Summary: Drue and Jen are both in their first year of college. Each is living in Boston, but have remained out of touch since an encounter that took place right before Drue left Capeside. Basically, it is a version of S5 that we were never allowed to have because Drue was MIA after S4.

Note: I don't own anything. The places, the characters...none of it. It all belongs to Warner Bros and a bunch of guys who failed to see the true potential when it was slapping them in the face.

Revisionist History

Chapter 1: Intrusion

Her laughter, perfectly quiet, drew him to her in the most literal sense. Before he could be stopped, his arm was outstretched and his fingers were twisting loose strands behind her ear. The sound coming from her tapered off into something unsure; when her eyes met with his, a jagged inhalation was all she could manage. He leaned in, tracing the line of her jaw, his fingers coming to rest just below her chin, and brushed his lips against the hollow just below her ear.

She tried to move, to mount some kind of protestation, but her limbs would not cooperate, being as confused and unclear as her thoughts.

His lips fell upon the path his fingers had, his mouth moving down her cheek and across her chin. His need, his desire, for her was obvious. The way his mouth moved against hers, a strange rhythm urging her enthusiastic response, was desperate. He would never say it, but she already knew - there was nothing he wanted more than her.

He pulled away, breaking their kiss. A longing, and seemingly confused, stare sat heavily in the space between them. What would he do? Or should it be she who makes the next move? The questions were overwhelming, the product of a newer Jen, not the Jen he had known in a lifetime that was non-existent to Capeside. Whether he could read the apprehension in her silence, her petrified state, she did not know. The way he stroked her arm, sending a shiver vibrating through their collective skin, frenzied the indecisiveness of her insides.

Almost in a lunge, her mouth was hard against his. Being almost a foot taller, he grabbed her around her midsection, lifting her from the floor. Her legs wove around his waist, pulling his body against hers. She could feel his arousal through his clothes and her own as he eased her back against a piece of low-standing furniture. Her own was less obvious to him but she could feel an ache, tight and burning, pulsing between her legs. Her body was pleading to be touched in a way that only he seemed to know at the moment.

The heat of his breath on her throat was intoxicating, and each touch - by lips, by tongue, by rough fingertips - bordered on excruciating.

She made little work of his clothes, pulling and tugging until his body was bare but partially hidden by the darkness of the room. For a shred of a moment, he stopped. There was doubt etched across his face. He was unsure for the first time.

She could not help but smile at his nervousness.

Her small hands stretched out, over his, and together they guided her top over her head. His hand fell back down, first across her collarbone then over the soft, pale skin of her breast. He brushed her taut nipple with his thumb and her hips, barely resting against the cold foundation of the dresser, bucked against his. He kept his hand moving, under the band of her pants, and over the skin of her thigh. Holding her up, as she gripped the edge to balance her weight, he pulled the material free of her body.

Again, he was momentarily still, drinking in a sight of her that he had only dared dream of before now. Despite her experience, Jen blushed slightly. No one had ever looked at her, appreciating the beauty of her form, the way he was.

It had all been so sporadic, unexpected, that the feelings were a blur, smudges on an otherwise unblemished canvas of perfection. At the time, they seemed insignificant. The movement of his body against hers, the touch of heat against already hot flesh. The sound of her name rolling off his lips as he moved inside of her, each movement more deeply than before. Drue filling her completely, pushing her to the brink and over like no one ever had. What else in the world could matter more than the ecstasy of shared climax. Nothing, not even love, could compare to that.

Suddenly, her eyes were open and she was back in her Grams's living room, curled up in her favorite window seat, her head resting against the cool glass. She was back in Boston. Capeside, and all that happened there, seemed merely a figment of her imagination. Having it play back slowly in her mind, Jen felt like a third party, an intruder; everything she remembered felt as unreal as it had then. The sensations coursing through her - strange arousal, confusion - still as perplexing as was the situation's outcome. She had not seen or heard from him since that night. Even though he was supposed to be living somewhere close, she felt like hundreds of miles separated them as they once had. He may as well have lived next door to Dawson, on the opposite side of the country, for all she saw him.

Questions flooded her thoughts in a rampage, stirring her from a bizarrely, inverted position. Crossing the living room in several exaggerated bounds, she began snapping open cupboard doors and rummaging through their contents.

"Uhm…Jen?" came a male voice. Even with her head buried in the cabinet, she did not have to look up to see that it was Jack standing behind her.

"I'm looking for a phone book," she practically shouted to ensure he could hear her.

"Okay….why?"

"I hear it is a great resource when in pursuit of an individual's phone number. Too, if I cannot find that individual phone number, I can call around to the different schools in the area to find out how I go about getting campus directories."

"Who would warrant that kind of search effort? Especially in this city."

She pulled her head out of the darkness and sat quietly in the middle of the floor, wondering whether or not she could tell Jack without him having a bewildered or, worse, judgemental reaction. He was her best friend, surely, and as such his support for her was certain. Still, history could not be rewritten, feelings could not be changed. The way Jack felt about Jen would not trump the animosity he held towards the one she pursued for the events of the past, no matter how indirect his involvement was.

Her lips began to shape words - Drue Valentine - but all she could manage to say was, "An old friend."