So, I'm supposed to dedicate this oneshot to Queen Jules and Queen Corey. They are awesome. I love them. The end.

Basically my take on what happens with the whole Vegas thing in 5x18.

Hometown Glory

Round my hometown, memories are fresh. Round my hometown, oh the people I've met, are the wonders of my world.

- Adele

Las Vegas. The heat, the humidity. Flashing lights and memories of your drunken evening that keep you awake much longer after your head hits the pillow. She's been lying in the cool sheets for over an hour, and Brooke Davis still can't sleep.

The air conditioner is cranked up high and that's really all she can hear. All she sees is the vibrant light sneaking into the suite through the window, and all she can taste is the wine still on her lips. All she can smell is his cologne and all she can feel is a naked thigh grazing against hers, and his soft and even breath against her shoulder.

It's late June. If she were home in Tree Hill right now the orchids would be blooming. Out here in the desert nothing blooms much as at all. And all of a sudden, she's overcome with an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. She's homesick. She's nauseous.

She gets out of bed, dragging one of the sheets with her. He groans a little at her movement, and subconsciously hugs one of the pillows in his arms and lets out a soft sigh. Brooke smiles.

She makes her way over to the small table by the window and takes a seat. Her iphone lies at the edge of the ceramic surface, haphazardly thrown there earlier that evening. Brooke runs her hand across the screen and the phone lights up.

8 missed calls.

"Hey Brooke, it's me again. Look, I'm not trying to pressure you to come home or anything, but we're all really worried about you. Nathan's been trying to get a hold of Lucas and Peyton…she's just a wreck. Brooke…you know I won't judge you. I just want to make sure you're okay…both of you. Call me back."

"Brooke, it's Millicent. I know stuff has been crazy lately, what with you having to give up Angie and all. And you completely deserve a vacation. But I haven't heard from you since you left that voicemail for me and I just wanted to make sure you're okay…Oh, and I don't know if you've heard…but something's up with Peyton. She like, won't talk to anyone. Okay, talk to you later. Bye."

"Way to drunk dial me and then never call me back, bitch. Considering the last time we talked, I skipped town with your moolah – hey, at least I sent it back – I wasn't exactly expecting a call from you. So what the fuck is going on? You're in Vegas? You did something slutty? Haha, what else is new? Call me back, loser."

She pushes 7: delete all. And after only a few seconds sitting in silence, she starts to cry.

She's not sobbing – far from it. But she buries her face in her hands and tastes salt on her tongue as tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She never wanted it to end up like this. What is she even doing?

The bathroom door locks with a satisfying click. Brooke, dressed solely in a t-shirt that is 4 sizes too big for her, sits down on the edge of the tub and tries to determine who to call.

And the number – the only safe number – pops into her head after only a matter of seconds. Her hands shake as she dials, and Brooke can't even decipher whether she's nervous or excited or upset with herself, or just upset in general.

"Millicent, it's me. I know it's late, and your probably asleep, but I didn't know who else to call…I fucked up, like big time. But the problem is, I don't feel as guilty as I should. I should feel more guilty, right? He should too. I mean, god, how are we ever going to fix this. And god, Peyton, please tell me she's okay. I'm going to call her as soon as I get a chance…and I know this message probably makes no sense to you, but just call me back, okay?"

It's been 3 days since she left the voicemail for Millicent and Brooke still can't call Peyton. She can't stand to hear her best friend's tear stained, sleep deprived, heartsick, voice answer the phone.

That would make it all the more real.

The sheet is still wrapped around her, but it hangs dangerously low on her chest. Running a hand through her mussed hair, she breathes in and out slowly to calm her anxiety. It's not supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to all be this painful.

Then he stirs. She's reminded of his presence in the room – misses his presence over her. He stands up and moves across the room. Clad only in his boxers, he comes up behind her and lays a hand across her bare shoulder. She turns, and in the dimly lit room, she can see his eyes darken as they hit hers.

"Come back to bed," he croaks, running his hand lower on her back.

"Lucas," she breathes out. "What are we doing?"

He stares at her for a minute, and the silence is enough to make Brooke realize that he doesn't have an answer. She's angered all of a sudden – less at him, more at herself – and stands with a start.

"I can't do this anymore," she mumbles, trying to push past him.

Lucas grabs her wrist and spins her around. "Why not? Can you just give me an answer for once, instead of running away like you always do?"

She yanks her arm away. "This –" she gestures to the messy bed, in which just hours ago they had been so intimate "- this isn't about us. We came to Vegas to have fun – to deal with all our shit. It's just about forgetting about Lindsey for you, and forgetting about Angie for me. This isn't going to solve anything."

He doesn't speak. He never does. Just shuts his mouth, and she can see in his darkened eyes all that he wants and all that he wants to say, but just can't. She turns her head away.

"You picked me because I was an easy lay. That's what you always used to count on me for, at least."

"I picked you because I wanted you," he tells her forcefully. "Look, Brooke, you've been more of a friend to me in the past two months than anyone has in the past year. Being with you and Angie made me feel…I don't know…whole in some way. And I never meant for this to happen when I asked you. But it did. And you can't try to pretend that it didn't."

"Hello?" she breathlessly answers the phone.

"Hey, it's me. Look, I'm at the airport and I've got two tickets to Las Vegas."

His voice is cracked, unsure, but Brooke can't tell whether it's the connection or not. "Luke?" she asks, not really believing it was him on the other end of the line.

"Brooke…I need to get away. Out of this town. Just for awhile. I have to clear my head. Come with me?"

She hesitates, still shocked by his sudden proposal, but also feeling an air of excitement clinging to her. And then she's reminded of her best friend in the next room – crying herself to sleep over the boy she doubt will ever love her back. This boy.

"Lucas…I can't."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. And then – "Look, I'm going to leave the ticket at the check in desk. It's your choice. Just please reconsider."

And then he hangs up.

She stands there in shock for a few minutes, phone still

pressed to her ear. Then it begins to ring again.

"Brooke Davis? Hi, this is Charlene from the agency calling…we just wanted to let you know that Angie got home safely and she's doing great and…"

The woman's voice blends together as memories of the time she spent with her surrogate daughter flash in front of her eyes. Tears well up, half out of relief, half out of sadness.

Five minutes later, she's running out the door, car keys in one hand, duffle bag in the other.

She moves back over to the table, still clad in the sheet, and sits down in the chair. Head in her hands, memories of the past few days flood through her mind like a slideshow that she can't turn off.

It's their second night in Vegas. They've been spending most of the last two days down in the casino, and gorging themselves on food from the hotel's buffet, and lounging out by the massive pool. Tonight they've wound up at one of the casino bars, drinking martini's and watching the Lakers game.

Brooke sways on the barstool, feeling the immediate effects of the alcohol take over. She swirls her straw around in her martini and laughs, reaching up to rub Lucas' shaved head.

"I'm very impressed, Luke. I was afraid you were going to go back to your second term senior year look."

He frowns, looking all together much too much like a puppy. "What was wrong with my hair?" he asks defensively.

She giggles and throws her head back. It makes him happy to hear her laugh, when it was just two days ago that she was falling apart in his arms at the airport as Angie was taken away from her. She signals to the bartender and he sidles over, touching her arm lightly as he pours her a shot.

Brooke smiles, and puts on her flirting smile that Lucas knows too well. She fingers the silver necklace that sits on her neck, and leans over the bar ever so slightly.

"What's with you and guys who serve beer?" Lucas asks, perhaps a little too forcefully once the bartender walks away.

She doesn't answer, but also seems to decide against downing her shot. Her manicured nails drum, seemingly bored, against the bar, and she lets her gaze wander to the game on the television.

A song that sounds only vaguely familiar to Lucas starts up, and Brooke's eyes widen. She immediately stands, brushing off her low cut halter top

"Dude, it's Low."

"Low?"

"God, Luke, you are such an old man." She smiles coyly at him. "Wanna' dance?"

He rejects the idea. She just shrugs and steps out onto the miniscule and deserted dance floor.

Shawty had them apple bottom jeans

Boots with the fur

The whole club was looking at her

She hit the floor

Next thing you know

Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low

She moves her body sensually to the music. Her wedges slide expertly across the floor and her hips sway to the thumping rhythm. Lucas finds himself enthralled, and immediately notices that every single guy, including himself, eyes are fixed on her.

She moves over to him with a devilish smile on her face. It doesn't take much to coax him out of his chair, and by the time they reach the floor, his hands are everywhere.

Them baggy sweat pants

And the Reebok's with the straps

She turned around and gave that big booty a smack

She hit the floor

Next thing you know

Shawty got low, low, low, low, low, low, low, low

--

He's still touching her by the time they shove the key card into the hotel room door and stumble into the darkened suite. As the door slams, he traps her against the wall with his arms on either side of her. She sucks on her lower lip nervously, and he reaches out instinctively to brush the hair out of her face.

"Is it bad that I really want to kiss you right now?" he murmurs.

She looks scared, lost. But she reaches her hands up and wrap them around his neck. "This is about to get really complicated," she breathes out in a shaky breath.

He doesn't care. In one fell swoop, he captures her lips in his. She's hesitant at first, not reciprocating much. But then his tongue dances across her lower lip and she groans into the kiss, opening her mouth and allowing him entrance.

After that, everything is rushed. It's like the floodgates have opened and everything she's been trying to hold back since the night they broke up five years ago just comes pouring out. They grab like greedy children at a candy store. His hands come out and palm her breasts through the material of her halter. She moans involuntarily against his lips and runs her hands through his buzz cut.

The kiss feels like the first night they made out. He had her up against the wall of the Blue Post and everything was so new. Exciting. Fresh. She feels that again. The rush of adrenaline that comes with the feeling of his tongue thrashing around in her mouth.

His knee finds his way between her legs and she feels a familiar ache in between her thighs that she hasn't realized until now that she misses. It scares her, because what started as seemingly harmless making out has escalated into something so much more. He eyes her hungrily, pulling at the hem of her top. She wishes she could say no, because the part of her that's taken the high road for the past five years is screaming at her to stop. But it's not until her shirt is off completely and he's unzipping her jeans that she has the ability to pull away.

"No...no Luke. We can't do this."

He stops immediately. She's surprised, and they both stand there for a few moments, silent. Heavy breathing fills the room, and when she doesn't say anything else, he begins to nuzzle at her neck. His lips tickle her skin, and when she begins to giggle, he starts to suck.

Her giggles turn to moans and she's reduced to a puddle of want, as his lips drag up her neck and once again capture her mouth with his. Her hands leave her side and move to her zipper. Her jeans are gone in a matter of minutes, and soon he's pulling his own shirt over his head and she's hurriedly yanking off his jeans.

She shoves her hand down his boxers and wraps her fingers around his already hard member. His jaw falls open and he lets out an animal like low moan.

"God, Brooke," he manages to choke out. He's nearly exploding already but he wants to have all of her. He feels insatiable unless he can be inside of her. In an instant he picks her up, and her legs immediately wrap around his waist.

The feeling of his tongue thrusting in and out of her mouth as well as his prominent hard-on rubbing against her solely underwear-clad lower region makes her head spin. He backs up until his knees hit the foot of the bed and they topple over on top of the comforter. His hands tangle in her hair as he sucks greedily on her lower lip. From underneath, she eagerly pulls off both his boxers and her thong as he unsnaps her bra from behind.

He moves his fingers now, brushing them only lightly across her breasts, as he snakes them down her belly and between her legs. But she pulls his hand away breathlessly

"No…Lucas, I need you."

It sounds desperate – like a call for help. He hesitates for the first time in the evening, and brushes a hand across her cheek. "Are you sure?"

He can make her nod out in the dim light, and she stutters a little. "Do you have a condom?"

He was poised at her entrance, all ready to go, and certainly would have without even considering the consequences. He's eternally glad she remembers, and with a groan he rolls off of her.

She lies completely naked across the bed, running a hand through her hair, breathing heavily. He's stumbling around the dark hotel room, and she breathes out a sigh of relief when she finally hears the sound of ripping foil.

He's over her again before she even realizes it, and he enters her with such a force that her breath hitches in her throat and it's moments before she can even reciprocate his thrusts.

But then she does. She wraps her legs around him and moans out loudly every time he draws out and sharply enters her again. But she wants to give him more. So when he pulls out again, she instantly flips them over and pushes herself down on him.

With every thrust she's met with a buildup of five years without him. Five years without feeling him touch her, hold her. Five years without feeling him inside of her. With every time she screams his name and he palms her breasts in his hands, and with every time she leans down and recaptures his lips in hers, she's reminded of what they used to be.

"Brooke." He cries out her name and feverishly kisses her every part of her skin that he can put his mouth to. They slide together without resistance, without obstacles. He sits up in the bed so she's in his lap and latches on to her neck with his lips as his thrusts get quicker, harder, deeper.

She throws her head back as they come together, and in that moment he's not sure if he's ever seen anything more beautiful.

--

"Brooke." She hasn't said anything in minutes, and is suddenly lurched back to the present situation in the darkened hotel room.

"You brought condoms with you, Lucas."

"What?" He looks confused and Brooke sighs and stands. Walking over to him, she stares at him with a look so lost, he's not even sure if she would recognize herself if she looked in the mirror.

"You brought condoms with you on the trip. You just told me that you hadn't planned for anything to happen when you invited me. But you had condoms that first night we slept together."

"I – " he has nothing to say. Nothing he can say will make the situation better. So he just goes with the truth. "I didn't expect anything to happen. But that doesn't mean I didn't want it to."

Tears enter her eyes. "Why are you telling me this? When we have a town to go back to, where my best friend is sitting at home alone, crying over a broken heart that you caused. Where you are still in love with your editor, and still probably wish it was her that you've been fucking for the past four days! Where, when we go back, I'm never going to be able to look you in the eye again, because it's going to be just as painful as it is for Peyton! Give me one fucking good reason that I shouldn't just go home right now!"

Silence. They're merely feet apart but she still aches for him like he's miles away.

He finally speaks. "I need you Brooke. And not just because I need someone. Because I need you. I don't know how else to say it."

She's crying by the time he kisses her, but then her tears simply mingle with hers, and he slowly slips the sheet off her chest. It falls to the floor with a soft thump.

She's naked in front of him. Again. And not just in the physical sense. They collapse against the wall, and through their kisses she gives him everything she's ever held back from him.

He pulls away after a point, seemingly retreating for what he's gone to get every time they've done this in the past few days. But she takes his wrist lightly in her hand and when their eyes meet, she takes a shaky breath.

"Don't."

It's because right now, he's the best friend she has. It's because he gets her more than anyone else ever has – knows her more than anyone else ever will. It's because every time she saw him with Angie, it made her ache for something real. It's because she loves him. And it's because it's very plausible that she's in love with him.

He doesn't ask questions, doesn't hesitate. But when he enters her this time, completely unprotected, she's the one to stop him.

"Are you sure?" she asks him with tears in her eyes. He just smiles and nods

She wants a child. And she doesn't realize it until now, but there was never any possibility of considering a father other than him.

He begins to move from inside of her. She shuts her eyes and sighs out. They both understand, in this moment that he will never just be known as the guy who knocked her up in Vegas.

It will always mean more than that.