*~* The Man Who Can't Be Moved *~*
A/N: This story is inspired by the song of the same title by The Script. It's set in Season Six. If you'd like to listen along to the song as you read, there's a link on our profile.
Usual disclaimer applies: we do not own the Dawson's Creek characters or the lyrics to the song. Just borrowing them for a moment in time…
Going back to the corner where I first saw you,
Letting out a deep breath, the released air visible due to the cold temperature, he took a step back to inspect his work. Not great, he mused while chewing on the inside of his bottom lip, but it would do. For now.
It had to. 'Cause he wasn't going anywhere.
Gonna camp in my sleeping bag I'm not gonna move,
The tiny beat up tent leaned to one side; it leaked through the floor from the numerous holes where the moths had taken their fill, and it was in desperate need of an airing out. Oh, and this was the third time it had collapsed in as many hours requiring him to rebuild. But the point was the thing was up and it was staying up this time if he had anything to say about it.
And if it didn't? Well, he was a patient man. One who had a lot of experience of rebuilding.
He blew sharply into his hands, rubbing his palms together to ward off the evening chill, and sank down onto the sleeping bag he'd rolled out on the grass beside the tent. After a brief look up at the first of the evening's stars, coming out to say hello under the watch of the full moon, he reached for the cooler and took out a Budweiser. With a delft flick of his wrist he cracked it open, raised it up in cheers to the stars, and took slow sips. Arms resting upon his knees he kept his eyes gazing on the heavens above. This time of night the town center was empty, everyone safely at home. No traffic, no movement, nothing. Just silence.
Add water, a boat, a summer, and he'd be right back in time to almost three years ago.
Oh, and add a certain girl, of course. Nope, couldn't forget about her.
These days it seemed she was always the elusive missing ingredient. At times, trying to keep her in his life the way that he so desperately wanted her, felt like trying to hold onto water. Just like when he was a child and dipped both his hands into the ocean, made a cup shape, and lifted them; the water always found a way to escape, to slip through the cracks between his fingers. Cracks that he desperately tried to keep sealed, but couldn't. No matter how hard or tight he kept his fingers laced together; no matter how safe he made the shelter or how steady he held his hands.
Because some cracks are so small you don't even know they are there.
Plus water is a stubborn thing, you see, and if it wanted a way out it would find it. Slowly but surely. It could even create that escape if it needed to. It could freeze, and as it froze and expanded, it could physically push your hands away.
Just like her.
But she was still the key ingredient; the one that made his heart want to beat, made him feel that there was a point to… everything.
Maybe she could do those things because she reminded him so much of his beloved ocean. She was constantly moving, maybe not always forward – like the tide, with one ebb it retreats with another it flows back to the safety of shore – but she was moving. And, as the ocean could at times, she challenged him to keep afloat and stay on his toes - never knowing what to expect. You simply had to pull up your anchor, set your sails, and navigate as best you could, with only the stars and your heart to guide you in your journey. And just like the ocean she had hidden depths and a beauty unmatched in his eyes.
He sighed and took some more leisurely sips, enjoying the burn as the liquid warmed his body from within. It had been a month since the second prom debacle - or was it the third now? He'd lost count. All he knew was he and proms were not a good combination. So, yeah, it was a month after prom number whatever-it-was and two weeks since the Stepatech disaster.
And he was left with nothing.
He'd lost his job and wasn't likely to get a reference, his savings and hocked possessions went to repaying Dawson, and he'd had to move out of the apartment he shared with Jack since they could no longer afford the rent. He was back to living with Doug, chief resident of the trusty old couch. Yeah, it really could be three years ago.
He'd lost literally everything.
Except, that is, his memories and his hope.
Hence, the reason he was here in the dead of night, in the freezing cold, camping in the middle of downtown Capeside, by a wall.
He had nothing left to lose.
He didn't care about suits, fast cars, huge TVs, big paychecks. He never really had. No, he cared about the truth and he wanted answers. Needed them in fact. Because, you see, that key ingredient he mentioned earlier? Well, he didn't quite believe she was being honest with him.
So he was going to wait. He wasn't going to move until he got those answers. No matter how long it took.
Got some words on cardboard got your picture in my hand,
With his free hand, he took out a picture from his back jean pocket and held it out in front of him. The picture had faded slightly with time and the corners were now dog-eared, not that he noticed. He reverently rubbed his thumb over her image.
Saying if you see this girl can you tell her where I am,
Silent, he studied her features, ones at which he knew he would never tire of looking for he could get lost in them forever. He gazed at the worn photo for a long moment before carefully returning the picture to his pocket. Then slowly, he lifted his head and looked up at the stars once more. Into the wind he whispered, barely audible, "I'm waiting. Not going anywhere. You know where to find me."
Some try to hand me money they don't understand,
He almost grinned as he thought back to this morning when he attempted to put up the resisting tent for the first time. He'd certainly drawn a crowd, that's for sure. The talk of Capeside once again. Well, if you're good at something why resist? And he was certainly good at being gossip fodder for this town.
One guy in a suit, cell attached to his ear, passed him by and dropped some money onto his sleeping bag without so much as a backwards glance. Mr. Suit obviously hadn't understood why he was doing this, why he was here, in this particular place.
No, no one understood. They couldn't, could they? No, this was between him and her. She would understand and that's all that mattered.
I'm not...broke I'm just a broken-hearted man,
And he was, a broken-hearted man. Well, actually thinking about his negative balance in his bank account then he was broke, too. He rubbed his chin and shrugged. The latter didn't matter.
No, his sole focus right now was his heart. He was going to try his best to mend the pieces and seal the hidden cracks. So that this time his heart, no their heart, would be waterproof and she could never slip away again. And the only way he knew to start the mending process was to get some answers. From her.
I know it makes no sense, but what else can I do,
He had to try. Just like all those years ago when he'd stood in this exact spot, he wasn't quite prepared to give up yet. Give up on them; give up on his heart. He had to try, didn't he? Otherwise, what the hell was the point to anything?
She had told him she didn't "feel it". Bull. That's right, bull. He wasn't buying that. He knew her, probably better than anyone else in the whole world. She'd felt it; she'd felt it so damned much it terrified the hell out of her. And knowing her, she didn't know how to react to these feelings; so she'd resorted to her old faithful routine.
She'd frozen.
She'd blocked out her emotions and run from them. She'd used the other guy, what's-his-name with the bad hair, to create an escape for herself; a crack to slip through his fingers.
Just like water.
She'd felt it all right. He'd bet his life she had. And that was why he was here in the first place. He was betting it all that she'd come here, to their place.
Like he said, he had nothing left to lose.
So he wasn't moving till she came.
How can I move on when I'm still in love with you...
He couldn't.
Lost in thought, his fingers strummed against the glass of the bottle. It had been a test, he could see that now. He was certain of it. He didn't realize at the time, but that's what it had been. When they'd rehashed their history in his apartment that day and he told her he wasn't going to run out the door if he didn't like her choice this time, she'd tested him on his word. She probably wasn't even aware she was doing it. But for some reason, she had needed to.
Her heart had to issue this test before it could believe him again, believe in them; believe that he wouldn't leave her again without so much as a goodbye at the first road bump.
He couldn't blame her for doing that.
Yet what had he done when she told him she didn't "feel it", how had he reacted? The exact opposite of what he had promised.
He'd panicked, and in hindsight he knew he'd come off too strong when he tried to tell her his feelings. Except he didn't tell her he loved her. Nope. He told her he could love her again. Don't worry he knew he was an idiot for that one. Then the real kicker? He'd run out the damn door before she could even finish her sentence.
He'd run from her.
Sure, he'd come back later for a bittersweet dance to honor a previous promise, but the damage had been done in her eyes, and more importantly in her heart, and as a result his.
Well, he wasn't running anymore.
Cos if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me,
Everything in his life had been stripped away in the past few weeks; all his material possessions gone, no more distractions, just the naked truth left. And after taking stock of the here and now and then reexamining the events of that night, the truth had hit him like a ton of bricks. Knowing what he needed to do to begin to rectify the mess that he'd made, he jumped up from Doug's couch in the middle of his soap - chip crumbs falling haphazardly to the floor - and run straight to his parents' house to find the tent he and Dawson had used to camp when they were children. The tent standing, albeit crooked, next to him now.
That whole evening had been a dance. She was testing out the movements again, taking tentative steps back to them, trying to find their rhythm. But he'd rushed her and she hadn't quite remembered all the steps yet. She was probably still too caught up in a previous prom where the dance had gone so horribly wrong. Frozen mid-step she'd retreated, trying to stop the music with her "don't feel it" line.
Only he was wise to her.
He could still hear their music in his heart and he wasn't going anywhere without another dance. He was planning to collect and have the dance they both deserved, the one he knew they were capable of; the one filled with passion.
This time he would be more patient and let her lead. Let her find her own way.
And, hopefully, he'd be her dancing partner for life.
And your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I can be,
This was why he was here, waiting. For her to find her way back to him.
He wasn't going to fail her next test: the one where he knew she was waiting for him to ask her to stay this time.
His mind awash with memories, he looked over his shoulder. The wall had never been repainted but it had slowly faded with time. If he squinted hard enough he could still make out the teeny, tiny flecks of red paint contrasting against the pure white backdrop.
Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet,
They had many places that were theirs and theirs alone, in this town. A snail trail by the creek, a Wagoneer, a wooden dock, an old dance hall, a "Welcome to Capeside" road sign, a boat strip, a boathouse, a beach house. This may not be the place where it all started, or the place where it all ended. But it was the place of crossroads.
It would be the first place she'd look. Of this, he had no doubt.
And you'd see me waiting for you on the corner of the street.
So I'm not moving...
I'm not moving.
Did he mention he wasn't moving from this spot? Good. 'Cause he wasn't. Nope. He wasn't going anywhere until she came.
He wasn't letting her off the hook till he got some answers.
Policeman says son you can't stay here,
At the sound of a voice clearing, he twisted his body back around and looked into the eyes of the person standing over him.
"Dougie," he tipped his bottle in acknowledgement, stretched over to the cooler and handed his brother a cold one. "Lovely night for it, isn't it?"
Doug ignored the proffered beer. "How long are you gonna keep this up, Pacey? You know you can't stay here."
I said there's someone I'm waiting for if it's a day, a month, a year,
Pacey placed the unopened beer back in the cooler and brought his knees up till they touched his chest. "It hasn't even been a day yet. Ya missing me already?" He teased.
Doug's eyes scanned the tent and the other objects Pacey had laid out around it. "I've had complaints from the shop owners across the street. You're upsetting their customers and disturbing business. You need to leave, Pacey. Now."
Gotta stand my ground even if it rains or snows,
"Disturbing?" Pacey said with a laugh, his voice cracking. "In what way? It's not like I'm making a lot of noise here, got an open fire, or lying out naked." He waggled his eyebrows and raised a finger. "Although I'm pretty sure Mrs. Kennedy from above the grocery store would love to see me in my birthday suit. I've seen her, peeking out of her windows, binoculars aimed right at me." He grinned, "Hey, maybe I should be the one making a complaint."
"Be serious, Pacey."
"Why should I when you're serious enough for the both of us?" He murmured with a sigh. "Look, what have you got against camping for crying out loud? I'm in a public place."
Cutting his older brother off just as he was about to reprimand him again, Pacey fixed his eyes on Doug's, his voice calm and meaningful. "You want serious? Fine. Try this out for size. I'm. Not. Moving." Then he smiled and lightened his tone, "Besides, it feels like it could snow later. And there's no way I'm missing that; you know how much I like to watch the first snowfall."
Doug glared at him. "Are you drunk, Pacey? Is that what this is all about?"
With a weary roll of his eyes he said slowly, "No, Doug, I'm not drunk." He jiggled his bottle. "First one."
Doug raised his arms. "Then why? Why are you doing this?"
If she changes her mind this is the first place she will go.
Pacey's eyes burnt into Doug's. "You know why," he said very quietly. "You know."
So I'm not moving...
Doug sighed and dropped his arms to his side. "Does she know you're here? Did you ask her to come?"
No, he hadn't. Because she once said he wouldn't have to ask. And he was holding her to that.
I'm not moving.
When he didn't answer him, Doug's voice took a gentler tone, "How do you even know she's coming, Pacey?"
He looked up at the stars once again, searching for a face he knew he'd always find there. "Because." Pacey's voice turned rough, full of emotion. "I feel it."
I'm not moving...
I'm not moving.
Doug sighed once more. When it was obvious his little brother wasn't going anywhere, he turned and headed back to his patrol car. He ducked into the passenger window, pulled out the thick blanket resting on the seat, and then returned to where Pacey sat on his sleeping bag.
"Here." He held out the blanket. "You'll need this."
"Thanks." Pacey accepted it with his free hand and placed it beside him.
Doug looked at the tent once more. "It's crooked."
"Like you're the authority on whether things are straight," Pacey retorted mischievously.
The corner of Doug's mouth turned up slightly and he shook his head. "Well… I should go. I'm on the night shift; maybe I'll stop by later…"
Pacey simply nodded and watched in silence as his brother went back to his car and drove off into the dark.
People talk about the guy,
Who's waiting on a girl...
Oohoohwoo
He didn't care that he was the talk of the town.
There are no holes in his shoe,
But a big hole in his world...
Hmmmm
and maybe I'll get famous as man who can't be moved,
And maybe you won't mean to but you'll see me on the news,
No, let them talk. He'd keep waiting. For as long as it took.
After finishing off his beer, he shifted round to place the empty bottle in the cooler in lieu of having a suitable garbage container. He really should have brought a book or something to read. But then again reading under the stars didn't have the same appeal without a reading partner.
He was happy to lay here and look up at the stars all night long. It was something he hadn't done in a long while. Even if you couldn't see them that well in the city.
And it was a beautiful night for it, there was no denying that.
Pulling the collar of his leather jacket tight to his neck, he reclined so he was laying all the way back on the sleeping bag. Crossing his legs at his ankles, he let his body relax and hooked his arms behind his head. Yeah, it was a beautiful night.
And you'll come running to the corner...
Cos you'll know it's just for you,
He felt a presence long before he heard the crunch of grass and deep, heavy breaths - the sound of a person recovering from recently running hard - signaling the arrival of someone standing by his side; but he didn't bother to look over.
I'm the man who can't be moved,
I'm the man who can't be moved...
He didn't need to. He knew who it was.
So I'm not moving...
I'm not moving.
He let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding in for the past month. And with it, his heart started to beat once again.
Cue mending of broken heart piece number one.
"It's about damn time, Potter." He finally turned his head to look at her and locked his smiling blue orbs with her brown ones. "What took you so long?"
She looked tired, as if these past few weeks had taken their toll on her, too. But with her cheeks flushed from the effort of her running she also looked how he felt inside.
Alive. And very, very happy to be so.
Cue mending of broken heart piece number two.
Removing one hand from under his head, he held it out for her to take and helped her lie down next to him; certain she felt the jolt at their touch just like he had. As she settled and got comfortable on the sleeping bag they now shared, he took the blanket Doug had left and covered them both up.
"Would you believe, traffic?" She offered up as an excuse, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Judging by the way she was holding him, she wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. Which was a good thing as neither was he.
Cue mending of broken heart piece number three.
He smirked, his playful eyes matching the look of hers. "This time of night? Nah, I wouldn't. Try again."
"Hmmm…" She tilted her chin and creased her brows, pretending to think. "The car kept stalling?"
"That excuse may have worked in the past, sweetheart, but I'm not buying it this time. No matter how bad your driving may be."
She dropped the lighthearted banter and turned serious. "I got lost." Her eyes searched his. "I think I… I think I needed to feel my way back," she whispered.
He tucked her even further into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. "You think or you know?"
She pulled back ever so slightly so she could see his face and beamed at his use of words from their past. The gleam in her eyes said it all: they were moist with happy tears, confident and sure. She wasn't holding anything back. There was no fear in her, no doubt. Just complete and utter love, leaving no room for anything else. It was a look he hadn't seen in a very long time. The one he'd been waiting for.
Cue mending of broken heart piece number four; he was whole again.
Even though her eyes had told him everything he needed to know, she voiced it anyway. "I know," she confirmed, her voice both strong and intimate.
He grinned as well before asking a question to which he already knew the answer. "So…? Did you?"
As her way of replying she lifted her lips to his with a tentative touch as if, like him, she wasn't sure if this was a dream or reality. But the moment he felt her warmth, tasted her unique flavor, he knew it was real. Having her here in his arms, in this moment, after their long and ever so bumpy journey to get here – nah, he would never have been able to conjure up a dream as good as this.
She was back. Which meant so was he.
As he promised himself he would, he let her lead the dance.
She grew more confident with each caress, bringing her arms up to his hair and tunneling her fingers through his curls. He mimicked her movement, bringing his own hands up to her silky locks and massaged the chocolate strands. Once again he was utterly lost in her – her sweet taste, her scent, the heat radiating from her body under her thick red coat.
She whimpered a little as she opened her mouth to him, responding with unbound passion as the kiss grew more heated and deeper; soon it turned into another endless kiss, then another, their tongues slow dancing together.
It wasn't long before the rest of their bodies wanted to join in the dance, too.
He groaned with pleasure when she rolled on top of him and locked her hips in place with his, never losing contact with his mouth. They kept the kiss liquid as their clothed bodies rocked in motion as their hunger grew.
This was a dance that didn't need any music, only the beat of their hearts to keep them in time. It was their dance. A dance he thought she'd forgotten, lost at the bottom of the ocean, but she'd let herself remember.
After what felt like hours, she slowly pulled back from their kiss, panting, her full lips bruised. He knew he had the exact same look of desire as she did, but he also knew not to rush anything, wary of Potter's skittish kitten tendencies.
With her next words it seemed they were on the same page.
Cue the creation of one waterproof heart.
"I want to, Pace, I really do. You have no idea how much I want you right now," she started, gazing down at him, her voice a groan of need. He shifted his hips; he was pretty sure he did know and would concur with that emotion whole-heartedly.
She smiled sexily as she felt him hard beneath her, then bit her lip. "But can we take things… slow?" She rushed to add, "I'm not talking nine months or anything here, don't get me wrong." She took a breath, "I just don't want to mess things up," she smirked, "yet again."
Eyes wide she tried to explain. "I... I know I'm incredibly lucky to be given yet another second chance. I want us… I think we, well I, need to take my time, ya know?" She studied his face. "But it's not because I'm unsure of anything. It's because I'm so sure, if that makes any sense. I'm determined that nothing will get in the way this time."
He could feel the tips of her fingers on his skin as she traced the back of his neck just below his hairline. "You asked me once if I'd sail with you again one day." Her voice trembled slightly with emotion. "There was a moment there when I didn't think we'd make it."
A flicker of pain passed unspoken between them at that thought and she immediately lightened the mood. "I know it won't be smooth sailing. I mean, this is you and me we're talking about." She chuckled, as did he. "But I do want to sail, whether it's stormy seas or calm. Only I want us to have the best chance. And for me that means, go slow."
Joey looked him dead in the eye. "But I'm on board, Pace; I'm in one hundred percent."
She lovingly brushed his curls from his forehead. "Before, at the Milton prom, you said that you could see this being it for you." She was quiet a long moment but, knowing she still had more to say, he let her gather her thoughts without interruption.
She dropped her eyes briefly then resumed her steady look into his. "I wasn't ready then, ready to feel it all again. Feel us. But this time?" She pulled him close to emphasize her next words. "This time, it's it for me, too." She grinned, her doe eyes sparkling, "You're stuck with me, Witter."
Pacey released a contented sigh. "Stuck with you, huh? Damn." He stroked her ass through her jeans and then pinched her lightly. "I can't trade you in for a newer model in say ten years?"
She rolled her eyes but smiled, shaking her head.
"Fifteen?"
That won him another roll of her eyes.
"Okay, okay. Twenty then."
He felt a sharp tug as she pinched his earlobes. "Nope. Sorry, Pace. We're a lifetime deal."
"Hmm. Lifetime deal, eh?" His raised one brow over a twinkling eye. "One might even say, a fixed point?"
"Why, yes," she said with a knowing smile. "That, too."
He leaned up and kissed her on the nose. "Good. I wouldn't have it any other way." He looked deeply into her eyes, much like she had earlier, the stars behind framing her face. "Of course we can take it slow. I want that, too, Jo. It's not a race." His thumb swept across her cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."
I'm not moving...
I'm not moving.
"We've found our way back. That's the most important thing. The rest…" He shrugged easily. "…the rest will happen when we're both ready."
He paused and when he spoke again his voice had dropped to a husky timbre, "You're always worth the wait."
She gave him a relieved look and sighed happily. "Hey, let's not keep our relationship to ourselves this time, okay? I want everyone to know."
"Shout it from the rooftops kinda thing?" He raised an eyebrow and she nodded with a wide smile. "Well, that's a good thing, Potter, seeing as we are currently groping in the middle of Capeside on a sleeping bag for everyone and their uncle to see. It will be all over town in no time. Trust me." He tickled her, causing her to laugh.
Adjusting his head a little so he could see better, he looked behind her. "And judging by the way those curtains are twitching across the street, no doubt Mrs. Kennedy is thinking she's won the lottery right about now and is finally going to see me in all my glory. So it's a good thing we agreed to take things slow." He gave her his best fake-serious look. "We both know how jealous you can get, Josephine, and how you don't like to share."
She pushed him playfully on the shoulder. "In your dreams, sweetheart."
"I'm serious! Mrs. Kennedy has the hots for me. Just ask Doug," he chuckled as she now pinched his arm. "Hey, ow! I'm only thinking of you, Potter. I don't want Doug to arrest us when you go after poor Mrs. Kennedy for taking a peek. Because really - who can blame her for wanting to see this ass-" She slapped him. "Ow! And then I'll have to separate you two and explain this violent, although totally understandable, reaction you have when other women look at me. 'Cause really, Jo?" He frowned. "To be honest, it's starting to get damn embarrassing." Another slap. "Ouch! And it's not like we have any cream or milk handy for you to spill on her clothes to disguise your true emotions," he shook his head and pursed his lips regrettably, "only beer in the cooler. And that could stain."
Still lying on top of him, she continued to pummel any undefended areas on his body while he simultaneously carried on talking and dodged her playful throws. "Okay, okay, jealous tendencies aside, it's freezing out here and I wouldn't want to be responsible for you catching a cold now, would I? So you need to keep those clothes on, missy. Otherwise, Bessie will finally make good on the all those threats to kill me. And I'd miss her cooking too much." He gave a wistful look. "She's almost as good as you, sweetheart. She's got that burning toast thing you do down to a tee. Ya know, seeing how burning buildings runs in the family, it's a wonder you two haven't burnt the B&B down by now." He grinned up at her, "Thank God for Bodie."
Her eyes grew huge and her jaw dropped in mock disbelief at his last dig. Then she laughed, a real laugh, one from the bottom of her heart. She twisted round so they were once again lying next to each other under the blanket of stars. She rested her head on his shoulder and huddled close. "This is much better than camping in a K-Mart, isn't it?"
His eyes scanned the sky before returning to her face, his voice soft, "Yeah, it most certainly is."
"Even if it is colder now than it was then," she pouted. He rubbed his hands over her arms and she tucked the blanket tighter around them.
"But we do have a full moon, do we not? And giant stars," he tipped his chin toward the sky.
"True, we do," she granted. "But no fire."
"Oh, I disagree. I'd say we do have a fire." Pacey used his thumb to tilt up her chin and locked eyes with her so she understood his meaning. "Every time you're within 25 feet of me." Then he quipped, "As for camp fires, somehow I don't think Deputy Dougie would turn a blind eye to that on his watch."
She kissed his nose, the warmth of her lips heating his skin. "Promise me next time we camp we go somewhere less public, Pace."
"I see where you're going with this. You want us to carry out the other part to your fantasy, have us remove all our clothing, yes? There you go again, Potter, trying to get in my pants. Nuh, uh, uh…" He wagged his finger at her. "We agreed. Slow." He raised one eyebrow, "Do I need to bring up Mrs. Kennedy again? 'Cause I will, Jo, I'll do it. Don't think I won't."
She grinned, her full tooth grin and poked her tongue between her teeth. "Hence, the reason for going somewhere private, far away from prying eyes."
"I promise," he said softly. "One private white sand beach fantasy with all the extras coming up."
They stared into each other's eyes for a long time simply taking each other in and living in the moment. After a while she spoke. "I missed you, Pace. So, so much."
"Yeah, I second that emotion," he whispered back and touched his forehead to hers.
After another long moment she spoke again. "How did you know?"
He knew what she was asking - how did he know she'd come here tonight.
He dropped his voice to a low rumble and ran his thumb over her jaw line. "The same way you knew I'd be waiting here for you."
They had both felt it this time.
She rubbed her palm over his heart. "I'm sorry, Pacey. I'm sorry for what I said the night of the Milton prom. For saying I didn't fe-"
He interrupted her by gently placing his fingers over her lips. "No apologies, Jo, it's okay."
Speaking through his fingers she tried again, "But I need to expl-"
"Not necessary," he placed his own palm over hers and laced their fingers so they both rested over his heart as one. "I know."
He had thought he needed answers from her. But actions speak louder than words. That look in her eyes earlier had dissolved all questions he had. He understood why she'd said what she had at the Milton prom. She'd been running scared. But she wasn't running anymore. She wasn't hiding. As far as he was concerned that night was in the past.
He was always more interested in looking into their future.
After a heartbeat he added, "The way I see it, we both said things we didn't mean at a prom. Let's call it a wash."
"So, a clean slate then?"
"More like a fresh start." A waterproof, crack-free, tightly sealed one.
Her face lit up, her eyes shining, before she leaned close. As her lips brushed against his she breathed, "Love you, Pace."
He returned the kiss, tugging her bottom lip as they pulled apart. "Love you, too, Jo. Never stopped." He traced her face with a smile. "How could I?" Then he claimed another kiss, this one his trademark noisy "mwah" one as he peppered her face.
Joey laughed, pulling back for air. "You know what?" Her eyes danced, "I like this chapter." A beat. "It has great possibilities."
He grinned, "That it does, Potter, that it does."
Just as they were about to reach for each other again, the noise of metal poles and heavy material crashing against each other to the ground made them both sit up.
The damn tent had fallen down. Again.
Pacey shook his head and dragged his hand through his hair as he laughed. Joey looked at him and couldn't help but laugh, too. "Should we put it up again?" she queried.
That would make the fourth time. Fourth time, he considered to himself. What was it with this girl that made him like the number four so much? "Lucky number four," he said quietly as he scanned her face.
She gave him a curious look when instead of going to put the tent back up he pulled them back down to the ground and tucked her into his embrace.
"Nah. The tent smells," He moved his face close to her. "It leaks," Closer still. "It's just bound to fall down again," He pulled her tight, "and well… can't see the stars from inside." He cupped her face with a warm, solid hold - mimicking the shape of all those years ago when he dipped his hands and cupped the ocean water – and searched her eyes.
He wasn't worried anymore about her slipping away.
"I've got a better idea," he suggested and moved his mouth close enough that his warm breath danced across her face.
Eyes boring into hers, he voiced the word she'd been waiting to hear. "Stay." Just before he captured her lips with his, he whispered, "Right here."
I'm not moving...
I'm not moving.
And, once again, they were dancing.
THE END