A/N: Why do I do this to myself?? Like I dont have eight other stories going on, I have to start a new one. This one however, is completely different than my other stories. It's totally Brucas with the others in there for effect. I dont know but I was just sitting there and this whole senerio came to me and it was playing out in my mind and I had to write it down. So if you like it, I'll continue. If not, who knows, maybe I'll still continue. No, I havent forgot about my other stories, although I think a few of them will be on a temporary if not permenant hiatus. We'll see. I'm hoping for a Havoc update shorting and a Savin Me update even sooner since I have some of that written. Okay so enjoy and drop some words for this story, its different but I kinda liked how it turned. out.

Why Do Fools Fall In Love

"And how do you feel about that?"

She's pondering now if a jury would convict her of murder if she bludgeoned their therapist to death with the pig paper weight sitting on her desk. How many times does she ask that question in a given day? Another hour, another dollar, and more over, another complete waste of time.

They're seated in club chairs, only a mere feet apart staring at their marriage counselor. She's dressed in a black Gucci dress with a white sash and Jimmy Choo pumps; her perfectly waxed, toned, and tan legs crossed over one another. He's dressed sharply in Armani, calculating when to check his watch so he can rush right back to work.

Mr. and Mrs. Scott; some piece of work they are.

He's speaking now, about how she's not emotionally available, about how he's never physically available, and about how their marriage might as well be unavailable. She can't completely disagree there; they have been married for ten years now. Even to the outside world, their union seems completely blissful.

Not all that glitters is gold.

Their closest friends have happy marriages; hell even the nosey neighbors in the massive house next to theirs have a welcome to the Cleavers thing going on. It seems to her, that after everything they went through to get together and stay together, maybe they were just too tired to just be together.

It's not like they fought much, that wasn't the problem at all. No, after nearly seventeen years of being together they didn't care enough to bother. After awhile, she stopped worrying when he stayed late at work. He never noticed when she was away on business.

They simply stopped missing one another.

Ms. Know-it-all is now discussing as to why the two of them are there. Like she really cares as long as she's getting her three hundred a pop per useless visit. She's not too much older than the two of them and with no wedding band anywhere near her ring finger, it's doubtful she knows much about to make a marriage work.

Apparently, neither do they.

"Why do you think that you're here?" she asks him first and he sits up, straightening his tie and running his fingers through his overgrown hair.

"Because if we continue the way we're going, soon, she's not going to be my wife."

That perks up his spouse's interest quite a bit. She's never actually heard him admit that before. Sure, she's thought about it, a lot. She's positive he's thought everything through as well. But saying it out loud, it's like letting out the secret to the world; come and get us, we're fair game and we're weak.

You can break us.

"What do you mean the way we're going?"

"They way we throw ourselves into our work or into the kids or into our hobbies. We never put that much passion into our marriage."

He remembers making love in the rain; barely getting their clothes off, rarely making it to the bedroom, both overcome with pure lust for one another. Now, he can't even tell you when's the last time they made love, when's the last time that had a meaningful kiss.

They don't even share the same home anymore. He takes residence in the beach house while she remains in the family home. The same house they christened every room the day they got back from their honeymoon. The same house that they brought their children home to.

Of course she still throws his business dinner parties. It's not often he doesn't attend her blowout bashes. When their daughter sings in the school play, he holds her perfectly manicured hand. When their son plays tee ball, she leaps in his arms when he does well.

They play their parts like pros.

Still, everything is missing and nothing is the same as it was. When he proposed to her, when he married her; it was the surest thing in his heart. But when he mentioned divorce, it ate away at his gut like the plague. She refused, true to her fashion and demanded marriage counseling. She never went down without a fight.

"So you've been married…" mini Dr. Phil starts to ask, rifling through that damned yellow pad, "how many years now?"

"Ten." He answers automatically.

"Nine and a half." She corrects, cutting her eyes at him. "May will be our ten year anniversary."

"So what do you think needs to happen in order for that celebration to be a happy one?"

They look at one another and stare back at the counselor with blank expressions. Truthfully? She hasn't thought about it being a real celebration. Of course she is going to go all out with a black tie gala that all of their friends will attend. She will smile and laugh, and hang on his arm. None of that makes up for the fact that they're anything but happy.

He, on the other hand, as thought of nothing but how to make this anniversary different than the last several ones. He wants this one to be special. He wants this to be more than a card sent through the mail or a tie picked out by her assistant. He wants the romance rekindled and their passion but on the front burner once more.

"Well, I guess you have six months to sort that out." The counselor smiles closing her pad and getting up. "Times up Mr. and Mrs. Scott. I'll see you next week; same time?"

Pleasantries are always so unnecessary.

"Where are you off to now?" he asks once they step out into the cool November air. Thanksgiving is next week, and he has yet to figure out if they'll be faking for his family or pretending for their kids. Maybe both.

"I have to go help the girls paint the nursery and then I'm off to Sophie's school and help make costumes for the Christmas play." She says walking briskly, checking her watch. "Are you gonna pick up Noah from daycare?"

"Of course." He answers automatically.

They have two children. Sophie's the oldest, seven, the absolute spitting image of her mother in everything except personality. That's got her father written all over it. Noah, is nearly four and is probably the last good thing that ever happened between them. He looks like his father with his mothers bubbling personality.

"So about Thanksgiving…" she starts, stopping at her car, "You're mom wants the whole gang there; in Tree Hill. Are you gonna be able to get off work?"

"Yeah, it's no problem. Did you want to go up the day before…or what fits your schedule?"

God, the formality of the whole thing is quite stifling.

"I think that should be okay. I'll have Charlotte give Erica a call and see what up." She responds, pushing the stray locks of her hair out of her face. They stand in awkward silence for a few moments before she makes a move to get in her car.

"Brooke, wait," he says, reaching out and clasping her arm warmly. She's trying to hide her surprise by his touch and looks at him a little more harshly than she intends to.

"What is it Lucas?"

"It's just uh, " he fumbles with his words; somehow, she's the only one that can make him do that. "Did you want to have dinner tonight with the kids? I mean we could go to that's kid's place they like so much and grab a pizza. For old time's sake."

She nods her head slowly, unsurely. Old times sake? She doesn't remember those times. She thinks he's on to something through. Sophie and Noah have started to ask questions about why their mommy and daddy don't sleep together anymore. When Lucas moved out several months ago, they wondered why their dad was going on more frequent 'business' trips.

"Let me think about it alright?" she responds, fishing for her keys in her oversized purse.

"I've actually been doing that."

"Doing what? Hiding my keys in the very bottom of my purse to wear I spend ten minutes searching for them?" she asks, opening up her bag wide and peering in.

"No, thinking. I think, if we're no better by May, if you're not gonna try then I'm getting a divorce."

She drops her purse to the ground with a soft thud and hesitantly looks up to meet his gaze. He's got his squinty, brooding thing going on and as much as she used to adore that look, right now, it's creeping her out. He's standing up to her. He's speaking his mind. He's serious.

He's doesn't think he's ever been so scared shitless in his life. He knows she can be downright frightful when she wants to be but this looks she has now; shock, and fear, and hurt isn't like his wife at all. She's the fighter, the great resistor, the ultimate advocate of it's always MY way. She looks so defeated.

"Okay…" she starts unsure of how to respond to that. What exactly is the proper response to that. She could do one of two things, be snippy about it, or let out her heartfelt expressions. "Like you would ever divorce me."

Maybe not the right response.

"I'm no some weak human being Brooke. Last time I checked, I was CEO of a company I built from the ground up. Last time I checked, I still knew how to clean my ears and use the bathroom without the use of diaper. Hey, did you know I can even reach the sink and brush my own teeth? Did ya?"

"Sarcasm doesn't become you Lucas."

"Yeah well I thought you were over being a bitch in high school." He bites back. He's pacing now, something he only does when he's about to fire an incompetent employee. He guesses in a way, it sorta fits.

In a way, this is the most they've come to a meaningful conversation. They're technically fighting, grating each other's nerves, but they're communicating. They're opening up their hearts and exposing themselves for the first time in a long time.

"If you want a divorce, then I won't fight you Lucas." She says finally bending over and grabbing her purse.

"That's the problem Brooke. Our whole relationship I've done nothing but fight for you and fight for us. What did you do? Absolutely nothing. You never fought for me, and you sure as hell never fought for us. And now we've got seventeen years behind us, two kids, two companies, two mortgages, and two hearts that haven't been as one in a really long time. I'm tired. I'm love you, almost more than anything but I refuse to spend the rest of my life like this."

Neither of them fail to notice the utterance of love that passed through his lips. She doesn't know what to say to that and that shocks her. Brooke Davis-Scott always has a comeback to everything. But what's more shocking to her is that she's not sure if she feels the same way anymore. Of course she loves him but…

Is she in love with him?

Maybe she's not in love with him any longer he thinks as he listens to the proverbial crickets chirping. He waits in bated breath for her retort, something cute or smart, anything that would be better than the silence currently engulfing them.

"I've gotta go. Haley and Peyton are waiting for me."

That wasn't the anything he was hoping for.

Why he's always played the fool with her, he has no idea.