Author's Note: Just to let the readers know, everything in this story is written for a reason. Personalities are changed on purpose as well as everything else. Also, if you want to know who's going to end up together...you just have to read the story. That stinks, huh? hehe Anyway, enjoy! And REVIEW!!BR
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HTMLFONT SIZE=3 PTSIZE=9BMore to ComeBR
By JaycieBR
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/BShe sat, her long lanky legs crossed, the diamond jewelry glittering against her tawny skin. She sighed. They would cross paths, she knew. It would be inevitable, and the knowledge of this made her shiver with anticipation. It had been so long.. too long. She pushed a few strands of her long jet-black hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ears. She wondered what he'd do when he saw her. But no, she didn't have to wonder. She could picture his face perfectly. The shocked, confused, and maybe a little hurt, expression, his deer fawn eyes looking questioningly into hers... She had been such a fool.BR
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But she was scared to see him, so scared that nightmares awoke her nearly every night, dreams of all the worst scenarios her brain could imagine. Of him rejecting her, or worse, laughing at her. She had been a fool to leave, and was now even a bigger one to think she could just return no questions asked. But she knew there would be questions, she was prepared to answer them. Any he asked, she'd have a reply. Even for the really tough ones.BR
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At least this is what she told herself. Had chanted over and over to herself as she had boarded the plane, as she had stuffed her carryon bags into the overhead compartment. As she had walked into the place she knew he'd never avoid. As she sat here, trying in vain to keep her delicate fingers from trembling.BR
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He wouldn't reject her. He couldn't.BR
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Pacey stood in front of his childhood home, a cold bottle of vodka in his grip. He could feel all the rage, the hate, boil up inside of him. Thirty-three years of un-confronted pain staring him straight in the face. He hated this house, despised the white shutters, couldn't bear the sight of the quaint flower garden. "Could've been Beaver friggin' Cleaver's house," he muttered under his alcohol-laden breath.BR
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He hadn't been back here since high school. He'd put himself through college, through graduate school. Only one thing had kept him going, only one thought: 'You have to show him you're not nothing,' he had told himself. It had been enough motivation for six years of nothing but work and school. He had woken up every day at five, worked from five thirty to eleven, going straight from work to school. Sat through class after class until six at night, only to return to his job at the butcher's, working until past midnight only to go home and fall into bed. BR
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Pacey had turned himself into a zombie, an unfeeling, uncaring monster. He had had no girlfriends, no friends even. Of course part of that had been because of Andie. "But there's no thinking of Andie tonight," he said.BR
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No, Andie wasn't going to be on his mind. He wanted to focus his rage on the person he hated most. His father.BR
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He swallowed three gulps of soothing vodka. It made him see straighter, helped him forget his conscience. Helped him see all the perfectly logical reasons why he should take revenge on his father.BR
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The door looked so homey, so inviting. Funny, then, that Pacey hadn't once felt welcomed in his home. Had always been treated as an outsider. As unwanted. His father had treated him as a lower being, not human at all. No matter how hard Pacey had tried to impress, to make his father see he was worthy of his love, Mr. Witter had repeatedly shut him down. He had thought his three page spread in People magazine would make his father at least contact him, if only for some free publicity. But no word ever came. So Pacey's twenty-five hour work day had been for naught. His father noticed nothing. BR
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Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks, stained the front of his sweatshirt. A scream of utter pain and rage erupted from his lips and he let his sobs come freely. He had to do something. He felt the cold glass of the vodka bottle between his sweaty fingers. Pacey chugged a portion of it before raising it over his head, the remains of the liquid pouring to the ground, like Pacey's tears streaming down his cheeks. With another howl of anger he hurled the bottle at the house, through one of the curtained windows. The shatter of glass on glass rang through the tranquil night and the sound comforted Pacey. He wiped at his wet cheeks, took a few deep breaths, suddenly wishing he had finished the bottle before throwing it. BR
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He stared in glee at the window. Nothing was left, only pointy edges stuck from the corners of the window, gleaming like knives in the moonlight. The rest was scattered across the ground and in the house. He had ruined the house his father took such pride in taking care of. "I put the money I was willing to spend on you on the house, Pacey," his father had sneered one night, "Since you'll never amount to anything."BR
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"Shows how wrong you were, father dearest," Pacey slurred. BR
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"Wow, is it normal to feel this embarrassed?" Josephine bit nervously at her nail as she climbed under the hotel's stiff comforter. BR
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Ricky turned from the sink, his mouth full of toothpaste, "I couldn't tell you, Josie," he paused to rinse his mouth out. "Maybe if you'd let me in on the whole story I'd be able to give better advice." He raised a playful eyebrow at her.BR
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"Nice try, Rick, but not good enough. Trust me, you don't want to know the whole story, I don't even know if you'd want to be friends with me anymore." Josephine pulled the comforter up to her chin, thinking about how they didn't offer much comfort, despite their name.BR
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Ricky sat beside her, wrapping a thick arm around her shoulders, "Hey. I don't want to hear that from you, Josie," his tone was sober, "Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep me from your side." He grabbed her chin as she lowered her head in embarrasment. "No joking."BR
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She looked into his kind brown eyes, "How many times have I thanked you lately?"BR
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Ricky laughed, "Not nearly enough times, that much I know. I go through so much for you, girl." he kissed her forehead softly, "Now go to sleep. Tommorrow will bring even harder trials."BR
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Josephine hugged him and lay back, feeling safe and secure, "Yeah, like Dawson."BR
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Ricky shivered dramatically, "Stop!" he wailed, "I can't deal with that name. Not tonight."BR
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She laughed as Ricky switched off the light, casting the room into darkness. Josephine snuggled down into the covers and tried hard to make Pacey's annoyed face vanish from her mind. He had turned back after she had foolishly called after him again, his face openly displaying his thoughts of her. She had chickened out, saying never mind and promising to call soon. But she'd never call and this she'd known from the minute he'd handed her his card. The truth behind Andie's death was to forever be her secret. It was her punishment, dealt out by herself. She'd have to live with her grief and unbearable guilt on her own until judgement day. It was what she deserved.BR
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Dawson looked down at Jolie, curled up in his lap and sleeping peacefully, and wondered for the billionth time how something this perfect could have been made by him. It baffled his mind and would for the rest of his life. He looked away from her with some effort and turned his gaze back on his father. His parents had gotten officially divorced and Gail had moved to Florida some years back. Dawson had little contact with her.BR
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"I know what you think when you look at her, Dawson," Mitch said with a smile, "You look at her flawless little face and ask how she could've come from you. I used to think the same things about you. I still do."BR
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Dawson looked at his father, for the first time in his life seeing him on another level. On the same level as himself. Mitch had seen Dawson grow and change. He had let him change. Had smiled as Dawson discovered everything life had to offer, but had also stood back and let him experience everything in his own way and time. Would Dawson be as good a father to Jolie as Mitch was to him?BR
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Mitch leaned back against the couch cushions, "I only wish our family hadn't been so dysfunctional. With your mother and I coming and going so often... it must've been so difficult for you, Dawson."BR
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He nodded, thinking about how hard it really had been for him. He had always been torn between the two, never fully sure which side to take, knowing inside that he shouldn't really have to take a side at all. Dawson looked down at his daughter once more, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Jolie would have the same life. She had hardly known Nicole, hadn't yet had time to know her. She would grow up motherless. Suddenly Dawson knew he hated Nicole. Hated her for leaving Jolie, for her selfishness. And also he hated her for leaving him, because he loved Nicole with all his heart. All she would need to do was come back and he'd welcome her. His heart was empty without her.BR
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Mitch seemed to read his mind again, "Have you talked to Nicole since she left?"BR
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Dawson shook his head, his throat constricting painfully. He lifted Jolie gently from his lap, placing her down on the couch. "I have to go, Dad. Just to take a walk or something."BR
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Mitch nodded, "I'll put Jolie to bed."
And Dawson left.BR
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Andie smiled up at Jack, her eyes reflecting the tiny white lights on the tree. Jack grinned as he tweaked her nose affectionately. Andie had never lost the Christmas spirit. Last night, she had forced Jack to help her hang their stockings, which were threadbare and ragged from many years of being stuffed to the brim with candy canes and chocolate Santas. And as Jack watched, amused, from the kitchen table, Andie had zipped around the room, pouring a tall glass of milk and collecting red and green frosted sugar cookies onto a special Christmas plate. "For Santa," she whispered, as if Santa could hear. She placed an apple and a stalk of celery next to the plate. "For the reindeer," she had told Jack, a childish gleam in her eye.
She was down on her hands and knees now, her bare toes digging into the carpet as she searched through the piles of shining presents. She popped up to her knees, a wrapped box in her hands. She held it out to Jack eagerly, anticipation making her grin and bite her lip. "This is yours, Jack. From me."
Jack took the gift from Andie, some of her glee rubbing off onto him. "For me? You shouldn't have." He sat on the couch and started tearing the green and red paper from the box. He was surprised to find his fingers were shaking. With a deep breath, he lifted off the box top and pushed away a layer of gold tissue paper. It was a framed picture of the two of them, a shot taken during the last week of high school. The frame was engraved, at the top, "An Unbreakable Bond..." and at the bottom, "I love you, brother. -Andie"
Jack wiped away the tear that had escaped his eye, looking to Andie, "This is amazing."
Andie's shining eyes dimmed, her smile fell into a frown. "Do you really like it, Jack?"
Jack nodded, "Of course."
Andie dropped her head, speaking without looking at him, "Good. Keep it always." She stood, slowly walking away from Jack, "It'll be our last picture together."
Jack jumped up, the picture and the box crashing to the ground, "Andie! What do you mean?"
But she was gone.
Jack awoke weeping. He rolled onto his back, letting the sobs wrack his body until he coughed. He could feel a headache beginning at his temple, but still his tears consumed him. Andie had so much to live for, not only her Harvard education, but also her personality, her love of life. She was robbed of any chance she should've had in one careless instant. Sometimes he wished he could shake her, yell at her. He wanted her to know he thought she was a fool. For letting a stupid man take her world away.
Jack stood up off the bed, wiping his tears roughly from his face with the back of his hand. He walked over to his suitcase, tucked away in the closet. He opened it and dug under all of the clothes, closing his hand over a cold metal object. Jack pulled out the picture and dropped it onto his lap, running his fingers over the words, "An Unbreakable Bond..." Jack's tears dropped one by one, splashing onto his and Andie's faces.
Pacey, feeling rejuvenated after trashing his father's house, had stumbled through the placid streets of Capeside, searching for somewhere to go. He couldn't go back to the hotel and back to sleep...not with Andie so fresh on his mind.
O'Connor's Pub, a bar dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century, called out to Pacey. As he pulled open the heavy oak doors, he remembered how he and Dawson used to set up a makeshift O'Connor's Pub in Dawson's backyard. They'd climb into their tree house and sit at their make believe counter, both ordering martinis. They used to think it was a marteeny, and that the drink was small. Pacey shook his head; silently wishing Dawson would be in the bar.
Pacey sighed as he took a seat at the bar. It was unusually crowded tonight and he had taken the last available seat. On his right sat a woman who took Pacey's breath away. She wore a form-fitting little black dress, her diamond necklace and earrings glinting in the dim bar light. Pin straight jet-black locks fell to the bottom of her shoulder blades; they too shining as she casually flipped her hair over her shoulder. As she glanced at Pacey briefly, he caught sight of warm chocolate brown eyes, framed by lashes thick as fur. Pacey chuckled and scratched his head, both his father and Andie momentarily forgotten.
To his left, a man about Pacey's age let his head drop to his shoulders; pushing an empty beer bottle next to another seven empty ones. His business suit looked as if it had been in a worse fight than its owner. With one last glance at the looker to his right, Pacey decided he'd do better on the left side tonight.
He clapped a hand over the back of the man and he snapped his head up, looking at Pacey bleary-eyed. "Who the fuck're you?"
Pacey laughed, "Your best friend, man. You look like you could use an ear." He paused, "And maybe a bathroom later."
The man hardly paused, "It's tough, going back to your hometown. I mean, I'm this big shot lawyer now, you know? But I come back to this hellhole and I still feel like I'm the shit on the big jock's shoe. You get what I'm saying?"
Pacey nodded, thinking this conversation might be more therapeutic than he first believed, "I definitely do."
"I wasn't going to come back," the man motioned for the bartender and ordered another beer. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Yeah, I was going to just stay home in my mansion and never face the demons. But then I said, fuck it, you know? What the hell have they got over me now?"
"Absolutely nothing," Pacey commiserated
"You're wrong! They still run your life..." the man leaned shakily toward Pacey, talking in a stage whisper, "You can run, but you can't hide, my man. You can't hide. I'm seeing all these people I left so far behind now and it's like I never left. How fucking stupid am I? Saying I'd come to some stupid high school reunion."
"Did you go to Capeside High?" Pacey interrupted.
The man grimaced, "Yeah, most torturous four years of my damn life."
Pacey smiled, "Me too."
The man stuck out a wobbly hand and grinned foolishly, "Peter Welsh, class of two thousand and one."
The name didn't ring any bells for Pacey, but he introduced himself anyway, "Pacey Witter."
Pacey saw a glimmer of recognition in Peter's eyes, "You're the guy who spit in that English teacher's face! Fucking brilliant. I was in your class."
Pacey was too drunk to be embarrassed for not remembering Peter, "That was great, wasn't it? Best thing I ever did in high school, I can say that much. I can't believe you remember that." Both Peter and Pacey found this hysterical and they laughed until tears came to their cheeks.
Pacey began to think it wasn't such a terrible idea to be back at Capeside. It had been unfortunate seeing Joey first. If it had been Dawson at the airport, Pacey would've had a much brighter outlook on the whole trip. He sat forward as the bar door opened, maybe it would be one of his old school friends.
Pacey's jaw dropped as he realized just how right he'd been. Dawson Leery stood frozen to his spot, his hand immobile on the door. Pacey hadn't expected Dawson to be so shocked the first time he saw him. After all, Pacey hadn't changed that much, especially now in his old sweatshirt and beat-up jeans. He was about to call out to him, but Dawson spoke first.
"Nicole?"
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HTMLFONT SIZE=3 PTSIZE=9BMore to ComeBR
By JaycieBR
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/BShe sat, her long lanky legs crossed, the diamond jewelry glittering against her tawny skin. She sighed. They would cross paths, she knew. It would be inevitable, and the knowledge of this made her shiver with anticipation. It had been so long.. too long. She pushed a few strands of her long jet-black hair from her eyes, tucking them behind her ears. She wondered what he'd do when he saw her. But no, she didn't have to wonder. She could picture his face perfectly. The shocked, confused, and maybe a little hurt, expression, his deer fawn eyes looking questioningly into hers... She had been such a fool.BR
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But she was scared to see him, so scared that nightmares awoke her nearly every night, dreams of all the worst scenarios her brain could imagine. Of him rejecting her, or worse, laughing at her. She had been a fool to leave, and was now even a bigger one to think she could just return no questions asked. But she knew there would be questions, she was prepared to answer them. Any he asked, she'd have a reply. Even for the really tough ones.BR
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At least this is what she told herself. Had chanted over and over to herself as she had boarded the plane, as she had stuffed her carryon bags into the overhead compartment. As she had walked into the place she knew he'd never avoid. As she sat here, trying in vain to keep her delicate fingers from trembling.BR
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He wouldn't reject her. He couldn't.BR
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Pacey stood in front of his childhood home, a cold bottle of vodka in his grip. He could feel all the rage, the hate, boil up inside of him. Thirty-three years of un-confronted pain staring him straight in the face. He hated this house, despised the white shutters, couldn't bear the sight of the quaint flower garden. "Could've been Beaver friggin' Cleaver's house," he muttered under his alcohol-laden breath.BR
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He hadn't been back here since high school. He'd put himself through college, through graduate school. Only one thing had kept him going, only one thought: 'You have to show him you're not nothing,' he had told himself. It had been enough motivation for six years of nothing but work and school. He had woken up every day at five, worked from five thirty to eleven, going straight from work to school. Sat through class after class until six at night, only to return to his job at the butcher's, working until past midnight only to go home and fall into bed. BR
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Pacey had turned himself into a zombie, an unfeeling, uncaring monster. He had had no girlfriends, no friends even. Of course part of that had been because of Andie. "But there's no thinking of Andie tonight," he said.BR
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No, Andie wasn't going to be on his mind. He wanted to focus his rage on the person he hated most. His father.BR
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He swallowed three gulps of soothing vodka. It made him see straighter, helped him forget his conscience. Helped him see all the perfectly logical reasons why he should take revenge on his father.BR
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The door looked so homey, so inviting. Funny, then, that Pacey hadn't once felt welcomed in his home. Had always been treated as an outsider. As unwanted. His father had treated him as a lower being, not human at all. No matter how hard Pacey had tried to impress, to make his father see he was worthy of his love, Mr. Witter had repeatedly shut him down. He had thought his three page spread in People magazine would make his father at least contact him, if only for some free publicity. But no word ever came. So Pacey's twenty-five hour work day had been for naught. His father noticed nothing. BR
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Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks, stained the front of his sweatshirt. A scream of utter pain and rage erupted from his lips and he let his sobs come freely. He had to do something. He felt the cold glass of the vodka bottle between his sweaty fingers. Pacey chugged a portion of it before raising it over his head, the remains of the liquid pouring to the ground, like Pacey's tears streaming down his cheeks. With another howl of anger he hurled the bottle at the house, through one of the curtained windows. The shatter of glass on glass rang through the tranquil night and the sound comforted Pacey. He wiped at his wet cheeks, took a few deep breaths, suddenly wishing he had finished the bottle before throwing it. BR
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He stared in glee at the window. Nothing was left, only pointy edges stuck from the corners of the window, gleaming like knives in the moonlight. The rest was scattered across the ground and in the house. He had ruined the house his father took such pride in taking care of. "I put the money I was willing to spend on you on the house, Pacey," his father had sneered one night, "Since you'll never amount to anything."BR
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"Shows how wrong you were, father dearest," Pacey slurred. BR
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"Wow, is it normal to feel this embarrassed?" Josephine bit nervously at her nail as she climbed under the hotel's stiff comforter. BR
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Ricky turned from the sink, his mouth full of toothpaste, "I couldn't tell you, Josie," he paused to rinse his mouth out. "Maybe if you'd let me in on the whole story I'd be able to give better advice." He raised a playful eyebrow at her.BR
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"Nice try, Rick, but not good enough. Trust me, you don't want to know the whole story, I don't even know if you'd want to be friends with me anymore." Josephine pulled the comforter up to her chin, thinking about how they didn't offer much comfort, despite their name.BR
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Ricky sat beside her, wrapping a thick arm around her shoulders, "Hey. I don't want to hear that from you, Josie," his tone was sober, "Nothing, and I mean nothing, could keep me from your side." He grabbed her chin as she lowered her head in embarrasment. "No joking."BR
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She looked into his kind brown eyes, "How many times have I thanked you lately?"BR
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Ricky laughed, "Not nearly enough times, that much I know. I go through so much for you, girl." he kissed her forehead softly, "Now go to sleep. Tommorrow will bring even harder trials."BR
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Josephine hugged him and lay back, feeling safe and secure, "Yeah, like Dawson."BR
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Ricky shivered dramatically, "Stop!" he wailed, "I can't deal with that name. Not tonight."BR
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She laughed as Ricky switched off the light, casting the room into darkness. Josephine snuggled down into the covers and tried hard to make Pacey's annoyed face vanish from her mind. He had turned back after she had foolishly called after him again, his face openly displaying his thoughts of her. She had chickened out, saying never mind and promising to call soon. But she'd never call and this she'd known from the minute he'd handed her his card. The truth behind Andie's death was to forever be her secret. It was her punishment, dealt out by herself. She'd have to live with her grief and unbearable guilt on her own until judgement day. It was what she deserved.BR
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Dawson looked down at Jolie, curled up in his lap and sleeping peacefully, and wondered for the billionth time how something this perfect could have been made by him. It baffled his mind and would for the rest of his life. He looked away from her with some effort and turned his gaze back on his father. His parents had gotten officially divorced and Gail had moved to Florida some years back. Dawson had little contact with her.BR
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"I know what you think when you look at her, Dawson," Mitch said with a smile, "You look at her flawless little face and ask how she could've come from you. I used to think the same things about you. I still do."BR
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Dawson looked at his father, for the first time in his life seeing him on another level. On the same level as himself. Mitch had seen Dawson grow and change. He had let him change. Had smiled as Dawson discovered everything life had to offer, but had also stood back and let him experience everything in his own way and time. Would Dawson be as good a father to Jolie as Mitch was to him?BR
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Mitch leaned back against the couch cushions, "I only wish our family hadn't been so dysfunctional. With your mother and I coming and going so often... it must've been so difficult for you, Dawson."BR
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He nodded, thinking about how hard it really had been for him. He had always been torn between the two, never fully sure which side to take, knowing inside that he shouldn't really have to take a side at all. Dawson looked down at his daughter once more, and a wave of guilt washed over him. Jolie would have the same life. She had hardly known Nicole, hadn't yet had time to know her. She would grow up motherless. Suddenly Dawson knew he hated Nicole. Hated her for leaving Jolie, for her selfishness. And also he hated her for leaving him, because he loved Nicole with all his heart. All she would need to do was come back and he'd welcome her. His heart was empty without her.BR
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Mitch seemed to read his mind again, "Have you talked to Nicole since she left?"BR
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Dawson shook his head, his throat constricting painfully. He lifted Jolie gently from his lap, placing her down on the couch. "I have to go, Dad. Just to take a walk or something."BR
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Mitch nodded, "I'll put Jolie to bed."
And Dawson left.BR
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Andie smiled up at Jack, her eyes reflecting the tiny white lights on the tree. Jack grinned as he tweaked her nose affectionately. Andie had never lost the Christmas spirit. Last night, she had forced Jack to help her hang their stockings, which were threadbare and ragged from many years of being stuffed to the brim with candy canes and chocolate Santas. And as Jack watched, amused, from the kitchen table, Andie had zipped around the room, pouring a tall glass of milk and collecting red and green frosted sugar cookies onto a special Christmas plate. "For Santa," she whispered, as if Santa could hear. She placed an apple and a stalk of celery next to the plate. "For the reindeer," she had told Jack, a childish gleam in her eye.
She was down on her hands and knees now, her bare toes digging into the carpet as she searched through the piles of shining presents. She popped up to her knees, a wrapped box in her hands. She held it out to Jack eagerly, anticipation making her grin and bite her lip. "This is yours, Jack. From me."
Jack took the gift from Andie, some of her glee rubbing off onto him. "For me? You shouldn't have." He sat on the couch and started tearing the green and red paper from the box. He was surprised to find his fingers were shaking. With a deep breath, he lifted off the box top and pushed away a layer of gold tissue paper. It was a framed picture of the two of them, a shot taken during the last week of high school. The frame was engraved, at the top, "An Unbreakable Bond..." and at the bottom, "I love you, brother. -Andie"
Jack wiped away the tear that had escaped his eye, looking to Andie, "This is amazing."
Andie's shining eyes dimmed, her smile fell into a frown. "Do you really like it, Jack?"
Jack nodded, "Of course."
Andie dropped her head, speaking without looking at him, "Good. Keep it always." She stood, slowly walking away from Jack, "It'll be our last picture together."
Jack jumped up, the picture and the box crashing to the ground, "Andie! What do you mean?"
But she was gone.
Jack awoke weeping. He rolled onto his back, letting the sobs wrack his body until he coughed. He could feel a headache beginning at his temple, but still his tears consumed him. Andie had so much to live for, not only her Harvard education, but also her personality, her love of life. She was robbed of any chance she should've had in one careless instant. Sometimes he wished he could shake her, yell at her. He wanted her to know he thought she was a fool. For letting a stupid man take her world away.
Jack stood up off the bed, wiping his tears roughly from his face with the back of his hand. He walked over to his suitcase, tucked away in the closet. He opened it and dug under all of the clothes, closing his hand over a cold metal object. Jack pulled out the picture and dropped it onto his lap, running his fingers over the words, "An Unbreakable Bond..." Jack's tears dropped one by one, splashing onto his and Andie's faces.
Pacey, feeling rejuvenated after trashing his father's house, had stumbled through the placid streets of Capeside, searching for somewhere to go. He couldn't go back to the hotel and back to sleep...not with Andie so fresh on his mind.
O'Connor's Pub, a bar dating back to the turn of the nineteenth century, called out to Pacey. As he pulled open the heavy oak doors, he remembered how he and Dawson used to set up a makeshift O'Connor's Pub in Dawson's backyard. They'd climb into their tree house and sit at their make believe counter, both ordering martinis. They used to think it was a marteeny, and that the drink was small. Pacey shook his head; silently wishing Dawson would be in the bar.
Pacey sighed as he took a seat at the bar. It was unusually crowded tonight and he had taken the last available seat. On his right sat a woman who took Pacey's breath away. She wore a form-fitting little black dress, her diamond necklace and earrings glinting in the dim bar light. Pin straight jet-black locks fell to the bottom of her shoulder blades; they too shining as she casually flipped her hair over her shoulder. As she glanced at Pacey briefly, he caught sight of warm chocolate brown eyes, framed by lashes thick as fur. Pacey chuckled and scratched his head, both his father and Andie momentarily forgotten.
To his left, a man about Pacey's age let his head drop to his shoulders; pushing an empty beer bottle next to another seven empty ones. His business suit looked as if it had been in a worse fight than its owner. With one last glance at the looker to his right, Pacey decided he'd do better on the left side tonight.
He clapped a hand over the back of the man and he snapped his head up, looking at Pacey bleary-eyed. "Who the fuck're you?"
Pacey laughed, "Your best friend, man. You look like you could use an ear." He paused, "And maybe a bathroom later."
The man hardly paused, "It's tough, going back to your hometown. I mean, I'm this big shot lawyer now, you know? But I come back to this hellhole and I still feel like I'm the shit on the big jock's shoe. You get what I'm saying?"
Pacey nodded, thinking this conversation might be more therapeutic than he first believed, "I definitely do."
"I wasn't going to come back," the man motioned for the bartender and ordered another beer. The bartender raised an eyebrow but said nothing. "Yeah, I was going to just stay home in my mansion and never face the demons. But then I said, fuck it, you know? What the hell have they got over me now?"
"Absolutely nothing," Pacey commiserated
"You're wrong! They still run your life..." the man leaned shakily toward Pacey, talking in a stage whisper, "You can run, but you can't hide, my man. You can't hide. I'm seeing all these people I left so far behind now and it's like I never left. How fucking stupid am I? Saying I'd come to some stupid high school reunion."
"Did you go to Capeside High?" Pacey interrupted.
The man grimaced, "Yeah, most torturous four years of my damn life."
Pacey smiled, "Me too."
The man stuck out a wobbly hand and grinned foolishly, "Peter Welsh, class of two thousand and one."
The name didn't ring any bells for Pacey, but he introduced himself anyway, "Pacey Witter."
Pacey saw a glimmer of recognition in Peter's eyes, "You're the guy who spit in that English teacher's face! Fucking brilliant. I was in your class."
Pacey was too drunk to be embarrassed for not remembering Peter, "That was great, wasn't it? Best thing I ever did in high school, I can say that much. I can't believe you remember that." Both Peter and Pacey found this hysterical and they laughed until tears came to their cheeks.
Pacey began to think it wasn't such a terrible idea to be back at Capeside. It had been unfortunate seeing Joey first. If it had been Dawson at the airport, Pacey would've had a much brighter outlook on the whole trip. He sat forward as the bar door opened, maybe it would be one of his old school friends.
Pacey's jaw dropped as he realized just how right he'd been. Dawson Leery stood frozen to his spot, his hand immobile on the door. Pacey hadn't expected Dawson to be so shocked the first time he saw him. After all, Pacey hadn't changed that much, especially now in his old sweatshirt and beat-up jeans. He was about to call out to him, but Dawson spoke first.
"Nicole?"