Title; Grief
Author: Jobelle/Jodie
Email: me@jodie.tv
Summary: The Joey & Dawson the way it should've been during Mitch's wake.
Feedback: Is desperately desired, I may even do a P/J version of this if it's asked for :) So far it seems only the folks in the Buffy section give lots of feedback.
In her minds eye she sees a gangly thirteen year old girl running up, the dock she spies through the window, her long brown hair flowing out behind her like a banner, it has not been cut in almost five years and is just above her waist. It has been five years since her mother gave her the book "Little Women" with the girl Josephine who she was named after and was just like right down to having her very own Laurie whose house was the Palace Beautiful to her in times when her own seemed tiny in comparison. The girl trips at the end of the dock and scrapes her knees on the weather worn boards, her tears blinding her. She is up in a second however and running again, she scales the ladder placed against the side of the house for her especially and is in his room in seconds.
The familiarity of the place soothes her frayed nerves for a second and the tears almost abate, and then she sees him lying on his bed a few feet away staring at her in shock. He does not think he has ever seen her looking this lost or distraught, something he tells her much later on in life.
"Jo?" he starts to question but before the small, two letters, one syllable word is out of his mouth she is there on the bed next to him. Collapsed onto the mattress, her thin shoulders shaking with huge sobs. Worried and confused the poor thirteen year old boy has no clue what to do so he does what seems natural, pulling her into his embrace, holding her against his unformed chest that will be firm with muscle one day but today is just baby fat and ribs that stick out every which way. She does not complain about being poked however, just continues to sob like her heart is breaking and he strokes her back becoming upset himself, not knowing what could possibly have reduced his friend to this state.
"Shh....shh...Jo. It'll be okay." He murmurs into her ear with a voice that has just begun to crack, words that somehow just make her cry harder.
"No, it won't." She sobs brokenly into his shoulder, the grey fabric of his t-shirt long ago soaked with tears. "It's back." She tells him and his blood runs cold.
"The...the..." his throat closes up on him and he is unable to speak, unable to voice that word that seems to hold all the evil in the world in its two syllables.
She knows he knows though and nods against him, her face contorting in new grief as the tears continue to come. She has faced this before, she was eight years old and didn't know what was going on except Mommy was always tired and Bessie and Daddy were always sad and then Mommy had to go to the hospital to get better but she is older now, has done extensive research on the subject, she knows the fact that it is back does not spell good news for the future.
"Oh God, Jo." She hears his voice crack and then his own face is buried in her hair and she feels him shake with his own sobs in sympathy for her. The two of them hold each other all afternoon, long after she has cried herself out, just resting there, playing that old "If I'm here nothing can hurt you." game they used to play during sleep overs when they were six when their biggest worry was the monster hiding under the bed. He lends her his shoulder to lean upon and his strength to draw from and she in turn allows him to help shoulder the burden of this great pain she has and he feels nobler for carrying it with her.
Her memories are interrupted by the door opening behind her, turning she sees him there, he looks like he has lost a tremendous amount of weight in the few days since the loss of his Dad. He stands there pale and haggard, face unshaven so a blond fuzz haloes it, softening the lines etched on it by grief.
"Dawson." she whispers his name around the lump in her throat and he shakes his head.
"No Jo," he halts her forward progress. "Don't. I...I can't..." his words are cut off by the cracking of his voice, reminding her of that same little boy she had run to all those years ago.
"Yes, you can Dawson. Let it go, just let it all go. I promise not to let you go." She whispers echoing his words to her all those years ago, sliding her arms around his lightly muscled torso. He is not burly but neither is he too thin, his is a compact kind of frame although today she can almost feel the ribs poking her arms as she holds him to her. He stands tall and straight in her embrace, back rigid under her fingers that dance soothing patterns up and down his spine, face working hard to speak, or hold back the tears she does not know which.
Finally she feels him go limp against her and she takes his hand, drawing him onto the bed, pulling him into her as the tears he has been fighting so hard against win the battle. She draws his head down to the crook between her neck and shoulder, his nose brushing against the strap of her tank top. They lay in silence for long minutes that feel like hours, down stairs the conversations lulls and rises but they remain quiet until Joey is sure he has finally fallen into the sleep he has been lacking for the past few days, then she felt it, the small hitching of his breath and shaking of his shoulders as the tears came. Starting off small they build until his chest is heaving with huge sobs that leave him breathless and shake his shoulders till he is shivering constantly it feels like.
They have changed, grief has not and she knows that all the 'it's okay's and it'll be all right's' soothe nothing and so she is silent, merely holding him, stroking his hair, his back, rubbing circles along his spine, anywhere she can reach, much as he had done for her all those years ago. Touch is what he is responding to, warm caresses that comfort his aching heart, he has lost an integral part of himself, his greatest role model and idol and she knows what that feels like. How it feels like the world will never be the same, that nothing will ever be good or happy or worth doing ever again.
She is just as saddened by the loss of this man who spent more time being a father to her than her own, who always welcomed her and Pacey as if they were his own children. Pacey she knows is down stairs, doing his best to handle his own grieving and she wishes to comfort him as well but Dawson takes top priority now and even Dawson alone might prove too much, for all her own grief over losing Mitch and the phantom pain of losing her mother are both crashing down on her in a tidal wave of emotion. Closing her eyes against the welling tears she lets her cheek rest on the crown of his head, something she could never do when they were standing, he has gotten so much taller than her now, but one by one they slowly slip out until she is crying almost as hard as he is. They cling to each other desperately in the late afternoon sunlight splashing through his window, as if in fear the other will disappear if the smallest molecule of air is allowed between their two bodies.
Author: Jobelle/Jodie
Email: me@jodie.tv
Summary: The Joey & Dawson the way it should've been during Mitch's wake.
Feedback: Is desperately desired, I may even do a P/J version of this if it's asked for :) So far it seems only the folks in the Buffy section give lots of feedback.
In her minds eye she sees a gangly thirteen year old girl running up, the dock she spies through the window, her long brown hair flowing out behind her like a banner, it has not been cut in almost five years and is just above her waist. It has been five years since her mother gave her the book "Little Women" with the girl Josephine who she was named after and was just like right down to having her very own Laurie whose house was the Palace Beautiful to her in times when her own seemed tiny in comparison. The girl trips at the end of the dock and scrapes her knees on the weather worn boards, her tears blinding her. She is up in a second however and running again, she scales the ladder placed against the side of the house for her especially and is in his room in seconds.
The familiarity of the place soothes her frayed nerves for a second and the tears almost abate, and then she sees him lying on his bed a few feet away staring at her in shock. He does not think he has ever seen her looking this lost or distraught, something he tells her much later on in life.
"Jo?" he starts to question but before the small, two letters, one syllable word is out of his mouth she is there on the bed next to him. Collapsed onto the mattress, her thin shoulders shaking with huge sobs. Worried and confused the poor thirteen year old boy has no clue what to do so he does what seems natural, pulling her into his embrace, holding her against his unformed chest that will be firm with muscle one day but today is just baby fat and ribs that stick out every which way. She does not complain about being poked however, just continues to sob like her heart is breaking and he strokes her back becoming upset himself, not knowing what could possibly have reduced his friend to this state.
"Shh....shh...Jo. It'll be okay." He murmurs into her ear with a voice that has just begun to crack, words that somehow just make her cry harder.
"No, it won't." She sobs brokenly into his shoulder, the grey fabric of his t-shirt long ago soaked with tears. "It's back." She tells him and his blood runs cold.
"The...the..." his throat closes up on him and he is unable to speak, unable to voice that word that seems to hold all the evil in the world in its two syllables.
She knows he knows though and nods against him, her face contorting in new grief as the tears continue to come. She has faced this before, she was eight years old and didn't know what was going on except Mommy was always tired and Bessie and Daddy were always sad and then Mommy had to go to the hospital to get better but she is older now, has done extensive research on the subject, she knows the fact that it is back does not spell good news for the future.
"Oh God, Jo." She hears his voice crack and then his own face is buried in her hair and she feels him shake with his own sobs in sympathy for her. The two of them hold each other all afternoon, long after she has cried herself out, just resting there, playing that old "If I'm here nothing can hurt you." game they used to play during sleep overs when they were six when their biggest worry was the monster hiding under the bed. He lends her his shoulder to lean upon and his strength to draw from and she in turn allows him to help shoulder the burden of this great pain she has and he feels nobler for carrying it with her.
Her memories are interrupted by the door opening behind her, turning she sees him there, he looks like he has lost a tremendous amount of weight in the few days since the loss of his Dad. He stands there pale and haggard, face unshaven so a blond fuzz haloes it, softening the lines etched on it by grief.
"Dawson." she whispers his name around the lump in her throat and he shakes his head.
"No Jo," he halts her forward progress. "Don't. I...I can't..." his words are cut off by the cracking of his voice, reminding her of that same little boy she had run to all those years ago.
"Yes, you can Dawson. Let it go, just let it all go. I promise not to let you go." She whispers echoing his words to her all those years ago, sliding her arms around his lightly muscled torso. He is not burly but neither is he too thin, his is a compact kind of frame although today she can almost feel the ribs poking her arms as she holds him to her. He stands tall and straight in her embrace, back rigid under her fingers that dance soothing patterns up and down his spine, face working hard to speak, or hold back the tears she does not know which.
Finally she feels him go limp against her and she takes his hand, drawing him onto the bed, pulling him into her as the tears he has been fighting so hard against win the battle. She draws his head down to the crook between her neck and shoulder, his nose brushing against the strap of her tank top. They lay in silence for long minutes that feel like hours, down stairs the conversations lulls and rises but they remain quiet until Joey is sure he has finally fallen into the sleep he has been lacking for the past few days, then she felt it, the small hitching of his breath and shaking of his shoulders as the tears came. Starting off small they build until his chest is heaving with huge sobs that leave him breathless and shake his shoulders till he is shivering constantly it feels like.
They have changed, grief has not and she knows that all the 'it's okay's and it'll be all right's' soothe nothing and so she is silent, merely holding him, stroking his hair, his back, rubbing circles along his spine, anywhere she can reach, much as he had done for her all those years ago. Touch is what he is responding to, warm caresses that comfort his aching heart, he has lost an integral part of himself, his greatest role model and idol and she knows what that feels like. How it feels like the world will never be the same, that nothing will ever be good or happy or worth doing ever again.
She is just as saddened by the loss of this man who spent more time being a father to her than her own, who always welcomed her and Pacey as if they were his own children. Pacey she knows is down stairs, doing his best to handle his own grieving and she wishes to comfort him as well but Dawson takes top priority now and even Dawson alone might prove too much, for all her own grief over losing Mitch and the phantom pain of losing her mother are both crashing down on her in a tidal wave of emotion. Closing her eyes against the welling tears she lets her cheek rest on the crown of his head, something she could never do when they were standing, he has gotten so much taller than her now, but one by one they slowly slip out until she is crying almost as hard as he is. They cling to each other desperately in the late afternoon sunlight splashing through his window, as if in fear the other will disappear if the smallest molecule of air is allowed between their two bodies.