Things had been looking up for him. The restaurant was practically paying for itself, giving him time for the things he had always wanted to do. Never before had he thought he would be here, with all these options. Hell, he could even go sailing for the summer, without a worrisome thought in his head.

The trouble was everything that he wanted to do involved Jo.

If only she could have waited that year and a half. If only things could have happened faster. Maybe they would have celebrated the birth of a child tonight instead of spending what would have been their fifth wedding anniversary having a stilted, painfully polite dinner with Doug and Jack.

He had no idea what had compelled him to say yes when they asked. And he hadn't the faintest clue as to why it had mattered so much to him that they spend this day together.

She had missed the last anniversary, why should this one even begin to be important?

She was back. That's why this was different.

Fate had to be playing some sort of cruel joke on him. Before he knew it, Dawson would be home, proclaiming his undying love for Joey, and they'd be married by next week.

He shook his head. It didn't matter. None of it did. Not anymore.

Her coming home meant nothing. Life hadn't been what she wanted out in California, so she was starting at the beginning.

It had nothing to do with him.

Yet, here she was, next to him in his bed, naked but for the sheet she had pulled up to her chest. He hadn't planned on bringing her here; giving her that glass of wine after they'd had so many at dinner...

He hadn't wanted to kiss her.

And he sure as hell hadn't wanted to touch her, taste her, smell her...

But here they were, one more mistake under their figurative belts, and neither one had spoken since he had whispered those three words to her.

"I love you."

I love you. They'd passed through his lips and she had tensed, crawling back inside to shut the door he had pried open. Part of him wished she would just get up, get dressed and drive herself all the way back to California. Maybe she could go back to the Neanderthal who beat her up while she's at it, he thought cynically.

He ran a hand down his face, and caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye.

She was crying.

Damn it.

"Jo?"

"Pacey," she said quietly, turning to look at him. "This shouldn't have happened."

"God, Jo." He broke her stare, fixing his gaze on a painting above his dresser. She had painted it of course, and still, he found himself unable to take it down. "I mean, beyond all that post-coital politeness that most woman usually employ, even when they regret doing something like this, we could have gone without that being said."

She snorted, and Pacey had to look at her to make sure the noise had come from her. A minute ago, she was crying, mourning the loss of some sort of self inflicted innocence, and now she chose to be cynical. Had he ever really known her at all?

"Pacey, let's be realistic about all of this, okay? I showed up on your doorstep yesterday, just as you were about to take down the porch swing that took us hours to put together. Then you drove me to the airport to pick up your brother and Jack. Then we suffered through a long dinner, drank way too much wine, and we ended up back here." She looked at him, anger on her face. "Just because you tell me you love me doesn't mean that everything else goes away."

He met her gaze, rage shimmering in his eyes, making them bluer than she could ever remember. "What? Okay. Let's get one thing straight here, Josephine. I may have said I love you, and that just might still be true. Possibly. However, that doesn't give you the right to tell me what's fixed and what isn't."

She made another incoherent noise, which made him even more frustrated than before.

"Look, Jo. This just isn't working for me. Either we're fighting or fucking, and to be honest, I don't like doing either with you."

He grinned as her jaw dropped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She climbed out of the bed, completely oblivious to the fact that she was still naked. "As far I could tell, you had no problem fucking me earlier."

"I had no idea I was fucking you, Joey," he said quietly, letting the anger fade as quickly as it had risen.

"I have to go." She wouldn't talk about this now. She wouldn't let him cheapen this moment any more than she already had. She couldn't let him have the last word.

"Jo, if you leave now, that's it. I won't keep doing this. I'm tired of dancing around the issue. I know you came back because you missed me. I'm not ashamed to admit that life was hell without you. I'm also not going to lie and tell you that there weren't other women. But no one, no one Joey, had been in that spot since you left." He pointed at the bed, where she had been lying just moments before.

"What does it matter, Pacey? Whether you took them to our bed or not still puts them between us, just like Matthew stands there." She shook her head, lifting his t-shirt to pull it over her head. "I know now I shouldn't have come home. I missed my family, but God Pacey, I missed you so much more. I guess I'm just going to have to keep on missing you." She pulled on her jeans, not bothering with her underwear. She didn't know where it was anyhow. "Goodbye, Pacey."

Stop her! his mind screamed, but his mouth wouldn't move. He watched her as she pulled on her shoes, without her socks. His eyes never left her as she walked out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out the door. He stood, bolted to the floor in front of the window, and let her car drive away.

Again.

----

The water scalded her skin, turning it red and raw. It had become almost too painful to hold on to the dishrag. But she didn't care.

The steam rose in waves from the sink, pasting her hair to her forehead and the back of her neck. Her shirt was damp; both from the water she had splashed on herself and from the sweat that just wouldn't stop.

She didn't care.

All of this was significantly more comfortable than trying to move on with your future when you've made the same damn mistake. Twice.

The pain in her hands was nothing compared to having to go through each day, knowing she could run into him at any time. And what if he was with someone? How would she ever be able to survive that?

The pounding in her head couldn't hold a candle to the sharp ache that shot through her heart each and every time she passed his house now.

She had driven back that night, and the porch swing had been gone. The flower garden had been tilled, but she knew there wouldn't be flowers there tomorrow. She knew she had closed a door that fate had left open for her.

There wasn't much stopping her from drowning herself in the creek these days.

Tangible, real pain was so much easier to deal with than anything that stemmed from her old marriage. The secrets she saw in her families' eyes each time a subject was expertly and almost subtly shifted aside tore her apart.

She didn't doubt that Pacey had a life after her. She hoped there had been women after her. She hadn't wanted Pacey to be alone. She just couldn't be with him.

Back then, anyhow.

Now was a completely different story.

But even now, there was no chance. The flowers were gone, the porch swing was probably a pile of firewood by now, and she was here, wishing hell would open up and swallow her whole.

Still, through the self-doubt and the self-imposed pain, a small sliver of hope shined through. A tiny thought that maybe, just maybe, if she groveled, and begged, and slaved away enough, she might still have a chance.

She shook her head. Hope was for the young, for the ambitious, for those that hadn't already ruined their life beyond repair.

She had no room for hope any longer.