Disclaimer: I don't own Alex, Paige, or any characters in the Degrassi universe. If I did, they might be better written. Or not. Probably not.

A/N: Ok, so this is my attempt at a PAlex reconciliation story. Takes places about six months after the debacle of 'Love Is A Battlefield'.

Dedicated to the jackass writers and producers who broke continuity, and the hearts of countless fans, by disposing of the lovely entity that is / was PAlex in such a blasé, off-handed way. I mean, do you people even watch your own show?

Feel free to review. I do read them. But, in the end, what matters most is whether I like it. And I never like it.

The Fly sez: bzzzz.

"Oh, ok. Well, thank you, anyway. Yes, I understand. No, no problem. Ok, well, please keep me in mind if anything opens up. Yes, ok. Right. Have a nice day." Paige Michalchuk closes her flip phone with a sigh. She stands in the middle of the sidewalk, barely conscious of the foot traffic of downtown Toronto parting and recombining around her. Another no. Third one today. What are these fashion houses looking for, anyway? Apparently not her. A tarnished golden girl, a college drop out whose entire fashion resume consists of one short internship.

She replays the conversation in her mind, for the hundredth time.

"I'm sorry, Paige," she mimics AHN-dre-ya's affected inflection. "But frankly, darling, you haven't shown me anything that would make me want to keep you on here. I'm just not sure you're meant for fashion."

Not meant for fashion. Paige has to admit, that hurt. She is starting to wonder what she was meant for. Certainly not college. And now, not her fallback position, either. As for "showing" AHN-dre-ya something, she had been at the, ahem, lady's beck and call, 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for almost four months. Running errands, taking phone calls, steaming clothes, picking up her dry cleaning, taking her nasty little heel-nipper to the groomers. Just what more was she supposed to do to "show" her something? The job had cost her everything, including her girlfriend. Wasn't that enough?

For just the blink of an eye, Paige almost lets herself think about her. Alex. Just the name brings an immediate twinge of guilt, like a charlie horse in her heart. Paige closes her eyes and pushes the thought out of her head. Not today. She can't handle that, too. Not on top of the disappointment, the fear, the doubt. She has no job. She's surviving off "loans" from her parents, loans that she has no way of repaying, and maybe never will. She's still living with Marco and Ellie, silent witnesses to her decline.

This is what her perfect, planned life has become. Full scholarship to Banting, the "Harvard of the North", just like she'd always wanted. Burned up in the fire, along with her dorm room, along with her dreams. Now, she can't even find work as a gofer for some pretentious fashionista. And Alex… Damn it, no. Not that. Not now.

Then it happens. Her chest constricts. Her vision blurs. She can't breathe. The walls of the buildings start to wobble, leaning down, closing in on her from all sides. Her head spins. No, no, no. Not here, she pleads with it, silently. Not in the middle of the street. But the panic attack doesn't care, doesn't listen. They never do. Her desperation just increases the intensity.

Paige stumbles toward the nearest building, all but falls against it, stretching out a hand to catch herself on the rough concrete. She presses her back to the wall, for support. She closes her eyes, rubs her hands over her temples, and tries, with the last ounce of control in her panicked mind, to concentrate on slowing her breathing. She shuts out the noise, the intrusive presence of other people, people she's sure are staring as they pass. Nothing but her shallow breaths. She sucks at the air, trying to fill her deflated lungs. In. Out. In. Out. Fighting for rhythm. Fighting for life.

A short eternity later, her vision returns. Her breathing slows. Her heart stops imitating a jackhammer. She comes back to herself. She leans against the wall, feeling the remnants of the attack ebb out of her body. She looks up, notices a middle-aged man staring at her, with something that might or might not be concern. She offers him a smile, still one of her best assets. His eyes slowly move away.

She stands there, exhausted, building up the energy to thread her way back into the crowd. She needs to go home. There is nothing more she can do today.

As she sets off towards the bus stop, she sees her. Maybe twenty feet away, on the same side of the street. Tall figure; long, black hair cascading down her back. Long, black coat, unbuttoned against the unseasonable November warmth. Grey scarf trailing to her knees, flying around them with each step. Gliding through the crowd, with long, graceful strides, full of purpose.

Paige knows it can't really be her. What would she be doing here? But there aren't many people who look like her. Or walk like her. She knows it's not possible. But the familiarity of this person, this woman she knows almost better than herself, is undeniable. It can't be anyone else.

"Alex?" she calls over the crowd. "Alex!"

The woman doesn't react. Maybe she doesn't hear. Before she realizes what she's doing, Paige begins to trail her, slaloming between the loose waves of people cresting over the sidewalk.

"Alex!" she calls again, trying to catch up, beginning to fall behind. "Hey, Alex!"

Still no reaction. Paige is panting with the effort to keep up, reminding her just how out of shape she actually is. The woman is starting to pull away, further and further, disappearing into the crowd until Paige catches only disjointed glimpses, flashes of hair, coat, scarf, boots.

Then, some luck. The moving crowd falls out of synch with the traffic lights. The waves of humanity bunch up at a curb, waiting for the little green "Go" hand. The woman who might be Alex butts up against them, stops. Seeing her chance, Paige sprints, as best she can, dodging people as she goes, and finally closes the gap. She reaches out a hand, touches the woman's shoulder, causing her to turn around, quickly.

Deep brown eyes meet Paige's. A flash of recognition. Then, nothing.

"Alex." Paige fights to get her breath back. "Ummm…hi. It is you."

"Hello, Paige." Alex stares at her, coldly. So much for reunions. Still, Paige did not expect more. Their last parting does not lend itself to anything better. At least she's not pretending she doesn't know me, she thinks, ruefully.

"I…umm…didn't know you were in town." Paige puts on her most charming smile, twinkling for all she's worth. Alex used to like it when she smiled. She seems to have gotten over that.

"Well, I am." Alex looks somewhere over Paige's shoulder, disinterested.

"How long?"

Alex shrugs.

"Couple of months."

"Really." Paige keeps smiling. It's all she can think of to stave off this crushing hostility.

"That's great. What're you, ummm…doing with yourself, these days?"

"I'm going to school. Toronto University." Alex's eyes roam the street, avoiding Paige.

"Alex." Paige is genuinely pleased. "That's terrific."

"Sure. Terrific."

Her indifference tears at Paige, shreds her confidence. She refuses to give in.

"Umm," she says, a little uncertainly, staring at the tips of Alex's boots. "I'm thinking we should… you know, go somewhere…"

"What for?" Alex asks, coldly.

"Umm, you know…" This is not going well.

"To catch up? Or maybe talk about old times?" Alex's voice drips acid onto the pavement, eating holes in Paige's heart.

"Alex…" she says, softly.

"Sure. Why not? We have some great old times to talk about, don't we? Hey, Paige. Do you remember that time when you threw me out of your apartment? I sure do."

"Alex." Paige tries again. She even raises her eyes this time. She finds nothing but a hard, icy stare. She drops them again.

"What, you don't remember that one?"

"Alex, please don't be like this." Paige pleads, gently. Alex exhales sharply.

"I have nothing more to say to you, Paige." she says, with finality.

The light changes. The little green hand says it's safe to cross. Alex turns around and walks away, without a second look.

"Alex," Paige calls to her receding back. "Come on."

"Go to hell." Alex doesn't even turn around, just keeps walking. She leaves Paige behind, on the curb, watching her go, teeth digging into her lower lip, reflexively. Paige feels cold, and it has nothing to do with the temperature.