"Oh, god, we're so gawky," Jen said, chuckling softly at the moving image of her 15-year old self.
"Well…you, anyway," Pacey replied.
He had been staying close by, though never hovering or lingering too long. He tried to exist on the periphery when people passed through, watching her persona adjust to their presence, allowing her to share time with those she loved without any hindrance. When they left, he held her hand and, at times, he cradled her tired body close against his own. She would fade in and out of consciousness, frightening him with the stillness of her chest while she rested. He knew the world outside existed, that he had a fledgling business that could flounder in his absence. Still, nothing was more important than she was.
Now, watching video footage filmed during her first months in Capeside, he realized how sick she really looked. Skin that had blushed was now ashen and he could see the deep blue veins of her hand as it lay in his. The cherub she once was had wasted away, all too quickly for anyone to comprehend. Still, the animation in her face, the shine that had taken to her eyes upon seeing who they once were, eased his discord. He had taken the tape years before without any purpose but the response he saw in her made it worth stealing from his best friend. Incurring wrath from Dawson was well worth seeing a genuine smile cross her lips.
She was unaware that it was even happening; the smile, and the feeling that accompanied it. One had become trademark, a shining symbol in the face of other people, while capacity for the latter seemed alien. She was almost numb to its presence. But with Pacey sitting there, watching her intently both on the screen and off, she no longer had to monitor her reactions, her emotions. Especially not her fear. There was no point in masking it anymore. Not from him. He had always been able to see beneath her surface. She realized it years ago, around the time the video had been made, that he could see humanity in her heartache. The best of her was ever present to him. Sharing the worst, the weakness, would not make him shy away from her. With him, it could end. The selflessness and the torturous paradox of truth.
"I don't want to do this. I don't want to…die. I hate this." The words came out as a throated sob softened at the mention of Amy. "I don't want to leave her."
His hands were strong, his promises fervent. A tear warmed the tip of his thumb and his courage almost disappeared. He almost faltered. But his eyes stared at her fiercely. A promise; we will take care of your daughter. He pulled her shaking frame to him.
She breathed the barely audible words, her voice threaded with the pain of impossible decisions, "Our daughter," before collapsing in to his embrace.
Unflinching, though surprised, he looked down upon her dewy eyes. He had heard the words but they seemed impossible. "Jen. Amy…" was all he could manage.
"Is your daughter, Pacey. And she'll need you now, more than ever." His knowledge somehow calmed her. Even in the face of death, the great fear of loss seemed to wash away.
She could see the questions swimming in Pacey's eyes. How? Why? When?
"You were starting fresh back then. Or, at least, as much so as anyone can in Capeside. Dreams of opening a business, rebuilding relationships with your family and your friends. I never wanted you to give that up out of obligation."
A hot tear streaked his complexion. All the perfect boyishness was lost now. The soft lines of his face hardened, absolutely taut around his mouth. His right-sided dimple was gone. "What about you and me, Jen? Huh?" His voice was raised but not loud enough to alert anyone outside the room. Nurses and doctors passed by without even noticing him, her, what was happening. "I finally get to know my daughter, know that I have a family, but I have to let you go. That's my trade?!"
He gripped the edge of her sliding tray table to steady himself.
"Pacey," she said quietly, touching her hand to his, "Your anger is justified. More than justified, really. But you have to put that all aside and give our daughter the family she deserves."
"Not without you. I can't do it." He felt a bit ridiculous, pouting like a child. He knew that the words did not change the facts.
"You have will have Jack and Doug to help you, and Grams promised me that she would stay around until you get the hang of fatherhood."
"Is there such a thing as getting the hang of it? If there is, my father definitely dropped the ball." He felt nauseated, disgusted, at the idea of making jokes. Still, he could not combat his nature. The reality of that surged through him, making him uneasy. His mind raced. What if there was no changing who he was? What if he was destined to make a mess of this little girl's life like he did of most things? He would disappoint Jen and he could not live with that idea.
"You're greater than the failure of your father. I have seen you rise above so much, including your own misconceptions of who you are and what you are capable of." She stroked his cheek softly. "You are going to be an amazing father to Amy. If I thought otherwise, I would be leaving her care to Jack."
"You are telling me you could have…." He almost said something as untrue as it was thoughtless. Though his anger lingered, he did not want to cause her any further suffering. It had taken so much for her to tell him. He did not want her to regret it. "…you could have given Amy a chance at happiness with Jack but, instead, you are choosing to take a shot in the dark, so to speak."
"No, really, I am not," she said pointedly.
Her resolve was touching while, at the same time, making him question her rationality. "You have more faith in me than I deserve."
"How could I not have faith in you? You have carried me through the most difficult time of my life and too many before it. Your devotion is unwavering." She looked away from him, and out the window. "The fact that you are sitting here now, promising me the world still, even after I treated you with such callous disregard two years ago, says exactly what I need to hear. It tells me that our daughter will never have to search for a place to call home."
"Why did you, then? Leave I mean," he asked. That day had stuck with him for so long. With the door open, he could not leave things unresolved.
Her memories rested on a train, the heavy feel of desperation keeping her firmly planted in her seat, her eyes fixed on the blur of her stop passing through a dingy window. Her mind had raced alongside the car, trying to answer his present questions. "Would saying that I was afraid be too simple? It always seemed to be," she admitted, looking at him with an earnest gaze. "The fact is that I could never bear to lose you and I felt like if I had you, that was always a possibility. It probably sounds stupid, selfish, and obviously I was wrong. Hindsight always seems to work against me."
"It isn't stupid. In fact, it is how I have felt watching you these last few days. Now that I have you, it breaks my heart to have to lose you."
She could not respond. Again, the feeling of loneliness was leaving her while attaching itself to him.
"What did my Grams say to you to get you to leave?" she asked, as if the question had been begging to be asked.
"Just that she knew you better than anyone, myself included, and in knowing you, she knew that what you had chose to do was the best for each of us. Something in the way she said it convinced me, though it did not console me."
"Of course. I knew she would. That is why I had her tell you instead of doing it myself. I think it is in the nature of grandmothers that they know the exact words to use so as not to hurt but to help."
He nodded, considering the matter closed. The explanation had always been seated in the back of his mind but hearing her say it made it more valid. Now he had to look on, onto a future without her.
"How do I do this Jen? How do I raise her, look at her every day when all I can see in her is you?"
The easiest love of all, she thought. One that already exists. "Let whatever led you to me do the same for Amy. It will be easier than you think."
"Nothing led me to you, Jen. You were just there one day, stealing my heart without either of us knowing it." Until it was too late, he added.
A curious look appeared on her face, almost as if he had made some connection that she had never before seen. "Kind of like Amy," she said.
"Have to watch yourself with those Lindley girls," he quipped, unable to resist.
"Hopefully she won't be exactly like me. I pray that she'll get the best of both of us and skip the worst."
"With us as parents, she is already at a disadvantage when it comes to the worst, isn't she?"
"She will have something we never had. Love and unconditional support of her parents. Please let her know that. Even though I am not here, I want her to know that any and everything she chooses will be okay with me."
He grinned. "And if she brings home a tattooed rebel on a motorcycle when she's 16?"
"Okay, maybe not everything. Regardless, I will love her. She has to know that." She clutched his hand in a tight grip. "I need her to know that."
He squeezed her hand back with lighter force. "She will. I promise you that." He swallowed a sob, "And I need you to know that I love you at least that much, if not more."
Tears would have been appropriate. She could feel them burning against her eyelids; to hold them back caused her eyes to ache. Yet she would not let them flow.
"I know. I always knew." She leaned against him again. "And I always loved you back."