Ok, so another new story when I said I was quitting. This story is based on a recurrent dream I have about a boy I went to school with. My dreams were entirely unsexual but sometimes I think we all have a place to make us feel safe. This is M in the end. For the first time there are a few bits of text in this directly from the show. Not just the odd sentence but maybe three in a row, but this is an attempt to weave an alternative telling of the show (it's entirely different) but it works with the show.

Please review - this is a bit different and I'd love feedback. I have tons written but it isn't finished. I think I know how it ends but I have to get there.

Thanks, Tab :-)

p.s. the title is from an awesome Lemonheads song "into your arms." Take a listen!

Chapter One

It was a secret she kept close to her heart, a little thing she did whenever life got tough or she felt out of sorts for whatever reason. She'd deny it wildly if anyone challenged her, even the other person privy to said secret because it wasn't really understandable what she did. It had started around the same time puberty hit, which coincided with her mother's death and her father's incarceration. The first time she must have been twelve. She'd spent the day with Dawson. Her mom was too sick for company and she didn't know where to put herself anyway. Her own home had a deadly hush to it, her father was who knew where and her mother lay in that bed too riddled by the disease slowly killing her to acknowledge Joey anymore. Bessie was the one that sent her out, sent her away and she went to the only place she knew she was always welcome, Dawson's.

Dawson had been sweet. He was always sweet. They'd talk about things and he'd smile at her in that special way that made her feel just a little bit better and then he'd distract her. They'd watch a movie, or make a movie, or do something that was nothing to do with absent fathers, dying mothers or overwrought big sisters. It started to get dark and though Dawson said she could stay Joey was worried her mom might not be alive in the morning. She didn't say that to Dawson because to admit it out loud might make it come true and she was using every superstition she'd ever heard of or devised herself to try and keep her mother breathing. And so she left Dawson's as the sun slunk lower in the sky and headed for her boat. She was a little surprised to see Pacey sat at the end of the dock apparently waiting for her.

'Hi,' he had smiled, surprisingly normal and not antagonistic.

'What do you want?' she'd been immediately suspicious because she and Pacey didn't do normal - they did barbed, mean and feisty. If she said something was black, he called it white.

'I was waiting for you,' he shrugged a little uneasily and her suspicion grew.

'Look I'm sure you think it would be really funny to push me in the creek, make fun of my hair or whatever but please can you cut me some slack,' she scowled dropping to the dock beside him.

'I wasn't planning to do any of those things and besides your hair looks nice today,' he gave her a small smile,

'Whatever,' she muttered.

'How's your mom?'

'Don't ask,' she looked away from him and across the creek watching the last of the early fall sunshine glint off the water like a million crystals. The sight blurred, looking at as she was through the sheen of unshed tears.

'I need to tell you something,' his hands gripped the edge of the dock and she looked at him despite the tears that still clung to her eye lashes.

'What?' blunt as ever.

'I heard my dad talking.'

'About?' she could feel the panic starting right in the middle of her stomach, a sick feeling of impending doom, of it all falling apart, her life being cast into a chaos and landing where it may.

'About your dad,' he admitted and the tears that were already barely clinging on spilled over, her teeth biting down on her bottom lip in a vain attempt to stem the tears, to control her emotions in front of Pacey of all people. She tried to ask for more but the words wouldn't come so she ended up just nodding, nodding because she knew even if he hadn't said it, nodding because she was glad to have been warned. A useless bob of her head that gave affirmation to the whole sorry business. 'Joey,' he'd only said her name but it was enough and she found herself leaning up against him, his arm wrapping around her as he hugged her tight and close. No one hugged her these days. Not her mother who was too sick, certainly not her father who was never home. Bessie was her big sister and she certainly didn't hug her. Dawson, he was a talker, not a hugger, so as Joey allowed Pacey to hold her it occurred to her that she couldn't remember the last time anyone had held her, not close and tight like this, like they could carry her and her problems. It was ludicrous in a way because Pacey was just a nerdy, skinny twelve year old - she was taller than him by quite a bit - it was unlikely he could carry her anywhere, but with his arm tight around her she felt the burdens lift for just a moment. At length she sniffed and shuffled down the dock away from him, glaring at him with every bit of venom she could muster,

'I won't tell, I won't,' he rushed to say holding up his hands in defence and she nodded before dropping into her row boat. She'd reached the middle of the creek before she called back to him,

'Thank you.'

The next day Pacey loitered around her house like a bad smell. She knew why and so she kept her mouth shut and grudgingly made him a sandwich at lunch time. They didn't really talk or even acknowledge each other, but after his dad turned up in his cop car, lights flashing with back-up and handcuffs at the ready, after his dad had arrested hers and shoved him a little too forcefully into the back of the cruiser, well Pacey had somehow been in the right place. His arms opened up and she flopped down on the ground beside him and into them, into the tight embrace that seemed to squeeze the sadness out of her, or at least tame how overwhelming it felt. He held her for a long time and when she was done she fixed him with a fierce glare and ran back into the house without a word.

It was less than a week later that her mother passed away in the night. Joey found her cold, dead body the next morning and she didn't know what to do. She had looked with wide panicked eyes to her sister and for the first time in a long time they had clung to each other. Dawson and his mom had turned up and Dawson had sat with her out on the porch as the doctor was called, as her mom's body was removed, as Bessie and Mrs Leery handled everything. He was kind, whispering soft words of comfort, telling her it would all be ok, but Joey knew, she knew that for her and Bessie it wouldn't all be ok. That the life they were born into was over and that they were on the brink of something new, something unknown and most definitely not ok. Dawson left with his mom and with aching limbs Joey made her way to the dock, to stare at the water and mourn her mother. He was at the end of the dock just staring at the water and when she sat down beside him, he opened up his arms and she fell into them. She didn't care that it was Pacey, her arch nemesis, the boy that teased her incessantly and drove her crazy, all she cared about was the feeling of him holding her, of someone taking her heavy baggage off her shoulders for just a little while.

Life was tough often for Joey. The week they buried her mom she sought Pacey out at his house, spending five minutes in his warm embrace before leaving with the usual furious glare and not a word. She dragged him into the bathroom at Dawson's in the following weeks when Bessie was arguing with social services, trying to decide what should be done with Joey. She grabbed his arm roughly, ignoring the garbled, glib rubbish spouting out of his mouth and once the door shielded them from prying eyes she wrapped her arms around his waist feeling nothing but utter relief when he put his arms around her shoulders and held her close to his bony chest, the smell of his washing detergent and something else wafting up her nose comfortingly. When she'd had enough she stepped back and he smiled at her. He dared to smile at her. With narrowed eyes she stomped on his toes and left the bathroom.

In between these silent episodes of comfort they treated each other no differently than they ever had. He was annoying, so annoying, going on about girls, about video games, about his siblings antics, and worst of all about her being in love with Dawson, which wasn't even true at that point, not when she was twelve, though by the time she was fifteen he was hitting the nail on the head and he knew it. Still when Jen moved in next door to Dawson, when her world once again shifted on its axis, she found herself in his bedroom, glaring at him from the door, her hands gripping at the sleeves of her sweater, curling the ends into her clenched fists. He was lying on his bed, all six foot three of him and she hesitated because it had been over a year since she'd sought him out for comfort. A year and a massive growth spurt. A year and a seriously bad Julius Caesar haircut. A year and her massive crush on Dawson, or love, or whatever it was. A year of increasingly barbed comments and banter. He stared at her for a long moment and just when she was about to turn around and run away again he lifted his arm and looked at the spot next to him. She didn't hesitate to fall into that space beside him, the feel of his arm closing around her so synonymous with comfort by this point that she instantly felt more at peace. Her nose pressed up against his chest and he smelt the same, but also different. The same detergent smell, but something new, a faint smell of deodorant, or cologne, and something more that she couldn't place. His chest was a different place as well. Whilst he was still skinny, there was a new broadness to it, there were probably even muscles under that horrific shirt of his, given that his arms had new strength to them. She needed the arms because they held her even tighter and for the ten minutes or so that she allowed herself the luxury of sitting in his arms, all felt ok with the world. At length she pushed away and he released her. As usual she gave him a heated glare.

'Don't leave it so long next time,' he said in a total unreadable tone and she hated not knowing what he meant.

'Ass,' she muttered totally unfairly and left.

Dawson insisted they go on a double date and Joey couldn't help but be a complete bitch to Jen who just irked her on so many different levels. She was too perky, too blond, too much the opposite of Joey. She was everything Joey wasn't and Dawson wanted her. In fact Joey didn't think that it was possible to find a girl more different and given that she had a low opinion of herself to start with, that opinion sunk even lower. It was the first time in years that Pacey found her but despite his ridiculous teacher fantasy. When he'd seen her face he'd made it a priority to find five minutes to hold her in his arms. She'd attempted a smile of thanks but was pretty sure it had turned out as her usual glare.

He took her to see her dad. She needed to see him and so he took her, keeping conversation light and amusing but then bribing the guard to give her what she needed. When they took her dad back inside, when it was just her and Pacey stood outside a prison, the darkness all around them she'd gripped his hand and he'd pulled her against him, holding her close. She'd taken it, all of it because even if her dad loved her, which he claimed to, he wasn't there to hold her.

Everything was quite literally burning around her and she was so desperate to reach her dead beat dad that she barely noticed. What's fire compared to family at the end of the day, and if anyone could fault her it would be for her ridiculously misplaced loyalty. He might suck as a father but he was hers and Joey didn't have a lot and so she wanted him. Dawson promised to find him and then Pacey took her hand and he pulled her from that building, her hand clasped in his, firm and unyielding. When they made it out his arms wrapped around her and she barely noticed because he smelt like smoke not Pacey, and her father and Dawson were still inside. She barely noticed that he was holding her in front of everyone because in truth if he hadn't been holding her she may have lost the little sanity she had and she may have run back inside that building. So whilst she barely noticed, she did notice and she needed it.

Later that evening, still covered in smoke and soot and feeling like she was completely alone, alone and unloved she went to his house, snuck in through the open back door and up to his room, avoiding his drunk father still sat in his chair and watching sports on their old television. She opened his door without knocking and stood with her back pressed against it wondering what she should do because he was lying on the bed in a pair of pyjama pants and a wife beater and whilst he looked like Pacey, he also looked different with his hair wet from the shower and that delicious smell wafting from him. She wasn't clean, or fresh. She was pretty certain there were tear trails tracking through the dirt on her face but she needed him, needed the one thing he gave her that no one else could and she wasn't brave enough to refuse it even if he had a girlfriend and was older now, and stronger and more attractive, because he was still Pacey and he'd always done this for her. He stared at her though, a new challenge in his eyes that she hadn't seen before and she realized he was hurting too, that his girlfriend had lost it and was gone and his life really wasn't much better than hers. In fact their fathers were probably neck and neck in the "who's worse" competition.

'I...' she tried to say something but the words got caught behind the lump in her throat. His eyes softened and he opened his arms to her, and she curled up into them, tight against him, everything from his smell to his even breaths calming her inner turmoil. She felt his head press against hers, his lips on her hair and whilst it was new, it wasn't unwelcome.

'We could try being actual friends you know,' he said at length and she sniffed into his chest, a half cry and a half laugh. 'Or maybe not,' he mused lightly.

'It might make all the hugging weird,' she said at length.

'Nah, this is what we do,' he shrugged easily, 'this is just how it works.'

'I'm not very good at talking,' she admitted.

'Isn't that all you and Dawson do?' he chuckled and she found herself smiling.

'Well yeah, but you and I do this, and he and I do that.'

'All your bases are covered huh?'

'I don't have anyone else,' she admitted in a small voice, 'Bessie is always so busy and with Dawson everything is always loaded, but we've always done this and I just...'

'I know,' he stated and he sounded like he really did know.

She didn't have anything else to say so she remained quiet, pressing her nose up against his chest to mask her own smokey smell.

'Are you ok?' he asked at length and she knew she'd been there much longer than ever before.

'Are you?' she challenged.

'Not really,' he admitted.

'Not really,' she admitted as well.

The very next day Joey was back at his house. The anger, the hurt, the fear, too many emotions all bubbling up inside of her, threatening to overwhelm her and she didn't know where else to go because there was no where else. She couldn't and wouldn't go to Dawson, not after he forced her to go to the police, to Pacey's dad. Forced her to send her own father, her own father, back to jail. Her own sister could scarcely look at her. Not because she was angry, Bessie always wanted the best for Joey, but because their lives were once again at a truly untenable place, and what hurt Joey hurt Bessie, especially with the weight of responsibility on her big sisters shoulders, a weight Joey knew she'd now have to share if they were to survive. It was all too much and so she went to his house, to him, the place she always went when things were too much. Much like the previous day he was fresh from the shower, this man boy of her childhood and she itched to jump straight into his arms where his smell and his strength would magically solve everything, at least for the few minutes she was there. She was antsy though, her brain flicking through all the many reasons she was stood before him, all the things that were so terribly not right.

'Come 'ere,' he urged in the end and kicking off her shoes she tumbled onto the bed beside him, his arms holding her firmly, tightly, the surprising soft kisses to her hair not only welcome but comforting.

'Pacey,' she was surprised at his name on her lips, but she burrowed closer, her ear pressed to his heart where the steady thump thump forced the worries from her brain, each thump helping her to relax, to breathe - a task she'd never had to actively think about before. She sniffed, the smell of him reducing her racing pulse, pulling her back to the sanity she craved, as her hands clung onto him as tightly as she could.

'It's ok,' he whispered against her hair and those words, coming from him, didn't sound as empty as when they came from anyone else because she knew that he knew the truth - that for the both of them things weren't and they wouldn't be for quite some time.

'I wish I could be ten all over again,' she admitted. 'I wish I could go back and then just stay that age forever.'

'I just want to be old enough to leave. I just want to leave,' he admitted.

'Capeside?' she asked looking up at him.

'Preferably, but home. Or this house.'

'I think Bessie would cry if I was ten forever. She wants me gone.'

'She loves you,' he told her gently and she grudgingly shrugged.

'She loves me less today than normal.'

'Maybe,' he conceded.

'We may as well be orphans. Bessie and I,' she muttered into his warm chest, 'if he were dead it would be clean cut. This is messy and yet we don't have anyone. There's no one Pace.'

'There's me. And Dawson.'

'We're just stupid kids. No offence,' she muttered.

'None taken,' he laughed and his whole body rumbled underneath her. She liked the feeling.

'I don't really wish he was dead and nor do I really want sympathy.'

'I know - you don't like people feeling sorry for you,' he squeezed her a little tighter.

'I loathe it because it doesn't do anything. It doesn't give Bessie and I money to feed ourselves, to live on. What are we going to do? I mean what are we actually going to do?'

'The gas fill up place down at the marina are hiring?' she felt his shrug and she found a small smile on her face because Pacey was good at the practical solutions.

'Ok,' she sniffed.

'And you need a little if the sympathy too,' he told her.

'No I don't,' it was irritating but not irritating enough to make her move.

'Trust me Jo, it won't be long before people pretend not to see. Just like they pretend they don't know my dads a drunk, that my dad's a lousy father. Soon enough they'll be pretending that you and Bessie are just fine, that it's your fault that you don't have any money. Right now it's all your dad's fault and that's right but the people in this town are awfully good at pretending.'

'You're right,' she acknowledged somewhat grudgingly and she looked up at him, her fingers gently tracing the damage to his face she knew was the result of his father's fist.

'I hit him back this time,' he admitted.

'He deserved it,' she didn't mince her words because she knew them to be true.

'He mocked me. My girlfriend goes crazy and he mocks me. Fucking bastard.'

'Yeah,' she snuggled a little closer.