Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't sue

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed my story. I really appreciate your comments. To Sam Cdn: You'll have to wait a bit. Jack isn't ready to talk about why he left New York, but soon…

Dedication: to my best friend, ML, who is always willing to read my stories. Without her, Doug would have discovered a can of mouse in his bathroom. Mental image of Mickey Mouse in a can…. ich!

Chapter 3: Making Plans

2 weeks later

It was just after 4 PM, and Doug was sitting in one of the booths of the Ice House, enjoying a very late lunch. He had spent most of the day searching for a toddler that had gotten separated from her parents. He had finally located her, curled up asleep in the maintenance shed of the hotel where the family was staying. As a result, he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

Sitting across from him in the booth was Pacey, who was grabbing a quick bite to eat before the Friday evening rush. As a result, neither man was saying much, both intent on their food, and they were both surprised when Jack slid into the empty place next to Doug.

It was obvious that Jack was upset, and Pacey immediately asked, "What's wrong? I thought everything was going great at school."

"It was. I was called into the principal's office this afternoon." Jack replied ominously.

"I thought that sort of thing was reserved for juvenile delinquent kids like me," joked Pacey, trying to lighten the mood.

Jack attempted a smile before replying, "It seems as if the mother of one of my students was concerned about me being her son's teacher. Why is it that people assume that just because I'm gay that I am incapable of keeping my hands to myself?" he asked angrily.

Pacey was aghast. "It's amazing how ignorant people can be. I can't believe that Principle Hollingsworth didn't back you up. She knew you were gay when she hired you, given that she was the German teacher back when we were in high school and you were the only gay kid at Capeside."

Pacey was drawing a breath to continue his tirade when Jack interrupted him. "She did back me up. After about an hour, she finally got the mother to calm down and agree that her son should remain in my class. I guess it just makes me mad that even now, I still have to deal with this bullshit. I guess things will never change."

"I guess there will always be a few ignorant people left in this world, but things have changed, Jack. The fact is, Hollinsworth did stand up for you, when just a few years ago, you probably would have been fired for being gay."

At Pacey's words, Jack began to relax a fraction. "Thanks, Pace. I guess I needed to hear that." Jack smiled. "I didn't come over to rehash this afternoon. After such a crappy day, I just want to get drunk and maybe play a little pool. How about it Pace? Want to join me?"

Pacey sighed. "Sounds like fun, but one of my cooks quit with no warning, so there is no way I can get away from the restaurant tonight." He was silent for a moment, before he had a brilliant idea. "I know! Doug could go with you."

The both turned to Doug, who had been eating his meal quietly, politely trying to ignore the conversation between Pacey and Jack. At Pacey's impetuous words, the expression on Doug's face resembled that of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth for a second, before he mumbled, "I don't think so" and resumed eating.

"Oh come on! It's not as if you have anything exciting to do tonight. You never do anything but work or hang out around here," Pacey tried to convince his brother.

Jack had been surprised by Pacey's suggestion, but suddenly it seemed very important that Doug join him. Maybe it had been the flash of sadness he had glimpsed in Doug's eyes, before the expression had been replaced with the calm demeanor that was so characteristic of Pacey's older brother. "Please. I hate to drink alone. You would be doing me a favor."

Doug tried to come up with an excuse, convinced that Jack would rather go drinking with anyone other than him, someone who was practically a complete stranger. "How would it look, the town sheriff getting drunk? Even worse, getting pulled over for drunk driving by one of my own deputies." The excuse sounded lame, even to his own ears, but Jack was not to be deterred.

"Everyone should be allowed to cut loose occasionally, even the sheriff. If you would like, you can sleep on my couch tonight if you are too smashed to drive home. It's quite comfortable." Jack could be very persuasive when he put his mind to it. "Come on Doug. Please?"

Finally, Doug was convinced that Jack was telling the truth, and not just asking because Pacey had practically forced him to issue the invitation. "All right. Sounds like fun. What time should we meet up?" he asked.

Jack thought a minute before answering, "How about meeting at my place around eight? O'Mally's is less than a block down the street, so we can walk from there." When Doug nodded, he stood up to leave. "See you later, then," he said, and turned to exit the restaurant.

After he had left, Doug turned to Pacey, "I do stuff other than work or hang out here!"

Pacey decided that it was best not to reply, instead choosing to finish his meal in silence. As he was getting up to go back to work, he decided that it was time to have a little fun at his brother's expense. "Is that what you are wearing tonight?" he asked. "While that FAB-ulous outfit may attract guys by the truckload, it isn't exactly bar hopping material – at least the kind of bars found here in Capeside."

"Someday, Pacey, you might actually consider accepting the fact that I'm straight." There was no real anger behind Doug's words; this conversation had been replayed in so many various forms over the years that the response was almost automatic.

"Sure, Doug, whatever you say," Pacey replied, but Doug was not really listening.

He was looking down at the clothes he was wearing as if he had never seen them before in his life. When had he begun dressing like some boring accountant on casual Friday? The dress shirt and pleated khakis he was wearing were more appropriate for some banker, rather than clothes for relaxing at the end of his shift. Doug considered himself to be a fairly laid back guy, but maybe he really was as uptight and boring as Pacey always said. How had this happened? When had he become this person that was so different from how he had always pictured himself? Suddenly, a night of drinking and cutting loose seemed just the right prescription for getting out of the dull rut he seemed to have fallen into. He smiled with anticipation, and then just as suddenly, he frowned. What the hell was he going to wear tonight?

At eight PM, Doug knocked on the door of Jack's apartment, trying to ignore the nervous flutter of excitement in his stomach. He tried to act nonchalant, but he still felt flustered after almost being late. The last two hours had been an agony of indecision. First off had been deciding what to wear. He had tried and discarded several outfits before deciding on his favorite jeans (worn enough that they were comfortable, but not so old that they were baggy) and a Capeside sheriffs department t-shirt (black, a neutral color but tight enough that it didn't look sloppy and made his shoulders look bigger). Over that he had on a black shirt. After being finally satisfied with his clothes, he had taken a quick shower and dried his hair, which then presented another problem. He looked in the medicine cabinet. Too many choices: two different kinds of hair gel, and even a can of mousse that had obviously gotten pushed to the back and lost sometime during the early nineties. He threw the can into the trash. A third possibility: nothing at all. Would hair gel look like he was trying too hard? In disgust, he closed the medicine cabinet door and walked out of the house with his hair completely product-free. What the hell was wrong with him? You'd think he never did something with a friend before.

As he was waiting for Jack to answer the door, he unconsciously ran a hand through his hair, betraying his nervousness with that gesture, and causing his hair to become slightly rumpled in the process.