Disclaimer: I own them.
Really, I do. I own Josh and Katie and Michelle and Kerr and Meredith.
I don't own James cause I gave him the hell away. Oh! I also
own Columbia-TriStar, The WB, and I've got Paul Stupin in my back pocket.
Blah dee dah, I barely own myself.
Author's Note: Totally
spoilerific! This is the missing scene from Two Gentlemen of Capeside,
a.k.a. The Storm. What happened between the time Pacey and Joey drove
away in her truck and the time Pacey goes to Dawson at the end? Dawson
has shown significant signs of humanity, and I just don't know how to process
that. For all you Dawson lovers, don't worry, I don't bash him in
this. Thank you to my beta baby bijal, who's been getting lots of
snippets of fics that will probably never see the light of day but she
doesn't complain. :P
Rating: PG-13 (the
word "penis" is used, oh my)
Category: P/J
Feedback: For the love
of God. Please! kaytee@dstream.net
_______________________________________________________
She's watching me as I drive
her truck through the storm-ravaged town. I realize my grip on the
steering wheel is tight enough to leave me white-knuckled, and by the look
on her face as I glance at her I know that she's correctly guessed that
I've been replaying what happened over and over in my mind. Wondering
if I could have done something different. Pissed off because I had
to leave our boat out there. Wishing to God he hadn't been the one
to rescue Jen and me.
Loosening my grip, I reach
over and take one of her cold, clammy hands in mine and our fingers entwine.
Her eyes are still wide and they're still scared and I rest our linked
hands against my leg as I return my attention to the slick road.
"I'm okay," I say, an effort to reassure her.
Joey doesn't bother answering,
opting instead to let me know she's aware I'm lying by giving my hand a
light squeeze. I sigh and brush my thumb over the back of her hand.
I notice how the town has
been turned upside down by the storm. Store windows are blown in,
tree limbs are broken. As we drive down the residential streets nearing
the other end of town, I dodge the trash barrels lying still in the street
after having been tossed by the wind.
When we pull up to the Potter's
Bed & Breakfast, the back porch light flips on and the door opens.
Bessie pushes open the screen door and walks out to the steps, pulling
her cardigan tight around her.
"Where the hell have you
two been? I tried to call the Yacht Club but nobody answered and
I knew that you said that Pacey and Jen were going to go sailing this afternoon,"
she calls out while we get out of her old Ford pickup.
Joey trudges up the stairs
toward her and I follow her closely. In a tired voice, she tells
the story as she reaches her sister. "They did go sailing, and they
were out there when the storm came up. Dawson and I stole a boat
from the club and went out after them. And we had to leave True Love
out there."
Bessie reaches out and grabs
Joey close to her, hugging her tightly despite the fact that she's soaked
to the skin. "Oh my God, oh my God! Joey! You could have
drowned out there! What in the world were you thinking?"
Joey pulls slightly away
from her and looks back at me. Bessie looks at me too and I stand
there, pinned by two pairs of Potter eyes. "I was thinking I could
lose him."
Her voice is soft and plain
and I wonder if I'm the only one who hears the frightened note. It
breaks my heart.
Bessie has a hundred questions
in her eyes but she bites them back visibly as she notices Joey shiver
delicately. Her hair, caught back in its simple ponytail, is dripping
and as I break our gaze I remember that I'm likewise soaked.
"You two need to shower and
get changed into some dry clothes," Bessie says finally, and to lighten
the moment I purposely choose to take the comment in the lewdest way possible
and wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.
"Separately!" she adds, reaching
up and smacking me lightly on the top of my head.
Joey cracks a smile at the
exchange and offers to shower in the smaller bathroom, the new addition
that was put in over the summer. I open my mouth to protest, knowing
that the water takes longer to heat up in the newer bathroom. She
stops me with a look and I nod lightly, watching her walk down the hall
and start up the stairs. Her shoes squeak with each step and I want
to tease her about it but I don't.
Feeling foolish standing
in the kitchen and dripping onto the linoleum, I offer Bessie a sheepish
smile and move past her, heading for the main bathroom. I'm not entirely
surprised when she catches my arm and I look down into her concerned brown
eyes.
I try to head off what I
know is coming. "Bessie, I'm sorry she went after me, I'm sorry she
was in danger. I feel horrible - "
She interrupts me by putting
her arms around my neck, forcing me to lean over her. I put my arms
around her gingerly, not knowing if this is merely a diversion while Bodie
comes up behind me with a cleaver for endangering Joey.
"I know you do, kid.
You think I don't know that? I know you love her," she says, squeezing
me before pulling back to look up at me.
I guess my confusion is written
plainly on my face because she sighs, exasperated. "You're completely
stupid for being out there in the storm, but . . . you're part of this
family, Pacey. I'm glad you're alright; I was worried about you."
Once again I'm overwhelmed
by how these people have welcomed me and made me one of their own.
By loving Joey, I've wormed my way into a functional family and it feels
good. Damn good. I don't care if their name is linked with the biggest
scandals to hit Capeside. I come from people who have spotless reputations
and picture perfect smiles that degrade one another and spread animosity
like poison as soon as the camera stops flashing. However unconventional
a family they are, the Potters and Bodie love each other. And they
love me, too.
My expression must have betrayed
me, because Bessie hugs me again before shoving me away from her, laughing.
"Go take your shower, twerp."
When I get to the bathroom,
I turn on the hot water tap and strip out of my wet clothes, leaving them
in a pile on the tiled floor. Steam is starting to billow from the
shower and I step into it, the sharp needles of the hot spray stinging
my cold flesh until I get used to the feel of it. I stand there for
long moments, going over Bessie's words in my mind and trying not to think
of how scared Joey looked, how tightly she'd held onto me on the docks.
Of how I put Jen in danger. Of Dawson's face when he shouted that
he wasn't going to leave without me. I don't want to think
of True Love.
When the door opens and shuts
quickly, Joey's embarrassed voice unnecessarily says, "It's me."
"Well hello, you," I say
back, lathering my hair, what little is left after being buzzed.
Thank God that there is at least one man's presence in the house to insist
on shampoo that doesn't smell like an exotic fruit salad.
"I came in to get your clothes
to run through the washer. I also brought you some of Bodie's sweats
for you to wear," she says, and through the flowered shower curtain I can
faintly make her out as she closes the lid on the toilet and sits on it.
"Thanks. You were awfully
quick in the shower," I say, surprised that she's remained so long in my
naked presence. I'm not about to complain, however. Not me,
no sir.
"I never take long showers.
I prefer to soak in the tub," she tells me. "With a good book and
headphones to block out screaming children and strange people in my house."
The mental image that springs
to mind is one that I have to push to the recesses of my brain if I'm to
continue having a coherent conversation with her. While I'm naked.
I cough and continue scrubbing as I say, "I can understand that.
You're never alone here. In my house, with three sisters and a girlie
brother, I was lucky to get five consecutive minutes to myself in the bathroom
to bathe."
"Well, that certainly explains
the way you used to smell," she teases.
"You're such a sweetheart,
have I ever told you that, Potter? I mean, really," I laugh, heartened
that she's feeling better. Good enough to make fun of me, at any
rate. "A guy could get quite the ego with such abundant praise."
"It's a wonder your eyes
aren't brown, Pacey," she snaps back without a hint of heat to her tone.
"Yeah, yeah."
She sits there for a little
while longer and I don't mention it. She wants to be near me and
I want her close just as much.
Finally, she gets up and
goes to the door. "Are you hungry?"
I look around the edge of
the shower curtain and she blushes immediately, her cheeks pinkening, though
to her credit she doesn't look away. "Yeah," I say, winking.
She rolls her eyes dramatically.
"I'm going to make some soup and sandwiches. Take your time."
When I get through with my
shower, I towel off and dress in Bodie's old sweats. They're a little
big on me but nice and warm. She also left me socks and I walk out
to the kitchen with them in hand, intending to sit at the table and put
them on but when I get to the archway of the kitchen, I stop because I'm
caught up in the sight of her.
Her hair is drying in waves
and she's dressed in boxers and a t-shirt and she's just so beautiful,
standing there at the stove with her sister. Joey stirs something
in a pot that smells delicious while two sandwiches sizzle in the pan and
I realize that Bessie's talking just in time to hear her say, " . . . completely
natural reaction. Your man was in life-threatening danger, so what
do you do? Feed him."
"He's hungry, Bessie," she
says, shrugging one shoulder the way she does when she desperately wants
to change to change the subject.
"So what? He's a teenaged
boy, he's always hungry," Bessie says with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"And this is the first time I've seen you voluntarily cook without complaint."
"Doesn't mean I still can't,"
Joey mutters. "Besides, your little theory there pushes back the
women's movement about, oh, thirty years."
Bessie smiles and bumps her
hip. "Tell me something. Do you care?"
Joey looks up to answer and
sees me. One look and she knows what I've heard. "No," she
says simply, her gaze held by mine as she answers Bessie's question.
Bessie looks from Joey to
me and rolls her eyes. It's a wonder the Potter women can see straight,
the way they roll their eyes. "You should probably call your parents
or Doug or Gretchen or whoever it is that you're living with these days
so that they don't worry about you," she tells me. "I'm gonna go
upstairs and watch TV."
She pokes me in the arm as
she passes and I bump her with my shoulder. She slaps the back of
my head and continues on her merry way as I walk further into the kitchen.
"Sure smells good, although
knowing your legendary cooking skills, it'll probably kill me."
The stricken expression that
crosses her face makes me regret my words instantly. I look down
and see the socks in my hand, glad to have something to do in the awkward
silence.
I sit at the table and put
on the socks as she flips the sandwiches. She moves to the cupboard
and pulls out two family soup bowls and two family plates. Their
family set is mismatched and old, while the dishes used for the guests
of the inn are new and expensive. It's obvious to me that she's busying
herself as well, trying to put my unfortunate choice of words out of her
head.
I watch her as she pours
the soup into the bowls and cuts the sandwiches into halves. She
brings a plate and a bowl over to me and then she goes to get hers.
She moves gracefully and there's a small smile on her face as she pours
two glasses of milk. She begins to sit, not meeting my eyes, and
then gets to her feet again.
"I forgot the napkins.
Do you want any salt?" she calmly asks, bringing both back to the table
with her. When she sets the salt on the table along with the napkins,
I notice that her hands are shaking.
"Sit down, Joey."
She doesn't seem to hear
me. "We have some saltines for the soup if you want. Do you
want anything else? We have some green beans if you want."
Snaking an arm around her
waist, I pull her down across my lap. "Sit down, Joey."
"Okay, then," she says after
a moment, and scooches around until she's comfortable.
Reaching over, I pull her
plate and bowl towards us and we begin to eat. As soon as I taste
the thick tomato soup I'm surprised by how hungry I really am.
Her stomach growls audibly
and I sneak my hand beneath her t-shirt and rest my palm against it.
"Sounds like you're just as hungry as I am."
She laughs weakly and I kiss
her shoulder before taking a bite of the sandwich.
We eat in silence, each occupied
with our own thoughts. I try not to think about it, but I'm so angry
over losing True Love that my mind keeps going back to it. She's
probably at the bottom of the ocean by now.
I hate that I had to leave
her out there. I keep trying to figure out if there was something
that I could do differently, if maybe there was a way I could have saved
her.
I keep going over it in my
mind, and even though I don't think of anything else I really truly could
have done differently other than stay on dry land in the first place, it
doesn't make me feel much better.
"I'm sorry you lost your
boat," she says, and I'm over how eerie it is that she can read me so easily.
"Our boat. It was yours,
too," I tell her. She doesn't seem concerned overmuch.
She sips a spoonful of soup
and says, "Maybe True Love will wash up somewhere and she'll only need
some repairs."
Her voice doesn't betray
a whisper of heartache over the loss of something so intrinsically linked
to us and I ask about that. "Why don't you care more about the boat?
We lived together on it for three months. I had the best time of
my life on that boat this summer and I thought you did, too."
She looks at me, surprised
by my irritation.
"Pacey, I am upset that we
lost the boat. And I had the best time of my life on that boat, too,"
she says. "But it's not the end of the world and do you want to know
why?"
I'm silent for a moment until
I realize that I'm being petulant. "Why?"
"Because it's not the boat
that made the summer so meaningful for me. What made this summer
so special was the time I spent with you," she says. "And when you
jumped over to Mr. Brooks' boat and left True Love behind, I have to tell
you, Pacey. I didn't give a damn about that boat, as long as you
were okay."
I feel stupid immediately
and she continues, touching my face and making me look at her. "A
boat, however special, can be replaced. You cannot."
She touches her forehead
to mine and I forget that she annoyed me. I kiss her and she tastes
like tomatoes and cheese and I love her. I love her.
We finish eating and she
gets up to take the plates to the sink and I follow, bringing the glasses
and the bowls.
When we get to her bedroom,
I stretch out on her bed, resting against her pillows. She turns
on the stereo and then sits cross-legged beside me as an angst-ridden female
croons softly from the speakers.
I look at her as she rests
her chin in her hand and I feel bad that I made it seem as if I care more
about the boat than I do about us. I know she knows differently but
I want her to know why it hurts me so much to think of True Love sinking.
"Everything good and true
and real in my life happened on that boat, Potter. I'm sorry I can't
let it go, but you have to understand," I say after awhile spent in quiet.
Her thoughtful look urges me to continue. "I worked on that boat
when I was frustrated by my feelings for you. I repaired that boat
when I thought I could never repair my relationship with you or Dawson
or Andie. You told me you loved me on that boat, or close to it.
The best memories of my life happened on that boat, and now it's on the
ocean floor."
She continues to look at
me, her head tilted. "Tell me some of those memories," she asks softly.
I think for a moment and
I smile, thinking of the little boy who's going to grow up and be difficult
and stubborn and a genuine smart-ass. Who's going make his counselor
rue the day she put the two of us together in the mentoring program.
"Buzz and I worked on that boat together and he actually did a lot of work.
Bitching and moaning the whole time, of course, but he and I got close
and it was really good to hang out with him. I needed a friend who
didn't know or particularly care if I was screwing up my life. He
needed a friend who wouldn't leave him when he acted like a brat."
She smiles, and I remember
how well she and Buzz got along the few times they'd been around each other.
"Have you seen him lately?"
"I see him once a week during
our scheduled sessions, and he's doing a lot better with acting up in class
and everything. He's calmed down a lot," I tell her. "I wish
I had more time for him but he's made some more friends his own age and
that's great."
"Yeah. You should kidnap
him one weekend and go do some boy thing or something," she says.
"I probably will," I answer.
"Tell me some more," she
asks.
"Remember that first morning
in the hammock?" I ask her, and she grins, hiding her face in her hands
as she groans. "You had run up to the docks the evening before and
told me you thought you were in love with me. You asked if you could
go with me. And that night, we laid in the hammock and talked until
the sun came up. I don't even remember specifically what we said
. . . I just know that I remember thinking that I'd never been able to
talk to someone the way I can talk to you. We fell asleep in each
other's arms and we didn't wake up until that afternoon."
"And that's when I decided
I needed my very own hammock," she continues, lowering her hands and revealing
her pinkened complexion.
"The look on your face when
you realized I was hard, I'll never forget it," I laugh, which makes her
blush even further. "I've never heard you stammer more or seen your
face redder."
She sticks her tongue out
at me and I keep laughing, agreeing with her when she says, "You weren't
exactly the most suave guy on earth either. You nearly overturned
the hammock in your desperate attempt to get the hell away when you realized
which part of you had reacted to which part of me."
"Of course I tried to get
away from you! You were so shocked. You looked like a
scared virgin on a sacrificial slab!" I defend myself, incredulous that
my suaveness is even in question. I was being gallant.
"Probably cause I was a scared
virgin!" she splutters, smacking me on the leg.
I raise an eyebrow and look
at her, trying my best to keep a straight face. "Are you saying that
now you're not a scared virgin? When did the deflowering occur?
And where the hell was I?"
"Welcome to the new millennium,
Pacey. "Deflowering"? Archaic," she tosses off, playfully
avoiding the question.
"Answer me and my archaic
self."
"Oh, please. You'll
know the very moment I'm 'deflowered', Pacey. As for the scared part?
Well, let's just say that I'm feeling braver by the day," she says, the
smile on her face a mile wide, her eyes scrunched up, her nose wrinkled.
Embarrassed to the bone and beautiful. "Moving on now."
I continue to gaze at her
and the smile begins to fade and the eyes begin to widen. When I
wink at her she looks away and I chuckle. "Scaredy cat."
"Shut up."
"I thought you wanted me
to continue with the memories? We were having a bonding moment, Jo.
Priceless, really."
The glare I receive would
freeze a lesser man but me, I only get a little frostbite. "Okay,
moving on."
"Thank you," she replies
archly.
"Oh, you're welcome," I grant
her smoothly.
She narrows her eyes, smiling
falsely. "So kind of you."
"I'm generous," I shrug.
It's a curse that's plagued me all my life.
"You're an ass is what you
are."
"You love me for it."
"For your ass? Think
again."
"Oh, please," I mock her
earlier tone. "You have lusted after my ass for so long now.
Remember that day when you came downstairs while I was changing?
You stared at my bare white ass and you, Miss Josephine, enjoyed it."
"Moving on!"
By a quirk of an eyebrow
she acknowledges who took that round and I continue the stroll down memory
lane. "We were down in the Keys when that happened. Do you
remember how beautiful it was down there? How the water seemed to
sparkle more and the sand was brighter?"
"It was beautiful," she smiles.
"I remember how hot it was and how that island girl put my hair in braids
for ten bucks. It felt so good to have my hair not stuck to my neck."
"It was lovely. It
really was, the girl did a good job. Earned every dime of that money.
Every braid was tiny and perfect and ended with three multicolored beads
that clicked together when you moved your head."
"You hated it."
"Absolutely," I nod vigorously.
"I love touching your hair when I kiss you and the braids just were not
cooperating. And those god damned beads! Click clack click
clack."
She laughs and I remember
her throwing back her head and howling when I first told her why I didn't
like her hair like that. "You gave me a hard time about it, saying
it was chauvinistic of me to expect you to stop wearing your hair a certain
way just because I didn't care for it."
"But I did let you take it
out, if you do recall," she points out.
I remember. "We sat
up on deck and talked while I unraveled every single braid, throwing the
beads into the ocean as I went along. It took hours."
"Hours longer than it took
to put them in, by the way," she teases.
"Well, they were small and
I didn't want to pull your hair and stop looking at me like that.
So I liked touching your hair, all soft and crinkly from the braids.
Big deal," I say.
"It is a big deal.
You know why?"
And here it comes.
The moral of the story, folks.
"Why's that, Jo?" I ask gamely.
"Because you obviously still
remember it. Did those memories disappear once True Love sank?
If she sank at all?"
"No."
She's not done yet.
"Do those memories mean any less to you without the boat?"
"No."
"Do you see what I'm getting
at here, Pacey?" she questions, tilting her head.
"No."
"Pacey."
"Yes?" I try again.
She makes a face and I say,
"Yes, I know that even though I lost the boat, I didn't lose the memories."
"And why's that?" she prods
me.
I sigh dramatically and say,
"Because I carry the memories with me? Oh, I hope that's the right
answer." I cross my fingers for effect.
She smacks my leg and I drop
the wise-ass act. "I know the memories are part of me, part of us,
and not the boat. I know that."
Joey smiles, relieved.
"Good to know."
She's moving close to kiss
me, leaning over me from where she's sitting by my waist. Before
our mouths meet, we're interrupted by Bessie clearing her throat so hard
it makes her cough.
"Bessie. Hi.
Been so long since I've seen you, nice of you to come in to visit," I say.
"What do you want?"
"Ungrateful boy."
"Grateful man," I correct
her.
"Suck-up."
"Sucker."
"Your sister's on the phone
for you," she says, tossing the phone on the bed. "Goodnight."
Joey and I say our goodnights
to her and I pick up the phone. "Hey, Gretch."
"Pacey! Are you okay?
I just heard from the Leery's what happened."
The Leerys. God.
"I'm fine, Gretchen.
Really."
"Do I need to call you names?"
she sighs. "Do I need to berate you for your stupidity?"
"I've got that covered, thanks."
"I love you, loser."
"And it's moments like these
that touch me, deep inside," I smile. It is a little touching, that
at least one Witter cares.
"So . . . I bet I won't be
seeing you until tomorrow," she says after a moment, prodding me for info.
"Not until after school,
no," I say, not offering more or responding to the lascivious note in her
tone.
"Didn't you hear?" she asks,
surprised. "School's canceled for clean up. You have a nice
three-day weekend."
I look at Jo, who's been
flipping through a book off her nightstand while I talk. "Jo, school's
canceled tomorrow."
She smiles brightly.
"That's great! That gives us even more time to study."
Gretchen hears her and I
listen to her laugh. "Can't wait, Potter."
"I'm gonna let you go now,"
she says.
"Okay."
"Goodnight, Pace," Gretchen
tells me and then I hear the dial tone. Pushing the End button on
the phone, I put it on the nightstand.
"Speaking of goodnights .
. . I'm kinda beat and you're tired, too," I say. "I'm gonna go hit
Bessie up for a guestroom."
She's quiet for a moment
and continues looking at her book. "You could stay here."
"Potter."
Joey sets the book back down
on the dresser. "What? There's no harm."
"Bessie wouldn't appreciate
it very much and to the patrons of this fine establishment your reputation
would be sullied beyond repair."
She looks at me and I know
then that whatever protests I think of will fall on deaf ears. She
wants me to stay and since I basically want the same thing, my resistance
crumbles.
I nod and she gets up, walking
over to her dresser. She pulls open her drawer and pulls out an oversized
hockey jersey that belonged to her father in a previous life and reaches
for the hem of her t-shirt.
I've taken the opportunity
to rid myself of my sweatshirt and I toss it to the hamper, meeting her
eyes when she turns back to see if I'm looking.
"Of course I'm going to watch."
"Of course you're not."
I let out a big, pained sigh
and turn over on my stomach, resting my head on my forearms, grumbling
all the while. "I never get to see the good stuff."
She laughs, the tinkering
sound muffled by material as she changes. "Poor baby. I feel
your pain."
"Of all the things to feel,
you chose that?"
She doesn't have a quick
come back for that and I smile to myself, continuing. "There are
lots and lots of other things for you to feel."
"Such as?"
"My aching shoulders, for
one. They hurt like a bitch from - "
"- when you nearly died out
there," she interrupts, her voice soft.
I would have turned over
to look at her but then I felt the bed shift beneath her and then I felt
her weight as she straddled my ass.
I feel her hands on my back
as she begins to massage my aching muscles, her touch soothing. After
several long moments, she breaks the silence. "I nearly lost you,
Pacey."
I don't know how to reassure
her. "But you didn't."
"I could have," she insists.
"I'm okay."
There's a long pause and
then she says, "You make me mad enough to scream sometimes."
I laugh and hope that doesn't
anger her. "So scream, honey."
"I'd love to but I don't
want everyone running in here," she says in a matter-of-fact tone.
Sighing as she rubs my lower
back with slow motions, I wing it and hope I get it right.
"I'll take you out somewhere tomorrow, out in the country. You can
scream and nobody will care."
"There might be some violence
involved. Strongly worded tangents screamed at you. You scared
me to death and I think I want to kick your ass," she tells me while she
tenderly kneads the sore muscles in my mid-back.
"Violence and adult language?
Throw in a little gratuitous nudity and count me in," I say, unable to
stop myself. I yelp at the answering pinch and then say seriously,
"You can kick my ass if that's what will make you feel better, Jo."
Her hands leave me and before
I have the time to miss her touch she's lying flush against my back.
Her smooth cheek rests on my shoulder blade and her voice is small when
she says, "I don't really want to kick your ass, Pacey. Not much,
anyway."
"I know," I say gently, stretching
out further beneath her.
She's quiet then and after
awhile I start to nod off. I'm so tired and she's so warm against
me and then, when I think she's fallen asleep, she speaks in a voice so
quiet that I have a hard time catching what she says.
Her breath is warm against
my skin and one of her hands continues to idly caress my upper arm.
"I love you, Pacey."
She doesn't say it often
and neither do I. We reference it, we say it in roundabout ways,
but rarely do we say those three little words to each other. So I
know this is from her heart and I want to show her that I heard and that
I know. It's still hard for me to believe, but I know.
Shifting slightly, I cover
her hand with my own and she snuggles a little tighter against me.
I doze off beneath her and it's one of the deepest sleeps I've had in a
long, long time.
When I awaken the next morning,
it takes me a moment to remember what the hell I'm doing in Joey's bed.
Then it comes back to me in flashes: the storm, Dawson coming to my rescue,
the look on Joey's face that made me leave True Love.
I look at her as she lies
beside me, so close she's sharing the pillow with me. Her hair is
tousled and she's snoring ever so slightly and she's utterly adorable.
I want to kiss her but I don't want to wake her. So instead I lie
here a while longer, content to watch her sleep.
My thoughts return to Dawson
and how I'd known he would come for us, how I'd known that he knew that
I'd head for that cove. Sure enough, he had. I remember
his face when I said I was staying with True Love, how incredulous he'd
been and looking back, that was pretty stupid of me.
I nearly went over to him
last night, afterward when he was leaning against his parent's SUV.
I didn't and now I have to go over there and choke back a shitload of pride
and thank him for saving my life and Jen's, too.
Not only that, but my conscious
has been screaming at me to apologize to him for what happened last spring
with Joey.
Thinking of Joey brings my
attention back to her, and she begins to stir beneath my gaze. Lazily
opening her eyes, she sees me watching her and smiles. Her voice
is scratchy as she says, "You're such a dork. Why are you staring
at me?"
I laugh and brush away a
few wayward strands of hair, loving the way she closes her eyes briefly
and nuzzles her face into my touch. "Because you're beautiful."
"Yeah, sure," she dismisses
the comment, blushing. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby. And you
know what made it wonderful?"
I can see by the look in
her eyes that she's anticipating an explanation so romantic that she'll
have to steel herself from swooning.
"I had a Joey on my back
and for once she wasn't nagging me."
Her mouth drops open and
before she can voice her indignation, I kiss her.
When we break apart long
moments later, she offers me a half-smile. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"Aren't you going to tell
me?"
"Tell you what?" I ask, playing
dumb. It ain't too hard these days.
"What's wrong with you?"
I sigh, and pull the covers
closer around us. Oh, where do I begin?
"Dawson."
The words 'I knew it' are
written plainly on her face and I continue. "I'm gonna go see him
this morning."
She nods sedately and I know
she's about to burst at the seams, she's so thrilled. "That's a good
idea," she calmly replies.
"No!" I exclaim, all shocked
and appalled. "Really?"
She makes a face, trying
not to laugh. "Okay, so maybe I haven't been the very picture of
subtlety when it comes to you and Dawson rebuilding your friendship."
"You think?"
"I only - what was the word?
nag? - because I care, Pacey."
"Why?" I ask her.
She looks thoughtful for
a moment and I can tell she's searching for the right words. "The
three of us were always close, especially growing up. You guys were
my only friends, especially after the Potter's became the biggest scandal
to hit Capeside in decades. But you know what? I was the third
wheel."
"You weren't a third wheel,
Jo."
"Yes I was. You two
excluded me more and more as we grew older. I tried to be one of
the boys but when it comes right down to it, I don't have a penis."
I laugh, slightly shocked
she even said the word. "Maybe I wasn't so appreciative of that fact
when I was ten but I'm thanking God for that now, Jo."
"Anyway," she cuts in.
"There's always been a bond between the two of you that I couldn't touch,
however close I was to you both. You're closer than most brothers
are, Pacey. At least, you were."
"You feel guilty," I realize.
She nods and continues.
"Because of me, you're both hurting without the friendship of the other.
And I don't know if you believe this or not, but I mostly care about how
it's affecting you. Of course it bothers me that Dawson is hurt and
of course I wish things could have gone differently in the sense that we
could have spared him more of it. But Pacey, I know that underneath
the snide comments you make about him, however much you profess not to
care, you miss him. Don't you?"
She's good. Damn good.
Too good. "Yeah."
"He misses you too, Pacey."
I hear the bitter harshness
of my own laughter. "Really."
"Yes, really," she insists.
"He didn't say that in so many words but he does. He just feels betrayed."
"So do I."
I've surprised her and it's
obvious that she's confused by my statement so I elaborate further.
"I'm not saying that he doesn't have the right to feel betrayed.
He felt that you were his, no matter if you were broken up or not, and
I knew that. I just . . . I just couldn't stop myself from falling
for you. But . . ."
She touches my face and urges
me to continue. "But . . . "
"But he betrayed me, too,"
I tell her, voicing these feelings for the first time. "Jo, all my
life, everyone has told me that I'm a failure. That I'm a worthless
screw-up with nothing good to offer anyone. But Dawson? He
treated me like I was human. Like I was a good person and he was
glad I was his friend. He told me that it was just too damn bad that
my own family didn't know what a great son they have. And then when
he found out that I loved you? Or at the very least, had strong feelings
for you? He went straight for the jugular."
"He was jealous. He's
still jealous. And I know that doesn't excuse him for playing on
your insecurities, but Pacey . . . he didn't mean it. Those things
he said the night he found out? He was hurting and he lashed out."
She has an undeniable point
there and I acknowledge it. "But what if he really does think I'm
just a sex-obsessed, arrogant asshole who doesn't care about anything other
than getting laid?"
Shaking her head, she says,
"He doesn't. He just wants to know that you care that you hurt his
feelings, that you at least feel badly about it."
"I do."
"Then tell him. When
you go over to thank him, tell him that you do regret it."
"He won't listen," I tell
her. "He walks away as soon as he sees me and he acts like I'm nothing,
like I'm not even there."
"I think he's ready to hear
it."
"Jo. . . "
"You're going to have to
be the one to make the first step, Pacey."
I'm silent for awhile, mulling
over her words. She's right but I don't want to admit it. Finally
I say, "I'll apologize for hurting him but I don't think it'll make much
difference. Because in the end, I can't say I'm sorry that you love
me and that's what it really comes down to, Jo."
"I don't think he expects
you to apologize for being the man I love," she says. She surprises
me again when she says, "And if he does, he has even bigger problems coping
with reality that we've always thought."
Her words are exactly what
I need to hear and I'm once again amazed by her. Leaning closer to
her, I kiss her forehead and she snuggles closer to my body and we lie
like that for God knows how long.
Much later, after a hearty
brunch shared with both the Potters and the inn's guests, she sees me to
the door and follows me out onto the porch.
"It's a beautiful day," she
remarks, looking toward the clear blue sky.
"Wanna spend it with me?"
I ask, wrapping my arms around her waist.
"But of course. You
thought I was kidding about studying, but no. Don't forget your bookbag
when you go home to change," she tells me, sweetening the words with a
kiss.
The storm has swept through
and while it certainly wreaked havoc on our lives, the world looks all
the better for it. Cleaner and somehow brighter; fresh and new.
Full of possibility.