Disclaimer: Never will be mine, but we can all pretend.

A/N: WOW! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! It really helps me to know what the readers want to see. As for the future couples, it seems that everyone's still pretty split. I love that some even suggested new couples like Jake/Brooke, Clay/Peyton, and Clay/Brooke. Please continue to tell me what you want to see! Also, I have a POLL on my page with all the possible couples on there, so vote for your favorite couples and also tell me in a review!

Brooke Davis slid across the white leather of her rented stretch limo to snatch the champagne out of the ice bucket. She giggled noisily, appreciating the fact that she always traveled in style, even if it were simply to return to her home state of North Carolina.

"How far are we?" Brooke asked in her signature raspy voice, reeling from the buzz she'd acquired from three earlier drinks.

The limo's partition slowly lowered to reveal a well-dressed older man as her driver.

"Just a few more moments, ma'am," the chauffeur answered cordially.

Brooke sighed in annoyance at his choice of title for her.

"It's miss actually," she corrected. "I consider ma'am to have negative connotations about a woman's entrance into marriage or old age." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm single and at the prime of my life."

The driver eyed her curiously in the rearview mirror. She shrugged her shoulders innocently.

"My apologies, Miss Davis," he adhered, smiling respectfully.

"Thank you." Brooke smiled brightly back at him, friendly as always. "You can just call me Brooke though. Brooke Davis."

"I know who you are, Miss Davis," the chauffeur admitted plainly. "It isn't everyday we have a celebrity in our midst."

Brooke sighed again, gazing out the tinted windows at the traffic. The last thing she wanted was to be considered a celebrity, especially there.

"Well, if I have my way today, then you'll have two celebrities in here by nightfall," she told him, clutching the bottle of alcohol even tighter in her hands.

"Wonderful," he spoke with vivid excitement, pulling the car to a stop. "We've arrived," he announced in a more professional tone.

He got out of the car, returning to the back to open the door for Brooke. He offered his hand as she stepped onto the paved driveway.

"Thanks, Jeeves," she told him graciously, smoothing down the lines on her tight black mini-dress. "Take a break for now. I'll call you when I need you."

"You got it." He carefully shut the door behind her, reentered his driver side, and pulled the car back to the main street.

Brooke waved enthusiastically until he was gone before starting toward the mansion's door.

She walked steadily, hearing the faint click-clack of her heels as she made her way. Once she arrived at the doorstep she jabbed the doorbell impatiently, eager to see her best friend.

A minute later the door swung open with a racket, causing Brooke to flinch involuntarily.

"Can I help you?" the irritated-to-no-end voice of her best friend demanded.

Brooke grinned at its familiarity.

"I should hope so, P. Sawyer." Brooke held up the champagne for her to see. "But really I'm the one who should be helping you."

Peyton's features softened as they registered the new guest. "I've missed you, B. Davis," she spoke in a genuinely happy tone, pulling Brooke in for a hug.

When she pulled away, Brooke studied her friend with a critical eye.

Peyton looked thin, and not that ideal slim and sexy thin that Brooke was rocking. She looked frail and unhealthy; like there was something incredibly wearing that she was dealing with.

It'd been a long time since she'd seen her best friend, but Brooke knew she'd looked a lot fuller not too long ago.

"How are ya, goldilocks?" Brooke asked teasingly, working to maintain a light conversation before they hit the heavy stuff.

Peyton's smile buckled. "I'm fine."

Brooke didn't buy that for a minute.

"I mean, things have been better," Peyton relented once she'd noticed Brooke's concerned face. "But I can't complain."

Brooke scowled at her friend's indifference. "You mean you won't complain," Brooke supplied, eyes glaring. "And that's why I'm here."

Brooke pointedly stepped past her friend and marched right into the house on a mission.

"Brooke?" Peyton called after her, falling behind.

Brooke didn't slow down as she checked room after room. She finally found what she was looking for.

"Nathan Royal Scott!" Brooke's fiercest voice rang out when she spotted her friend's husband sitting at the breakfast table.

She only ever used that voice when she meant serious business.

"Brooke," Nathan recognized, standing up and holding his hands up in peace.

Brooke ignored the gesture, trampling into him with purpose. She hit him only once but it was hard.

Nathan crumpled over slightly from the impact.

"God, Brooke!" Nathan wailed, pushing her off. "What the hell?"

Brooke smirked angrily up at him. "I'm doing you a service," Brooke explained unabashedly. "Once Peyton realizes what an ass you are, then she'll be the one doing the hitting."

"Brooke, it's fine," Peyton's wispy voice filled the room. "He's not worth it."

Brooke didn't turn her attention away from Nathan. Her eyes were cold and furious and they were directed at him unforgivingly.

"Yeah, Brooke," Nathan mimicked, squinting his eyes at her. "It's fine. Peyton already slapped me today."

Brooke turned back to her friend for confirmation. Peyton shrugged guiltily and her cheeks inflamed like Brooke knowing about the incident embarrassed her.

Brooke's lips turned upward in a smile. "P. Sawyer," she spoke fondly, wrapping her arms around her favorite person. "Since when were you the physical type?"

Peyton smiled at her response. "I guess I lied about the whole not complaining thing."

Brooke eyed her proudly. "Good. The cheating bastard deserves worse."

Nathan flinched at her words.

"Brooke Davis?" an excited masculine voice interrupted. "Long time no see, Gorgeous."

Brooke turned to the newcomer. "Clay Evans," she greeted, smiling faux-nicely. "Never a pleasure."

The attractive dirty-blond sports agent chuckled at her. "That's not what you said last time." He winked pointedly at her.

Brooke pretended she hadn't heard him or noticed the gesture. "So, P. Sawyer, what are your plans for tonight?"

"Well..." Peyton began, turning to Clay to fill in the blanks.

"She's working on her public image," Clay provided. "Something you should probably be a little more focused on too, B. Davis," he mocked.

"Err," Brooke barked like she was a buzzer, never taking her eyes off of Peyton. "Wrong answer, Peyt. You have a date with me, and it starts now."

Peyton bit her lip, considering for only a moment. "Let's go."

Brooke smiled, linking her arm through her friends. They began walking toward the exit.

"Game's over, boys. Don't wait up," Brooke called over her shoulder.

"My door's always open, Brookie," Clay called back. "I'd love to play some more."

Brooke stopped, turning to face both Nathan and Clay.

"Good to know." Her eyes turned icy again. "But by the time I'm done with the two of you, you'll be lucky to even have each other to play with."

Brooke roughly tossed the glass bottle of champagne to Nathan. "Chill that for us, will you? As soon as your divorce goes through we'll have a lot to celebrate."

She wrapped her arm around Peyton again, and they continued on their way.

Brooke posed in front of the full-body mirror, taking in her reflection. The lingerie she was trying on was silky and black, covering all the necessary places but see-through enough to be a total turn on for any guy.

"Is that for Clay?" Peyton asked wryly, slumping down into a chair in the fitting room. She threw down the five shopping bags that she'd been hauling around for Brooke.

Brooke snarled like a cat, clawing in front of her. "What's wrong, Peyton Marie Sawyer?"

Peyton scowled at her nickname. "I know that you think that retail therapy is the cure for anything, but I'm really not in the mood to blow all my money right now."

Brooke smiled knowingly, digging through her Prada purse. She held up something small for Peyton to see.

"A credit card?" Peyton inquired irritatedly. "I have one of my own too, Brooke. Not that impressive."

Brooke rolled her eyes at Peyton's dramatics. "It's not mine, skinny girl."

Peyton raised an eyebrow.

Brooke smiled evilly. "I may or may not have swiped it from your husband's wallet earlier."

Peyton grinned widely. She stood up to inspect it, and sure enough, there was Nathan's name printed on the shiny Amex. "How'd you do it?"

Brooke threw it back in her purse. "A master never reveals her tricks."

Peyton snorted. "You say that now."

"So what do you want to buy, Mrs. Scott?" Brooke demanded. "Dinner? A new wardrobe? I spotted a car dealership on the way in."

Peyton shook her head, still smiling. "You always know how to cheer me up."

Brooke shrugged. "Well, somebody's got to. We can't have you become permanently stuck in that doom and gloom lifestyle you love so much."

Peyton stuck out her chin. "Funny."

Brooke curtsied. "I'm here to please."

"Well, Clay was definitely still pleased to see you," Peyton needled.

"Clay's always pleased to see me," Brooke challenged. "But it's not going to happen. I don't know why he still has to be such an ass all the time."

"It's called sexual tension," Peyton explained. "And I'm fairly certain that you initiated it in the first place."

Brooke turned her gaze back into the mirror. "I don't know what you're talking about," she dodged.

"Really?" Peyton questioned, smirking. "I'd believe that if you didn't sleep with him every time you're back in town."

"I do not," Brooke argued, thinking through her visits. "There was at least one time when..." She stopped when she came up with nothing, glaring at Peyton. "Well, so what? There's nothing wrong with having a perfectly healthy sex life."

"But Clay, Brooke? He's an ass and a manwhore."

"Sounds like someone else we know." Brooke spun back.

Peyton's face fell.

Brooke noticed instantly. "I'm sorry." She hugged her friend. "I haven't really asked you how you are with everything now that the shit hit the fan in your marriage."

Peyton worked to sound indifferent. "You tried. I just haven't really been in the mood to talk about it."

"It'd be good, you know," Brooke told her. "To let everything out. Slapping Nate's a good start, but I want more from the infamous Peyton Sawyer."

Peyton wiped her eyes. "How'd you get through it, Brooke?"

Brooke's eyes widened, not understanding.

"Your divorce," Peyton clarified.

Brooke swallowed slowly, flipping back to stare at her herself in the mirror and scrutinize every flaw. "Mine was different, Peyt. You and Nate have been together practically since you were in diapers. I'd only know Claude for six months before we got married."

"I know," Peyton agreed. "But it ended the same way."

Brooke gritted her teeth. "You mean because both our husbands couldn't keep their fucking pants on for more than ten seconds?"

Peyton nodded sullenly.

Brooke worked to relax. "It's easy. I took all his money, hooked up with a bevy of attractive boys, and went for a spa weekend." She shrugged her shoulders again like it should be obvious.

But Peyton noticed an underlying sadness hidden in Brooke's features.

"It can't be that easy, Brooke," Peyton contended. "You don't make promises of forever and then just forget about each other."

"You have to," Brooke said softly. "You may not be able to pretend they didn't matter to you, but it's worse to mourn. As time goes on it just gets easier and easier to act like they didn't hurt you—like their cheating didn't affect you."

Peyton eyed her friend sadly. "God. Why are guys such jerks?"

"Because we let them be," Brooke offered, changing back into her own clothes. "And they're idiots that only think with their di—"

"Brooke," Peyton chastised, eyeing the other customers who were also trying on clothes.

Brooke smiled uncaringly. "Food court?" She held up her purse. "Nathan's treat."

Peyton nodded, following her friend's lead.

"Claude Durand," Peyton spoke piercingly. "Geez, even his name sounds pretentious."

Brooke laughed, sipping more of her mango smoothie. "But Brooke Davis Durand is a damn good name."

"Peyton Sawyer Scott," Peyton added. "That name doesn't exactly suck either."

"No, it's great," Brooke agreed. "Which does suck because it'd be easier if there weren't anything good about our exes."

"Speak for yourself. Nate is definitely good-for-nothing." Peyton eyed the table self-pityingly. "And I'm still married to him, so he's not exactly an ex."

"Such a shame." Brooke shook her head disappointedly. "We're two of North Carolina's finest nearly single ladies. Guys should be crawling at our feet for a chance with us."

Peyton looked back up after a bright flash burned into her eyes. She turned around to find the source; two teenaged girls were snapping pictures of them, not even bothering to be stealth.

"Not if we're targeted like this," Peyton said bitterly, turning her face downward again.

"We sure do know how to pick them, huh?" Brooke's voice was amused. "The NBA star and the shipping heir."

"I still can't believe how often you were in the tabloids after you filed for divorce," Peyton mused. "Even more than I've been."

"I believe it," Brooke said. "The Durands are practically royalty in France. His dad's one of the richest men in the country. Claude partied with A-list actors and models." Her eyes narrowed. "Hooked up with them too."

"Wow. We really need to find guys that are more under the radar." Peyton jerked her head when another flash went off. "They have to actually be sweet, and caring, and..."

"Predictable?" Brooke offered.

Peyton pursed her lips. "Please. Brooke Davis wouldn't do predictable if she had a gun pointed to her head."

Brooke drank even more, slurping from her straw. "Maybe I've changed."

"Maybe," Peyton allowed. "But I hope not. You're my main source of entertainment in an otherwise shitty world."

"And proud to be." Brooke took a half-bow.

The annoying girls continued snapping pictures of them. Brooke finally snapped; she turned and flipped off the camera.

"Get lost, bitches," she told them in a warning tone.

The girls looked nervously between each other and then scattered.

Peyton covered her hand in front over her mouth as she laughed. "I sure have missed you."

Brooke flashed her million-dollar smile. "I expected as much."

Brooke and Peyton were snuggled together on a bed in one of the many guestrooms in the Scott house. They'd spent the night before catching up, watching bad movies, and drinking the entire house's alcoholic contents before passing out.

Brooke awoke to a sharp banging in her head—a hangover from hell. She glanced at her phone for the current time. It was a little past six in the morning.

She slowly dragged herself out of bed, working to keep Peyton untouched to give her a better chance of sleeping in. It was the least Brooke could do after the unpleasant recent weeks Peyton had surely had.

Brooke couldn't help but think it must've been a total repeat of what she'd gone through after she'd found Claude in bed with another woman. It'd been a rude awakening for Brooke at the time, but it'd also sent her into deep depression that she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy, least of all her best friend.

She hadn't told Peyton, but the real secret to surviving her divorce involved getting drunk and staying drunk. It was the only real way to stay numb and not broken.

Brooke tiptoed out of the room and wandered into the Scott's kitchen in search of a bottle of Evian water and the medicine cabinet.

She hadn't expected to find a certain sexy sports agent already there. He was sitting at the kitchen counter, typing into his laptop. His chest was bare since he was only sporting boxers.

Brooke couldn't help but appreciate the sight.

His smile touched his eyes when he spotted her.

"Penelope," he greeted, using her middle name. "Early morning booty call?" He slammed the lid of his laptop down. "I'm down for that."

Brooke rolled her eyes, opening the fridge. "Sorry to disappoint. That's about the last thing I'd want to do first thing today."

Clay held his hand over his heart. "Ah. You wound me, Brooke Davis. And here I thought you were developing a soft spot for me."

Brooke snatched the water out, spinning around to face him. "I don't get you, Clay." She walked closer to him until only the counter separated them. "I mean, it's obvious you care about Nate and Peyton a lot. They're like your only family—the Three Musketeers. I can tell you're super pissed at him for wrecking that, even if you're trying to play it cool. I'm just wondering why you keep up the whole assy attitude."

Clay shifted uncomfortably. "Since when did Brooke Davis start analyzing others and get all philosophical?"

Brooke smiled, pursing her lips. "Since when did cocky Clay so blatantly avoiding answering me?"

Clay jumped down from the counter and came around to face her. "Since he had other, better things on his mind." He eyed her body, kinking his eyebrow suggestively.

Brooke slowly sipped from her water. It'd never been that difficult to turn her on, but she'd meant what she'd told Peyton: she'd changed. Or at least, she really wanted to.

This thing with Clay wasn't exactly a change of pace for her.

She was about to snidely tell him he was self-handing it that morning when she spotted the Scott's wedding portrait one room over. It wasn't seeing that that made her want to return to her old ways; it was the photo next to it.

In the picture, Brooke had been the bride and Claude had been the groom. Peyton had insisted on hanging up their wedding photo next to her and Nate's.

Brooke studied the picture. She hated the look of utter content on her face, and she also hated the way Claude's hands wrapped around her like he actually gave a damn.

She hazily resolved to her old ways, ignoring her conscious ticking in the background of her mind.

She wrapped her arms around Clay's neck. "Your room or mine?"

"Car's here!" Peyton's voice called loudly to get everyone's attention.

She handed her bag to the driver, lazily wondering where everyone had gone off to. After waking up to a killer headache, Peyton had realized that Brooke's typical body heat next to her had vanished.

She had yet to find the gorgeous brunette that morning.

"Good. We're stopping for Playboys then," Nathan's voice entered the entryway.

He stalked past her, wearing jeans and and an old Ravens t-shirt. He threw his duffle bag at the driver and continued to the car without so much as a look in her direction.

Brooke finally came running into the room. Her hair was a tangled mess; her eyes were shining guiltily.

Clay came bounding into the room behind her.

"Not going to happen, huh?" Peyton questioned, eyeing Brooke.

Brooke groaned. "Let's just go, okay?"

"You got it." Peyton pulled her friend toward the door, smiling back at Clay. "Laters, Clay. Lock up my crib when you leave."

Clay stood with his hands in his pocket, staring after her suspiciously.

Peyton and Brooke exited the house, shutting the door loudly behind them.

"Okay. What's up, girly?" Brooke demanded. "You go from down-in-the-dumps to little-miss-sunshine."

Peyton smiled, a faint hint of mischief in her eyes. "I'm just excited for the reunion is all."

They walked toward the car in step with each other.

Brooke squinted her eyes at Peyton. "Yeah, right. You hated high school and nearly everyone in it."

Peyton shrugged. "I just thought it was time to lighten up. No more PMS."

"I'd say it's about time, but I still don't buy it."

Peyton gazed at Nathan, who was lying on the top of the car. "Let's just say I've stopped wanting to be mad and sad about what happened."

"What are you saying?" Brooke inquired.

Peyton thought over her name, fixating over the Scott part of it. "It's time to get even."

A/N: Poor Brooke Davis! She's my favorite character, so it kills me to write about anyone hurting her. I don't know what you all think would've happened had Lucas and Haley never entered her life, but I think she would've slept around for awhile before marrying a charming, handsome, well-traveled foreigner. He just turned out to be an ass. And I think she'd drown her sorrows in boys and booze. Anyway, let me know your thoughts about this chapter and what you think Peyton's up to. Chapter 6 is next, and you know what that means? Reunion time! REVIEW and VOTE on my profile page!