Dinner with Friends
by Kaytee

Disclaimer: This shit ain't mine, and they can keep it.

Author's Note: This veers off from the show's storyline after "Something Wild." As in, Pacey and Audrey aren't hooking up, Joey didn't kiss her damn teacher, and Dawson was only mildly irritating. Yeah.

Thank you: To Bijal, for seven solid months of total flaking on my part. To Lara, for being a-musing. To Laura Sue, for wacked-out inspiration.

Rating: PG

Distribution: Ask me.

Feedback: Yes, please! kaytee@dstream.net

Part Three

It was just beginning to snow when we arrived, but it looks like it's been snowing steadily since. The chill in the air steals the breath from my lungs, and I wish I'd remembered my gloves. They're not exactly doing me a whole lot of good on my nightstand.

"Damn, it's cold!" Audrey exclaims as she steps outside, immediately pulling her jacket tighter around her. "I think my nipples are about to pop off."

"I could warm 'em up for you, if you want," Pacey says, offering two helping hands.

"Gosh, so generous!" she enthuses. "No."

"How bout you, Jo?" he asks, undeterred. Wiggling his fingers, he raises his eyebrows and grins. "Need any help?"

Memories of lazy afternoons on the deck of our boat swirl up before I can suppress them. And it's clear he knows exactly what's making me scowl. "Yeah, I don't think so. Sorry."

He shrugs as Dawson and Jen join us, buttoning up their coats. "Your loss."

Dawson glances between us and decides not to ask. Bless him. "Jen and I are going back home. Do you guys want to come with us? We could watch a movie."

"Yeah, come on," Jen adds, plainly trying to get out of having to watch Jaws with him for the hundredth time. "We haven't had a movie night in a long while."

"Actually," Audrey cuts in, "I have a date. I gotta get going."

"What?" She didn't tell me she had a date before we left. "With who?"

"Jason," she answers, speaking to me as if I'm particularly dense. "You know, the guy I met on the way to the bathroom? I'm supposed to meet him at the Sugar Shack in half an hour."

"Oh, silly me," I comment, shaking my head. "Will you be home by midnight?"

"Not a chance." She grabs my head and gives me a kiss on the cheek, saying, "Don't wait up!"

"Well, what about you?" Jen asks Pacey, trying to scratch the tip of her nose with gloves on. "We'll even let you make dessert for us if you're really nice."

He pretends to take a moment to consider before answering. "Somehow, I think I'll have to decline your lovely offer. I wouldn't want to interfere with the quality time you're about to spend with Roy Schneider, bad impressions and a detailed history of the film by your boyfriend."

"Hey!" Dawson protests. "My impressions are not that bad. Right, Jen?"

Jen shakes her head in agreement with him. "They're very, uh . . . well practiced."

Looking up at me with pleading eyes, she says, "We have E.T. We have Pretty in Pink. We have Pretty Woman and lots and lots of other movies."

"Joey's gotta go home," Pacey interjects, completely ignoring the way my head whips toward him in order to glare incredulously. "Big test tomorrow, she needs to study."

"Goodnight, then," Dawson smiles, and Jen sighs in defeat with a little wave. They turn and walk toward his Jeep and before I can bring myself to speak without spitting daggers, it's too late to call after them. Damn.
After a moment I turn back to him, smiling. "Thanks. I actually do have a test I need to study for, how'd you know? I'd better be going."

He takes my arm as I try to pass him, and really, I pretty much figured he would. It was worth a shot, though, right? My shoulders slump in defeat, and I lean my head to the side and look up at him. "I'm not going to get out of this, am I?"

"Nope," he says lightly, letting go of my arm to reach into his pockets. Bringing out a pair of black gloves, he offers them to me while I stand here blinking the snow out of my eyes.

I'd love to be snotty enough to refuse them, but my fingers are freezing and I really want them. "Thanks," I mutter after a moment, taking them and slipping both on.

"My car's in the shop, the heater broke and I don't have my tools in Boston," he says, shrugging apologetically. "Otherwise I'd drive you wherever you wanted to go."

"It's okay," I reply as we begin walking toward Worthington. "It's only about twelve blocks, anyway. And now that I've got gloves, I'm good."

"Good."

We walk along in silence for a little while, probably waiting for the other person to speak first. That's okay, too, because I'm not really anxious to talk about what he overheard tonight. We've gone nearly a block and a half before he finally says anything.

"Tell me something, Potter."

"What's that?"

"How could you get over me so quickly, yet still be so hung up on him?"

I knew it was coming, but it stings nonetheless. He takes a deep breath before continuing, as if he's been preparing for this all evening.

"When I overheard you talking about us, that was the first time you've seemed to remember that you and I were together for over a year. And then, when you had to look away from them . . . I don't understand."

I barely know where to begin, really. It's awhile before I even try to answer. He doesn't push me for one, but I can't exactly ignore the question either.

"Pacey . . . you graduated and you didn't tell me, knowing how much it meant to me. Even broken up, even barely friends, I loved you and I would have loved to see your face when Peskin handed you your diploma. I always believed you would do it." Wiping the snow from my face, I glance over at him. He's watching the sidewalk. "You only told Andie."

"At the time, it felt like Andie was the only one I could tell." He said it gently, but . . . damn. "The thing is, it didn't matter if you knew I could or would graduate, because I didn't believe it. And when I actually did it, I was proud of myself for the first time in such a long, long time. I didn't want to have that feeling changed or - or diminished by someone else's pride. I don't think I'm explaining this well at all."

"I think I understand," I say quietly, and I think I actually do. "You didn't want anyone to say 'well, isn't that nice' or 'I told you so,' did you?"

He meets my eyes briefly, nodding as if relieved that I get it. "Or even 'I always believed you would do it,' no matter how sincerely meant. I pretty much figured that McPhee'd squeal just the same as she squeals at the sight of a library."

"Gotcha," I say, trying to smile despite the way my chest begins to ache with the cold. Or maybe it's my heart that's aching.

A strained silence follows, made all the more uncomfortable by the knowledge that this is just the tip of the iceberg here.

"So, there was a question asked that I still need to answer, don't I?" I finally say, and not without a pretty pathetic sigh. "The Dawson thing."

"Look," he begins, rubbing his eye with the heel of his palm like he does when he's tired or frustrated or both. "You don't have to answer. God knows it's none of my business."

"It's not," I agree, which wins me a quick, dark look. "Hey, don't look at me like that. You said it."

"You wanna know why I never really said goodbye?" he asks. "Why I didn't tell you I was leaving Capeside?"

"Because you were afraid I'd cry and beg you to stay?"

He surprises me by stopping right there in the middle of the sidewalk to look me in the eyes. "I was more afraid you wouldn't do either."

I'm absolutely floored, more by anger than anything else. "I can't believe I've slept with you!" is the only response I can muster, and as soon as I say it I storm past him down the sidewalk. Straight through the heart of a group of high school boys lining up to high-five him.

He catches up to me immediately, grabbing me by the elbow to slow me down. As soon I turn toward him and see how confused and angry he looks, that's it. I feel the words bubble up inside and there's nothing I can do to stop myself from letting them loose.

"Do you have any idea how much you fucking hurt me?" I demand, angrily pushing damp strands of hair out of my face. "In your big rush to get out of Capeside and start a new life, did you even care?"

"Of course I cared! What the hell do you think I am, some heartless bastard who couldn't give a shit?"

"At least we agree on one thing," I snap, folding my arms across my chest.

It looks as if he's about to burst a blood vessel when he stops and takes a deep, calming breath. "Let's not put on a show, okay?"

Suddenly aware of the stares from passersby, not to mention the people who have clearly stopped to listen, I turn away and continue walking down the sidewalk toward the dorms. He's somewhere beside me, but I'm not even going to look.

The anger drains fairly quickly, leaving me both embarrassed and tired. It's only a few more blocks, and I can't wait to curl up in the fetal position on my bed and pray for sleep.

"I cared," he says softly, and his voice is nearly drowned out by the roar of a motorcycle revving up across the street. "I still do."

I wait until after it's roared away and the sound has all but faded from the chilly night air. "I know."
"I left for many reasons, Jo," he says after awhile. "I had a chance to do something I loved, and maybe make a life out of it. The idea of sailing away from the hell I was in was more appealing than I could ever say, and I'd have been insane to pass it up. I know I could have handled it better, and I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize." He seems surprised, and I try my best to explain. "I wasn't exactly the most supportive girlfriend. I know I was far from blameless when we broke up, Pacey. And if I were you, I would have gotten as far away from me as I could have, too."

"You didn't drive me away." I snort disbelievingly, shaking my head, and he goes on to explain. "Well, not the way you're thinking. I didn't want to be in Capeside when you left for Worthington without me. I -"

"Well, for whatever reason, you did leave," I interrupt him. "And you didn't call. You didn't send a postcard from Florida. I waited and waited, and you didn't come back."

"So you went after Dawson?"

"No, I didn't go after Dawson," I deny immediately. "It wasn't like that."

He doesn't want to ask, I can tell. I don't want to explain, either, but I think it's time I did.

"I kissed him because he was -"

"Nope. I thought I could, but no," he breaks in. "I really, really don't wanna know."

"What?"

"I really, really don't -"

"I heard you!"

"Look," he begins, running a hand through his damp hair. "If we have the Dawson talk, we have to have the Karen talk. And who wants that?"

He has an excellent point, actually.

I shrug, pretending to be dismayed. "And here I had all these really good Melanie questions ready, too."

It's been a good long while since I've seen anyone so overwhelmingly relieved and mildly horrified.

"I'm really glad we decided to put this off, because the last thing I want to do is discuss your crush on your English teacher," he recovers nicely, and it's my turn to squirm. "I mean, really, do you remember me Sophomore year? Do you even have a grasp on the concept of learning by example?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I've learned not to tell Audrey or Jen anything I don't want you to know."

He laughs, and I can't stop myself from smiling at the familiar sound. "Rest assured, matchmakers go to a special hell."

We're almost at my building, and I'm kind of disappointed. I don't really want to end our evening with Dawson or Karen or anyone else as the topic of conversation. And I still haven't answered his question.

"You asked me how I could get over you so quickly."

He glances over at me and shrugs, saying, "Yeah, don't worry about it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"I know I act as though I never fell in love with you," I blurt out, effectively killing that moment or two of comfortable familiarity we had going. "I know I seem as though I don't remember everything about being with you, like I've somehow forgotten that you loved me, too."

He doesn't say anything, which is the universal signal to babble as I understand it.

"When I left Capeside, I planned on starting a brand new life," I say, suddenly interested in my shoes. "I told myself that I was done waiting by the phone for you to call. I was done wondering if I was the worst person on earth for kissing Dawson, just so he'd stay and keep my mind off of you. But you know what?"

He clears his throat before answering as we finally reach my dorm, standing together beneath the awning above the front door. "What?"

"A part of me still wanted to ask if you'd called while I was out," I tell him, toying with the zipper of my coat.

"Ah, Jo . . . I'm sorry I didn't look you up when I got to Boston. I didn't think I was going to stay."

"Don't be sorry. That was a long time ago." I raise my eyes to his and smile, however tremulous it might appear. "The point is, that same part of me is still just as ready to run away with you as I was two years ago."

His fingers are bitingly cold when he brings his hand up to my face, but his touch is just as warm as I remember. It's all I can do to keep from leaning into it.

"Don't tempt me, Potter," he quietly teases, gently sweeping the snow from my cheek with his thumb.

I know what's coming. I've seen that look hundreds, maybe thousands of time, and still I'm surprised when it happens.

His lips touch mine lightly in a series of soft kisses, each lingering just a little longer than the last. It's like I've never kissed him before in my life, yet at the same time so warm and familiar it feels as though I never stopped.

When we break for air long moments later, my eyes open slowly to stare into his and I jump away from as if I'd touched fire.

"Well, that was awkward," I laugh, and even to my own ears it sounds incredibly forced.

"Kissing you is never awkward, Jo," he counters gently, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his leather jacket. "It's everything else between us that doesn't seem to feel right."

I concentrate on peeling his gloves off my fingers instead of answering. When I hand them to him, his thumb sweeps over my wrist and I wonder if he can tell how fast my pulse is racing.

"It's, uh, it's getting late," I say rather lamely, snatching my hand from his grasp and shoving it into the pocket of my jeans. "I'd better get inside."

He nods, stepping back from me as well. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"See you tomorrow maybe?" I ask, hating the way my voice sounds all hopeful.

"Sure," he smiles. "I'll call. Promise."

"Goodnight. Thanks for contriving to walk me home."

"Anytime," he says, slipping the gloves on. "'Night, Potter."

He's almost all the way down the block before I call after him.

"Hey, Pacey!"

He turns expectantly, and I can barely see him through the snow.

"Hey what?"

"You never told me what your New Year's resolution was!"

Pacey laughs, and even though people are once again stopping to stare, I grin back.

"My resolution was a lot like yours," he hollers. His voice is neally lost to the wind and the snow, so he begins walking back to me. "To stick around Boston, and see what this little bean town has to offer!"

My heart pounding in my chest, I yell, "How's that working out for you?"

He's just a few feet away when he answers, the snow falling heavily between us while other obstacles begin clearing away.

"Better by the moment, Potter."


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