FRIDAY

The True Love rocked gently, bobbing on the water in rhythm to an inherent flow and ebb. Waves washing in from the ocean, then washing out again, compelled by the tides, which were, in turn, compelled by the elements – a natural progression of old and new intermingling, moving inward then receding, an ongoing cycle ancient as Time. Settled on the deck of his now-restored vessel, Pacey leaned against the boat's sides and squinted up into the morning sunlight. Taking a long sip of the bottle of Stewart's root beer in his hand, he was the very picture of a wayward sailor, lounging on his deck, idly passing the time on a fine spring day.

All set to pick Dawson up, just over one hour earlier, his best friend called to tell him that Gail needed an extra last-minute hand to prep for their restaurant vendors that morning, so Mitch was dropping him off at the Marina closer to ten o'clock instead. Pacey headed out to his boat anyway to wait for him and now, he had some time to kill. Joey surprised him last night. Shocked him, actually. And completely rocked his world. Thoughts and memories tumbled over and around in his head.

When he got back to Doug's apartment the night before, Pacey immediately took that tape of himself and Tamara out of the VCR, cursing himself for forgetting to do so earlier. He was never that careless with it. But in the aftermath of his rather scintillating interlude with Joey, and then Dawson's unexpected phone call, it completely slipped his mind. That was dangerous. The tape was embarrassing. And incriminating. Dawson's camera was supposed to secretly capture a lasting image of his first kiss ever, with Jen. Instead, he accidentally caught glimpses of Pacey's first awkward foray into sexual discovery, with Tamara.

I got the girl this time, Dawson.

What?

Yeah. Call it the law of averages, call it an act of God, call it whatever you want, but I got her.

After getting the tape back from Dawson, Pacey planned to burn it. Building a small fire near the creek outside Dawson's house that night, he held the tape above the flames, intending to melt away those images forever, erase that moment as if it had never happened. Intentions, good or otherwise, inevitably lead to hell. That's the way the saying goes. And he was going straight there, probably. Because he did not burn that tape.

Pacey instead kicked dirt onto those flames, put out that fire, slipped the tape into his coat and took it home with him. It was an impulse, perverse perhaps, but in that moment, when the taped memory hovered over destruction, he inexplicably felt that if he dropped it, it would destroy what he had with Tamara, render it undone, make it "not real". And it was very real for him. Tamara was very real for him.

For more than a year, Pacey kept that tape hidden in places that no one could ever get to, cognizant of the danger of keeping it, yet willing to take that risk. He would watch it from time to time, remembering himself that night – nervous, impassioned, eager, yet also in awe. It was too dark to really see anything and restricted to one viewing angle -- at some point, they completely disappeared from camera's sight. Yet you could still hear the sounds of loving in the night blackness. His face was never shown. But one always saw hers. And it was full of desire. But it was also full of something else.

In the end, Pacey kept that tape because it was proof. That perhaps someone amazing had loved him once.

I know that you are having trouble acknowledging the fact that we have a relationship but you have to admit there is something going on here, he said to her once. Yes, she concurred, there is something. Then, her eyes shimmering, watery-warm, she kissed him, softly lingering. But that something ended very soon after.

…us ending was inevitable. Hey, maybe you'd graduate. Maybe I'd meet someone my own age. God, maybe you'd meet someone your own age! But you knew that there was a ticking clock inherent to both of us and to everything about us. You must understand, Pacey, I care about you. More deeply than I ever expected or wanted to.

Though Tamara was the first time he had loved, Andie was his actual first love. Pacey had wanted Andie's first time with him to be perfect. She was skittish about sex, nervous because it was an unknown entity. And Andie always did best when she was completely prepared. So he planned a romantic evening, arranging for an evening at a charming B & B, replete with rose-petal-strewn bed and a roaring fire. Yet he balked that night, hastily stepping back from that brink.

Listen, at the risk of sounding like a really cheesy after school special, when you're really ready, you'll know, and then we'll do this. Then we'll do this till the cows come home. But this thing is way too important for me to just fall back on the old "do now, think later" Pacey Witter approach. You know what the really risky thing for me to do is? It's to not have sex. I mean, maybe that way I'll have some semblance of a real relationship. So...you take all the time you need, 'cause I'll be here.

However, despite his best intentions, they fell into sex, spontaneous, in the back seat of his family car, on the way home that very night. They had been in love. That was all that mattered.

When he and Andie reached that level in their relationship, Pacey would watch the tape carefully, trying to determine how he did what he did, listening hard to the instructions Tamara offered him that night. Not watching the images on the screen, he would instead just listen to her voice as she explained every single thing about what pleasured a woman, what made her feel special, cared for and loved. Andie required extensive instruction -- had asked him, shyly, to provide it -- and he did, to the best of his abilities, imbuing the lessons with patience and compassion and reassurance. She was a good learner, an avid listener, and a very apt pupil.

Yet Andie was also fragile, for all of her steely determination and iron resolve, so they had not had sex all that often. When they did, it was slow and sweet and he talked her through it, comprehensive, every single time, with constant soothing and tender ministration, always focused on making sure she was feeling okay and comfortable. He loved her so. And respected her even more.

Pacey felt a pang of slight remorse, recalling his cavalier reference to Andie last night while talking with Joey. The second was as clueless as you are now. It was a throwaway comment, he knew, but in that moment, he had only wanted to allay Joey's own discomfort. He intuitively knew that a little bit of a competitive streak existed between she and Andie. Both were such over-achievers, despite laboring beneath the stigma of whispers and misfortune. And there was that flash of jealousy he had glimpsed last Monday, as he and Joey stood on that porch at Aunt Gwen's, arguing. Hindsight, however, scolded him now. Guilt admonished him for perhaps bordering on disrespectful. But Andie and Joey were different girls.

Pacey had not thought twice about sharing that tape of Tamara with Joey. Sure, it was perverse -- bordering on perverted even. He had never thought to do that with Andie. But when it came to Joey, he often dispensed with filters or boundaries. And, even more these days, any shields as well.

Am I sexual enough?

Joey's question had thrown him back to an empty classroom, alone with a beautiful woman twenty years his senior. What, is this your first time, Pacey? Tamara asked him, sardonic, aggressive. You know that it is, he replied, suddenly feeling clumsy and afraid, out on a limb awaiting either salvation or destruction in her hands. Sex was power. With that power came responsibility. And the choice to be either merciful or cruel. Pacey had been fortunate in his intrepidness that autumn almost two years ago; Joey, not so much, just last fall.

When it came to the physical, Joey acted on instinct, on impulse. Pacey knew others might find that surprising, considering how methodical and considering and measured she could be about every other thing in her life – her studies, her relationships, her plans to get out of Capeside. She would analyze. She could work every angle. She discovered extra loopholes, in order to push herself and her productivity to higher levels. Joey was driven, pragmatic, wary, and cynical. Yet beneath all that, she harbored a deep, feral passion – forceful and compelling. Pacey was on familiar terms with that side of her because he had often borne the brunt of its vigor. When they were kids, she gave him scars and black eyes, bruises and bloody noses. But they were kids no longer.

Closing his eyes, Pacey felt every one of his nerves and senses thrill to the recent memory of Joey wrapped around him, her hands roving over his body, her lips and tongue and pleasured murmurs driving him crazy-mad, pushing him past his inherent restraints, asking him to keep going, so that they could both let go, together. And they did. No, Joey was not sexual – that was simply the wrong terminology. She was a sensual whirlwind. Tamara's magnetic maturity and his previous love for Andie, notwithstanding, Josephine Lillian Potter was the most naturally seductive, intoxicating female he had ever known.

But sex, though certainly a large part of his desire for her, was not the main reason why he wanted to be with her. And Pacey did not want it to be the main reason why Joey wanted to be with him either. He, who often acted out like the typical teenage boy, all raging hormones and constant wants and needs, had cared for some truly amazing women. And they had cared for him. With that caring came responsibility. The enormity of it was humbling, a little daunting. Joey was intensely attracted to him. He could tell that much, especially in the way she responded so eagerly to his touch. But he still did not know how deep her true feelings ran. Was there more? Could there possibly be?

"True Love." That's ironic, Andie commented wryly, when Pacey brought her out to his boat after that Rob incident. Struggling amidst the currents of their fast-fading history, he and she shared their final farewell that night. It now seemed like a lifetime ago. Yeah, well...I figured since it didn't exist, I'd try and create it for myself, he explained to her. Why did you bring me here?, she asked. Um...I guess I just wanted to show you I've been okay since we ended things, Pacey told her. His past finally receding, a new tide emerging to pull him into a waiting future, he continued, I've found a way to turn what's been killing me into something potentially beautiful.

And she was, Pacey thought, glancing all around at his resurrected craft. True Love was definitely beautiful. His heart ached, thinking about where she came from. Even moreso, when he thought about where he wanted her to go.

XXXXX

Joey's head hurt. Bodie surprised them, late last night, arriving unexpectedly, wanting to spend a rare weekend with Bessie because he missed her. Because those weekends would be even rarer, soon. Yet despite the romantic gesture, he and Bessie had been arguing all morning about his new promotion in Boston. They were such a contrary couple, sometimes. She thought it had been a done deal, but this morning, upon awakening, Joey was greeted by Bessie's loud proclamation, Love should be fixed in one place, on one person, and that's where you should be! And Bodie's quieter but steadfast reply: Yes, Love is a fixed point, Bess. But it doesn't matter where you are, just that it is. The rest is just making it work, together. They went at it for at least an hour and Joey stayed sequestered in her bedroom, awaiting the end of the debate.

It was what they did, circling around each other, starting at the extremes on a spectrum of arguments and then steadily advancing inwards, closer to one another, until they met nearer to the middle. She had observed this process for more than six years, ever since she was ten years old, when Bessie first brought Bodie home. Fleeing Capeside briefly, for a restaurant hostess job in Boston, she had wanted to get away, see the world beyond their tiny town, and enrolled in part-time pre-accounting courses at Boston Community College.

Then, their mother got sick, and she came back with Bodie in tow, becoming a mother herself, twice-over, in the space of three years. Bessie was only twenty-six years old, already running a household and a business, raising a teenager and a baby son. Bodie, only two years older, despite being absent in regular proximity, was ever-present with his support, his loyalty, and his love. They were two individuals, on separate paths, yet remained entwined. Though seemingly a paradox, it was the truest love Joey had ever observed.

Their voices grew muted, Alexander's wake-up crying putting an end to their ongoing discussion for now. She heard Bessie's light step moving into the kitchen, pots and pans rattling, the refrigerator door opening and closing. Bodie's heavier footsteps passed into that bedroom across the hall and shortly thereafter, Alexander quieted, just a slight sniffling betraying his earlier upset. Joey threw the bed-covers off and sat up, tugging her fingers through her hair to untangle the tousles. She had tossed and turned all night and was still tired. Cranky. Missing Pacey. Today would be their last day together, undiscovered. Tonight, she would tell Dawson.

She stood to stretch her long limbs and, sighing, thought back, once again, to the night before. Pacey had shared that tape with her. Joey did not know why he had kept it. Figures, she thought wryly, only Pacey would do something that demented. But she remembered being enthralled while watching it with Dawson, so long ago. She felt a contrary thrill then, too, sitting on his bed with him, watching Ms. Jacobs, intent and amorous, the realness of that coupling, visceral and forbidden, she and Dawson, two innocent voyeurs into a dark and steamy unknown. They cracked jokes throughout that brief viewing, to ward off any discomfort. Then he turned it off, before any substantial clothing was shed. Joey wondered from time to time if perhaps Dawson had watched it again later, to see how far the couple had actually gone. But she never asked him. They did not share those types of things.

Yet last night, she shared with Pacey exactly those types of things. She had been curious, had wanted to watch it with him. And Joey was not afraid to ask him anything. She never had been.

It was ironic that the boy who had constantly made it his childhood mission to keep her off-balance with coital connotations would be the same one who she felt most comfortable with, when it came to talking about – and exploring – sex. Because she was very comfortable with Pacey, more than she ever imagined she could be. Not that she imagined it overmuch before, because she had not. At least, not before this year. Or rather, somewhere in the middle of it.

And sure, parts of her were uncomfortable while watching that tape – it was Pacey on that film, after all, and unlike before, she was now fully cognizant of that fact. But despite her automatic inclinations to be repelled, she also found herself innately fascinated. He was so…sweet on that tape. So awkward and humble. Vulnerable. And Ms. Jacobs was uninhibited, enraptured, almost abandoned. Joey wondered what it would feel like to be so completely transported. Because as an adult, she knew Ms. Jacobs must have known better. And yet, she felt compelled to involve herself with Pacey anyway.

Because Pacey was compelling. Pacey made sex interesting. And Joey was very interested. But there was something more here. Something else.

She, who eschewed public displays of affection, had always looked on with distaste whenever she saw a couple pawing themselves in the school hallways or tongue-twisting in movie lines and darkened theaters, found she could not keep her hands off of this boy. Joey always wanted to touch Pacey, to be near him, to kiss him. Especially to kiss him. And yet those quiet moments when he just held her -- his face buried in her hair, her head tucked into his neck -- those were the moments when she ached for him the most. He was crazy passion, yes, but he was soothing comfort too. Her guide, her confidante, her gadfly. Her tormentor, her teacher, her friend. Her…everything.

Joey's mind grabbed onto images from past and present, transposing them, unwieldy, her thoughts, unruly. Pacey took her to see her father at the prison last year, the night she found the courage to ask that question, the one question she would always have. He drove several hours to get her to that spot, in front of a chain-link fence, to face down her fear.

Do you love me? she asked Mike Potter, her whole being staggering beneath the weight of her inquiry.

More than you'd ever know, he had replied, his voice breaking, his eyes full of sorrow and deep remorse. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Do you think about me? she continued, because once the question was put out there, finally, she needed clarification. And confirmation.

Sweetheart, all day long, everyday, every hour, every minute.

Do you really love me though? Because I'm fifteen years old and I go through every day of my life thinking nobody loves me.

Well nothing could be further from the truth, he said to her, tearing up, choking back a sob.

Later, despite the fence that separated them, they clasped their fingers together, reconnecting, while Joey said her goodbye.

When she got back to the car, Pacey was waiting in the front seat, unusually quiet. Fathers are weird creatures, you know? he had told her earlier that night at The Icehouse, before she talked him into "borrowing" his family car to drive her to the prison. He had shared with her his own father woes and she advised, Well, maybe you should have a talk with your father. You know, tell him that he hurt you. Pacey looked at her, wary, asking, Is that what you did? Her reply was also her own resolution. No, but I'm going to.

Afterwards, they sat silent for a few minutes, staring up at the night-sky stars, just being there, in that moment, allowing its enormity to sink in. Pacey, more than anyone, inherently understood how this encounter had affected her. So when he asked her, You okay, Jo?, she told him, He loves me, Pace. He really does. Without pause, his voice gentle, almost painful in its sincerity, he said, Of course he does. Then he reached out and took her trembling hand in his. Bringing it up to his lips, he turned it over to place a soft kiss into her palm. Closing her fingers around it, he squeezed that loose fist, reassuring, before putting her hand back into her lap.

He also thinks Dawson loves me, she continued, quiet, as Pacey started the car.

He does, Joey, he affirmed, swinging the car back onto the road. Which is why you have to go talk to him too.

And Pacey drove her home to do just that, dropping Joey by her rowboat and seeing her off with a jaunty wave and a sweet grin, standing on the edge of her dock, sending her forth to go after her first-ever love. Dawson Leery, her childhood savior and self-proclaimed soul-mate. Also, Pacey's best friend. He loved him too.

The more she thought about it, the more Joey realized that she and Pacey had grown up trying to push each other outside the circle of that world they had created with Dawson, both yearning to be the only one in Dawson's sphere of attention, the sole object of his affection, and the singular receptacle for his dreaming. Yet that morning, as dawn broke over Capeside, after a long, dark night in a wilderness of her own making, Pacey propelled her to the center of that circle even as he gallantly stepped out of it.

Since then, they had instigated each other to explore different shores, test out changing environments, and this past year, even build new worlds. Without Dawson.

Joey recalled that moment, right before Dawson's phone call last night, when she had clasped Pacey's hand into hers, fingers entwining, hugging his arm, content and happy. Remembered how afterwards, they stopped touching each other. As she walked into the B & B, that realization brought with it a disturbing loneliness that returned her to that dark wilderness.

In the morning light, a new resolution unfurled itself. She really needed to tell Dawson. Soon.

XXXXX

"Three's the magic number, you know," Mitch told his son, squinting up at the sun from his position in the driver's seat. He pulled the car visor down, shielding his eyes from its brightness. "By my count, I'm already on Number Three."

"How do you figure?" Dawson asked, fiddling with the radio knobs, locating an oldies station for his dad. He liked these classic songs. They were permanent blasts from the past.

"Number One, falling in love with your mom when we were kids," Mitch counted out. Then, "Number Two, marrying her and producing you." And finally, "Number Three, heartbreak and renewed connections with that same woman I have always loved, despite everything. Like I said – Leery men love only one woman in a lifetime. I'm a doomed man, son. But happily so."

"Somehow, you make Love seem slightly less appealing, when you put it like that," Dawson said, wry.

"Love's not easy, Dawson. The idea of it is a fantastic dream, but in reality, it's hard, hard work." Mitch turned to send a sidelong grin at his son. "You're about due for a Number Three yourself, by my count."

Dawson chuckled. "And again, how do you figure?"

Mitch extended his forefinger from where his hand rested on the steering wheel. "Number One, finally noticing Joey in the first place and letting yourself fall in love with her." He added a second finger. "Number Two, reconciling after that short, soul-searching time apart last year." A third finger rose up to join the other two. "Number Three -- the time- and obstacle-tested reunion, which I believe you both are headed for soon. You know what they always say -- third time's a charm."

"Dad, how did you know that mom was 'The One'?" Dawson asked abruptly, contemplative and wondering.

"For me, it was love at first sight. Even when I was too young to know what love was, I knew I loved her."

"But how did you know?"

"I just did. I can't explain it. I'll never know how to put it into words. It just was. It just is."

"What about when things change?" Dawson shrugged. "Joey was dating that college guy, A. J., for a bit."

"Was she in love with him?"

"I don't think so. But since they broke up two weeks ago, she's been really distracted and closed-off about it. I asked Pacey if he thought she might have been in love with him, but he couldn't say."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?"

Dawson mulled over the recollection. "Couldn't. I'm not sure he knew the answer to that one."

"And why would Pacey have the answer?"

"He's different since Andie -- more dependable, I guess. Listens more, spouts off less," Dawson told him, adding, "And -- miracle of miracles -- Joey and Pacey have managed to stop fighting long enough to actually become friends this year."

Something tugged at Mitch's memory and, frowning slightly, he followed that insistent pulling. Everything and everybody that I touch, I screw up, all right? You're aware of the Midas touch, right? You've heard of that? Okay, well the Midas touch, whatever that is, I got the opposite, Pacey said, taking his frustrations out on a thick piece of firewood he was chopping for the furnace-challenged B & B a few months ago.

Don't be so sure, Mitch had responded. I mean, look at you. You're still at it, right? You haven't given up. Pace, instead of dwelling on everything that's gone wrong this weekend, so far, um...think about what you contributed. You've put a lot of selfless work into this place, right? That is the real question. Listen – that goes to the heart of who Pacey Witter is.

What? Pacey asked, exasperated.

What makes you care so much, Mitch tossed out casually.

"Dad? You missed the turn-off."

Mitch snapped back to the present, realizing he had driven right past the entrance to the Marina. Pulling over to the side of the road, he checked for cleared lanes and then turned the car around. Pulling up to the ramp leading down to Pacey's docking slip, he braked to a stop, returning Pacey's cheery wave with one of his own.

Dawson jumped out of the Explorer, leaning in once more to remind him, quickly, "Don't forget. Real champagne, Dad. For tomorrow." Then, he shut the door and headed down to the boat, to Pacey awaiting him.

Mitch watched as they greeted each other with wide smiles, Pacey extending his hand to assist Dawson onto the deck of his boat. Sunshine gilded over the two, the golden head bending close to the dark one, the two pals laughing over some shared joke. Smiling at the sight, Mitch drove away mollified, leaving the best friends to their final preparations for the True Love's christening.

XXXXX

Dawson had come out to help him a few times since the work on the True Lovebegan, best he could, but being a notorious land-lover and not-so-familiar with the workings of large sea-worthy vessels, he was usually not too much help. Pacey spent more time giving instruction rather than getting to the actual repairs. Joey had lent more of a helping hand, having become an expert at sanding -- reluctantly so -- and lending her artistic decorative eye to the interior knick-knacks. Buzz proved a quick study and an energetic worker, and he always made Joey laugh, because he was more of smart-ass than even Pacey was. Having Will around the past few days fortunately expedited progress, so now the labors of his makeshift, motley crew were on the verge of bearing some very ripe fruit. The True Love was ready to sail.

"So, did you bring it?" Pacey asked Dawson. Plunging a hand into his jeans front pocket, he pulled out the cheap lighter he bought that morning from the General Store.

"Yup," Dawson said, reaching into his windbreaker pocket and pulling out a folded piece of worn paper. He handed it to Pacey, who unfolded it, letting out a low whistle.

"The secret code of Pacey Witter and Dawson Leery," Pacey pronounced, holding it up between them. Flicking the lighter cap open, he placed his thumb on the latch that would spark the flame.

"Wait!" Dawson interrupted. He reached into his other jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle of Corona beer. "Wouldn't be a proper blood-brother ritual without illicit beer on hand." Using the handy bottle-opener attached to his house key ring, Dawson popped the bottle-cap off and then tilted the tip toward Pacey, nodding.

Grinning, Pacey lit the piece of paper in his hand. They watched it burn for a bit, that childhood document crinkling into black, ashy nothingness, eaten fast by the flame. A breeze kicked up, swirling its remains into the sea air and, when the flame came too close to its anchoring human fingers, Pacey let go of the last bit. It floated, distintegrating, into the water below.

"To the perfect symbol of possibility, a refurbished past made relevant to the here and now," Dawson intoned. "We relinquish our childhood past to sail off into exciting new future horizons."

He took a swig of the beer and then passed it to Pacey, who followed his lead, gulping down his own mouthful.

"Did you write that down from last Tuesday?" Pacey asked him, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Committed it to memory," Dawson chuckled. "And added a little bit more. Pretty good, huh?"

"Still esoteric, dude." Pacey laughed and after another long drink, gave the beer bottle back to Dawson. "But a nice touch. Leave it to you to come up with all the good rituals."

They sat down opposite each other, settling comfortably into the boat's sides, and directed their gazes out toward the Marina's bustling activity. Falling into a familiar routine, they made up stories about the new tourists -- early springtime arrivals – cracking each other up with increasingly outrageous stories.

During a lull in the shared hilarity, Dawson grew thoughtful and asked, "You really loved Andie, didn't you?"

Startled, Pacey stared at him for a long moment before answering. "Yes, I did."

"What changed?" Dawson continued.

Pacey shrugged, keeping his eyes focused elsewhere, at the seagulls circling just beyond, hovering over the horizon. "Things happen. Things don't happen. You just sense it. And it hurts. It hurts a lot when things change." Lowering his gaze, he spied that discarded bottle-cap lying on the deck floor. He picked it up, continuing, "But change is good, Dawson. Could be great, even."

"Do you still love her?"

"I still have love for her. But it's different. I'm not in love with her. Not anymore."

Dawson was quiet as he digested this bit of information. When he spoke again, his voice was subdued, almost mystified. "I know this might sound stupid and naïve, but I don't think I could love anyone like I love Joey. I wanted to fall out of love with her, but I couldn't. I can't. I know you understand this and always have, because you saw it from the start, had seen it even before I did. Though you come pretty close, my friend, I think Joey's actually the one person I can't live without."

Pacey gripped the bottle-cap so tightly, the sharp pointy edges dug into the skin at the base of his thumb, drawing blood. With a low curse, Pacey dropped the cap and brought his hand up to his lips, sucking on that sudden wound to allay the sharp pain. The blood swished, metallic and salty in his mouth.

Dawson leaned over, concerned. "Got band-aids below-deck?"

"Yeah. In the metal box at the foot of the stairs."

Nodding, Dawson stood. "Okay if I use the phone to check in with my mom? She seemed really frazzled when we left her this morning."

"Knock yourself out."

Dawson paused one more time, however, before heading down. "Pace, if things changed, you'd tell me, right?"

Pacey hesitated, staring fixedly at that cut below his thumb and then answered, "Sure, D."

As Dawson disappeared below-deck, Pacey decided that if Joey did not tell him tonight, he would tell Dawson, most definitely, tomorrow. Even if it took him all day to do it. He would just need that one day.

One day.