A/N: This story came to me all at once, bam. This is a Dawson fic, and he's prowling around every single woman on the canvas. However it starts out, I promise Andie will be OK - I like her. Dawson I make no promises for, he may end up with some tragic disease. Set in my 'Ever I Loved' Universe but definitely can be read as a standalone. This is what happens after the wedding... As always, the care and feeding of the author with comments is ... um... well, seriously requested. Begged for. Don't make me come over there.
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Andie watched the shadows of the long Los Angeles sunset from the deck. Wrapped in nothing more than a silky white sheet and sipping a cool, expensive Sauvignon blanc.
"Any sushi left?" he asked, dropping a kiss on her bare shoulder.
"Mmmm, a little," Andie sighed.
Dawson picked at the food. Stealing a long swallow of Andie's wine, he watched her through the glass. Handed it back with a long, slow smile.
"What?" she asked, adjusting the makeshift toga with a self-conscious frown.
"I just never realized how…"
She cocked her head and waited.
"…pretty you are. Long hair suits you."
"Thank you," Andie blushed a bit. Looked back at the crimson sunset. "You know, it's only that beautiful because of all the air pollution."
Dawson glanced over his shoulder and then back at her. "I know," he acknowledged. "And they say crime doesn't pay."
Andie laughed and finished the wine. He took the glass from her and carefully placed it on the table. Leaning into Andie's body, his intentions clear.
She took a tiny step back.
He searched her expression; saw they were on different wavelengths. OK, then. Dawson straightened. He wanted to tug her sheet, let it fall. Look at all of her bathed in the buttery sunbeams. Kiss all of her, right here in the open. In the hot California sunset. For a moment he didn't care it was public. Wouldn't care if there were a thousand paparazzi dangling from the decks below and above his. Wouldn't care if the entire freaking Rose Parade was marching by. Andie looked delicious.
She watched Dawson from the corner of her eye. Dawson. The golden guy. Giving her some cheesy lusty stare as though she was near the same league as the women in this city.
Damn, she thought. What was she doing here?
"Uh…10 weeks?" she said, finally.
Dawson started, confused.
"Gretchen," Andie reminded him. "You said it's been 10 weeks since you talked? What happened?"
"I don't know," he exhaled in frustration. "We didn't argue or anything. She just left me a message saying she needed space and would call me when she was ready. Then… then…" Dawson looked up and frowned. "Wait, why are we talking about this?"
Andie shrugged. "Because it's who you're thinking about. And I'm your friend. At least I think I am."
Dawson was nonplussed. "You don't know?"
She looked up in thought.
"How can you not know?"
"We were in the same circles, but the only person I truly connected with back then outside my family was Pacey. And we all know how that turned out." She breathed the smoggy air. Tightened the sheet around her small body.
"We were close," he said quietly.
She looked at him.
"The summer when Pacey and Joey… well. That summer. You kept me sane. You and Jack and Jen."
"Mostly Jack and Jen."
"Don't underestimate yourself."
"Don't rewrite history on my account. I've spent a lot of time reconciling to my past, there's no need to sugar-"
"I'm not," he interrupted. "Yes, Jen and Jack were great. They did everything short of donning face paint to keep me amused. But you…
"Chased boys and shared beers?"
"No. You were honest. You were a true North. You understood. I'd look over at you, and it was on your face. I don't know what to call it. Grief. You and I, we'd lost our first loves to each other."
"Didn't make us close."
"Gave us a bond."
Andie couldn't argue that point. "It was all such a long, long time ago."
"You think I live in the past."
"I think you make a pretty good living off it," she smiled. Looked pointedly at the condo behind them, the wide deck overlooking the Los Angeles skyline.
"Fine distinction, but I'll take it. Not nearly as noble as doctoring to the sick, of course."
She waved off the compliment. "It's what I have to do. My obsession, if you will. It's not like I sacrificed everything and went to live on a Leper colony."
"Don't do that. Don't make it sound trivial."
She shrugged.
They fell quiet.
Andie readjusted the sheet again but still felt overexposed. Felt awkward. Worse, now. She opened the glass doors and headed back into the cool great room of Dawson's condo and hunted for her clothes.
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I think I should go. It's getting late. Rush hour traffic and all."
"Traffic?" He lifted an eyebrow.
" I think it's time to step back through the looking glass."
"Don't be silly," he smiled. "Stay."
Andie met his eyes. "I don't think so."
"I thought we were having fun here. What's wrong?"
"You don't feel like this is strange? You and me, like this?"
"Unexpected, maybe. But in a good way."
"You're thinking about Gretchen; I'm trying not to think about you thinking about Gretchen."
"I'm not thinking about Gretchen right now, Andie," he promised.
"You're Dawson Leery. Someone I used to know, but that was before you were the next John Huston and all…" she waved her hand around, trying to find the right word. Instead she found her bra and t-shirt and pounced, quickly dressing.
"Not John Huston."
"What?" Found her thong. Pulled it on under the sheet.
"Not John Huston. He was avant-garde, practically founded the eclectic approach. Filmed in sequence and …" he trailed off, watched her pull on the tissue-thin long skirt. Fold the sheet with a snap and drop it on his couch. "Don't go."
"What?" Damn her for carrying such a tiny purse that was easy to lose. It wasn't tucked in the sofa cushions. Not by the front door.
"Don't go. I know this is new territory for us but slow down. Stay. Talk to me, Andie."
The purse was under one of her sandals by the dining room table.
"Andie, you've gone from 0 to 50 here. One minute we're sharing sushi and the next you're leaving a vapor trail to my front door?"
Andie held up hand. "Dawson, this isn't new territory. This is your territory."
"No," Dawson argued. "What's really going on? Please."
She found her other shoe. "I haven't hooked up in a long time," she admitted. "I'm not sure what to say."
"Hooked up?"
"Yeah. And I can't have a lost weekend with you, Dawson. You're not just some guy. You and I are going to be seeing each other at weddings and baptisms and reunions for years to come."
"Why are we talking about lost weekends and reunions? Can't we just be in this moment? Right now?"
"Have you met me?" Andie gave a wry laugh. "I'm Andie McPhee. The one with the issues? This was nice, Dawson. It was. But in about 10 minutes, we're going to go from nice to really complicated. I just think it's best if I leave now so we can get to the part where we start pretending it never happened." She slid her feet into her sandals and pulled the thin strap of her purse over her shoulder.
Dawson began to feel a little angry but was unsure why. Something Andie's expression was muddling him up inside. "We're not teenagers on spring break, Andie. I think we can handle whatever this is. We're grown adults who have known each other half our lives."
Andie looked up and locked eyes with Dawson. "That kind of what makes this worse," she admitted, wincing because her voice was shaking a bit with that frightened, neurotic tone that she'd worked so hard to leave behind.
"Worse?" he was turning into a parrot, echoing her words but not understanding. "Wait, Andie…"
"No," Andie disagreed, her hand already on the doorknob. "I should to go now, please."
He stood, helplessly, as she let herself out. Damn.
He dropped onto a chair, dragging a hand through his hair. Unsure why he was pissed. Normally, casual and quick was exactly what worked in his life.
A few seconds later the phone rang. Dawson grabbed it up with barely a glance at the number. "Andie. Come back…" he started.
"Dawson?"
"Gretchen?" He pulled back and looked at the number again. "Gretchen? Where are you?"
"I'm here. In Los Angeles. The Hyatt downtown. Was that Andie you were talking to?"
"Uh, long story. You're here? Stay where you are, and I'll come get you."
"No, I'll come to you. 10 minutes. If that's OK?"
"Of course," he answered. Then looked around at his condo. The rumpled bed, the plates, the empty bottle of wine. Worst possible timing, he thought to himself. With a groan, he moved quickly to clean up the evidence of the afternoon.
When Gretchen rang from the lobby, Dawson had just jumped out of the world's fastest shower. He barely had time to pull on a pair of faded jeans and shirt before he heard he knock on his door.
"Gretchen," he stepped back, letting her in.
"Dawson," she gave him a ghost of a smile.
She followed him down the hall, and it took him a moment to really see her profile.
"Gretchen?" he cocked his head, wondering if the fog from his hours with Andie, the liquor, and the surprise of seeing Gretchen was all just fucking with him.
But her expression told him different. "Yes, that's what I wanted to talk to you about," she looked him square in the face. Like she was ready for battle.
"You're pregnant?" saying it out loud didn't make the unreality of what he was seeing any different.
"Yes," she repeated, her hand protectively sliding over the gently protruding belly under her maternity top.
"Holy shit!" Dawson rubbed a hand over his mouth, adrenaline kicking in and his head spinning a mile a minute. "Uh, sorry. That isn't the right thing to say. Just, uh, give me a second."
"No, don't worry about it," Gretchen chuckled a little. "That's exactly what I said."
