Pacey held in his hand Will's lone letter whilst trying to put pen to paper himself. He wanted to address all of Will's fears in his own account because he knew that these were his fears too, but Will didn't deserve nor would he need a reassurance that their relationship was in tact. The mere fact that Pacey would still be able to write and confide in him is answer enough.

This understanding, Pacey hoped, would even help reinforce their friendship, and he only wished that the trust between both parties could be as strong on the Dawson and Joey front, because Will was right, they were his friends and he needed them.


Do you notice my new pen? Well, Dawson's new pen, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. The blue one wasted on me. Black's so gay. But hey. You don't know how long it's taken me to even think about writing this, you don't know how many pages I've chucked away in the bin so you may read this and you may reply to this. Nice little intro for you there, and so the story picks up again…

Pop had hit the whiskey again. I should have known something was up as soon as I got in. The house was pitch black, everyone in bed. It couldn't have been all that late. I headed for the kitchen for some milk. I don't even like the stuff let alone drink it, but I remember wanting something cold. The fridge door immersed a strip of the room in light and I caught a figure propped up against the sink.

I turned, reached for the light and there he was. In full glory. Eyes red. A pool of drool coursing one corner of his lips. In an instant he moved for me, the palm of his hand catching me across the cheek. It stung like there was no tomorrow but I couldn't cry out. Aside from the fact that I'd just be asking for it then, I didn't actually know what it was that I could have done to upset him, Will.

I swear to God, man, I've been keeping my head down, staying out of trouble. Well, I certainly made a point of keeping my head down this time, I kept it real low. My eyes were trained on my worn shoes when I felt his fist seize onto a clump of my hair. He forced me to concentrate on him, not that I could think of much else at this point. My eyes glazed over and I felt so…

I felt humiliated, Will. I mean, I'd actually prefer to well-up before Joey than this bloody man, you know? Of course you know. You always know. He told me I was a waste of space, that's nothing new; you would even think I'd be used to it by now. But seriously, Will, why would he bother disciplining my ass if I'm not worth it? How could either of us possibly benefit if the whole Witter network has already written me off?

He told me to get up to bed, but he was still holding on to me. I think when he realised I wasn't going to lash out, or yell some smart ass remark, it surprised him. He seemed to sober up quickly. Not that I know he was drunk, I couldn't smell it on his breath, but I hope to God he was. As I said, he's back on the whiskey; I just hope he was drinking it on that particular night too. I need all the excuses I can get here. The possibility that the man just doesn't like me… it's a little hard to take.

Anyway, sobered up he did. I probably wasn't all that clever at disguising my fear. God knows, I've had to retake that Sea Creature gig over and over again due to my acting abilities or lack thereof. I can joke about the character not having enough scope, no depth, but with my pop it's just me, one Pacey Witter, alone and quivering.

He let go of me and wiped a hand over his face, mumbling an incoherent apology. I got the gist of it as I stumbled backwards into the fridge door. I'd forgotten to close it. The milk carton I had sitting out on one of the shelves fell to the floor, but I continued my backward exit. I wasn't crying over spilled milk, that's for sure.


Pacey folded up his letter with a quiet satisfaction at finally being able to relive the night long enough to explain it on paper. He hid it in his desk drawer, ready for posting in the morning, and undressed himself for bed before laying under the covers for the night.

Pulling his pillow to his chest he allowed a drawn out, rattling breath to cross his lips, fearing - knowing - that this type of letter would only be the first of many, a quick prologue to how his life would develop thereafter.