Title: You Found Me

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy created them. I just like playing with the moulds.

A/N: It's been a while. *Waves* But I'm back! Here's hoping there will be people happy to see me after this… Thanks go out to Quatorz for helping me out and just being awesome =D

A/N 2: Completely inspired by The Fray's "You Found Me". I tried to incorporate a lot of the song into the fic. If you haven't heard it yet, go check it out. It's pretty amazing IMO.

Summary: Sam is found.

Warning: Okay guys. This isn't my usual fluff-fest. This isn't my usual mild-angst-but-ultimately-happy-ending thing. This is all out angst. There is no redeeming factor in this fic!! In fact, I've spoken it over with Quatorz, and I'm re-opening the Sam abuse hotline. That's 1-866-POORSAM in case anyone lost it. Plug that number into your phone, cuz I don't think this is the last time it'll be needed ;) Now, if all that sounds okay to you, let's step into my office…

You Found Me

They say before you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. That everything passes in an instant. Sam knows they're wrong, but she'll never be able to tell anyone. Maybe it was circumstantial. The faster death approaches, the faster the flashes. Maybe the reason they say that is before sometimes you have a moment to dwell on things. Her lips twitch, barely, in a weak smile as she reflects that she should have asked Brooke what kind of experience she'd had when faced with the blinding headlights of Nicole's car. She supposes it doesn't matter now, content in the knowledge that in her experience the flashes are slow, intermittent and crystal clear. She thinks she's okay with that, reliving old memories she'd thought she'd forgotten from behind closed eyelids, until the memories become more recent. She wishes these flashes were quick.

*****

Her fingers are trembling as she clutches the paper, her stomach clenches and rolls and she feels sick. Beads of cool sweat break free and trickle all along her body. Her head hurts and she knows she shouldn't do this, but she can't hold it in anymore. And there's some stupid, helpless part of her that feels some hope as she slips the piece of paper she's folded in half inside a bag, underneath a cheerleading outfit. She could never hang onto the words long enough to say them out loud.

Brooke,

I'm writing this letter with no premeditated motive, no ultimatum or unexplained purpose… I'm writing this letter because I need to get this out of me before it eats me alive. I can't keep pretending, keep hoping it will go away, because I know it won't.

I'm in love with you.

And if you've managed to get past that sentence without ripping this letter up, can you just stay with me a little longer? So I can explain? I know that you've probably been taken completely off guard - I kind of was too - but I want to say that I don't expect that me confessing this will suddenly make our friendship into something more. I'm not writing this for that. You probably have so many questions right now, probably that you'll never ask me…

I don't know when it started. I just know that it's there and I can't make it go away. I know when I realised though. It was right after Nicole hit you. And you were lying there, pale and broken and there was so much… god, I can't even write about it. But I remember thinking, "I can't loose her now, I didn't get to tell her!", and then I had to stop and ask myself exactly what I needed to tell you. It was like it had been there all along, but lurking behind a corner or something. And it's been a hopeless downhill spiral of emotions since then. I feel like I'm drowning in you, Brooke. And half the time I don't even want to be thrown a lifeline. You're the only person I can see when you walk into a room, even when I try to look away. I can't stop thinking about you… and I can't keep pretending, even if it means our friendship isn't quite the same. I think you deserve to know. Because there's this hopeless part inside of me that I can't shut out that likes to wonder aloud, "well maybe she wants you too?", and I know it's wrong, but I also know I'll hate myself forever if the opportunity to tell you all this gets taken away for some reason.

I don't expect anything from you. You don't even have to bring this up. We can pretend I never even gave you this letter and I can go on being a pathetic lovelorn fool - but I'll be able to handle it a little better knowing you know. Having the 'what if's' answered.

I just hope you don't hate me.

I'm sorry.

Sam.

*****

The blinds are still closed. She thinks her mom is yelling for her to get up, but she's not sure. The clock on her bedside table is blinking '7:05am'. She's watched every minute pass since her head hit the pillow the night before.

She hears Brooke turn on the shower in their adjoining bathroom, and her stomach turns. Her heart abandons the dull ache that had been surrounding it in favour of a painful throbbing. If Sam were any less in love, she would be beginning to wonder if her memory of Brooke's voice was accurate. If her eyes were as beautiful as she remembers. Because Brooke hasn't spoken to or looked at her for two weeks. But Sam can remember every inch of her. She finally closes her eyes as the tears fall, trying to stop them but only spurring them on.

She doesn't think she'll go to school today.

*****

"Brooke please don't walk away from me!" Sam's voice shakes as she calls out tearfully towards the blonde's back. "I'm sorry!" She'd finally broken, unable to take the desolate silence between them any longer when Brooke had come into the kitchen and almost accidentally made eye contact. She's said good morning, like she had every morning, and Brooke had said nothing, she had had morning, and it was one time too many.

Sam watches Brooke's steps falter and feels her soul surge forward, clinging to the action.

"Please, just let me-"

"Explain? I think you've done enough of that already." Brooke's voice is nothing like Sam remembers. It's cold and hard, dull and sharp at the same time. Empty and yet filled with something Sam wishes she didn't recognise. Brooke doesn't turn to look at her.

"Brooke-" Sam's voice cracks and she wrings her hands, playing with her fingers nervously. If Brooke would look at her, she'd see the fragile shell of a girl she used to know. "I just want things to be okay. I want us to be friends again."

"We were never friends, Sam. Apparently you had an ulterior motive all along, and I don't want to even look at someone who's that kind of person." Sam feels the likes of an icy fog slip into the room, first swirling around her, before finding a way inside and infecting her body. "I don't want you." Quieter, but loud and powerful enough to tear a hear-shaped hole in Sam. Who stands, bleeding, and watches Brooke leave.

*****

"No, mom, I'm fine. You worry too much." Sam holds a telephone receiver against her ear.

"Sam, when you become a mother you'll realise there's no such thing as 'too much'." Her mother's voice is playfully scornful on the other end. Sam's eyes roll. They've already had the 'are you sure you're okay?' conversation three times this week. She wishes everyone would stop asking. "I hope I have less trouble teaching that to Mac. There was no trouble switching rooms?"

"Nope. I thought it would be difficult mid-semester, but as soon as I explained my ex-roomie's nocturnal habits they found me a new room across campus a-sap."

"What exactly…" There is a pause. ""Never mind, I don't want to know. Ignorance is bliss." Sam smile briefly, then bites her lip. She knows better than to ask.

"Have you heard from Brooke?" But can't help herself and does it anyway. She can hear her mother smiling.

"She actually just called right before you did." Sam's eyes close as she listens. Drinking in the information like it was something she needed to live. "Says she's doing great. Has gotten involved in a few on-campus programs, has her own room. She loves all her classes, and is of course acing most of them." Sam breathes out slowly.

"Of course."

"And she even finds time for a boyfriend in between." Sam's heart sputters, then explodes.

"Boyfriend?" Her expression crumples as she says the word. Her skin hurts. When Jane speaks again, Sam can tell she's confused.

"I think she said his name is Justin. She didn't tell you?" Sam almost laughs at that. She wonders how her mom and Mike managed to miss the materialization of the gaping void that now lay between her and Brooke, because Sam can't escape it no matter how fast she ran.

"Uh… no. She-she didn't." She tries to keep the tears from thickening her voice, making it catch.

"Oh." Another pause. "She asked after you." But the way Jane says it sends sharp tendrils of dread through Sam and she'd bet her life that her name never once left Brooke's lips.

*****

"Hi. You've reached Brooke McQueen, sorry I can't get to the phone at the moment, but if you leave a message and I know you're not a stalker, I'll get back to you." There is a shrill beep and then silence. Sam can't find her voice for a few seconds and when she does she cringes as it cracks as she has to clear her throat.

"Hi, Brooke. It's… it's Sam. I just wanted to say Happy Birthday." No matter how hard she tries, Sam can't let go. "I hope you're having a really good time. I um… I sent you a card, I don't know if you…" She trails off, her eyes flickering around her room looking for all the world like someone who is completely lost. She takes a deep breath. "I miss you." It's just a whisper, it wasn't supposed to leave her mouth. It's not supposed to enter her head. Her voice breaks. She wonders when the last time she went an hour without crying was. She doesn't remember. "I'm sorry…" Hanging up the phone, she curls herself into a ball on her bed and just lets the tears come. She learnt a while ago that it's pointless trying to stop them.

*****

"Sam, why aren't you dressed? Why are you back in bed? The club opens in like, twenty minutes." The unusually high-pitched voice of her roommate is like a jackhammer pounding against her temple. She squeezes her eyes closed more tightly and clutches her blanket, anticipating what was to happen next. Sure enough, she feels a strong, persistent tugging on them. "I swear to god Sam, if I have to drag you out by your hair, wrinkled clothes and all, I will." Relenting slightly, Sam pushes back part of her duvet and looks at the girl across from her. Average height, glistening red hair that reaches her elbows, incredible blue eyes and a toned frame, Mandana is beautiful. Sam doesn't notice.

"I never said I would go, Manny."

" I didn't say I was giving you an option, McPherson. I can't remember the last time I saw you outside of class or this room." She pauses. "Actually, I don't know if I've ever seen you outside of class or this room. You live like a hermit forever, you'll end up going crazy and start thinking you're a tree or something. Up." On the last word, Manny yanks the quilt again and finally frees it from a distracted Sam.

"Please, just leave me-" Manny's eyebrows rise and she holds up a hand, cutting Sam off.

"Sam, you either need to talk about this or you need to let it go and come out with us tonight, but I refuse to sit back and let whatever is eating away at your insides destroy you." After a moment, Sam's eyes close and Manny notices the barest hint of a tremble shake her frame. She goes to her.

**********

"Don't you feel better for being out?" The music is blaring, assaulting her ears, and while she suspects the fruity looking drink she'd holding should be good, it's tasteless to her. She hears Manny's voice,but the question doesn't really register. She's staring at the profile of a blonde woman across the room. Her existence had cracked and shattered in the instant she had laid eyes on her. The resemblance is heart-stoppingly uncanny. It had been a while before Sam could breathe again. For a brief, addled second, it was Brooke and everything else was gone. But the eyes that turn her way are shocking blue, not hazel. As she steps into the light, her hair isn't quite the right shade of gold. The smirking smile that is sent her way is nothing in comparison to the memory she holds. Without looking, Sam finds flaws. And Brooke is perfection.

"What are you doing sitting here all alone?" Sam can function enough to glance around. Manny is gone. Her eyes rest on the newcomer's face. The skin tone is all wrong. "You're a quiet one. I've heard what they say about your type." The smile Sam receives is slow, friendly and flirtatious. It's the kind she's dreamed of seeing on a different face. There's a flash of Brooke in front of her open eyes. So close, but so far. Sam's fingers clutch reflexively around the glass in her hands and she wishes it contained about ten times the alcohol already in it. "The quiet type, huh? Okay, I can handle that." The woman is still smiling, seemingly unphased, and deep down Sam is sure she feels bad, but she just wants her to go away. "Can I buy you a drink? That way you can hide behind that and not talk to me if you feel like it." The comment is light-hearted and in the split second of eye contact that is shared, Sam can see hope lingering in the other girl's eyes.

And it's too much. To be wanted by someone else, someone. Because if someone else can want her, that means it isn't her. And that it's Brooke that has the issue. It's just Brooke that's repulsed by her and that's far too devastating a thought for her to handle.

She stands, sending her stool crashing to the floor. The sound is swallowed by the thumping music, only heard by herself and the now frowning blonde. Sam's eyes dart wildly around the room, she can feel her heart thumping erratically in her chest and knows she needs to leave. She needs to get as far away from this place, from the girl with the wrong shade of hair, as possible. She manages to mutter an unheard apology and turns to flee, trying frantically to remember which direction to go in order to find the door.

The cool night air is cold on her face. It stings. She doesn't mind, for a second it makes her think about something other than the pain in her chest. She runs blindly for a meaningless span of time, she runs until her lungs protest and she can run no further. Her tears blur her vision as she looks around trying to discern where she is. Giving up, she sinks to the cold concrete and pulls her legs to her chest. Clutching them as if she'll die if she lets them go, and wondering if that would be a bad thing.

********************

"You scared the crap out of me!" Manny's outraged voice reaches her ears through the bathroom door. "You could have at least told me you were leaving! I thought you'd been drugged and carted off into the sex trade!" Sam's head throbs, the tile is cold against her bare legs. "I had to search the entire club three times before I found that blonde girl you were talking to and she told me you'd just run out on her. What the hell is going on Sam?" The idea of responding to that question with any measure of truth isn't any more appealing from her position sat on the floor leaning against the tub.

She's toyed with the notion of telling Manny before, late at night when lack of sleep has caused her to sink into a state of light-headed delirium Sometimes she think it might help, that Manny wouldn't stare at her with disgust or blow up in her face. But fear always holds her back. Of it getting out, of Manny thinking the worst of her, that it will make it far too 'real' for her to handle.

"Are you even listening to me?" She doesn't know how much more 'real' it can get. "Fine." Manny makes a distasteful sound, a groan from deep in her throat. "You don't want to talk? That's fine. I'm tired of trying to help. If you need me, if you finally want to talk about whatever you're not dealing with, you know where I am." She hears Manny's footsteps walking away from the door, and the sound of the one belonging to the dorm room closing.

There's only one person she wants to talk to. And her heart aches over the fact that she'll probably never get to again.

********************

"Hi. You've reached Brooke McQueen." She's lost count of the times she dialled the same number only to hang up before the beep sounds. Or just after Brooke answers. Just to hear her voice. "Sorry I can't get to the phone at the moment, but if you leave a message and I know you're not a stalker, I'll get back to you." The beep that punctuates the words hurts her ears. It vibrates through her skull and makes her already swollen, puffy eyes thump.

"I guess I fall under that category now huh, Brooke?" Sam's breath catches and she sniffs. "You know even saying your name hurts now?" Using her free hand, she rubs at her tired eyes and glances almost unseeing at the clock. 3am. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saying that. I'm sorry for calling you after you told me you never wanted to speak to me again. I'm sorry for giving you that stupid letter. I'm sorry for everything." Her voice shakes. And she realises she doesn't care anymore. Realises what she says now can't possibly make things any worse. "I'm sorry for loving you and I'm sorry I can't stop. I didn't mean for this to happen, Brooke." Her breath catches again. "I tried… I tried to forget, but I can't. I know I should distance myself, stop calling, stop asking mom and Mike about you, but I need to know. I need to know how you are. I think part of me hopes that one day they'll tell me you're miserable… as miserable as I am. I know that's selfish, but there's still that stupid part of me that holds onto the hope that…" Her voice becomes thick and she swallows hard to get past the new lump in her throat. "Well, by now you know what." She closes her eyes, pushing the tears out. "I never had any other motive than winning your friendship. I just want you to know that. Even when I gave you that letter, I never for one second expected you to tell me you felt the same. I gave it to you because I couldn't hold it in anymore. If I'd known this was how things were going to turn out, I never would have given it to you. I would have exploded from trying to keep it inside first." She attempts to take a deep, steadying breath and fails. "But it happened. And I can't take it back. I wish I could, I want breathing to be easy again. Because it hasn't been since I gave you that letter. Nothing has been easy. Breathing, eating, existing…. God, I'm sorry." Her voice cracks. "I don't want to make you feel guilty, this isn't your fault. You can't help the fact that you don't love me anymore than I can help the fact that I can't stop loving you." Sam pauses, her eyes drifting down to a family picture framed on her desk. Brooke smiling face becomes the only thing she can see. Her heart twisting violently in her chest becomes the only thing she can feel. "I shouldn't have called, I'm sorry. I promise you won't hear from me again. I hope I didn't wake you." It takes three attempts before she manages to get the phone back onto its cradle. Sitting numbly on her bed, staring into space, Sam isn't sure, but she thinks she can feel her world beginning to shatter around her. Again.

********************

She doesn't know what day it is. Or how long she's been lying in the same position. Staring at the phone, still waiting for it to ring, knowing that it won't. She wonders if she remembers how to move her limbs, but can't think of a reason to try it out.

The carpet is soft against her cheek.

She doesn't remember the sun coming up, but the newborn rays bathing the awakening city and slipping through the gap in her curtains are warm on her face. She almost doesn't recognise it, the warmth. She feels like she's been freezing forever. She'd tried to get up to put a sweater on earlier, but she couldn't make her legs work. Limp, dead weights, one is bent close to her chest, the other splayed out behind her. Her heart has been beating wildly, painfully, in her chest for so long now, she wonders just how much longer it will be.

"Can't be…" She blinks once, slowly. Her words her muddled inside her head. She briefly forgets the thought, but then regains it. "Can't be that much longer now." Her eyes are drawn to her desk as her laptop makes a beeping noise. "Low battery." If she thought for a second she could remember how she would have laughed, the thought of her trusty laptop dying along side her frighteningly hilarious.

She blinks again and her eyes reopen and focus on the family picture sitting to the left of her computer. A stab of guilt shoots through her. She's going to miss her mom. Part of her, somewhere under the confusion and blur, can't believe she's putting her mother through this again. Part of her is disgusted with herself, but that isn't a feeling that is new to Sam anymore.

"But I left a note." She reassures herself. "So she'll know I'm sorry… that I love her… not her fault." The breath she takes is a long one, split shakily into five or so. "She has Mike… and Mac… and Brooke." Her eyes roll and then refocus. "I never had Brooke… having Brooke will make her happy…"

Her body twitches as she hears a knock at her door, she thinks it stiffens too. She doesn't want to see anyone, not now, not ever again. They won't stop asking her what's wrong. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore.

"Sam?" A groan escapes her lips and she takes a ragged breath.

"Go away!" She wants it to sound demanding, unarguable. It doesn't. It sounds weak, frayed around the edges. Her heart skips and beats impossibly faster as she hears the doorknob turn. Why didn't Manny ever listen? Why did she always insist on helping? Sam didn't want help. Why didn't she lock the door? She didn't think Manny would come back.

"Oh my god." Her eyes lift and try to focus on the blur in the doorway. It hurts. She's tired now. "Sam? Oh god, are you okay?" The concerned voice is foreign to her ears, yet familiar. Like a childhood memory diluted by time. The footsteps she hears hurrying towards her match a recognisable rhythm that used to cause her breath to catch and her heart to race. She feels it explode as her eyes finally focus, and finds Brooke's flawless face hovering above her. Looking just like an angel.

"That was…" Sam takes a breath. "Quicker than I thought it would be."

"What? What was quicker? Sam, what the hell happened?" And Brooke is kneeling beside her, closer to her than Sam ever thought she'd be again. Her eyes are just as beautiful, even with fear swimming in them. Sam thinks about laughing, but can't manage it.

"Dying." She whispers. "Was quicker." She watches Brooke's face pale uncomprehendingly. Angels weren't supposed to be scared, and the blonde looked terrified. "Aren't I?"

"No!" Frantic. Sam's eyes close as Brooke grips her shoulders. Her fingers seem to scorch through the shirt she has on, searing her cold skin. "Sam, what did you do?" When Sam neglects to answer, she feels her shoulders being gently shaken. Her eyes open and, upon finding Brooke still there, still real, Sam feels them begin to fill.

"I just wanted…" She pauses to take a deep breath, watches as Brooke frowns when she struggles with the usually easy act. "I want to make the pain stop." A waterfall of emotions cascades over Brooke's face, churning and rapid, eventually settling on pained devastation.

"I'm so…" And now Brooke's voice breaks. "I'm so sorry, Sam." A single tear trickles from the corner of a hazel eye. "I didn't mean to-"

"Hurt me?" A rough, bitter laugh leaves Sam's throat and Brooke's eyes fall to the ground beside her. She knows the exact moment Brooke's gaze finds the pills, scattered to the side of her after Sam's shaking hand couldn't keep its grip on the bottle any longer. The blonde's breathing hitches and she gasps, eyes finding Sam's again, panic now the only thing visible in them.

"Oh please Sammie, no." Sam closes her eyes again as she hears the begging in Brooke's voice. She just wants it t be over now. This wasn't going how she'd planned. "I have to…" There's a pause and a deep but choked intake of breath. She feels Brooke get to her feet. "I have to call someone."

"Did you get my card?" With some effort, Sam's lids flicker open. "I sent a… did you get it?" She watches Brooke pace around her room, motions frantic. Finally the blonde finds what she's looking for, the phone, and she tries to punch in a number. She gets it with a cry of frustration on her third attempt and returns to Sam's side as she waits for the call to connect.

"I got your card. I got every card, every letter." Brooke reaches out a hand and places it over one of Sam's. And Sam feels more alive in that moment than she has in longer than she can remember. "I just, I couldn't-" She cuts herself off with a noise of disgust, her face screwing up in frustration as she aggressively thumbs the button on the phone to end the call. "Damn it, why won't they answer?!"

"Brooke, stop." There's a new, but fleeting, strength in Sam's voice that was absent until now and it pulls at Brooke, forcing the blonde to look at her. Sam's unspoken 'just let this happen' seems to flow between them and Brooke's lower lip trembles.

"God Sam, why?" She's angry now. Sam can't help but recall all of their fights, all of their heated conversations. How Brooke looks beautiful when she's mad. She smiles, ever so slightly. But then it's gone, replaced by a mournful frown, dry lips turning down.

"I waited for you to call…" She is vaguely away of Brooke pressing two fingers against her neck. She can feel her pulse hammer against the slight pressure, her heart pumping in vain, trying to keep her alive. She can feel Brooke's fingers shake against her skin. She feels her chest heave as she takes in sobbing breaths. Feels warm tears spill out onto her cheeks again. She just wants it to be over. She doesn't want to do this anymore. But she wants Brooke to know. "All I needed… I just wanted you to call. I wanted you to care… even if it was only enough to tell me to stop calling." Brooke's attention returns to the phone, but Sam knows she's listening. Knows what her words are probably doing, but they're clawing at her insides, eating her alive. They want out and she can't stop them. Her tears flow in a steady stream and her head hurts. "Where were you?"

"I couldn't-" She jumps slightly, her eyes darting. Sam can hear a voice on the other end of the line. "Please, I need help. My-my…" There's a pause, and somehow Sam knows what word is coming even before Brooke says it. Just when she thought the pain couldn't possibly be any worse. "My sister. She took some pills. I think she's… it's not good. We need help."

Sam allows her eyelids to flutter closed and she blocks out Brooke's voice, sinking into a comfortable black void. Until her voice fills the silence.

"Why are you here, Brooke?" She doesn't even realise she's spoken out loud until she hears Brooke release an almost strangled whimper. When Sam blinks her eyes open, the phone is gone from the blonde's hand and she wonders how long she had them closed for.

"I got your message." Her voice is quiet, even though she's moved to sit beside Sam again. Carefully, she manoeuvres Sam's limp body towards her, placing the brunette's head in her lap. "They told me to make you comfortable, but not to move you a lot." Brown eyes stare up at her in confusion.

"Which message?"

"I got all of them." A shuddering sigh runs through Brooke. She looks ashamed and desperately sad at the same time. "I still have them. I couldn't delete any." Sam's head still hurts, she doesn't understand and she tells the other girl that. She just wants to sleep. "I didn't mean to just shut you out, Sam. I was… I was confused. I didn't know what to do." The words settle upon a string leading to a stick of dynamite inside Sam, setting it alight. She's sad, confused and angry and she wants to know why.

"How do you think I felt?" She manages, lips and jaw moving slowly. "Don't talk to me about being confused, Brooke." Her words taste acidy in her mouth, like a bitter fruit she once had an acquired taste for. "You don't know the first thing about being confused." Sam sniffs, wanting to wipe away her tears but finding her arms won't move for her. "I was so confused… and afraid. You were my best…" A hushed, doleful wail stops her from finishing that particular thought. "I let you know me. Better than anyone else. I gave you everything I had… and you took it." Heavy sobs punctuates Sam's every few words and with each one, Brooke's expression becomes more pained, her eyes more red. "And then you threw it away." She hears a quiet 'I'm sorry', but continues. The pressure in her chest lightens with each word she manages to get out. "Every second away from you hurt. Do you know that? When you shut me out…"

"Sam…"

"I thought, for a while, I'd be okay. But it became…" Another breath, another hiccupping sob. "Rapidly apparent that being away from you, physically and mentally, would kill me. So either way-"

"I'm here now…" Brooke fingers reach out tentatively and stroke Sam's cheek. She wants to pull away. She wants to lean into it. She can't do either.

"Do you know how much it hurt to have to hear everything second hand?" Sam finally asks her. "That you'd gotten to school okay. That you were having a good time." Her face drifts from Brooke, looking towards the wall across from her. "I even got to hear about your boyfriend. It all hurt. Even hearing someone say the name 'Justin' send a jolt of pain through me. And I just… I want the pain to stop."

"Sammie…" Her name leaves Brooke as a trembling whine, bringing Sam's pale face up. The blonde was crying again.

"She always looks so beautifully destroyed when she cries." Sam thinks, far clearer than she could have spoken. She can feel Brooke's hand on hers and her entire being aches for Brooke to hold her. All of her. Just once.

"There isn't…" The rest of Brooke's sentence gets stuck behind a heavy sob. She reaches up to solemnly wipe her tears away with her hand and stares up at the ceiling. "God Sam, there was never any boyfriend." The admission is almost silent, but it's powerful, rocking Sam to the core and confusing her clouded brain even further. An impossibly sad smile pulls at the corners of Brooke's perfect mouth. "I made him up."

"Why?" Sam's voice cracks through her weeping, her eyes glassy as they focus on Brooke, whose hand tightens. There's an instant before the blonde speaks where Sam knows exactly what she's going to say. She can read it on her face, can feel it in Brooke's slim fingers. She can see it in her eyes. But Sam's not quick enough to stop her.

"Because I love you." And the gentleness with which Brooke speaks, the honesty in the words, the love in them, shatters their world. "I think I always did." A long, drawn out and anguished 'no' breaks free from Sam, and their tears threaten to drown them both.

"You can't!" Sam sobs, wanting so badly to be able to move but is only able to make her body shift slightly. "You don't!" Brooke shushes her gently, repeatedly, heartbreak in the sound. She brushes Sam's tears away and bends to press a kiss to a pale forehead as the brunette continues to protest, a 'no' accompanying every 'shh' Brooke gives between kisses.

"I'm sorry." Brooke whispers, carefully altering their positions so Sam's shoulders press into her stomach and her arms can go around the brunette. "I'm sorry." She repeats, tightening her hold, crying harder as she feels how limp Sam's body is in her grasp. Sam's fitful protests die away and there is nothing but quiet sobbing to fill the silence for a time. Brooke's head droops until the tip of her noses touches Sam's hair and she inhales deeply, eyes closing and tears trickling out to mix with the dark strands. Sam wishes she could do the same, but settles for focusing all of her strength on her left hand, until she's able to move it to rest one of Brooke's, clasped around her upper arms and middle, holding tight.

"Why'd you have to wait, Brooke?" Sam's words come slower now, thick and raw through her crying. She feels Brooke's arms flex in an attempt to pull her closer and wonders if the other girl can hear her heartbeat as clearly as she can.

"I was scared. I was terrified… by what I felt and how strong it was, by what the letter you gave me meant." She feels Brooke's body shake under another wave of heaving sobs, feels her own respond accordingly. "By what other people would think."

"Always the nail in the coffin." Sam laments silently, ruefully wishing everything could have been different. "Like everyone always does."

"I know." The words come from Brooke in a shudder and Sam isn't surprised that the other girl knows what she's thinking. "But I…" Another sob. "I couldn't be that person." And Sam knows from the way she says it that Brooke could never have been that person. Even if today had been different. "I hated shutting you out. It killed me." And it's with a weak, humourless laugh that Sam replies.

"Me too." She feel's Brooke bury her face into her neck, can hear her continue to cry as she tries to quell her own flow of tears.

It's as the faint and distant sound of sirens reaches Sam's ears that her breathing finally regulates and then slows, the tearstains on her cheeks drying. Brooke's head lifts from its resting spot and Sam knows she can hear them too.

"They're almost here." Brooke tells her, her voice sounding oddly far-off. "You're gonna be okay. They'll help you and then-"

"And then what, Brooke?" Sam asks, her voice slurring. "We get to play happy families? Have Mike walk you down the aisle, my mom as my maid of honour and Mac as the flower girl?" Sam lets herself picture the pleasant image for a millisecond, before dismissing it with a low grunt. "Not likely."

"Sam, I'm-"

"Don't." Sam stops her quietly. The sirens are getting louder. "It's okay…" She sighs, but it's more content than before. "This is all I ever needed." Brooke's fingers are rubbing comforting circles across the top of her hand. "You. Talking to me. Being near me. Holding me." She feels Brooke's arms tighten again and manages a smile. "I'm good now."

"I want to hold you forever." Brooke's breath tickles Sam's ear and briefly, she's sorry she's leaving.

Sam's vision suddenly begins to cloud and darken around the edges, her breaths not seeming to come fast enough. She tries to move her mouth to speak again, but finds the motion difficult.

"You're just…" She feels her hand slip from Brooke's to land on her leg. "A little late…"

"Sammie, no!" Brooke's indignant cry is almost drowned out by the roaring of the sirens outside the building, but she hears it.

"M'sorry Brooke…" And finally in Brooke's embrace, Sam allows her eyelids to flutter and close once more.

"No!" The word is ripped from Brooke as though it were setting her insides alight. She thinks her body is being moved, but she's not sure. Brooke is still warm against her. The pain is less. "Don't you dare leave me now!" She can faintly feel Brooke's hands clinging to her. And then she's floating. "Please Sammie… I'm sorry…"

Sometimes, sorry isn't enough.