A/N: Lucas needs to get his act together! His whole indecisive-slash-tortured writer crap annoys me. Peyton deserves so much better than that! I hope we get to see that in the finale! Anyway, I wrote this to release my previously mentioned frustration. It's semi-serious and semi-parodic; I hope you like it!

Therapeutic Madness


It started with post-it notes.

Haley got her the whole gamut of colors to brighten up her office, and Peyton kept them scattered on her drawer, feeling for one every time a client called. There was a tiny red prick in her finger to prove it. After that, she took the little cubes and stacked them neatly on her desk.

The next day she separated them, going by the color wheel scheme, and put them in a straight line.


One of her office mates from LA sent her a label maker. She kept the hastily written note, but tossed the label maker in one of the empty office boxes she had when she moved into TRIC. It stayed there, forgotten, until one day she had to use a box to reach the top shelf.

She was fixing her vinyl collection.

The empty (save for a label maker) box gave in to her weight and she collapsed to the ground, reaching for her back in pain. After swearing loudly, the small blue machine caught her eye. She looked up at the shelf.

Nathan found her the next day asleep atop the billiard table, short strings of plastic clinging to her hair.


To say that Brooke had a huge closet was an understatement.

It was probably bigger than her room, but Peyton was always welcome to pick out anything she wanted to borrow (for a date, preferably, Brooke often nudged.) Peyton had a meeting with a client she was interested to sign, so she ventured into Brooke's colossal, and not to mention messy, closet.

It was three in the afternoon. She was to meet them at five thirty.

At five fifteen in the afternoon, Brooke got a call from Peyton, telling her to step in the meeting for a while as she would be running late. Brooke gladly obliged, though she never bothered to ask why.

Thirty minutes later, Peyton showed up in a stunning yellow dress Brooke thought she'd left in New York, and left with a deal and the lead singer's number.

When Brooke got home that night, she almost dropped her Blackberry in shock. Her closet was organized by clothing type, size and color.


It was a welcome change of pace. Even though Peyton now required everyone to use coasters, she was laughing loudly again. She went out on dates more often (much to the annoyance and hidden jealousy of Lucas I-wallow-and-brood Scott.) It was almost as if fixing her stuff helped her put things in perspective. When Lucas called Peyton to go to Las Vegas with him, no one expected her to show up at the airport.

But she did.

"You came," he said happily. "I know I've been selfish in the past—"

"I came to tell you I'm not going," Peyton said curtly.

"But Peyton," Lucas implored, "this is our chance."

"Bullshit," Peyton answered. "We've had a lot of chances in the past, Lucas. You were the one who didn't take them."

"I'm sorry," Lucas pleaded, "for everything. I was stupid and blind and everyone tried to make me see but I was just too," he took her hands in his, "I love you."

"And I love you," Peyton replied. "But you have to fix your life, Luke. You're too much of a mess to be thinking properly."

"I'm not thinking!" Lucas exclaimed. "I'm feeling," he said, putting her hand in his chest, making her feel his heartbeat.

Peyton rolled her eyes and recognized the writer in him. "Here," she said, handing him a blue label maker, "this will help. You might want to buy more label tape though."

And she turned around and walked away, smiling. There were documents to be shredded.


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