A Sight I've Lost Becomes A Faith I've Found

A/N: The latter half of season five the way it should have been done, Lucas chasing after Peyton, and absolutely no Lindsey.

The ocean is unstable beneath his feet, the rolling of the waves keeping him imbalanced, unsteady, the perfect metaphor for the current state of his life.

He feels like a coward, running off to hide in the great expanse of the ocean, avoiding the questions, and the phone calls, the looks of pity that come with being left at the altar. Everything feels easier out here, or it at least feels easier to hide.

He's on the boat for three days before his voicemail is full, mostly with calls from Haley, politely begging him to call her, to let her know that he's ok, or at least trying to be. He scans the list of missed calls, looking for a name, and after a while he doesn't know whether he's looking for Lindsey's name, or Peyton's.

When he thinks of Lindsey in that first week, all he can remember is the way her dress swished from side to side as she ran down the aisle of a church filled with people, the way his feet felt like lead as he watched her go, unable or unwilling to chase her, knowing that it was futile, that she had been right all along. When he thinks of Lindsey, he sees all of his mistakes; ill-timed proposals and glaring impatience, the finality of the click the hotel room door made when he walked away, the way she looked in the church, standing in the pew with Brooke's hand resting on her back, subtly keeping her broken best friend on her feet, broken because of him. When he thinks of Lindsey, he only sees Peyton

They dock somewhere off the coast of Florida after two weeks. Karen, Andy, and Lily go off into town for groceries and necessities, he finds a pay phone near the docks and finally calls Haley to check in. It's the first time they've spoken since he left, and he lets her ask all the questions she needs answers to, before gently assuring her that he is doing ok. He asks about Jamie, and how she and Nathan are doing, before finally asking how Peyton is. Haley sighs into the phones and tells him that Peyton is putting on a brave face, but they all know she's a mess, spending long hours at work and after hours sitting at the bar in Tric, only ever drinking enough to make certain memories fuzzy, but never enough to make them disappear completely. He feels sick.

Haley mentions Lindsey, whether or not he's talked to her, and Lucas tells her she was right about everything, before hurrying off the phone.

*

He spends four weeks on the boat.

When he comes home, he goes through all the motions. Drops his luggage near his bed, sorts through the mail at the kitchen table, clicks through the recorded shows saved on his television, knowing that he'll never bother to watch any of them. The red number on the answering machine blinks incessantly with the number of missed messages waiting for him. He steps over to the machine and deletes everything with the press of a button.

Lindsey's clothes are gone from the closet and the bottom drawer of his bureau. Her copy of his house key sits on the dresser near his door. He looks around the room, at the pictures on his shelf, the framed art prints on his wall, the overwhelming collection of books lining his shelves, and realizes that there was a never a trace of her in this room, in his house. She had always been a guest, a placeholder for Peyton Sawyer in more ways than one.

The silence in his small home is overwhelming.

Hours later he sits on the edge of his bed, cell phone in hand, Peyton's number highlighted against a sea of names he no longer recognizes. The screen of his cell phone keeps fading to black, conserving battery life while he tries to decide whether or not to call her. He remembers what Haley had said about her, that she was a mess ('because of him' went unspoken), hurting. The screen fades to black again, and he snaps the phone closed before climbing into bed.

*

A part of him wants to avoid her for as long as he can manage, and the rest of him wants to run into her on the street, or on the steps of Brooke's store, at the diner around the corner from her office. He wants that moment of unabashed awkwardness, where they both fumble for words while he searches her eyes for a flash of something (forgiveness, anger, yearning) that will give him hope.

He spends the free hours after work walking the empty sidewalks of their small downtown, hoping to catch sight of her, or that she will catch sight of him. He never sees her, but he see the Comet once, parked in front of the movie theater, a For Sale sign taped to the inside of the window. After that, he stops hoping to run into her, afraid of what he might see in her eyes.

*

He finds distraction in basketball, in getting the Ravens to the playoffs. He spends long hours in his office, watching game tape and drawing up plays with Skills. Long after the campus is closed, and the lights turned off, he sits at his desk and listens to the clock tick away the minutes, and wonders if Peyton is across town in her own office doing the same thing, if she's thinking of him.

The team wins three in a row, and Skills drags him to Tric after the game to celebrate. There's a band playing, some group he's never heard of, and the area in front of the stage is teeming with swaying bodies, the boom from the bass vibrating through their bones. He nurses a beer while Skills flirts with the girl sitting next to them at the bar, her artificial laughter piercing the refrain of the song.

He's staring across the bar, slipping slowly from his bottle, when he sees her.

Her hair is longer, falling farther past her shoulders than he's ever seen it, and then he realizes that her curls are gone, replaced by loose waves a shade or two darker than the last time he saw her. She leans across the bar, flags down the bartender and orders a drink. He watches her smile, laugh at something Owen says while he mixes her drink. He misses her.

The band starts another song, and she swings her head around to look at the stage. It's when she turns back to the bar that she catches him staring at her. He watches her body tense, her jaw go slack, her eyes open a little wider, and his heart starts to race. She doesn't make a move, either towards him or away from him, they just stay locked in their positions, separated by a bar and a mountain of unresolved issues.

Owen sets a drink in front of her, and it breaks her from their trance. She grabs the glass, and looks back at him, the corners of her mouth turning up briefly before she bows her head and turns away from the bar, heading back into crowd surrounding the stage.

His eyes follow her movements, and he feels his stomach drop when she stops next to man he's never seen before. He watches her lay a hand on his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep, as she laughs into his shoulder. Their movements are familiar, intimate, and it makes him cringe. He can't look away, the fresh pain feeling well-deserved for everything he's put her through. Eventually the crowd closes in around them, and he loses sight of her.

He orders another drink, something stronger than before, and sips it alone.

*

He spends the next month sulking, snapping at his players during practice, and once again avoiding Tric and any other place where he might run into her. He stays in, drowning out the quiet, the smile on her face directed towards someone else, with beer and Sportscenter until he falls asleep on the couch, waking the next morning with a stiff neck, before starting the cycle all over again.

*

Jamie turns five, and Haley politely demands that Lucas attend the birthday party. He gets roped into decorating, showing up hours before the party to blow up balloons and hang streamers.

"Are we gonna talk about this?" Haley finally asks, standing in a pile of balloons.

"Talk about what?"

"Peyton, and why you've been avoiding her and everyone else since you came back."

"I'm still in love with her." He says softly.

"Luke, you need to talk to her."

"She's with someone now, I saw them together at Tric. She looked happy. And eventually, I'm going to be happy for her."

There's a knowing glance on her face that he doesn't catch. "I really think you should talk to her, Luke"

Hours later he's opening the door to screaming five year olds, ushering them towards the backyard, when he opens the door to her. She's standing on the doorstep, a gift-wrapped box tucked underneath her arm. She's alone, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Hi, Luke"

"Hi." It's a breathless whisper, and he's almost embarrassed by how awed he sounds in her sudden presence.

He wants to say something to her, and he's searching for the right words when Brooke comes bounding up the doorsteps, telling Lucas a rushed hello before she pulls Peyton into the house to search for Jamie.

They dance around each other at the party, until her skin brushes against his in the kitchen as they help Haley pass out plates of dinosaur-themed birthday cake, and the space on his arm where her fingers brushed his arm burns hot. The heat of her touch gives him a sudden boost of confidence.

"Could we talk? Later, I mean, after the party settles down. Do you think we could talk?" His heart is beating rapidly, pounding loudly in his ears.

"Ok." is all she says. But the slight nod of her head, the soft lilt of her voice gives him hope.

He finds her by the pool, long after the party has died down and the house is emptied of screaming five year olds. She's talking on her phone, her hands making wild gestures into the air, her voice raised just enough to know it's business-related, so he hangs back until she's finished.

She's midway through an expletive laden sentence when she notices him standing near the steps, she blushes and turns away to finish the call, waving him over after she's hung up the phone.

"Sorry." She says, and he imagines that she's apologizing for the cursing, as if he hasn't seen her lose her temper dozens of times before, heard her say words that would make a sailor blush. He smiles and waves off the apology. "That was the LA side of the label, trying to run my side of the label. Assholes."

She settles into a lounge chair near the pool's edge, while he lingers back, his hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. She moves further down the chair, in a silent invitation for him to sit next to her. He perches himself on the edge of the chair, careful not to get to close to her.

They sit in silence for agonizing minutes, his foot bouncing nervously against the pool deck, until her hand on his knee settles him. He looks over at her, a shy smile on his face. He feels caught, his nerves on full display.

"How are you?" She asks softly.

"I'm doing ok. Being on the boat gave me time to think about a lot of things, come to terms with certain aspects of my life."

"Have you talked to Lindsey?" The hesitation in her voice is subtle, but he notices. It makes his heart thump.

"Lindsey and I are over." He breathes out slowly.

A breeze picks up, catches a loose strand of her hair and blows it across her face. He wants to reach up and tuck it behind her ear, trail his fingertips down the side of her neck. For a second he's jealous of the wind, and its unrestricted access to her, to the curls, now waves, that used to be his.

"I'm sorry, Luke." She says.

"Don't be sorry." He mumbles, his head hanging between his slumped shoulders. "This is my fault, all of it. I let it go too far, with the proposal, and the wedding. It was just hard seeing you again, Peyton, and then Lindsey found your ring and everything just got so off track. I lost myself, and I hurt you in the process, and I'm sorry for that, more than you will ever know."

"Luke." She draws out the single syllable, the hesitation in her voice isn't subtle this time.

"I miss you."

"Luke, please don't do this."

"Is it that guy I saw you with at Tric? Are you with him? Because if you are I'm happy for you, but if you're not, I just want to know if there's a chance for us anymore."

"He was just a friend from LA, he manages the band that was playing that night. But you can't do this to me Luke. You can't just come back into my life when you're ready and expect me to be ready too. You said 'I do' up on that altar, I watched you say those words to another woman and it wrecked me, Luke. It wrecked me."

He's heard everyone else say pretty much the same thing, that she was a mess after the wedding, hurting and dejected. But to hear her say it, that he wrecked her, destroyed her, it cuts him deep, quick and neat like a scalpel.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. He stands, wiping his palms on the front of his pants. He looks down at her and she's staring out over the pool. "I'm gonna go. I'm sorry, Peyton."

She doesn't call after him as he walks away.

*

He goes to the river court to shoot around after the party. Thirty minutes of missed baskets, the ball clanging loudly off the front of the rim, and then he gives up, letting the ball bounce wildly off the rim and roll out into the darkness that surrounds the court. A layer of sweats coats his skin, and his clothes feel heavy. He paces the length of the court, his hands clasped behind his neck, trying to catch his breath.

He keeps hearing her words, that he wrecked her, and it makes his chest clench tight. Nothing feels right since he's been back. He wonders if it ever will.

There are footsteps behind him, somewhere in the dark, and he lets himself hope for just a minute that it's her. When he turns around she's standing on the edge of the court, his basketball tucked underneath her arm.

He takes a deep breath as she crosses the court. "I found this, thought it might be yours." She tosses him the ball.

"Thanks."

"I miss having you in my life." She admits softly, "Even when we were apart in LA, I always felt like we would find our way back, but when you proposed to her, when you promised to love her for the rest of your life in front of all of our friends, I knew I had to let you go. And now she's out of the picture, and you want us to be us again, and I'm just not ready to jump right back in after everything that's happened."

"What are you saying?" He says slowly, rolling the leather ball between his palms.

"I'm saying I want to have you in my life again, and I really want to get back to the place where we used to be, but I'm not ready for us to be anything more than friends right now. That's all that I can give you, Luke."

"Then I'll take it." He says. "I'll take whatever you can give me Peyton."

He watches her walk off, his heart flipping when she looks back at him over her shoulder, a small smile still playing on her face.

*

Three days later, he's running drills in practice, when she calls him, asking if he wants to meet for coffee.

He rushes home to shower and to spend thirty minutes picking out a shirt, something that'll give him the appearance of being even-tempered and composed, the exact opposite of how actually feels.

He finds her on the Riverwalk, near the coffee stand where they're supposed to meet. She's looking out over the water, leaning against the railing on her forearms, the late afternoon sun painting her face a golden hue. He watches her from a distance as the wind sweeps through her hair, splashing strands across her face, and she smiles to herself before tucking the errant strands behind her ear. She's serene, relaxed, and it transfers over to him, calming the anxious thudding in his chest, the subtle shake in his hands. When he walks over to meet her, she smiles when she sees him.

They buy black coffees and walk along the Riverwalk. She talks about the label and Mia's new album, he talks about the team. They avoid any talk of weddings, engagements, or book editors in New York. It's comfortable between them, like how they used to be, before Los Angeles and everything since.

They wind up on a bench near the water, a comfortable amount of space between them. What's left of their coffee has gone cold, and the sun is dipping below the horizon, but an easy silence surrounds them and he's not ready to let go of it yet.

A riverboat cuts across their eyeline, leaving a trail of rippled water in its wake. The lights strung along the top deck flicker on, and the white boat glows brightly against the deep purple the sky has slowly become.

"I love the riverboats." He says suddenly, his voice taking on a child-like sense of reverence as his eyes follow the departing boat.

"Me too." She says, laughing at his unguarded confession. "Me too."

The boat fades from sight, and they remain on the bench, silent again, comfortable.

*

Three days later he invites her to a movie. The dollar theater downtown is running midnight movies, and they're playing 80's classics all week long. She picks The Goonies, and they spend Thursday night in an all but empty theater with their feet kicked up over the seats.

When the movie ends, they walk the quiet streets the few miles to Brooke's house, after she decides to leave her car parked in front of the theater. To take advantage of the nice night, is what she tells him.

Outside the theater is his answer to the question of whether or not she ever sold the Comet. Her new car is a sedan, white, boring. It's so unlike her that it stuns him for a moment, bothers him. He can't stop thinking about it on the walk home.

"Can I ask you a question?" He says, jamming his hands into his pockets. "Did you sell the Comet because of me?"

He can sense her hesitation, hears her suck in her breath through her teeth.

"I heard what Lindsey said on the altar, about the Comet, and I knew that it had something to do with why she ran off, and why you were gone for a month. It's a small town, and we have a big history. People started to talk."

He grabs her gently by the elbow, stopping her in the middle of the sidewalk. "You loved that car Peyton. It was a gift from your dad."

"When you left town, I thought you were going after her. That car had a lot of memories of us, and I didn't want a reminder of that parked in my driveway if you had come back with her."

"I was never going to chase after her." He says. "When I was on the boat, the only person I thought of was you. I know that won't bring your car back, or change a lot of things, but I just wanted you to know."

"Thank you, for telling me." She whispers.

He nods, and they continue walking, letting the weight of their words sink in. She looks over at him after a few blocks, and asks him what movie is playing the next night.

*

Three weeks pass, and the amount of time the spend together increases gradually. They meet for lunch a few times a week, dinner at a casual restaurant every now and then, drinks at Tric on Friday nights when a new band is playing.

It's happening slowly, a gentle build-up to where they used to be, and it makes him happy, hopeful, like his body can't stop humming from all the positive energy currently coursing through it.

She goes to LA for two weeks, for label business and to catch up with Mia as she plays a few shows in town. She sends him e-mails, pictures of her bare feet in the west coast sand to make him jealous of the warm weather. She calls a few times, completely forgetting the time difference, and waking him from sleep, but he does his best to sound awake to keep her on the phone.

Two days before she's supposed to fly back, he comes home to a message on his answering machine. It's her voice on the box, and the message is short, three words, but they're all he needs to hear. "I miss you."

The airport is busy when he picks her up in the afternoon. People and luggage mill around in large, slow-moving clumps and he almost doesn't see her exit the terminal, but the crowd splits just in time. She waves at him, and he can see a bit of nervousness behind her smile. He thinks back to her message the other day, and he knows her words have changed things.

"Hey." She says softly.

"Hey." He reaches for her carry-on and she lets him take it. "Let's grab your luggage."

The crowd swells again, and he feels like he's losing her as they make their way through all the bodies. He reaches his hand out instinctively, to keep her close, and she takes it without hesitation, threading her fingers through his. They weave in and out of swarms of people, bumping shoulders with total strangers, and when they're in the clear, she doesn't let go of his hand.

They wait together for her bags, her hand firmly in his.

Her words, her delicate acknowledgement, have definitely changed things.

*

She's sitting in the stands when the Ravens win the game that takes them to the playoffs. He'd invited her in passing, and was genuinely surprised when he spotted her climbing the bleachers to take the open seat next to Haley minutes before the game started.

When the game ends, his players surround him, yelling and waving towels. The sports reporter wants a few words from him for the paper the next morning, and Mouth wants an on-camera interview. All he wants is to find Peyton, but the bleachers are already empty, so he turns to the man with the paper and pen and tells him how excited he is to take the Ravens to the playoffs.

Thirty minutes later he's sitting on the porch steps, his suit jacket draped over the railing, tie slack around his neck, when she comes shuffling up his front walk. She's got something behind her back, and he cocks his head to the side hoping to catch a glimpse.

"Thought we could celebrate." She grins and pulls a six-pack from behind her back.

They sit together on the porch steps, working their way through the bottles of beer, the alcohol gradually loosening limbs and inhibition. She touches him more, her slender fingers trailing down his forearm, or wrapping around his wrist when she laughs at something he says. They lean in close when they talk, their breath against each other's lips. And then the talking stops, the laughter fades, and they're inches from each other's lips, teeth, tongues.

He kisses her, cheap beer on their breath, his hand curving around the back of her neck. Her lips press back, her head tilts, and then she pulls back, her breath hurried on his mouth.

"Is this too fast?" He whispers, his forehead resting against her.

"No." She kisses him again, her lips lingering. "It's just the right speed."

"Why don't you come in for a little while, I can make us something to eat?"

"Luke..." There is hesitation in her voice, and then he realizes what she's thinking.

"No, hey, that's not where I want to take this." He laughs. "I mean I do, obviously, eventually, but right now all I want is some pancakes and someone to watch my big on-camera interview with, that's all."

"Blueberry pancakes." She says, standing from the porch step and brushing dirt from her pants. "For the record, I am ok with the kissing, and the possibility of it continuing inside."

He smiles widely, and follows her into the house.

*

He takes her to dinner a week later, someplace with dim lights and the constant flickering of votive candles on their small table. They sip wine and talk softly, their fingers tangling together over the cream-colored tablecloths.

He remembers the way they used to be as kids, frantic touches and urgent kisses, their relationship coming in brief spurts before sudden ends. He likes their pace now, a slow boil, soft kisses and intertwined fingers. It feels grown up, like an honest shot at forever with her. He wants to do this right more than anything in his life.

A soft smile plays on her lips, and then it fades, replaced by something a bit more serious.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks.

"Your wedding." She shrugs, before attempting a smile again. "I wanted to stand up in that church and tell you all sorts of things."

He leans forward in his chair, across the table, and kisses her fingers. "Tell me now. You can tell me now."

*

He wakes early on game day, goes for a run to clear his head, and comes home to a package on his doorstep. He tears open the package to find his completed manuscript, a note from Lindsey taped to the front cover.

He's sitting at the kitchen table, his fingers flipping through the pages, when she lets herself in through the back door. She has coffee in to-go cups from a cafe around the corner, and his newspaper from the front porch tucked under her arm, in the same morning ritual they've shared for the past week.

"What are you so deep in thought over?" She asks, kissing the top of his head, her fingers splayed through his thick mess of hair, before she takes the seat next to him.

"My book's done, Lindsey sent the finished manuscript over this morning."

"That's good, isn't it? Why do you look like this isn't good?" She asks.

"They're going to publish the book, in very limited release, with no book tour, and then they're dropping me."

"I'm sorry, Luke." She breathes slowly. "I know how much this meant to you."

It hits him them, as he thumbs through the pages of a book that's doomed to fail, that maybe this dream won't come true, but she's here, sitting next to him, and nothing else matters.

"You know what, it doesn't matter. If I never get published again, or if The Comet doesn't sell a single copy, it won't matter to me. This is the best thing I've ever written, because it all lead me back here, back to you." He slides the manuscript her way. "This book exists solely because of you, every word, every moment, it's you. This is everything I couldn't say to you then, and everything I want you to know now."

She takes it like a fragile prize, pulling the manuscript to her chest, before leaning forward and kissing him, whispering a thank you across his lips.

"I'm gonna go." She says, standing from the table, his manuscript still tucked tightly against her chest. She kisses him again, her lips pressed tightly against his temple. "Good luck tonight"

"Am I gonna see you at the game, it's the semi-finals?"

"We'll see how far I get in my reading." She smirks, before heading out through the kitchen door.

*

She isn't in the bleachers when the Ravens win the semi-finals, her usual spot next to Haley remains empty throughout the game, and his constant glances towards the spot do nothing to fill it. The locker room clears out quickly of amped up teenage boys headed for parties and he's left alone in his office, her cell phone going straight to voicemail each time he calls her. He heads home, dodging Skills' invitation for celebratory drinks at Tric, wanting to be alone while his stomach does flips knowing she's reading his words.

She's sitting on his couch when he comes home, the manuscript perched carefully in her lap, her fingers curled tightly around the edges. She stands when he comes in, an unreadable expression on her face.

"I'm the Comet?" She says, her voice a breathless whisper.

He nods slowly. "Yeah, you're the Comet."

She crosses the short distance to him, grabs his tie, and pulls his lips down hard onto hers. There is a frantic clash of teeth and lips and tongue, his fingers tangling in her hair, her hands under his dress shirt, tracing the skin along his waist.

"Are we gonna do this?" He asks in sharp halted breaths, his lips against her neck.

"God, yes."

They make it as far as the couch, before she's fumbling with buttons and zippers, and he's pushing her backwards onto the sofa, up and over the armrest, his weight settling firmly on top of her, her mouth on his neck, his jaw, peppering the skin along his shoulder.

"I love you, Peyton." He says, staring down at her, his hand brushing across her flushed cheek. She looks up at him, her eyes dancing across his face, before she pulls him back down, kissing the breath from his lungs.

*

Their flushed skin sticks to the shiny leather of his sofa, and there is a tired and satisfied sigh that slips past her lips as she stretches across his body, before pulling a blanket over their damp skin and settling her chin on his chest.

"I missed that." She says, a sleepy smile playing on her face.

"I could tell. You were kind of loud." He watches her mouth drop open, and he laughs from beneath her. Her body shifts, pushing her elbow into his ribs, and her knee into his shins. "We'd have a lot more room if we moved to my bed."

"No, I like this, being this close to you. I want to stay like this."

"Me too." The tips of his fingers trace along her spine. "You know, when I'm asleep I have this dream, that we're back in that hotel room in LA, and I propose to you. And every single time, I'm still there when you wake up in the morning. You say someday, and I never leave. That's the way it should have gone."

"Maybe someday we could try that proposal again."

"Whenever you're ready." He promises, running his fingers through her hair.

*

Confetti falls from the ceiling when the Ravens win State, it fills the pockets of his suit, sticks to the bottoms of his shoes, and wedges into the blonde spikes of his hair. He stares up at the ceiling, and watches the paper fall, realizing all his important moments in basketball have involved heaps of confetti, and her.

He's standing at mid-court, watching his boys jump and yell, when she saunters up towards him through a mess of floating paper. "Good game, Coach." She beams, knocking confetti from his shoulders when she leans up to kiss him. "You should celebrate with the team, but when you're finished you come find me."

He finds her in the parking lot long after the gym has emptied, sitting on the hood of the Comet, a knowing smile on her face.

"How is this here? I thought you sold it." He's breathless at the sight of it, of her with it again.

"I couldn't sell it. I hid it away in Brooke's garage, until I was ready to see it again. I'm ready now, for a lot of things."

He runs his hands over the shining metal. He knows it's just a car, steel and chrome and worn leather seats, but when he looks at it he sees her, and him, the start of their entire history, her front fender inches from his shins so many years ago.

He pulls her close, his lips near her ear, and whispers the words he's wanted to say to her for so long. "Even in his darkest hours, he knew in his heart that someday it would return to him, and his world would be whole again."

She pulls away, cups his face in her hands, and when they lock eyes, he knows.

"I've got two tickets to Las Vegas in my back pocket." She smiles. "Do you want to get married tonight?"