#i roast warren and max hard here but its from brooke's pov okay

[kpchrs]

KRIS ON CRACK AGAIN - SCOTTSCOTT

So *PFFFFFT*

I was talking to @riverinkfics today that the ship name Caulscott could apply to Max and Brooke too and then they giggled for a hot minute because "Omg, is Nathan and Brooke ScottScott?!"

So I thought about how that ship would work and I made this shit up on the spot. Rewriting it properly for this post tho. For some reason, my brain works too smoothly with this after it stops working for months, why the hell.

Oh right, this is in the "Tornado? What tornado? Jefferson? Jefferson who?" AU.

If you wonder why "again", that's because I've written something else while being high on crack on sleep deprivation. Not this long and proper tho.

Crack fics are so dumb. Crack ships are so dumb. Credits to the two of us lol

Enjoy, whothefuckever you are.

(***)

Building a drone for Ms. Grant's project is not easy, Brooke thinks.

It's not easy because something else is occupying her spacious, brilliant mind. Something that starts with the letters W and M and those two letters going on a drive to see Ape movies together.

It's okay, Brooke thinks, in contrast to the bitterness oozing out from her heart. It's not like she doesn't have the Ape movies. It's not like she doesn't have all the original CDs in her room. It's not like Warren knows that.

But the problem is he knows. He knows, he sees her collection, and he still invites Max Caulfield. When she was the one who showed the drive-in flier to him. She was the one who helped choose the vintage car for him.

But maybe this is her fault. She chickened out trying to invite him first.

Wai-wait, Warrbrlgh, she bit (her tongue) that day, cocking an eyebrow on his face.

What's up, Brookes? he said.

And like some cliche girl, she panicked, a jumble of thoughts and word combinations in her mind, and instead blurted out, N-nothing.

Uh, okay, Warren said, rubbing the back of his neck. Then… I'll go back to my room.

Just like that, Brooke let him go. Let her chance go too, apparently, because the next day, Warren swooped in, showed off his car, and fumbled over his own tongue asking Max Caulfield out. And she accepted.

Max accepted.

So, yep, this heartbreak is nothing. It's nothing.

Like hell it's nothing. What if that was her last chance? What if at the end of the drive-in tomorrow, Warren will hold her hand, stare at her with those warm brown eyes of his, and then they will mack on each other's mouth and blargh, stop, stop, she doesn't want to imagine that. Gross. (It's a gross thing that would stop being one if she replaced Max with herself, though.)

Tears prickle her eyes and she harshly blinks it away. No, Brooke Scott won't cry like some cliche, plain Jane girls. Like a certain cliche, plain Jane girl. But maybe… maybe Warren likes that kind of girl…

Biting the insides of her mouth, Brooke grabs an apple, a stronger grip than necessary, attaching it to the drone. This drone will be a transport drone, just like the proposal she presented to Ms. Grant in class a month ago, and she will test it out now. To get it over with this annoying project so she can quickly go back to her room (and secretly weep to her pillow).

Controlling the drone with the controller she handmade herself, she watches as the drone smoothly flies and brings the apple. Good. Good. She can see clunks and kinks here and there, but she can fix that later. How about moving it away?

Her thumb pushes the joystick. The drone flies away towards the tree. Good, good. That's smoother than she expected. Maybe she can take a week to perfect it and then submit it to Ms. Grant early. What about flying it faster?

For a moment, she forgets about W, M, and apes. Brooke is all lemon and sea salt at the surface, but deep down she's still a geek who thrives on her sweet robotics passion. The excitement continues to bloom in her chest, but that stops when a flash of red passes by as her drone intersects.

Nathan Prescott is the red, somehow escaping her line of sight, and by some split of chance, the apple smacks one of his eyes when he whips his head at the whirling sound. As if that presses an invisible curse button, he lets out a plethora of swear words.

"Shit! Fuck! Fucking shit!" he yells, clenching his eye and doubling down. Brooke's stupid fingers unconsciously turn off the drone and it also falls on his head with a crashing sound. "AGH! GOD. FUCKING. DAMMIT!"

That should be my words, she grits out in her head. She messes up, colliding her drone - and her life and death - with Nathan Prescott, the entitled King of Blackwell. Brooke won't admit it, but she is terrified. She is going to run away or something, but Nathan clocks her first and yells, "WHAT THE FUCK, BITCH?"

It's just so like her, letting go of her chance again. For some reason, that upsets her so much, so she hardens her gaze and claps back, "You in the way is what the fuck, Nathan Prescott."

Passive-aggressive sarcasm is one of her greatest fortes. This time, she turns down the passiveness to 0 and turns up the aggressiveness to 11.

"What did you say?!"

"You were in the way when I was testing my drone."

"Your dumbass drone was in the way when I was minding my own business!" he hisses.

That's true. She should have just apologized and begone, because that's what Brooke who prides on her intelligence would do, but nope, apparently Max and Warren lower her IQ.

"Maybe if you were smarter you would've taken your dumbass Prescott business somewhere else."

Look at that, saying another person should be smarter? That's so ironic of her.

Nathan maroons, imitating the color of his jacket. "You-!"

Aw, what luck. Now she has done it.

Nathan grabs her drone on the ground and stomps stomps stomps his feet towards her. Brooke takes a step back and a hand swipes at hers.

"I'm taking this."

It takes her a second to realize Nathan has stolen her controller. "You can't. That's my science project!"

"And you should've thought of that before forgetting the Prescotts own this town and your ass and this shitty drone. Fuck off."

The flash of red goes away as fast as it came. And all that Brooke can think of is that she wouldn't be able to submit the project earlier to Ms. Grant now.

This is all because of the plain Jane Doe Max Caulfield.

(***)

Brooke didn't follow her plan yesterday, weeping to her pillow, and she was so proud of herself. So proud of herself for not being weak.

Instead, she replaced it with some good scream which thus why she wakes up with a hoarse throat. Just when she pushes her body from bed, she remembers what day it is (Max and Warren's date) and she just wants to go back to sleep.

Max and Warren.

Max and Warren.

Max and Warren.

Brooke never thinks she will say this, but at that point, she hates her brain for getting stuck in a spiral.

Holing up in her room in the dark is not good for human psyche. The journals she reads are right. So she forces herself to come out of the dorm two hours before the sun dips completely in the west and drops her body on the bench, facing the dorm.

Ah. The dorm. The dorm which is owned by a certain family whose family asshole is one of the students. Why, why, why everything reminds her of the shitty yesterday.

Whirlwhirlwhirlwhirlwhirlwhirl-

Wait, that sounds familiar. And fast, like so fast. And right behind her.

On reflex, Brooke turns around and just like a weird deja vu, an apple smacks her glasses. She loses her balance on the bench, falls on her butt, and the drone, her drone, smashes to the dorm wall in a loud crash.

Brooke bites a whimper, removing her glasses to rub the aching nose bridge and not trying to move from her position because her butt cheek numbs.

The sounds of steps approaching her are slow and quiet. Brooke puts on her glasses, snaps her head at the figure, and meets with a constipated Nathan Prescott. Constipated as in he looks like he can't decide between smirking or grimacing. Like he wants to say something but fighting to keep his mouth shut.

"H-hell yeah, fucking revenge," Nathan decides to say in the end, sounding unsure. He still wears a constipated face.

Brooke's vision blurs so she puts on her glasses, but it's on already. Her cheeks are warm and wet. When she realizes what happens, the embarrassment and dread pain her more than the gravity pulling her butt cheek to the ground.

"Wh-wh-wh-why the fuck are you crying???" said Nathan, his tone shrill. He's so entitled he thinks he can panic when it SHOULD be her right. "OKAY, OKAY, SHIT. I'M SORRY, OKAY."

"That hurts, you asshole!" she screams, letting go of her tears and her pride finally. "And this hurts too!"

Maybe Nathan thinks she's talking about her butt or her nose or whatever, but she means this, as in the organ beating in her chest. A vital organ that for some reason has a brain on its own.

Max and Warren.

It hurts.

(***)

"That's bullshit!" Leaning on the wall, Nathan chomps the bruised apple after rubbing it for a moment on his prized jacket.

That's so gross. Boys are gross. That apple has rolled on the ground several times. It's hardly fresh anymore. But whatever. If Nathan ends up with the opposite of constipation, that's not her problem.

"I bet my ass he knows."

"Knows what." Brooke stared at him, bored. Fingers fiddle her ransacked drone.

"That guy knows your goddamn feelings, that's what!"

Oh yeah, Brooke told him everything. She'll admit it now for once. She's an idiot.

"He," Nathan starts, chewing another bite, "pretends not to know."

Mm, yeah, that stings.

"Why?"

"Dunno. Just my guts."

Brooke can't help it. She stares him down. And sitting on the bench while him on the grass, that's easy.

He glares back, though. Tch, Prescott scrub.

"Inviting Max Caulfield?" Nathan spits Jane Doe's name as if it's insect. "Shitty choice."

Oh. Oh! Max Caulfield is shitty. They agree on something.

"And Warren Graham? Double shitty choice."

Wait. "Are you saying my tastes are bad?"

"Oh, c'mon. Warren? Graham? Seriously? My eyes fucking burn every time I come out of my room and see him and his dumb Tee. Do you know he plays games in the toilet? Yikes."

"And you are eating a filthy-ass apple. You're not any better than him with that logic, Prescott," Brooke hisses low.

"Don't challenge me, Scott. You don't know who you are messing with." Nathan squinted. "I'm saying that maybe they deserve the shittiness of each other. That's all."

"You think I'm not shitty?"

"Who the fuck says that?"

It sounds like that, to be honest. But she doesn't really care about his opinion, so Brooke shrugs.

Nathan stops chomping on his apple. Brooke wants to think he gets self-conscious after she calls him out eating the gross apple. He proceeds to toss it, like it's a ball.

Up. Down. Up. Down.

Gravity.

"The apple bonks both our heads. We should have gotten some sort of epiphany by now."

Nathan raises his brow.

"Isaac Newton."

"Ah, that dude."

"Newton got the idea of the theory of gravity because an apple hit his head," Brooke said, in a reflective tone. "What's ours?"

Nathan shrugs. "Who cares."

Well. That's fine. She will think of her own.

Warren pretending not to know. That feels so shitty. So shitty. But if what Nathan says is true…

Brooke tries to imagine Warren's face that day when she tries to ask him out. Yeah, she can see that. She sees the air of relief coming out of his mouth when Brooke backed off. She just didn't see it because her brain selected what she wanted to see.

And that means, she really doesn't have any chance with Warren.

Or maybe... Warren… doesn't deserve her. If Warren likes his girl plain, then maybe Brooke shouldn't stoop low to that level. Wait, what if, what if he is a John Doe himself?!

Oh, wow, the apple really works. She really gets an epiphany. She needs help but yeah, she gets it.

Nathan watches her, but she's busy thinking. He tosses the apple to the air one last time and then throws it far. Right to the trash bin.

"Well, glad to be your Newton service." He stands up, clapping sticky hands. "I'm bored. I'm going."

"Get your own epiphany," Brooke says, surprisingly sincere, when he's leaving. "Whatever it is."

Nathan smirks across his shoulder. "Mind your own Scott business." For a second there, she thinks she sees his gaze go brittle, but it must be her own imagination.

Brooke stays to watch as the sun dips and the hemisphere goes absent of light.

The next week, she hears something about Max Caulfield and some punk girl. And nothing, nothing about Warren and Max goes official, or some kiss, or whatever it is.

Maybe, Max Caulfield is not the Jane Doe she initially thought. Maybe, she also doesn't want to settle for a John Doe.

She exhales, as she gets another epiphany. Huh. Max Caulfield. Interesting.

But, Nathan is right, she thinks as she fixes and gives improvements on her drone.

That's not Scott business.