but it's still too much for her to pass up. She's too drawn in by the way Sam blushes, a faint redness creeping up along her neck, brushing her cheeks, and the way she stumbles. For someone so good with words, Brooke is able to render her useless with them with little effort. In fact, the only effort Brooke has to exert is to stop herself from taking it too far. Which is more often than not a monumental task in itself. She doesn't consider it mean, not really.

Especially not now that she's convinced herself to follow through.

Not that she has any kind of plan beyond that.

She watches Sam curl her hand around the glass and lift it to her face, forgoing the straw. She takes her first sip without any expression, but a smile slips free when she goes in for a second and Brooke lets out a small cheer of victory.

"Not so bad, huh?" She asks and Sam gives a little half shrug.

"It doesn't taste like paint stripper." Brooke smiles wryly.

"That's because you're not drinking red wine." Nicole returns to the table with Mary Cherry in tow, carrying a Martini glass while the girl encased in leopard print balances an entire tray full of shots between her hands. "Don't you think that's a little much for us all to start off with?" Brooke asks as the tray is set down on the table. Mary Cherry frowns at her and then flashes an amused smile.

"Y'all can start however you want, this here is how Mary Cherry parties." And she sits, lifts a shot of the amber liquid to her lips, and downs it. Her eyes screw shut for an instant, then pop open wide as she lets out a whoop of apparent delight. Sam stares at her and the blonde takes it as an invitation to explain herself. "This is how my ageless, flawless beauty queen mama the glorious Cherry Cherry herself taught her darling baby girl how to have a good time."

"Can you imagine their house at Christmas?" Sam mumbles to Brooke and she chuckles as the Texan picks up a second. "Hey, how did you get back before them anyway?" Brooke just flashes her a mysterious smile.

"The hot brunette at the bar thinks she's in with a shot." Josh sing-songs his explanation as he returns with the rest of the group and settles back down across from Brooke with a pint glass half way to his mouth already. She catches sight of Sam's head snapping in the direction of the bar in her periphery and can see her body stiffen at the sight of the woman Josh is talking about. Brooke has to agree with him, she's pretty. Dark hair, dark eyes; it's becoming readily apparent that Brooke has a 'type'. "Too bad she's out of luck huh, Brooke?" And Josh is right. Even if the bartender were interested, Brooke already has someone else lined up in her cross hairs. Not that he knows that. Nor the girl she has in her sights.

"Yeah. Too bad." She mumbles with a hint of a smile, but Sam hears her. She tilts her head towards Brooke as a curious gaze slips in to shadow her face. Because she doesn't understand what Brooke means.

But she will. Soon.

By the time the clock rolls around to mark their second hour of being there, Sam has watched Mary Cherry drink her weight in shots and somehow the Texan is still functioning. She's impressed, can't quite help but be, and despite being slightly louder and more, well, clinically insane than usual - which is in fact somehow possible - she isn't showing any signs of inebriation. Maybe those webbed fingers and toes aren't the only reason she should be considered a medical marvel.

She is however, the only person not showing signs of being at least a little buzzed. Sam felt her own inhibitions start to waver at the second drink and Brooke had teased her mercilessly for fifteen minutes about being a lightweight before the blonde's third drink finally pushed her into the realm of tipsy.

Lily is sipping on her fifth, having surpassed being three sheets to the wind and is now currently clinging to the clothes line herself. Surprisingly, Carmen isn't too far behind her. Harrison has been nursing the same pint for the better part of an hour, his second, and Josh and Sugar drain their third in a very manly competition of "who can chug theirs the fastest". Sugar wins by a hair. And no one is really sure how many Nicole has had, because she's spent the majority of the evening at the bar chatting up a tall blonde with wide shoulders and a broad chest.

"We should be dancing!" Lily announces, too loud, and she's up and heading for the dance floor before half of them register what she's said. Josh grins and enthusiastically thumps the bottom of his pint glass down on the table top before getting up to follow her. And then Sam is watching as every single one of them move as though by some unspoken agreement, with the exception of herself and Carmen, but Sugar is dancing around to her side of the table and then she's staring up at him wearing a nervous smile.

"Oh, no. I don't do that. Dance, I mean. Or anything that even kind of resembles dancing. Really I just kind of shake a lot and then-" But Sugar is taking her hand and telling her he'll teach her and Carmen is going with him. Likely because she can't properly process any thought towards doing the opposite at that moment. It makes Sam smile. They boogie over to join the rest of the writhing bodies and Brooke is halfway to the floor when she turns around and catches dark eyes. She feels a rush of something hit her and wonders if the alcohol is to blame for the warmth that starts to pool in her stomach when Brooke curls a finger, beckoning her over. She knows it has nothing to do with the booze. But even though she's more or less come to terms with the feelings she has for the other girl, there are moments where she still likes to blame them on something else.

After the initial pulse-pounding, nausea-inducing panic hits her, she remembers that she can actually dance. And then what happens next likely is down to the alcohol. Because she can't imagine ever soberly accepting an offer to dance in such a situation simply because she has been blessed with the balance and rhythm required to do so. Which is exactly what happens. She answers Brooke's silent call and stands, moving away from their now empty section of tables and towards the herd of writhing animals. One of whom she supposes she's about to become. She grimaces at the fact that she doesn't seem overly bothered by that. Her heart beats drunkenly out of tune as she grows closer and Brooke's arm is still outstretched, palm flat, fingers willing and waiting to be taken.

Sam pretends her hand doesn't shake when she finally does.

Then Brooke laughs, the sound of it intertwining with the music, and she tugs on Sam's hand to pull her in. But Sam isn't stable on her feet just yet and they stumble, tripping her closer than she thinks Brooke intended them to be. The blonde is still laughing though, apparently neither noticing nor caring, and that emboldens Sam a little. Enough that she doesn't pull back right away. She lets the thrum brought on by the press of their bodies sing through her, lets her chin drop to Brooke's shoulder as she feels arms encircle her, and then smiles into warm skin as she's exuberantly swayed from side to side.

Brooke pulls away but keeps her close and Sam doesn't see the expression the blonde is wearing very often, especially lately. Gleeful, unburdened and carefree; in that moment Sam thinks she looks radiant. And she feels special to be part of it, to be part of the reason for it.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist." She calls over the music, eyes twinkling her triumph even in the face of Sam's insolently raised eyebrow.

"You had to get me drunk so that I'd do something I normally wouldn't." She points out but Brooke only smirks.

"That's the secret? Wish I'd tried this sooner." And then she's tugging and pushing simultaneously at Sam's hips, urging her into a twirl that Sam's body rolls with, and for a short while she's lost in light and sound. When her head stops spinning a few seconds after her body and her attention is back on Brooke, she sees that Carmen and Sugar have appeared at her side. They're all dancing to the beat, Sugar busting out one or two surprisingly graceful moves, and Sam is drawn into the fold and then flanked on either side by Josh and Harrison. Her best friend is grinning as he throws an arm into the air, doing his best 'Saturday Night Fever' despite it not matching the music in the slightest. It isn't long before the rest of their entourage join them, including Nicole's next victim – blonde bar guy – and even with all the people they've managed to create a circle in the middle of the floor with them at the centre. Their eyes drift around, catching those of someone attractive they might like to dance with, but Sam's more or less remain fixed on Brooke.

She does look away. When the blonde flashes her a wildly happy smile or the swinging strobe lights catch her lip gloss just right and throw shimmering hues of blues and purples across her mouth. She distracts herself by watching their friends; Harrison awkwardly dancing with a tall girl whose blonde hair cascades down to the small of her back and Lily who has her arms wrapped around the neck of a guy twice her size and with a waist so thick she can't get her legs around him. But she's trying anyway. Carmen and Sugar are still sticking pretty close to one another, a sight that makes her smile. Nicole is running her hands all over her guy while Mary Cherry gyrates against anyone and anything she can get her own hands on and Sam thinks she might just be a little frightened by the sight. She looks away and finds herself looking right at Brooke again, only this time it isn't just Brooke that fills her vision but Josh as well. The blonde's ex is paying homage to Michael Jackson at her side and Brooke's laughter rings in Sam's ears like alarm bells. She watches, motionless amid the chaos, as he struggles internally with some decision and then makes up his mind. Makes his move.

Sam's heart drops like a lead weight when he reaches for Brooke, the spiked heels of a handful of female dancers trampling it as his hands find purchase on her hips. Brooke's laughter fades into a smile. And then she reaches for him.

Sam's world seems to slow to a crawl as Brooke lifts her hands to his face and she wants to look away, needs to, but she can't. Can't breathe, can't blink, can't pointlessly scream out 'no' like it would make a difference. Then Brooke's palms are cradling his cheeks and he looks like he just took first place in the race of life. Something inside Sam is pulled painfully in all directions and for a few heartbeats she thinks whatever it is might be torn asunder, left to float about her body in broken pieces.

But Brooke pats his cheeks twice and plants a chaste kiss against his lips, and it all happens so quickly that Josh looks like he barely has time to register it. Then she's turning back to Sam and the smile she's wearing is all for her. She watches as Brooke falters, seeing Sam watching them, but she recovers quickly and now she's reaching for Sam. Looping her arms loosely around the shorter girl's neck without batting an eyelash back in the boy's direction. He looks crestfallen but bumps into an attractive redhead as he's backing away and for the moment he's content.

"Do you think music can get you high?" Brooke practically yells the question into Sam's face and her dark eyes widen, brow lifting in response as her lips stretch into a smile that shows teeth.

"I think it can get you high." Brooke's laugh melts into the music as though it were part of the melody; moving, intoxicating. Sam shakes her head at the thought and tentatively allows her hands to fall to Brooke's sides, just shy of her hips. That seems like it would be too intimate somehow. "But I'm pretty sure all those free drinks are doing their part too." Brooke purses her lips and then scrunches her nose up in a silent "nah".

Sam feels it before it's actually happening. A phantom touch that makes her skin prickle. Brooke's hand is drifting lazily upward, angling so that her fingers can reach the tips of Sam's hair. The surprise causes her to interrupt the swaying of their bodies – too slow for the music but Brooke doesn't seem to care – and she blinks a few times in rapid succession, gaze dropping down. It flits about manically before returning to Brooke's face. She's still smiling as she lets her fingers run almost absently over Sam's hair. Gently, teasing the ends, before her fingertips trail a little higher and Sam tries to supress a shiver as they reach the nape of her neck. Her breathing turns shallow, she can't help it, and Brooke says something that's too quiet for her to hear. She shakes her head with a frown and Brooke chuckles, rolling her eyes. Then she leans in until her lips brush the shell of Sam's ear. The brunette's fingers clench before she can catch the reflex and she's sure Brooke feels it.

"I said," but warm breath whispers against Sam's skin and she forgets to care, "you look really pretty tonight."

And it's funny but the first thing Sam thinks is that it's such a line. A cheesy one at that. Or it would be if someone else had said it. Regardless, it warms Sam from the inside out. Makes her feel flushed and giddy, happy. Which is crazy and so totally hypocritical, because Sam has mocked people that claimed to feel what she's feeling now. Has spouted verbal essays on how the sentiment was overdone, exaggerated, lovey-dovey nonsense. It's a little embarrassing, she can admit that to herself, to actually feel it after ragging on the idea so harshly. But she pushes that away and just lets the moment wash over her.

The closeness, the feel of Brooke's fingers and the way they draw tendrils of pleasure from the base of her neck to the crown of her head. The way her words had sounded, the sincerity of them. Even the way her cheeks are burning in the artificial light. Cold rushes in as Brooke pulls back and Sam hadn't realised her eyes had closed. Still, she's opening them again and her heart stutters to a painful halt when she finds hazel eyes hovering closer than she had expected them to be. Brooke's smile is softer, her eyelids a little drooped, and there's something to her expression that Sam doesn't think she's ever seen before. Her heart thumps back into its rhythm and her blood roars in her ears.

Because Brooke isn't moving away.

She's leaning back in.

And that warmth Sam is feeling, it erupts.

Brooke knows it's a line. She knows because guys have used it on her in the past, but she says it anyway because it's the truth. Not that Sam doesn't always look pretty – even when she emerges from her room first in the morning, clothes rumpled from sleep and bits of cereal inexplicably caught in her hair – but tonight something is different. Maybe it's the lights or the extra confidence the alcohol seems to have given her; whatever it is, it calls to Brooke like a bad influence. Convincing her to do things, making everything seem okay.

And she hadn't planned for it to happen quite like this but when she leans back and sees the blush colouring Sam's cheeks and the shy, self-conscious half smile curving her lips she can't stop herself. She feels her composure give and break like it's a physical thing she could grasp and hold onto if she were strong enough. She isn't, but in that moment she doesn't care.

Doesn't think about the club or the people; there's only Sam, and an opening that she refuses to miss again.

She thinks about it for half a heartbeat; her gaze drops to Sam's mouth and stays there. She feels the pull like a force of gravity, tugging her forward by an invisible line that has threaded itself through a spot at the pit of her stomach. And for once, she doesn't resist it. She lets it take her as time swirls to a standstill around them and anticipation soars through her. The fingers that had been toying with Sam's hair now lay wrapped around the curve of the girl's neck and she feels Sam's sharp intake of breath. Brooke's lips quirk into a small smile.

A smile that is torn from her as Sam jerks away like she's been burned and Brooke is shoved backwards, into someone she doesn't know and away from Sam. She blinks to clear her vision and for a second, she's so sure someone must have barrelled into Sam. The look on the brunette's face tells her otherwise.

Stricken, confused, hurt. Betrayal writes itself in lines across her features and Brooke's heart sinks as whatever line that had been drawn between them is violent and jaggedly severed. Sam's eyes are filled with pain and disbelief, bordered with anger; a potent mix of emotions that Sam had long ago mastered the making of but not the control. Something that has never been more evident than it is right now.

Brooke stand frozen as the bodies around them continue to move, like she's stuck somewhere in the time line with a thousand thoughts weighing her down. It's only when Sam's eyes start to shine that time speeds back up; the only thing that's able to return to normal now. Because whatever happens from this point on, everything has changed. Sam's lips twist into a grimace and Brooke has no idea if she's going to scream or sob but then she's shoving Brooke again, this time to get by her. Dizzily, she turns and only just catches sight of Sam disappearing into the crowd.

Her heart hurts. It hurts like something has been run right through it, a sharp and searing pain she can't put out. But all she can think about is going after Sam. Explaining, fixing this. Panic grips her, squeezes her like a vice until her vision narrows and she can hardly breathe. The room spins and for one terrible second she's sure she's going to pass out. But then she surprises herself.

She's following in Sam's wake before she really registers what she's doing.

"Nuh uh. No." Nicole materialises in front of her like an unwanted guardian angel to block her path, platinum hair shining multi-coloured under the lights. "You are not doing this." She jabs an accusatory finger at Brooke. "You're not going after her." And a rage, the likes of which she's never felt before, rises in her.

"You." Brooke spits the word out like an accusation. "You need to move. Now." Nicole glares at her, all deadly challenge and icy defiance. She stays put, folds her arms across her chest and raises one single, cocky eyebrow at Brooke.

"Not happening, B." They're close enough that they don't have to yell but the urge to scream grips Brooke regardless. Tears at her vocal chords with sharp, skeletal fingers until she's sure her voice will be hoarse when she speaks.

"I am so, sick, of you." It isn't. There's nothing but cool, crisp clarity with an edge of warning to it. A foreboding that she's a little surprised no one else seems to sense; storm clouds swirling overhead, an impending twister stirring in the heavens and readying itself to reshape the landscape. Because Brooke has never felt quite like this before. So sure and strong and vindicated. "And I am sick to death of being afraid!" She frowns then, like she can't understand what she's about to say. "And why the hell should I be?" Because it doesn't make any sense to her now and that she's been a victim to the reasons for so long infuriates her. "Because some people might whisper about me in the hallway? Shout slurs my way? Because who I really am doesn't fit your precise, perfect little template?"

"Who you really are," Nicole starts, poison lacing her words and curling her mouth into an ugly sneer, "is a pathetic little worm. A nobody, who wouldn't have been looked at twice if it hadn't been for me." Brooke manages to contain the instinctual flinch. "I made you who you are." The smug smile, if you could call it a smile, sits in place on Nicole's face until Brooke steals it away with one of her own. She leans in close, making sure her fellow captain can hear her.

"And you are everything that is wrong with me." Brooke sheds the weight of the confession, the realisation, like a dead second skin. She emerges reborn and rejuvenated as that once protective layer peels away. "I'm done letting you dictate what I can and can't do. I'm done pretending. I never should have let you control me like that and I definitely don't need your guidance now." Her gaze flickers in the direction that Sam had fled and then back to cool blue eyes. "I know what I want." Unequivocally. The certainty is so freeing she feels like she's flying. And then she looks away from Nicole, gaze trained on the door with the brightly lit exit sign shining above it, and starts walking.

She doesn't look back.

He watches them just like he's been watching them all night. Covertly, out of the corn of his eye or over the shoulder of a dance partner that he tries his hardest to pay equal attention to at the very least and is actually successful for the most part. But he's always got his eye on them. He watches as they dance, sees Sam's shy reluctance and hesitant elation, and he even feels it to a degree. Because he's been a part of this thing for a while now and he understands better than anyone else could. He's been where Sam is now, still visits from time to time, and he knows what it's like to feel the way she feels. Of course, Brooke has never looked at him the way she's looking at Sam tonight. At first he thought he might be seeing things, wishful thinking maybe, but the way that Brooke had pushed Josh back and pulled the brunette to her; he hadn't imagined that. The hope that had risen in him had been almost embarrassingly visible, but he managed to contain any actual, physical bouncing.

And so, he'd seen it all unfold. Watched it crack and finally fall apart. His eyes had followed Sam as she left and then found Nicole as she pounced like a hyena on a wounded animal. He'd been close enough to overhear what Brooke had said though and an overwhelming sense of pride and happiness had rushed him as Brooke finally stood up for herself. But then everything had turned sour as he watched Nicole start after a determined Brooke.

He barely manages to apologise to the cute girl he's dancing with before he's moving, dodging around bodies in a way that would make Josh jealous. He trips over someone's foot but manages to catch himself with a hand on a stranger's shoulder and when he looks up he see that Nicole is almost at the exit Brooke had just vanished through. He curves his run and practically throws himself between the would-be Queen of Kennedy and the door. She almost barrels right into him but stops short and levels him with a glare that might seriously impede his ability to help create children later in life.

"Get out of my way, Dumbo." She snaps. "Tell your ears to carry you out of my sight before I pull them off." Harrison just grins at her.

"Nuh uh. No." Her expression falters and he grins so wide, it almost turns into a laugh. "You're not doing this. You're not going after her." She stares at him, dumbfounded and speechless. "You know, you might be more of a man than me," he narrows his eyes and points towards the floor, "in the downstairs department and I'm okay with that. You've got big balls and I'm sure there are plenty of people who admire that kind of thing. But as manly as you are, it's going to take more than just you to move me from this spot, so why don't you go gather up your friends and then…" His face droops into an expression of feigned chagrin, like he just stuck his foot in his mouth. He winces. "Oh, but I guess you'd need actual friends in order to do that."

"You'll regret this." She spits the words like venom and he doesn't doubt the threat, but he'll worry about that later. After he's done playing wingman. Though he does regret not being able to follow his friends.

He really wants to see how this plays out.

He lets the self-satisfied smirk tugging at his lips slide onto his face as Nicole begins backing away and he wiggles his fingers at her as she finally turns to shove her way through the crowd. He keeps his eyes on her until she disappears through the main door, the blonde guy from the bar firmly wrapped in her talons.

He spares a moment to feel sorry for him.

Brooke pushes down on the escape bar hard enough to hurt her hands, but she throws the door open and tries to ignore the flare of pain. Her eyes are everywhere at once, scanning every inch of the narrow alleyway she's exited out into. Shadows hide large metal garbage bins and orange lamplight illuminates the sea of cigarette butts at her feet, but there's no sign of Sam. She calls out for her and the only answer she receives is the distant barking of a dog. She brings a hand up to drag her fingers through her hair, pulling it back from her face and clenching it into a fist at her crown. She holds the pose as she tries to think over the sound of her heartbeat thundering in her ears. After a moment she lets her arm fall back to her side and takes off out of the alley.

She can't run, not in the heels she's wearing, and so it's a light jog that takes her down the street they had walked along earlier that night. The club isn't all that far from the Palace and she never thought she would ever so much as think it, but she's glad for all the cross-country running their gym teacher has inflicted upon her class over the years.

There's no single thought that plagues her mind as she makes her way home. No looping mantra to match her pace. There's just blind panic and a desperate need to explain, and it fuels her. Keeps her going when her left side starts to cramp and her heels catch the pavement crookedly and almost send her toppling over. She's out of breath when she arrives at the edge of her driveway but she doesn't stop. Keeps jogging right up to the double glass doors at the back of the house.

The kitchen sits in darkness and she wonders if Sam has left the doors unlocked. With no parentals on site there's nothing stopping the girl from locking Brooke out and leaving her on the porch for the night. Mercifully, the handle depresses fully and she opens a door wide enough for her to slip inside. It closes with a deafening click and for a moment Brooke just looks around, lost. She worries her lower lip before pulling off her heels and heading for the stairs, even her quiet silent footsteps seem too loud. She wonders if Sam expected her to follow, if she'll even care that she did. She sighs.

Probably not.

The anxiety that had gripped her on her way back is growing and shifting under her increasing nerves and she takes the steps from the landing to Sam's door at a painfully slow pace. And it feels strange to be afraid of something other than rejection. Because she knows how Sam feels and that rejection from a lack of reciprocated feelings has never been on the cards. But a lack of believability is something that is a very real, very plausible possibility here and she's thought a lot about how this conversation might go. Many of the possibilities, she knows, have been conjured up through the lenses of rose coloured glasses. There was no way that this was ever going to go well. She'd held back too long, let things go too far without saying anything, and she knows better than to take Sam off guard like that. But she'd sort of lost herself there on the dance floor, surrounded by the music and the lights and Sam. And she isn't going to hold back anymore. Not now. She'll make Sam listen, make her hear Brooke out, and then...

She supposes she'll have to wait and see.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, she lifts her hand and raps her knuckles against the door. Seconds tick by and no answer comes. She's sure Sam is here. With all of their friends out, there's nowhere left for her to go. She pushes down against whatever it is masquerading as butterflies in the pit of her stomach and knocks again. The silences echoes like church bells and the sound of it resonates inside Brooke's head. She isn't going to stand here all night.

"I know you're there." She speaks at the door, voice hushed but loud enough to carry through. She bravely tries the doorknob only to find it locked from the other side. "Look, I'm not leaving until you let me in so I can explain." Nothing. Brooke lets her eyes flutter shut as she blows out a breath and flattens her hands against painted wood. Then she drops her forehead so it's resting against it too and tries to focus on slowing her heartbeat. The speed is making her light-headed and fainting is the last thing she wants to do right now. Although maybe that would get Sam to open the door. "Please Sammie."

"Don't call me that." It isn't yelled but the words scream at her anyway. Rain down on her like physical blows and every punch hits her square in the gut. The disgust and loathing in Sam's voice knocks the wind right out of her.

Maybe, Brooke thinks, she's waited too long.

Maybe there's no fixing this.

The jacket Sam had ripped from her shoulders and thrown across the room as she'd entered had hit the desk lamp she had left on. It remains where it landed on its side atop the carpet and Sam stares into the brightly lit bulb even though it hurts her eyes. She mimics its position, lying across her bed, body curled in on itself and hands clasped beside her face. She clenches them together every few seconds, as though she's trying to hold onto something or hold something in, and she stares ahead unseeing as her eyes glisten against her will.

She doesn't know how she got here.

The Palace. Her bedroom. To that damn club where Brooke played her like a fool. To a place where Brooke is outside her door begging to be let in.

She doesn't know who she hates more. There isn't a single thing that makes any kind of sense and her entire being is screaming at her with a mix of pain, betrayal and stupidity. Her hands clench again.

She keeps replaying the moment in her mind, over and over until she isn't sure if what she's remembering is even what really happened and the instant where Brooke had leaned in sticks and loops like a scratched record. Bites at her every nerve. She feels broken, as dramatic as she knows that sounds, but even so the vision starts over. Disregards her feelings, just like everyone else. She knows Brooke is there but she doesn't really hear her.

Until the pet name splits the wood of the door like an axe and fills the room, tripping some connection in her brain. The warmth she usually felt whenever Brooke used it burns her now. Makes her want to claw at her skin like there's acid slithering over it. So she barks out the warning, every ounce of what she's feeling pouring into a single word.

"Go."

And maybe she imagine the gasp she hears.

Either way, she doesn't care.

She doesn't care if she never lays eyes on Brooke ever again.

Brooke had steeled herself against what might come and so she's surprised by how much just one word can hurt. But she catches the air as it tries to whoosh out of her and pulls it back, standing straight and clenching her jaw.

"I'm not leaving." She manages, feeling a familiar stubborn anger bubbling to the surface. "I'm not leaving until you open the door."

"Brooke, I swear to god-"

"You'll what?" She interrupts, sinking back into the role of bitchy would be step-sister like it's a second skin. "Force me into leaving by glaring at me through the door? Sam, I will stand here all. Night. I'll stand here until my dad and Jane get back, I don't care. I'm not moving from this spot until I-" She's abruptly cut off by the door being flung open and all that care she took in getting her heartbeat back to normal goes flying out of the window.

"Until you what?" Sam snaps, hair dishevelled from lying on her side and eyes a watery red. Her face is drawn, expression incensed and sour, and she throws out a hand to gesture pointlessly at the interior of her bedroom. "Explain?" She scoffs, knitting her eyebrows into a frown. "There is nothing you can say to me that I want to hear so please, don't bother." Sam tries to slam the door in Brooke's face but the blonde is too quick and she sticks her foot into the gap before the brunette can get it closed. She winces as her foot catches the weight behind the motion full force, gritting her teeth against the stab of pain as Sam gives up. She throws the door back open so hard it bangs against the dresser and then turns, stalking around in a circle before throwing her arms out at Brooke. Beseeching, searching. "How long have you known?" He left hand rises and she rubs her fingers in a harsh line back and forth across her forehead. She huffs a hollow laugh. "How did you even find out?" And she's smiling but there's no joy to it, only an unnerving anger that sends beads of sweat trickling along Brooke's spine. "Did you sneak in here and read my journal? I thought we were past that crap or I never would have written it-" she cuts herself off with a guttural noise of frustration and rubs at her eyes. The light from the felled lamp makes the dampness at her fingertips glitter when she pulls them away. She's avoided making eye contact with Brooke up until now and the blonde's breath catches when Sam finally does.

She looks so, so hurt. Beyond hurt. Scared, humiliated. Betrayed. Her words eventually register with Brooke and things start clicking into place for her.

"You think this is a joke? Some kind of, what? Prank?" She asks, incredulous. Sam just blinks at her, unmoved and unwilling to dignify the questions with any kind of answer.

"Isn't it?" Except with a question of her own, though it's largely rhetorical, and Brooke can tell that Sam isn't about to believe anything to the contrary, but she's going to try anyway.

"No." She breathes the word out. "No, it isn't." And she takes a step into the room, trying not to show how much it hurts when Sam flinches and backs away from her.

"Don't do this." Sam begs and just like that, she looks exhausted. The fire drains from her to leave only a few dimming embers and Brooke watches as she shakes her head and swallows hard. Like a frightened child. "Please. At least for our parents' sake. Just, just stop now and I'll try and forget-"

"Sam, for once will you just pull your head out of your ass and listen to me?!" She yells, startling them both. For an instant Sam looks like she wants to cry or argue but she stops herself from doing either by digging her tongue into the side of her cheek and crossing her arms over her torso, looking away. Brooke lets out a long and shaky breath as she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear.

She'd had this more or less planned out, what she was going to say, but it all sounds dumb now that she's actually about to say it out loud and so for a few seconds she just stands there staring at Sam's profile.

"I'm sorry." She whispers and Sam turns her head to look at her again, accusation clouding her expression. "And not for the reason you think."

"Then why?" She bites, those few remaining embers flaring to life.

"For not telling you sooner." Brooke resists the urge to snap back and instead she speaks slow and even, so that there's no chance of her being misunderstood. Nerves churn her stomach and her right hand keeps involuntarily twitching at her side. The lamp is the only thing that lights the room, casting half shadows over Sam where she stands. Her dark eyes are less glassy now but they still carry a red hue and guilt piles itself onto Brooke like she isn't already covered in it. "I know that none of this has been fair to you and I should have told you when I first started to suspect but I, I was confused. And I didn't know how." She gives Sam a half-hearted shrug, then she clasps her hands and twists her fingers together nervously. "But I knew about you. About how you felt." Heat rushes Sam's face, turns her cheeks pink.

"So you've just been playing me this whole time?" The question is maddeningly serious and Brooke doesn't think she's ever been this annoyed by Sam's need to bicker about everything.

"No." She insists, tone firm. "I wasn't playing you or any kind of game. I was scared, Sam." The confession seems to steal away the majority of brunette's bluster and there's a sense of empathy hanging about her now. Sam can relate and Brooke knows that. "When I first started... when it first started, I could barely stand to think about it. Every time I did I just ended up thinking about what it meant for me. For my dad and Jane. What people at school were going to think and say." She hates herself for that, for being worried about something so shallow, but the last few years of her life have more or less revolved around people's opinion of her. That isn't something that Sam has ever been able to understand, has never been overly concerned with. Brooke has always envied that. "In the beginning I just hoped it would go away. But it didn't." Fingers still tangled, she swings her arms out towards Sam. "Everything just became... more." Brooke has never been top of the 'feelings and emotions' class. She can't write about them, can't give any eloquent speeches or even talk about them in passing a lot of the time. There have been moments though, where she'd had to, needed to, and she had stumbled blindly through. Feeling her way.

This was another one of those moments. She didn't know what she was saying or what words to use, only hoped that the ones she was using, those that felt right, would make some kind of sense when they were all strung together.

"It just... it kept growing until I couldn't ignore it anymore. It was always there, always staring me in the face. And then suddenly I didn't care what it meant or what people might say." She pauses, sucking her lower lip in between her teeth as she thought over what she was going to say next. "When I thought that you and Harrison were together," she rubs at her cheek with the palm of her hand and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "I figured that was it. I'd missed my chance. Then it turned out you weren't and I swore that I wasn't going to miss my chance again. I promised myself that I wouldn't." She waits then, for Sam to say something, anything, but the girl just stands there. Scepticism scrawled across every inch of her, and the longer she stays quiet, the more uneasy Brooke becomes.

Desperation begins to gnaw at her, agitating her like an itch she can't reach as the silence between them stretches on, and the most infuriating thing about this was that Brooke couldn't blame Sam for staying quiet. Not with their history. They had both done things that they couldn't take back. It scares Brooke now, to think that the friendship they'd cultured, the relationship that could be, could end right here because of things she had done in the past. Things that Sam might be unable to move past enough to believe her, to trust her, now.

"So what? You love me now?" Sam breaks the silence, but it's harsh and bitter and it nips at Brooke's heartstrings.

"Why is that so hard for you to believe?" Brooke sounds meek even to her own ears and the brunette shakes her head with a dry laugh. "Don't you love me?" And then falls silent again. Brooke can feel her heart beating against her ribcage, thumping faster than the seconds can tick by. And tick they do, on and on until Brooke thinks she might scream. "Please say something." She feels tears well, stinging the backs of her eyes as Sam spins to face her.

'What do you want me to say?!" The reporter has always been wild and untamed in regard to her tempter, which was what had made pushing her buttons so easily enjoyable for Brooke. She'd delighted in being the focus of Sam's rage, but all it did now was hurt. Like a kind of verbal, badly practised acupuncture. Out of nowhere, the brunette unexpectedly deflates, dropping back to lean against her desk. Brooke holds her breath and watches the other girl as she works something over in her head. "I was resigned." She hits the word hard, like it's the final nail in the coffin, but even though she's clearly struggling, Brooke feels a surge of hope shoot through her like lightning. Because Sam is still angry, but she sounds as though she isn't sure why anymore. Tentatively, Brooke takes a handful of steps closer and this time Sam doesn't move away. She's too preoccupied with the hand tugging at her hair and sweeping her gaze around the room as if she's hoping to find the answers to her questions hiding out in plain sight. "I'd come to terms with not," she balls her hand into a fist, dark tresses caught between her fingers, and closes her eyes as she takes a deep breath. "Not ever being anything more to you." Her eyelids pop open to find Brooke standing closer than before but she doesn't do or say anything to push her back. Brooke counts that as a good thing, even if Sam still looks lost. She'd gladly guide her back, if only she were allowed. "Everything was fine and now... god." Dark eyes turn towards the ceiling and her cheek swells out as she sweeps her tongue across the inside of it and shakes her head. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel right now. What I'm supposed to think or, or do-" Sam drops her head back down to find Brooke has come closer still, drawn towards Sam like always, and the rest of the sentence dies on her lips.

"Then don't think." Brooke whispers, and it's forward and bold. Simultaneously something she would and would never do, and she edges nearer until Sam is no longer leaning but is pressed against the desk at her back. Until there is barely even air separating them. Sam's eyes are wide and terrified, and all Brooke wants is to reassure her.

So she ducks her head and hovers close for a moment, her gaze flickering back and forth between Sam's eyes and her mouth. Her lips linger so that she can feel Sam's anxious breaths fluttering against them and Brooke needs those few extra seconds to ready herself. To memorise everything and then convince herself to jump.

Even those she's already been falling for a while.

She thinks she hears Sam whisper her name, or begin to at the very least, but it's lost and forgotten under the weight of a first kiss. One that is impossibly heavy and light at the same time. Fire ignites and Brooke wants more but she forces herself to hold back. If there were ever a time she needed to wait for Sam, it was now. The contact lasts only until she's sure Sam knows and then she's pulling away and taking a single, sobering step backwards. Instantly, her eyes are scanning the other girl; gaze hidden, posture taught, hands gripping the desk edge so tightly the knuckles have turned white. Brooke's heart thunders and she stares at Sam, prays for something to happen. A blink, a twitch, something to let Brooke know she's still there.

And it's like it happens in slow motion. As if time has slowed just enough for her to process what's happening as it transpires.

Sam's eyes open and find Brooke's effortlessly, but there's no smile. Nothing to indicate what might come next. Only an expression that can't quite be read and so Brooke can't anticipate anything.

Not the way Sam lifts her arm and reaches a hand out towards her. Not the way she digs her fingers into the front of Brooke's dress, curling them into the material so tightly it's like she's afraid the blonde might slip free. With a firm tug Brooke tumbles forward into Sam, breath hitching at the sudden movement and the flush press of their bodies. And then she's dripping her head down as Sam tilts hers up and this time, the connection is solid. And Brooke never would have guessed but she's the one frozen in the moment this time, surprised by the sudden appearance of the brunette's bold streak, and she can feel the tops of trembling knuckles brushing against her stomach. Can feel Sam's lips as they're drawn away and then brought back again, and again, and she gives in to the request before it's really even been asked. She parts her lips and lets Sam in, and then there's warmth and a fog so thick she doesn't think she'll ever find her way out of it.

She's okay with that.

Sam sighs and Brooke feels it against her skin; relief, release. Feels the same in herself and then she's releasing everything she feels into the kiss. She slips her fingers into dark locks and threads them gently through silky strands until she's cradling the back of Sam's head. And just like that, the kiss turns desperate.

There's a clash of teeth and tongues and gasping breaths hungrily dragged in during the brief interims. The pace makes Brooke dizzy, adrenaline spiking to crash head on into a pent up longing finally set free.

It's Sam who pulls away first, breathing shallow and strained, and Brooke leans in to follow but finds herself stopped by the hand at her stomach. It splays out flat and urges her back.

"I need..." Sam stops, breathless but smiling, "to process. And breathe." She adds, opening her eyes to look at Brooke, who returns her smile and leaves her hand where it had landed against the girl's collarbone. She feels high and giddy, like a school girl. Then she realises that's probably how she's supposed to feel and the thought sends sparks of glittering excitement to all ends of her body. Because as much as she thought she loved Josh, she'd never felt like this. And she knows what that means. Knows that this is right. And she revels in that as she moves her hand to cup Sam's cheek. She strokes her thumb across soft skin and then frowns as dark eyes flutter at the touch.

"I'm so sorry, Sam." She mutters and Sam leans into her palm. "I should have told you sooner." And she knows that she'll be apologising for that for a long while yet. Even if Sam offers her verbal forgiveness a thousand times. She won't be able to forgive herself as easily.

"It's okay." But the words warm her anyway. "At least you had the balls to say something. I don't know that I ever would have." Brooke hums thoughtfully.

"I kind of had an advantage there though. I knew how you felt."

"But not how I'd react." Sam points out, sliding her hand from the Blonde's stomach to her hip and dragging a shiver down Brooke's spine. "Which wasn't all that well." She almost sounds ashamed, but Brooke won't let her do that.

"It's not like you're to blame for that." She wasn't, and the reasons why hurt, but Brooke hopes that someday they'll be able to move past all that. They'd already been well on their way.

"It doesn't matter now." Sam says with a loud exhale and then another wide smile that shimmers with a hint of shyness that curves the line of her mouth. "So..." she pauses to placate her oral tick, rolling her tongue to the side. "What happens now?" Brooke loops her arms around Sam's neck and flashes her a lazy, happy smile of her own.

"I didn't think that far ahead." She admits with a wrinkle of her nose. "But I don't think that matters either." Sam lifts an eyebrow and Brooke inches closer again, smile widening as the other girl's arm winds itself around her waist. "This is all I wanted." Sam manages a chuckle around her uncontrollable grin, one that's about fifty percent bashful and fifty percent embarrassed. Brooke thinks it's all one hundred percent adorable. "Whatever happens next, we'll do it together." And then, because she can't quite stop herself. "Right?" The answer comes in the form of a nod.

And another kiss.

One that Sam keeps breaking with giggles she can't contain. She buries her face in Brooke's neck and mumbles something about how she "can't believe this" and that it's so weird "but good weird".

Brooke feels like she could fly.

Later, much later, Brooke will muse aloud about how some cosmic imbalance had been righted that day, resetting and resettling the balance of the universe, and the immense egotistical nature of the statement will make Sam laugh for weeks after.

Their kids won't understand any of it.