A/N: OK, guys, I must confess that I lost my direction with this story
(please forgive me for that!), but I can't just leave it hanging...so here's
more. I plan to focus more on another story I've started, called "To Be
Myself," which is more along the lines of "Life After," and is mostly about
"my girl," Amy. So that's the real sequel, I'd say, this one being just a
little stop along the way. A special thanks to Yelak, who has stuck with me
from the beginning, and to my newer reviewers, Sam Cdn, Phoenix Firefly,
Kelcb26, My-Own-Sin, not like you, updawsonscrack, and anyone else I might
have accidentally left off this list. I REALLY appreciate your comments,
and please keep 'em coming!!!
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Jack watched Amy and her boyfriend walk away down the hall with a strangely painful sense of relief. He was trying so hard to be strong for her, but he could feel his brave façade beginning to crack under the horrible pressure of knowing that half of his heart, his love, his Doug, was lying in a nearby room, helpless, bleeding, losing strength, maybe dying...it was unbearable. Jack's stomach was sour, his throat was dry, his hands were shaking, his eyes burned from all the crying he'd done already. He was determined not to let himself think about the possibility of the tears to come, the ones that would haunt him for the rest of his life if Doug gave up, if the doctors gave up on him. But in spite of his denial, that was just about all his weary mind would allow him to think about. A sob threatened, and he took a breath so deep that it hurt his ribs.
"Here you go. Drink this."
He looked up at Joey, who was holding out a paper cup full of water. Shaking his head, he motioned her hand away. "No thanks, I can't."
"Jack," she said firmly. "Come on. You look like hell."
He laughed humorlessly. "That's not surprising. I'm in hell." He took the cup, more to appease her than anything, and sipped at the cool liquid. It felt good on his parched throat. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her with real gratitude. She smiled soothingly and sat down next to him.
"Pacey called Andie," Joey said. "She's on her way."
Hearing that sent an icy blade of panic into Jack's chest. He imagined his sister sitting in her swanky Boston law-firm office with some well-groomed corporate client, pausing apologetically to take an emergency phone call from her high school boyfriend, her smile fading and her face paling as he broke the news to her in a strained, forced voice...it was too real.
"There's no need for her to come all the way out here..." Jack began, and then his words trailed away. His eyes met Joey's briefly, and they seemed to share the same thought: Yes, there is. They were quiet for a while, Jack sipping at his water, Joey preoccupied, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her fingers.
"Jo, has it ever occurred to you that our group has gone through way more than our fair share of heartache for a lifetime?"
"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "We've lost so many people. My mom, Dawson's dad, your brother, Grams..."
"...Jen," Jack finished for her when she seemed reluctant to go on.
"Yes, Jen."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the headache that was pounding sickly in his temples. Unbidden images of lost loved ones flashed before him in the darkness behind his eyelids. He saw his brother, Tim, tossing baseballs to him in the backyard while Andie and their mother, still in perfect health, watched from the porch. He saw Grams, laughing, holding little Amy's chubby hands as she took her first wobbly, tentative steps. (That had been bittersweet, not long after they'd lost Jen, and everyone thought but didn't say how sad and unfair it was that she had missed out on that moment.) He saw Jen, pale and weak, lying in the hospital bed on the day before she died, teasing him in that lovable way of hers about some nurse he'd had to flirt with to get in to see her after visiting hours. That had been the last time she'd teased him that way.
And Doug. Doug with his impossibly bright blue eyes, with his quick wit and charm and his warm, soft heart that he tried, usually unsuccessfully, to shield from outsiders. His commanding presence, which made him so good at his job. His love for Jack. His love for Amy. Theirs for him.
Another wave of grief, sick and frightening in its intensity, washed over Jack. "I don't know if I can take losing him, Jo." His voice was tight, thick with emotion. She put her arms around him and pulled him close to her.
"I know," she said through her own tears, "I don't know if any of us can."
They sat like that for a long time, clinging to each other in the artificial chill of the waiting room. Across the room, Pacey and Dawson spoke about neutral topics in low voices and avoided looking up at Joey and Jack as if their lives depended on it. Pacey was struggling to hold it together, and seeing his wife and his brother's lover in the throes of their emotion made him feel like breaking. And he wouldn't do that. Couldn't. He was a Witter, too. Doug would stay strong if the tables were turned, and Pacey had every intention of doing the same.
So he focused his attention on Dawson, his oldest friend, his wife's oldest friend...Dawson, whose very presence was comforting and familiar but almost painful in its familiarity, reminding him sharply of their childhood, their youth, their long tumultuous adolescence when it seemed that the world ended beyond the limits of Capeside...college, heartbreak, love and loss and love again...Reminding him of the bond of friendship, the link between them that they had bent and stretched and at times almost broken...that link, which had brought them together again and rekindled their friendship, that link who was sitting across the room from them right now, comforting Jack in his grief.
Dawson was talking about a new project he was working on, another coming-of- ager that borrowed heavily from his own prepubescent experiences. Another movie that was, more or less, about Joey. Pacey tried to look as if he was listening as Dawson detailed the plot, the script, the search for just the right teen actors to portray Capeside's own. But Pacey's mind was not on Dawson's movie. It was fixed helplessly on his brother, Sheriff Dougie, his lifetime tormentor, supporter, rival, friend...Dougie just had to pull through. He had to. Because they couldn't get by without him.
Glancing away from Dawson, he caught sight of Amy, who stood frozen in the doorway with Andy, gaping openly at her dad with an expression of horror on her pale face. Andy reached for her, but her arm slipped through his fingers as she ran to Jack and threw herself into his embrace. Joey backed away to give them their moment, wiping leftover tears from her cheeks.
"It's okay, Daddy," he heard Amy saying in a pleading tone, and she suddenly sounded much older than her fifteen years. "Please stop crying. That won't do him any good. He needs us to be strong for him." And then she echoed Pacey's thoughts of just a moment before. "He has to pull through. He has to. He knows we can't live without him."
**************************************************************
Jack watched Amy and her boyfriend walk away down the hall with a strangely painful sense of relief. He was trying so hard to be strong for her, but he could feel his brave façade beginning to crack under the horrible pressure of knowing that half of his heart, his love, his Doug, was lying in a nearby room, helpless, bleeding, losing strength, maybe dying...it was unbearable. Jack's stomach was sour, his throat was dry, his hands were shaking, his eyes burned from all the crying he'd done already. He was determined not to let himself think about the possibility of the tears to come, the ones that would haunt him for the rest of his life if Doug gave up, if the doctors gave up on him. But in spite of his denial, that was just about all his weary mind would allow him to think about. A sob threatened, and he took a breath so deep that it hurt his ribs.
"Here you go. Drink this."
He looked up at Joey, who was holding out a paper cup full of water. Shaking his head, he motioned her hand away. "No thanks, I can't."
"Jack," she said firmly. "Come on. You look like hell."
He laughed humorlessly. "That's not surprising. I'm in hell." He took the cup, more to appease her than anything, and sipped at the cool liquid. It felt good on his parched throat. "Thanks," he said, looking up at her with real gratitude. She smiled soothingly and sat down next to him.
"Pacey called Andie," Joey said. "She's on her way."
Hearing that sent an icy blade of panic into Jack's chest. He imagined his sister sitting in her swanky Boston law-firm office with some well-groomed corporate client, pausing apologetically to take an emergency phone call from her high school boyfriend, her smile fading and her face paling as he broke the news to her in a strained, forced voice...it was too real.
"There's no need for her to come all the way out here..." Jack began, and then his words trailed away. His eyes met Joey's briefly, and they seemed to share the same thought: Yes, there is. They were quiet for a while, Jack sipping at his water, Joey preoccupied, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her fingers.
"Jo, has it ever occurred to you that our group has gone through way more than our fair share of heartache for a lifetime?"
"Absolutely," she said without hesitation. "We've lost so many people. My mom, Dawson's dad, your brother, Grams..."
"...Jen," Jack finished for her when she seemed reluctant to go on.
"Yes, Jen."
Jack squeezed his eyes shut against the headache that was pounding sickly in his temples. Unbidden images of lost loved ones flashed before him in the darkness behind his eyelids. He saw his brother, Tim, tossing baseballs to him in the backyard while Andie and their mother, still in perfect health, watched from the porch. He saw Grams, laughing, holding little Amy's chubby hands as she took her first wobbly, tentative steps. (That had been bittersweet, not long after they'd lost Jen, and everyone thought but didn't say how sad and unfair it was that she had missed out on that moment.) He saw Jen, pale and weak, lying in the hospital bed on the day before she died, teasing him in that lovable way of hers about some nurse he'd had to flirt with to get in to see her after visiting hours. That had been the last time she'd teased him that way.
And Doug. Doug with his impossibly bright blue eyes, with his quick wit and charm and his warm, soft heart that he tried, usually unsuccessfully, to shield from outsiders. His commanding presence, which made him so good at his job. His love for Jack. His love for Amy. Theirs for him.
Another wave of grief, sick and frightening in its intensity, washed over Jack. "I don't know if I can take losing him, Jo." His voice was tight, thick with emotion. She put her arms around him and pulled him close to her.
"I know," she said through her own tears, "I don't know if any of us can."
They sat like that for a long time, clinging to each other in the artificial chill of the waiting room. Across the room, Pacey and Dawson spoke about neutral topics in low voices and avoided looking up at Joey and Jack as if their lives depended on it. Pacey was struggling to hold it together, and seeing his wife and his brother's lover in the throes of their emotion made him feel like breaking. And he wouldn't do that. Couldn't. He was a Witter, too. Doug would stay strong if the tables were turned, and Pacey had every intention of doing the same.
So he focused his attention on Dawson, his oldest friend, his wife's oldest friend...Dawson, whose very presence was comforting and familiar but almost painful in its familiarity, reminding him sharply of their childhood, their youth, their long tumultuous adolescence when it seemed that the world ended beyond the limits of Capeside...college, heartbreak, love and loss and love again...Reminding him of the bond of friendship, the link between them that they had bent and stretched and at times almost broken...that link, which had brought them together again and rekindled their friendship, that link who was sitting across the room from them right now, comforting Jack in his grief.
Dawson was talking about a new project he was working on, another coming-of- ager that borrowed heavily from his own prepubescent experiences. Another movie that was, more or less, about Joey. Pacey tried to look as if he was listening as Dawson detailed the plot, the script, the search for just the right teen actors to portray Capeside's own. But Pacey's mind was not on Dawson's movie. It was fixed helplessly on his brother, Sheriff Dougie, his lifetime tormentor, supporter, rival, friend...Dougie just had to pull through. He had to. Because they couldn't get by without him.
Glancing away from Dawson, he caught sight of Amy, who stood frozen in the doorway with Andy, gaping openly at her dad with an expression of horror on her pale face. Andy reached for her, but her arm slipped through his fingers as she ran to Jack and threw herself into his embrace. Joey backed away to give them their moment, wiping leftover tears from her cheeks.
"It's okay, Daddy," he heard Amy saying in a pleading tone, and she suddenly sounded much older than her fifteen years. "Please stop crying. That won't do him any good. He needs us to be strong for him." And then she echoed Pacey's thoughts of just a moment before. "He has to pull through. He has to. He knows we can't live without him."
