Disclaimer: I own nothing. Kevin Williamson and whoever he has chosen to do business with over the years own everything. If I had any say at all Season 5 would have been radically different.

EPISODE TWO:

BREATHING ANALYSIS

Joey Potter strode jauntily across the Worthington Campus, eyes sparkling as they scanned the all-to-familiar handwriting on the manila envelope. 'To: Little Joey Potter, care of Worthington College, From: Dawson Leery, Las Angeles, California.'

Following an eternity of soul-searching that could only be described as an emotional rollercoaster, her best friend, and self-proclaimed soul mate, had achieved his dream. He had been begged by his first-choice film school, USC, to attend the most prestigious Summer Film Program in the entire country. And, here, clasped firmly in her now-clammy hands, was the result of his summer thousands of miles away from her.

Since their memorable introduction at the tender age of five, they had been virtually joined at the hip. If she allowed herself to be perfectly honest about what a few years before would have been without a doubt the most soul-crushingly, heart-breakingly ordeal imaginable, she had survived, admirably, and even managed a smile and a laugh or two along the way. For in those secret moments where she hadn't been concerned about the progression of Dawson's film, or the enticing female leads he might have fallen prey to, her thoughts never failed to drift to Pacey, her good mood pill.

As she neared the decidedly non-descript, brick building that housed Worthington's Female-Freshmen population, she spied a ladder situated directly beneath her window. Perched precariously atop the seemingly heaven-sent object was a pot-bellied, balding, profusely-sweating window washer. Angelic Bedroom Eyes in place, 'Little Joey Potter' sashayed toward the ladder. Why not take advantage of one's feminine wiles if the situation warranted? Tradition demanded that any viewing of a Dawson Leery Feature Film follow an ascent to an open window courtesy of just such a ladder as this.

"Good morning, Sir," she addressed the ladder's occupant, curtseying theatrically.

"Morning, Little Lady." That lecherous smile obliterated any previous misgivings she may have entertained about letting him earn his salary in peace.

"Could you do me a huge favor?" She rewarded his apparent interest (if the saliva dripping from his chin was any indication) with a suggestive wink.

"I guarantee that I will do absolutely everything in my power to make all of your wildest fantasies a mind-blowing reality." Valiantly, she resisted the surge of bile rising in her throat.

"For starters, you can concentrate on what is occurring in YOUR pants instead of striving to sweet-talk your way into MINE. And secondly, you can stand aside while I confiscate this here ladder."

His posture straightened immediately, as he resumed washing the nearest window with impressive gusto. "Are you from the Safety Commission, M'am?"

"Not exactly." She suppressed a chuckle as he resumed slouching. "I'm from the Ninth Rung of Hell Ladder Inspection Bureau. We're a non-profit organization sanctioned by the government to, unfortunately, recall this particular model."

In a single swift motion, he descended from his lofty perch. "You're certain that's all you need me to do for you?" He placed a restraining hand on her elbow, leering coyly.

"Absolutely," she kneed him viciously in the groin, sputtering indignantly, "And, unless you want a restraining order hounding your Neanderthal-esque ass, you will join me in my certainty on the topic of you and me not happening…EVER."

Jen stormed into Pacey's quarters, balancing, but just barely, a heaping platter of various breakfast items in one hand, bellowing "Witter," at the top of her lungs. Barreling toward his makeshift bed, consisting of a hammock and a sleeping bag, she viciously elbowed him in the ribs.

Snarling expletives, Pacey lunged from beneath his covers, catapulting the platter and its contents toward the wall on the opposite end of the room in the process.

"Lindley, My Sweet," Pacey lowered his eyes from her livid countenance guiltily. "How ever did you get past Security?" Much to his relief, her piercing gaze momentarily softened.

"Those seafaring fellows you've spent the last three months with seemed particularly eager to engage in high-risk behaviors with Yours Truly."

"All those sexual favors, yet you still made room in your jam-packed schedule to bring me breakfast in bed? Lindley, you are too good to me." He chucked her under the chin affectionately.

"That's what dysfunctional friends do."

"Attempt to poison each other with scrambled eggs and French toast?" Jen's menacing glare materialized yet again in full force. "I thought you made it perfectly clear last week that you had no intention of doing me any more favors."

Jen lounged contemplatively in the hammock beside him. "Not where Dawson and Joey are concerned, Pace."

"And, supposing I poured on the charm, could you find it in your heart to engage in those aforementioned high-risk behaviors with me, instead of guiding this conversation down that path that only ends in heartbreak and angst for all parties involved," satisfied that her anger had subsided, he reclined leisurely.

"That's the thing about paths, Pace. You can take as many detours or implement as many avoidance tactics as you choose, but ultimately, your path leads to confrontation with Dawson. I can't be your detour anymore. Dawson and Joey have had a summer of regression to the days when the world revolved around them, Capeside's Dynamic Duo, the days before I stepped out of that cab, and the days before you became desirable. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, which means that if Dawson and Joey's era of regression is behind them, as much as it sucks to be you right now, so is your era of hiding out on this boat. Consider your vacation from life officially concluded."

"Dawson Leery has been blessed with years of the world revolving around 'Capeside's Dynamic Duo,' years of the universe and all its components centered on the eternal, intricate bond he shares with Joey. I'm not expecting the world to miraculously change that orbital pattern, but is it too much to ask for a guy to be able to dream that a continent or tiny, uncharted island, could ever begin to acknowledge that Joey and I had something special, or that perchance all good things might just not have to come to an end…right this instant?"

Jen pressed a tender kiss to his temple. "I'm that continent, Pace. I'm cheering for you and Joey wholeheartedly, and I have been for years, but in order for your romance to be rekindled, you've gotta put more logs in that fire by oh I don't know…actually going to see her; just to assure her that you're still very much alive."

"And what if I can't face her, Jen? What happens when I look into those to-die-for, chocolate-brown eyes of hers and my worst fears are realized," Pacey's shoulders sagged, defeated.

"You have no worst fears as far as Joey is concerned."

"I beg to differ, Lindley. Have you ever been told exactly how Joey Potter plans to exterminate you, every gruesome, horrifying, miniscule detail? Something about a screwdriver, as I recall. It wasn't pretty."

"She's always gonna love you Pace. Her love might not fit the textbook definition of a girlfriend, but love like you guys have, that's the stuff of dreams. No gas-station romance novel or low-budget porno will ever hold a candle to it. We should all be so lucky. Dawson, on the other hand, his affection for you has limits, and I'll never grasp that concept of the limits of his affection not being your worst fear. How can you be so flippant about your about the dissolution of more than a decade of friendship? How can you claim so persistently that losing Dawson isn't tearing you apart?"

"Therein lies the rub, Lindley. I could never lose Dawson because he and I never shared anything worth saving. Our entire friendship, if you can call it that, was based on him using my failings and my familial misfortunes to make himself feel superior. Why would my worst fear be the loss of a relationship that made me hate myself?"

Leaping indignantly from the confines of the hammock, Jen rummaged furiously through the closet, tossing all of his Hawaiian shirts into his duffle bag. With an enraged flourish, she dangled the bag menacingly out the window. "I don't want to wait for our lives to be over! Resolve this, or else…my revenge will be immanent, swift, and far less "not pretty" than any threat of death-by-screw-driver Joey Potter could possibly concoct. A.k.a. your Surfer-Dude inspired wardrobe could very well be swimming with the fishes."

Joey gracefully mounted the ladder, years of practice evident in her every movement. Nostalgic tears blurring her vision, beloved envelope clenched in a vice-like grip between her teeth, she nimbly swung her legs over the window sill, stilling abruptly at the grating voice that met her ears. "Potter, I never thought you'd climb back into my life."

Haughtily wiping wayward tears from her cheeks, she venomously confronted the loathsome apparition from the not-too-distant past, "Drue Valentine, may I remind you that you are near an open window and, should I accidentally toss your mangy hide out of it, the distance from here to the ground is considerable."

Rapidly closing the gap between them, Drue boldly kissed her cheek, "Watch your step, Potter. I would hate to be coerced into informing the Dean of Admissions about the sordid family history of the best-and-brightest of this year's Freshmen Class."

"I suppose it would be too much of a stretch to expect honesty from the likes of you should I dare to ask exactly how the hell you found me." Drue merely grinned.

Audrey pranced into the room, swinging fifteen truckloads worth of shopping bags back and forth, inquiring chirpily, "Are you Joey?"

"That depends on whether or not you are this scumbag's latest conquest."

Audrey appraised Drue curiously, tongue darting over her bottom lip, she extended a manicured hand in Joey's direction. "Audrey Liddell, stunningly gorgeous roommate and your future best friend."

Joey snorted derisively, "Joey Potter, teetering on the edge of pre-mature senility and highly doubtful of the later portion of that statement."

"Drue Valentine, Joey Potter's victim and your willing servant, Miss Liddell," Drue gasped hoarsely from his captive state within Joey's murderous headlock.

Audrey delicately disentangled Joey's arms from about Drue's neck, and cooed into his ear, "I might just have to take you up on that offer."

Joey scrambled disgustedly to her feet, "I'm just gonna leave you two misguided individuals to it then. Audrey, it was…an experience making your acquaintance. Drue, you put any part of your body into my half of the room and you will leave it considerably more handicapped than when you entered."

Shaking her head in disbelief, Joey collapsed onto her bed, settling into what-would-have-been Dawson's side were he with her, she granted herself a moment's pondering about Drue Valentine's re-appearance in her life. Opting to dwell on that repulsive turn of events at a later date, she assaulted the coveted manila envelope with trembling fingers, reveling in the glory of the videotape, which made Dawson's dreams a reality. Slipping the tape into her battered VCR, she waited with bated breath as the opening credits appeared on the screen.

Dolefully, Pacey appraised the location of his summer job, one last time. Why had he let Lindley convince him that the time had come to move off the boat and move on with what could only be a horrendously bleak future? The innate knowledge that last summer would be his final trek across the ocean caused his throat to constrict, as his cell phone crackled to life. Grimacing, he studied the number, heaved a sigh, and greeted his ex-best friend with as much false cheer as he could muster, "Hey, Man. How's Hollywood treatin' ya?"

Dawson's languid response prompted him to bristle instinctively. "You know, just your typical, sun-drenched local, chock full of booze, babes and famous folks." Leave it to Dawson to get that last dig in. Of course he knew nothing of the grandeur that was Hollywood. He had romanced many a bikini-garbed native in each layover during his expedition that summer (in order to take the edge off the all-consuming grief of letting a certain Joey Potter slip through his fingers), but what were his exploits in comparison with Dawson Leery living his dream? Dawson had accomplished all that he had been proclaimed he would since his twelfth birthday when Mitch had given him his first video camera.

"You haven't left the studio have you, Dawson? You probably don't even remember what babes look like anymore." He instantly regretted the reference to Dawson's single-mindedness when it came to his life's passion. Reminders of their ancient camaraderie would inevitably morph into an angst-ridden rant about Joey.

"Well, they grow them considerably more scantily-clad over here than they do in Capeside." There it was. Dawson had employed his arsenal in a single statement. All conversational roads led back to Capeside these days.

"The Capeside Cuties will always be one-in-a-million though, won't they, Hombre?" Way to hammer the final nail into your coffin, Pacey!

"She's fine, Pacey," the territorial snarl, though subtle, was all-too evident.

"She," feigning innocence was a ridiculous ploy, but it was the only response he could come up with at a moment's notice.

"Joey. She's over it…completely. I've been taking care of her, and I've never seen her happier. I wish you could see her, Pace. She's practically transformed into this confidant, radiant, blissful…Joey." Discussions such as these with Dawson could give even the toughest of warriors the sensation of drowning in a vat of jellyfish. No escape, just indescribable agony.

"Does this transformed Joey…does she…does she ever mention me, Dawson?"

"Not once," his triumphant smugness radiated mockingly over their static-clogged connection. "Letting her go was the greatest gift you could have given her, Pace, the greatest gift you could have given me. You brought us back together, and now we're all right back where we belong."

"Soul mates and the Black Sheep of the Witter Clan," Pacey hissed, self-deprecating.

"No, Pace. Soul mates and the hero of the Dawson-and-Joey Saga."

Being THAT hero was hardly the sort of accomplishment he intended to shout about from a rooftop at the top of his lungs. Breathing raggedly, Pacey spat, "This hero's gotta say his fond farewell, Dawson. I should have been in the galley twenty minutes ago. The captain seems to have a modicum of faith in my cooking prowess."

"Bon Voyage, Pace," Dawson concluded glibly.

"Talk to you later, Dawson." Gingerly, Pacey stepped off the gangplank and found himself engulfed in the mass of passers-by scurrying nonchalantly along the dock.

"So what did you think, Jo," Dawson's palms sweat liberally, as he detected the nearly imperceptible hitching of her breath on the other end of the line. "But before you answer, please consider the fact that your gut-wrenchingly brutal honesty will inevitably thrust me into an inescapable abyss of immeasurable despair. After all, my entire future at USC rests on this film."

"You really know how to flatter a girl, Dawson," Joey playfully retorted.

"You absolutely loathed it, Joey. I could tell by your breathing." She recoiled at the bitter accusation. Teasing had become this gaping wound in their relationship of late. What would have been fair game between them at fifteen was now completely off limits, and she certainly did not welcome this change.

"My breathing faculties appreciate your intimate knowledge of their functions, Dawson," Joey placated lamely.

"Jo, the masterpiece you just…"

"Endured," she couldn't help but supply snidely.

"Enjoyed," he saucily amended. "It depicts the essence of every cinematic triumph that has graced the silver screen."

"Sure. Every cinematic triumph during the era of Jimmy Stewart. Dawson, this movie has no wisdom to impart pertaining to issues I can relate to. How can this director expect the audience to develop a bond with his characters if they share no common experiences? I can't believe you spent all summer in the presence of someone so obviously lacking in a vision that is applicable to our generation without pulling an Oedipus and gouging out your eyes."

"Well, I grant you, this "picture", as Mr. Brookes would have called it, is no Sea Creature from the Deep, but beneath its undeniably 1940s exterior lies a sublime deconstruction of the human condition."

"Sublime, Dawson? Were you sleeping with the director, or engaging in some equally Hollywood shenanigans I should be aware of? I'm fairly confident that even Jimmy Stewart would agree that a movie has no chance of being perceived as powerful if the audience is unable to put themselves in the characters' shoes. It's a Wonderful Life was only significant upon its release because Frank Capra was commenting on what the fate of the United States would have been had Germany won the war. Today, It's a Wonderful Life is merely an excuse to get cozy under a blanket with your loved one while consuming mass quantities of hot chocolate. To my knowledge, German soldiers won't be invading the Potter B and B anytime in the near future, at least not without a reservation."

"And what issues could Little Joey Potter possibly relate to? Your life experience has been minimal at best. There has been alcohol as a means of escape, unstable marriages, coming to terms with alternative lifestyles, broken homes, chronic depression, and melodramatic love triangles, but nothing truly Oscar-worthy."

"You've got to be kidding me! After all these years, you're still clinging to the juvenile notion that you can me like a book! For your enlightenment, you should probably know that I've had life experiences that would baffle even the one who knows me best, but it's my womanly prerogative to maintain a sensual air of mystery."

"The only chapter of the Book of Joey I haven't read begins with you sleeping with Pacey and ends with me subconsciously questioning what I mean to you if you lost your virginity to someone who claimed to be my best friend."

"When did you cease simply dipping your toes into the wading pool of insensitivity and dive in to the ocean of jerkdom?"

"Probably around the same time you shattered my soul by dumping me for a homosexual, or that time you were too busy shoving your tongue down Pacey's throat to realize that my throat is where your tongue belongs."

"I never dreamed I would hear myself say this Dawson, but you…you…you're a complete and utter prick! Why am I wasting my life fulfilling the designated "Dawson's Soul mate" duties when your primary goal has been to deflower me? What happened to that lovable film geek from down the creek who was my lifeline during the time I needed support the most? When the world came crashing down around me, he was always there. He never would have cheapened me the way you just did. He never would have reduced me to an object of sexual satisfaction. I love him more than anything. I will always love him more than anything. He's my better half. I don't give a damn how many lobotomies you have to endure; just bring that Dawson back!"

"Joey…"

"By the way, incase your head has been jammed too far up your ass for there to be any remote chance of you seeing the light, I know you directed this shitty excuse for a film, and, if there is any possibility that you're not aware of my true feelings on the subject, analyze my breathing, Dawson."

Mentally chastising herself for her reluctance to announce her presence to the brunette, Jennifer Lindley tapped Josephine Potter tentatively on the shoulder. Joey worried her lip between her teeth and gazed dispiritedly into the distance. Jen's mental chastising intensified. Why had she left the sanctuary and comfort of the humble abode she shared with Jack and Gram for another futile battle of trading barbs with the one member of the Capeside gang she couldn't be certain had ever accepted her?

"What's with the urgent urgency, Joey? I know you didn't abandon whatever kegger is currently raging in your dorm just to drag me kicking and screaming from the Crochet Olympics for a clandestine stargazing rendezvous."

"Jen, you, and I, we're friends right? I mean, in more than the when-you-have-friends-like-these-who-needs-enemies sense." Inwardly, Jen steeled herself for the onslaught of verbal abuse sure to ensue. Reminding herself that Joey had been instrumental in her efforts to reunite with her father the previous year, she offered her companion a sheepish grin.

"I'm not exactly dogmatic about the pristine state of our relationship. However, sleepovers and mud-wrestling isn't entirely out of the question."

Joey's eyes twinkled ever so slightly. "Just as long as we're not fixing each other's hair and decorating each other's nails, I'm all for any activity that involves mud."

Joey had taken the first step toward a reconciliation of sorts, and Jen was more than willing to follow suit. Perhaps years of dissention could finally be put to rest, at least, until Joey learned about her arrangement with Pacey.

"We've gotta improve our segues into the realm of "Girl Talk," Joey."

Joey met Jen's subtle challenge with a remarkably solemn air. "I kissed Dawson."

"I pronounce our segues officially improved," Jen sputtered, completely blindsided by the revelation.

"It seemed like the ideal method of saying goodbye."

"And now?" Festering beneath the wave upon wave of guilt cascading over her for essentially convincing Pacey that there remained an ember of love still flickering between him and Joey was the absurdly nauseating possibility that Dawson and Joey's era of regression had not only not ended, but had the terrifying potential of becoming Something More than a renewal and revitalization of their bond.

"The idealness has considerably faded." Joey's mouth was pursed in that enigmatic manner that could either signify a smile of bittersweet sorrow or of hope for new beginnings. Jen loathed all things enigmatic when it came to Joey Potter.

"There are other ways to say goodbye, Jo."

"In my experience, such stark logic has never applied to me and Dawson."

"So, do you regret it?"

"If I could do it all over again the circumstances would have been altered."

"Pacey, right?" If Joey regretted the kiss because of what Pacey meant to her, would always mean to her, provided Joey miraculously became self-aware enough to acknowledge that she'd already found what most people spend their entire lives looking for, then Jen could continue to repress the urge to strangle the infuriating brunette. If Joey had managed to convince herself that Pacey was a lost cause and had consequently transplanted all of her devotion to Dawson in a single kiss, heads would roll, and Jen would ensure that Joey's head would be the first.

"Actually, for the first time in years Pacey wasn't even a factor. It was just me and Dawson standing before that window, and him kissing me, silently begging me to stay. That's the magic of Dawson Leery. He's the only person I know with the power to make you fifteen again. I guess I felt that I needed to tell him everything I had never quite been able to put into words, and a kiss seemed like the perfect solution at the time."

"You know something, Joey Potter? A simple 'I love you' is a pretty powerful thing. And I'm not sure that kissing your soul mate so soon after a devastating break-up with his best friend could ever be construed as a 'solution.'"

"Dawson seemed perfectly amenable to aiding me in my period of rebounding. Besides, sometimes 'I love you' just doesn't seem like enough."

"Of course Dawson would be "perfectly amenable" in aiding you in all your rebounding needs, Joey. He's eighteen years old, so when the woman he professes to love more than anyone else in the universe, pretty much every five seconds, rewards his willingness to be there for her with an enthusiastic session of spit-swapping, all common sense about she-just-got-kicked-to-the-curb-by-my-best-friend flies out the window. Telling him that you love him would have saved you both from the inevitable heartbreak of realizing that you are just using each other for comfort when life hits a rough patch…like you always do.

"Why Jennifer Lindley, if I didn't any better I might just become a bit suspicious of your disagreement with my decision to kiss Dawson."

"Well, you and Dawson have made choices in the past that negatively affected the delicate balance of our groups' dynamic. I can't continue to be the one to sooth Dawson's tortured soul when you shatter his heart. Jack can't continue to be the one who plays your mutual devil's advocate. And Pacey can't continue to put his life on hold until you decide whether to kiss him goodbye permanently, or to kiss Dawson, and only Dawson, for the rest of your life.

"What happens between me and Dawson is not anyone else's concern. Nobody asked you to throw yourself at Dawson, while licking his wounds, which you've been doing, by the way, since the day you came to the creek. Nobody asked Jack to mend our broken hearts by playing mediator. And Pacey's life could hardly be classified as being put "on hold." He's in his element on the water. He finds tranquility and happiness there. Who am I to expect he would leave all that for…"

"Someone who continually pushed him and everyone and everything that was good in her life away. That's the funny thing about sea creatures from the deep, Joey. They have this uncanny knack for resurfacing when you least expect them to."

"Hence, in the spirit of our new-found appreciation for the time-honored tradition of "Girl Talk," I have a final question." Amidst the years of pent up frustration being released throughout the course of their heated sniping, the pair found themselves coming to an abrupt halt at the end of the pier.

Moodily, they kerplunked themselves down upon the creaky boards, finding comfort in the familiar sound, momentarily losing themselves in the onslaught of private and shared memories that occurred in a very similar setting in a small town that neither had managed to completely leave behind.

"Now that you've unjustly insulted my entire relationship with Dawson, I don't see any reason to prevent you from continuing to bastardize the rest of our evening at this point."

"Why do you hate me, Joey? Feel free not to waste your breath on bullshit platitudes that you are in fact quite fond of me, but you just aren't sure how to conduct yourself in a friendship that involves you and a fellow female. You despise me with a passion that is both exhausting and occasionally amusing, and I'd absolutely love to know the origin of said abhorrence."

"Jen, I don't think you and I have enjoyed enough pajama parties and spa treatments to be having this discussion."

"I was never the roadblock in our journey to becoming friends, Joey, so before you pummel me with any more of your patented, unprovoked bitchery allow me to remind you that when you left Dawson in the dust for Pacey, I did your job. I was the one who dried his tears and helped him laugh again. A true soul mate would have shown a smidgeon of courtesy to the one responsible for keeping their better half from embracing eternal depression. But, if that doesn't inspire you to show me a modicum of civility then maybe the fact that I've heard from a certain erstwhile paramour of yours will. Goodnight, Joey."

In a flurry of blond hair and a vicious gnashing of teeth, Jen was gone, leaving Joey to process the significance of her parting shot. Unless she had been having a romantic relationship without her knowledge, "erstwhile paramour" could only mean one thing… Jen hadn't simply been worming her way into the part of Dawson's heart reserved for her, Pacey had confided in Jen first.

Author's Note: Arg! The plot actually becomes evident next chapter, I swear. Although, maybe if I considered not attempting to be creative at ungodly hours of the morning, the plot would have made an appearance this time. However, what's not to love about a bit of angst? First off, I'd like to apologize for a tragic lack of Grams and Jack this time around. Be forewarned, there will be Jack and Grams a'plenty in the next installment, and they both might actually be given plots. No offense Fifth Season writers (snerk), but Jack does have a contribution to make to the story, other than being a frat-loving ass. And, he will not be portrayed here as the straightest gay guy ever (seriously, I love Kerr, but a burst of flamboyance, every now and then, never killed anybody). Plus, Grams showing up out of the blue with an African-American boyfriend and no explanation of any kind. I'm all for interracial relationships, but um…familiarize yourself with previous seasons before you turn characters inside out and upside down. Secondly, I'm having massive writer's block when it comes to Charlie. I'm not sure if I'm just rejecting CMM because he has no point other than something for Joey to do while Dawson and Jen are being skanky together and Pacey and Audrey are, well…this hurts me to think about, so I'm just not going there. If no one has any ideas, I'll just let him be the musical entertainment during party episodes (what's DC without the party scenes where all the shit hits the fan). Thirdly, Manwhore Pacey's parade of women will be included, so Melissa and Karen fans (why I ask you) can anticipate something to cheer about. Pervy Prof Wilder will also have some scenes with Joey. Her interaction with him has yet to be determined. Oliver and some other film geeks from that fictional film school in Boston will be gracing us with their presence, so there will be movie references (although nothing pretentious because I don't have Dawson's "knowledge" of cinema). Also, there will be a few sub-characters of my own creation because why rewrite a teen soap if you can't have fun with it? Finally, I'm mixing a bit of Season Six with Season Five by bringing Eddie into the mix a year early because I like Joey and Eddie as friends. She finally had someone to discuss books with, instead of subjecting herself to millenniums of Dawson yammering about some French noir crap that makes me want to shove French fries up his nose.