It's been a while since my last update *cough* a year *cough* so we might need a little recap of the last chapter:

Joey and Pacey went to Capeside to tell Bessie their news, but Joey backed out at the last moment, leaving without telling her sister. After hiding their news all weekend, they ran into Gail at a gas station who could clearly see that Joey was pregnant. After a confrontation, they asked her not to tell Dawson, so that they could break the news themselves.
We also got some flashbacks that revealed the connection Joey and Pacey shared after he sailed away.

A reminder that I'm taking some liberties with canon in this fic.

Fair Warning: We're still heavily in angst territory for this part of their story. Unfortunately, it has to get worse before I can put them back together.


Chapter Text

December smothers everything in its path, covering it with tinsel and Wham!'s Last Christmas in grocery stores on a never-ending loop.

Joey hides. Both from Christmas and from the world, content to exist only in the six hundred square feet of my apartment.

A deep indent was carved into the couch, where she sat working all day on her laptop. I worked sixty-hour weeks, juggling chaos at two restaurants in the lead-up to Christmas. Staffing, menus, ordering - hours working on the perfect dacquoise, or hovering over a confit pork belly.

Joey lived on leftovers. I stocked the fridge wall to wall in takeout containers, all labeled and dated.

Mousakka. Side salad.

Herb Crusted Lamb Loin. Honey-glazed carrots.

If they weren't there, I'm not sure she would eat at all.

The Christmas tree crouched in the corner. We'd chosen a petite Blue Spruce and wrapped it in glowing white lights. Joey hand painted ornaments, not wanting to use the box labeled 'Christmas' that Dawson had left behind. There was an ornament for her, one for me. Even the baby had one. Delicate winter scenes on glass baubles.

I got home late, hair smoky. Joey was asleep on the couch beneath layers of blankets. Collecting a beer from the fridge, I pressed the blinking answering machine, listening to the three messages.

Doug was first, letting me know I owed $50 towards Mom and Dad's Christmas present. The present itself was undisclosed, irrelevant. The second message was a dial tone. The third was from Jen.

"Hey, you guys are coming to Christmas Eve dinner, right? You've got to come - Joey, you promised. Pacey - it is your responsibility to haul her here, and when you're performing said haul, can you bring that cauliflower dish? The one you brought to Doug's birthday. It was delicious. Thank you! Love you! See you at dinner!"

Her friend's voice couldn't rouse Joey from her slumber, so I gently brushed the back of my hand against her face.

"Come to bed," I whispered.

Joey groaned, twisting in the blankets. "What time is it?"

"It's late, a little after eleven."

I offered my hand as a lift.

Her belly was tight, unmistakable now, even in her oversized nightgown. Only three months remained before our world of two would become three. I ran my hand across as a greeting and we walked side by side to the bedroom.

"You smell like the hibachi grill," she grinned, diverting to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

"I must have cooked at least a hundred rib eyes."

Mouth full of foaming white, Joey waited for the inevitable nightly question.

"Did you talk to Bessie?" I asked.

Joey shook her head, spitting in the sink. I swallowed my disappointment in a single mouthful.

"There is a message on the answering machine about Christmas," I began. "I think we need to go - for Jen."

Toothbrushing paused, she nodded to me in the reflection, nightgown slipping down and exposing her shoulder.

"We'll go," she said, words muffled by the towel wiping her face.

I kissed her bare shoulder, observing her in the mirror. "It's going to be alright, Joey. Jen told me the other day that she invited Dawson, but he declined. So it's just friends."

"And Jack," she blinked.

"Doug," I offer.

"And Grams," she retaliated.

"It's never going to be the right time, Joey. You can't keep her in there forever. And people will be shocked now when they find out, but if you don't tell them until there is a baby in your arms, well, then their shock will be anger."

She nodded.

Despite the encounter with Gail at the gas station, it seemed she had kept our secret so far. We had heard nothing from Dawson, and no rumors had trickled down the Capeside grapevine and through to Bessie.

Her silence on the matter was unsettling.

"Will you wear the ugly Christmas sweater?" Joey forced a grin. "The one with the nutcrackers and all the nuts?"

I smiled, encircling her from behind, cheek against cheek, my stubble to her soft.

"I will wear anything you want if you promise to come, and promise not to hide."

Joey spun around, kissing me on tiptoes, tasting like toothpaste. With her lips on mine, it was easy to convince myself that everything would be fine.

Christmas dinner at Jen's. How bad could it possibly be?


We arrived with a trunk full of presents, Joey balancing the requested cauliflower dish on top of her stomach.

The short drive to Jen and James' house was in silence, Joey checking her reflection in the rearview mirror, applying and reapplying mascara.

"You're beautiful," I offered. An understatement.

Squinting into the mirror, dubious brows arched at my comment. "I look tired."

"You're busy growing brains and bones as we speak. I would argue that fatigue is justified."

"What happened to the pregnancy glow that is pedaled by What To Expect When You're Expecting? Lies - all of it."

We climb out, collecting the Christmas paraphernalia.

"You are glowing, Josephine," I spoke over the roof of the car.

She grunted in opposition, and we trudged up the stairs. Precarious tower of gifts in my arms, I knocked at the door with my knee.

Footsteps heralded Jen's arrival and she heaved the door open, flour-coated apron around her waist and face pale.

"Hey guys, come on in!" she beckoned us inside excitedly, smiling wide.

Jen's brand of jovial was a remark slightly less dry than the one before it. Her uncharacteristic buoyancy set off immediate alarm bells.

"Jen?" Joey heard it too. Something was wrong.

She reached for our coats, tugging at the shoulders.

"It's fine, it's all fine," she swooped a hand across Joey's stomach. "Look at these gorgeous girls."

"Do you need some help in the kitchen?" I asked.

She hung the coats, blocking our entry down the hallway.

"I don't need help. Thanks, Pacey. I do, however, need to tell you something."

I knew what it would be before she opened her mouth. Dread filled the air.

"Dawson called this morning. He got on an earlier flight to Boston. And, well, turns out he can make it for dinner tonight. He'll be here in - " Jen glanced at her watch. "Around ten minutes."

My stomach dropped.

Joey reached for her coat. Both Jen and I stopped her.

"It's going to be fine," Jen was reassuring. "It has to happen, and it's Christmas. Everyone is happy on Christmas. People don't yell at Christmas. It's about Santa and holly and eggnog and happiness and all that shit."

I raised my eyebrows, "You've clearly never been to a Witter Christmas."

"I don't want to do this," said Joey, shaking her head.

"You're going to do this. It's the right thing to do." Jen placed her forehead against Joey's, waiting until she permitted eye contact between them. "I'm here, and Pacey's here. And Joey, it's time."

Some mystical feminine force must have passed through them because they were quiet for a moment before Joey pulled back, and nodded.

We left the jackets on the hook, following Jen down the hallway. The table was set with pine fronds and flickering candles, Jack and Doug were kneeling by the tree, unpacking presents beneath it.

Doug turned, seeing us first. "Well, it's been long enough." He stood, making his way toward us, stopping when he laid eyes on Joey.

"Wow," was all he could say.

Jack's head craned towards us, registering his partner's shock.

"We have some good news to share," I spoke when no one else seemed able.

It took a second or two for the men to tear their eyes away from her belly. Jack and Joey shared a look before he crouched back by the tree.

Doug came in for hugs and congratulations.

Grams entered the room, and her surprise resembled the others', but there was no hesitation before offering her warmest embrace and congratulations.

"Sometimes, even in the hardest of times, we receive gifts that we don't always understand. And it looks as though you both have quite the Christmas gift to celebrate," she said.

Joey smiled, and for a moment I forgot about Dawson, and smiled along with her.

"Thanks, Grams," said Joey.

"I expect, based on my experience, that you only have a few more months to enjoy your solitude." She stepped forward, motioning to Joey's bump, and whispered. "Do you mind?"

Joey shook her head and Evelyn's arthritic hands lay gently on her stomach, eyes closed, waiting for a movement.

"I'm going to be an uncle again?" Doug smiled.

"You are."

There was contained elation in the small group. The children, previously oblivious, overheard the conversation and made a line before Joey to converse with her stomach. There was much chatter in little voices speculating about the gender. Max declared that in his opinion, the child should be named Spiderman. I promised him I'd put it on the list of contenders.

Joey looked at me then, relief settling across her features.

"Okay, I'm about to get the food from the oven. Can everyone please take a seat and James and I will bring out everything?" Jen yelled from the doorway.

Grams took her place at the head of the table. The children were seated at a small table in the adjoining living room where the couches had been pushed against walls. Instead of crystal glasses, the children's table was adorned with plastic cups and melamine plates. They fidgeted in chairs, chattering among themselves, tiny fingers grabbing at forks.

Dawson didn't arrive after the estimated ten minutes.

No matter how many times my eyes escaped to check it again, the minutes passed. It had to be twenty, or even thirty minutes since Jen had proclaimed his impending arrival.

I glanced at the clock, catching Joey doing the same.

"Maybe he's not coming," she whispered the words between us, the ones I'd been wondering myself.

Jen, oven mitts covering her hands, came to the table with a dish brimming with roast potatoes.

"It's hot, coming through," she leaned across me, depositing the food in the center.

There was a knock at the door.

Everyone, the children included, fell silent.

"I'll get it," Jen said eventually, and a collective breath around the table was held.

I straightened my silverware. Joey unfolded and folded her napkin as we heard their joined voices drift down the hallway.

Dawson's face appeared first, Jen trailing behind. He wore a green sweater and his hair was long and unkempt, strands of it curled from behind his ears.

Everyone offered perky greetings, smothering the awkwardness with Christmas cheer. His eyes tracked around the room, pointedly avoiding any acknowledgment of Joey and me. He apologized for his tardiness. An accident in the tunnel was cause for his delay.

"Sit, please," Jen said, pulling out a chair for him. "The food is hot. Let's enjoy."

Platters were passed between outstretched hands. Jack distracted Dawson with questions about Los Angeles and his latest film venture. Everyone joined in the conversation, except Joey and I, quietly chewing and swallowing and not tasting a single item of incredible food Jen had toiled over.

The tranquility was temporary. Until Dawson no longer succumbed to the small talk distraction and he let his gaze fall on Joey and me, sitting side by side. A roast potato was speared on his fork, hovering mid-air when he spoke.

"So can I assume that since you are seated here with my wife, Pacey, you are officially a couple?"

"We are a couple," I answered.

"Brilliant!" he shoved the potato into his mouth, chewing mid-speech. "I'd heard mumblings, of course, but it's always great to hear it straight from the source."

His sarcasm sent ripples around the table. Uncomfortable side glances were shared.

"How have you been, Dawson?" Joey's voice cut through the silence. She met his sarcasm with calm.

"Things have been better," he replied. "And you?"

"I've been well," she replied cordially, and inadvertently put her hand below the table onto her stomach.

Dawson's eyes followed her hand like a trail, and he knew instantly. Our secret was obvious, even half hidden beneath a tablecloth. Horror crossed his face.

Joey panicked and said, "Pacey and I have some news that we wanted to share with everyone."

His eyes held hers. Eyes that had watched her inject needle after needle into her skin, stimulating egg development. Eyes that watched with disappointment when another negative pregnancy test rested on the bathroom counter.

They shared a history I couldn't fathom. Grief drew them together, bonding them in tragedy.

I cleared my throat, hoping the noise would force his eyes away from her.

It worked. Dawson redirected his gaze to me.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"This isn't a joke, Dawson. We wanted to share our news with everyone tonight," she said.

"Am I supposed to congratulate you?"

"No. I just wanted you to know," said Joey. "Wanted everyone to know."

Dawson took a generous gulp of his wine. "Why did you invite me to this, Jen?"

"Because it's Christmas. Despite what has happened this year, we are all friends."

"Were friends," Dawson corrected. "Past tense."

"It doesn't have to be this way," said Jen.

"This way like being ambushed by my ex? Humiliated in front of everyone. Was this some kind of ploy to gauge my reaction?"

"If it's any consolation, Dawson, we didn't know before tonight either," Doug offered.

"You know, we could have had this conversation months ago if you took my calls," said Joey.

"Oh, really?" he raised his brows. "You'd call me up and you'd confess that you got pregnant - with Pacey? I'm skeptical."

"Dawson," I warned.

"So how far along are you?" He directed his question at Joey, ignoring me.

"Almost six months," she replied.

He paused, doing the math in his head. The dates were close - enough to make his eyes narrow with the possibility that it could be his.

Joey shot it down immediately with a shake of her head.

"If I didn't come to dinner tonight, were you ever going to tell me?" He asked.

"I didn't want to hurt you," replied Joey.

"I think we're beyond that now."

I shuffled in my seat, ready to intervene, but Grams stood and took the floor. "Now, we can all admit this is surprising new information we've all learned tonight, but let's not forget that it's Christmas and that there are children in the adjoining room. Jen has spent all day slaving over this feast before us, and we will respect her time and effort and we will enjoy it."

Jen smiled nervously, laying a napkin on her lap.

"If required, this conversation can be resumed after dinner, and when there are no children present. Are we happy to agree to that?" Grams added.

Everyone nodded. Dawson's eyes were daggers.

"Unless you are announcing your impending nuptials, I think I'll opt to abstain from any further discussions for the evening surrounding anything to do with them," he fingered toward us.

Second servings of cauliflower were scooped onto plates purely as a distraction.

Maybe, if there had been time to plan this reunion, it would have gone differently. Dawson would be quietly escorted into one of the kid's bedrooms and Joey would await his arrival and break the news sitting on Dora the Explorer bedsheets. Dawson would be devastated and bitter. He would rant and rave, but emerge understanding, with the closure that his swift departure from Boston never allowed.

Maybe.

When no one was looking, Joey laid a hand on my thigh. I reached below. Her fingers trembled and stretched, the connective tissue straining and retracting beneath my palm. Beneath the dining table, a quiet touch settled us both.

Maybe that was the worst of it?

Maybe.


After dinner, Jen ushered everyone to the living room to await dessert. She wanted us gone to clear the table in peace, and the soft furnishings of the living room offered substantially fewer sharp objects if the conversation turned sour.

Everyone sunk into sofas as the children held court, prodding at the gifts beneath the tree and putting forward their best guesses.

Max speculated that a square present was a pair of nunchucks. Lexie thought a soft item was most likely clothes and couldn't hide her disappointment. Before long, the floor was covered in gift wrap, toys strewn across the floor.

Max did not receive nunchucks.

Lexie did receive a knitted sweater.

Joey helped extract a Barbie from its elaborate packaging.

I excused myself to help Jen in the kitchen.

Hands in the sink, plates stacked beside me, I worked through the dirty dishes.

"As much as I appreciate the diligent cleanliness, Pacey, you are not required to slave over a sink when you come to my house for Christmas."

"I like doing the dishes."

Jen laughed. "I bet you do. Especially when a certain someone is out there, and you're out here, bubbles up to your elbows."

"Think of it as a consideration to you. If I'm in there, I'm at a statistically higher chance of ending up in a fistfight. In here, it's just me and the water and a dish cloth, much safer. And, it keeps the blood off your carpet."

"You will not fight him," Jen dried a salad bowl.

"No. I'm not going to. But sometimes it feels like it might happen. So I'm removing myself from the situation, just in case."

"He seems okay," said Jen. "Considering."

"Your definition of okay is peculiar. Judging by the death stares I've received, I'm going to hedge a bet that you might not be seeing this from all angles."

Jen glanced at the doorway, and lowered her voice, "A Dawson death stare? Show me."

I made an attempt to conjure the fierceness of his gaze. My nose crinkled, eyes dark, scowl exaggerated.

She laughed. "It's any wonder you didn't run right out the door after receiving such spine-chilling glances."

"I'm still considering it," I said, plates now done. I moved on to the pile of silverware.

"You can't leave, Pacey. You know that, right? Joey needs you. You can't just leave when things get too hard."

"I'm not going anywhere," I shook my head.

"Good. And give Dawson a break. He's had his heart broken in front of everyone on Christmas. I think, considering the circumstances, he's well within his rights to direct more than a few menacing stares in your direction."

I nodded into the bubbles.


We made it through dessert unscathed, crumbs of cake clinging to spoons before us. The kids had fallen asleep, their tiny table cleared, piles of green peas littering the floor beneath.

Dawson ignored our presence entirely. He was flushed from the liberal pouring of Merlot and happily engrossed in conversation with James.

Joey disappeared to the bathroom earlier and hadn't returned. I stood and went in search of her.

The hallway was quiet, the bathroom door open, the light off. I could hear faint voices in the study, and I moved toward them, standing by the doorframe but not allowing my body to peek out from it.

"People who have affairs don't go on to get married, have babies, live happily ever after, Joey. They fade out because they're not reality. They mimic it. You feel all the feelings, but they're in a fake space, they're imaginary. As soon as it's exposed to reality, it will die."

Jack's voice was clear, unmistakable.

"It's not like that, Jack, you don't understand."

"I understand perfectly. And I understand that you need to get out now, Joey, while you still can. You have a baby to worry about, too. Pacey bolted from your life on your wedding day. He disappeared, he left you - his best friend, on your wedding day. You claim he's your best friend. What kind of friend does that?" Jack paused, waiting for Joey to answer, but she didn't speak. "He's done it before. He will do it again."

There was a shuffle inside the room. Maybe Joey was moving, maybe she was about to storm out the door and crash right into me, eavesdropping.

I couldn't breathe, waiting for her response.

"He won't leave," she said finally, voice stoic.

"I hope you're right. But I warned you about this years ago. I warned you at his wedding, and you swore that nothing was happening."

"Nothing was happening, then."

"This has destroyed Dawson, and probably Audrey, too. I've tried to let it all brush off my shoulders like everyone else. But you were my friend, Joey, and you lied to me like you lied to everyone else. I never thought you were the kind of person to do something like that, I thought you had more integrity. Clearly, I was wrong."

"Jack," she called to him as he walked away. On exit, he saw me and stopped. We both froze.

"Good," he said. "You're here and you've clearly been listening this whole time. Now I won't need to explain myself to you too."

"Jack, I don't understand why you're taking this out on Joey," I said.

"Because I expected it from you, Pacey. But I didn't expect it from her."

"That's not fair."

"No, what's not fair is I gave Joey an opportunity years ago. An opportunity to be honest. To not break Dawson's heart or Audrey's heart. But she convinced me I was wrong. That I was crazy. I could have stopped all this years ago. I should have. And I'm angry because she has made me complicit in this."

Jack sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. "I will be your child's uncle and I will love that child fiercely and be there for them no matter what. But it doesn't mean that I can find it in myself to smile and laugh and pretend like nothing happened."

He walked back to the living room before we could respond.

Joey and I stared at each other in the hallway. I could see her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Burying her face into the crook of my neck, I wrapped my arms around her.

"This night will end … eventually."

"Can we go home now?" She said, voice muffled by my sweater. "I'm not sure I can take much more."

Nodding into her hair, I pulled back. "I'm going to go outside and get some fresh air for a moment before I return for the final round. Do you want to find Jen and let her know we will be leaving soon?"

Joey nodded and we went our separate ways.


It was cold outside. Quiet, even for Christmas Eve. In the apartments across the street Christmas tree lights winked at me.

Walking down the brownstone stairs I stopped mid-way, finding Dawson sitting on the bottom step. I hesitated, considering a quick retreat, but he turned at the sound of the door closing and saw me.

For a moment, we just blew out white wisps of air. Two men gathering their thoughts.

"Why did you come back?" He spoke to the pavement.

"What do you mean?" I tentatively stepped towards him, my voice gripping the wind.

"Why did you come back to Boston? Did you come back for Joey? Did you come back to finish what you started the night before my wedding?"

My fingers were already going numb. I jammed them in my pockets. "No. I thought that enough time had passed."

"Enough time that you magically lost the urge to have sex with my wife?"

"Dawson-"

"Am I wrong?"

"I came back because I wanted to be around my friends."

Dawson scoffed at the word. "Friends?" he repeated. "You wanted to be around friends you abandoned years earlier? That's bullshit. You wanted to come back for Joey."

"No," shaking my head, throat dry. My denial wasn't as forceful as it should be.

"You got successful and you secured a minor amount of notoriety. You had money and a couple of awards. You weren't Pacey The Loser anymore. You came back because you finally felt like you deserved her, like you finally had a shot."

"That isn't true, Dawson."

"What's going to happen when she finds out the truth?" he spat.

"And what truth is that?"

"That you're still Pacey The Loser. You can hide behind your chef whites and your fancy restaurants, but I see it. That you're going to leave her, that you're going to disappear just like before. That she ruined her marriage, her life, for you?"

It was a black-eye invitation.

Dawson wanted me to hit him. He was begging for it. Maybe to incite the physical manifestation of his pain. Maybe so he could show Joey that fights only happen when I'm around - a wild card, a dangerous ambiguity.

Playing into his hands, I wanted to hit him, but didn't take the bait. "You're drunk and pissed off, and you really should go home, Dawson."

"That would be easier, wouldn't it? If I wasn't here - so you could keep your baby secrets, and be festive and merry, and pretend your happy little relationship isn't built on the bones of the one before it."

"What do you want me to say?" My shouting echoed off the brownstones and back to me. "I'm sorry? I am sorry! I did a shitty thing, a terrible thing, something that I will forever have to live with! I left you a hundred voicemails saying that exact thing. You were my oldest friend and I destroyed your marriage. And I realize that saying the word sorry doesn't make it better, it doesn't make it go away, but it's all I've got!"

"I don't want your apologies."

I turned to leave, to go back up the stairs and into the warmth of Jen's house. But I felt a shove from behind and spun and looked into his furious eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I want my wife back, I want my life back, and you took it all from me."

I shove him back. "She is not yours, or my possession to own."

"Bullshit," Dawson snapped, face in my face. "She's the trophy you've been yearning for - for years."

"I'm not doing this," turning away from him I started up the stairs.

"When was the first time you kissed her?" he barked.

My foot froze on the step.

"When? Was it the night before my wedding, or was it before that?"

I didn't turn around. I couldn't. My face has always been an open book, he could read its pages in large print, he would know.

"It was before," he said knowingly.

I turned to face him. "Why does it matter now, Dawson?"

"It always matters. I need to know. I need to know so I can move on. I need to know so I can convince myself I'm not crazy." Through his pleas, his desperate blue eyes, I saw Dawson my friend. The boy who camped in a sleeping bag beside me at the ruins, the boy who let me stay at his house, without question, each time my father and I had come to blows.

I mourned for him, knowing with my next words, that those memories would be corrupted. The friend I remember would be forever lost with the truth.

"Junior year," I said. "I kissed her after she broke up with that guy, A.J."

Dawson blinked. Once. Twice. "Was that the only time?"

I shook my head, a single movement defining years of us.

"Why didn't you just tell me? Joey and I weren't together then. Why pretend it never happened?"

"Because we were seventeen and scared. Because even when Joey wasn't dating you, you considered her your own. We knew that it would break your heart."

"So instead you pretended not to love her?" his eyes were piercing, searching for the truth.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "I sailed away on a boat to try and stop."

"That's why you left that summer?"

I nodded.

"And when you got back, Joey and I were together," he said.

I nodded again, trying to disguise the pain that lurked alongside the memory. But Dawson saw it. After being blind for so long, it all became clear. Memories at the foundation of the epic tale of Dawson and Joey warped with the revelation that I was there all along. There weren't two characters in this love story, there were three.

"She chose you," I said, "and I had to live with that."

"But did she, really? Or was I a consolation prize that she got stuck with?"

Dawson hit me then, his fist connecting with my eye. My fists, balled tight, retaliated, square on the jaw, his face contorting with the force of the blow.

He hit back, colliding with my lip, and with the taste of blood, limbs began to fly and feet slipped on the icy pavement. Grabbing at his collar I tried to force him away, but he had a point to prove and anger in his veins. Profanities spewed from his mouth between flailing limbs, vitriolic.

The front door opened to shouting and voices. But Dawson was punching me, and I was punching him while blood flowed from his nose and lip and I couldn't feel my hand even as laid blows against his face.

Voices yelled, panicked. Hands grabbed, pulling us into our respective corners. James had me, his grip on my arms firm. Jack held Dawson, fighting against him.

Beneath the blood, Dawson's eyes were fire.

"Look what you did!" He screamed.

Eyes were on us now. I could feel it. Not only our Christmas Party attendants, but the neighborhood - watching through ajar doors.

Joey walked down the stairs, coming face to face with Dawson, bringing herself an inch from him. More often than not lately, it seemed as though she could be blown over by a breath of wind. But now she was solid, immovable.

"Enough, Dawson! It's over. We are over. I'm sorry. I will forever be sorry for hurting you, but this is it, this is the end."

She dismissed him, walking to me, James releasing his grip on my arms so she could inspect my knuckles.

In the background, Dawson ranted, demanding the retrieval of his keys so he could leave.

"I think it's time for us to go," whispered Joey.

Jen ushered us into the car, handing Joey her handbag and me a bag of frozen peas for my wounds. "I'm sorry about all this," she said, leaning in the open window. "This wasn't quite the party I'd imagined."

"At least I didn't get blood in your house," I grinned sheepishly.

"Merry Christmas," she blew us a kiss and Joey pulled out into the road.


I knew I'd definitely broken something in my hand. My fingers we swollen and the knuckles cracked and bleeding. The bag of peas was soggy and warm by the return to my apartment.

"We should go to urgent care," said Joey, fumbling through the freezer, filling a bag with ice.

"On Christmas Eve?" I shook my head, instead downing some painkillers and ushering her toward bed.

Our bodies ached from the evening, exhausted from the turmoil. We collapsed onto the sheets.

Curtains are open to a moonless night. We silently stared at the ceiling.

Between us lay Dawson, Jack, Gail, history, guilt and shame.

Our bed was full.

"We hurt people Jo, this was never going to be easy," I said to the darkness.

"I know, but I never expected it to be this hard."

"I wish I could go back," she said.

"To when?"

"To that summer. To the day you sailed away."

"What would you change?"

"I'd run faster."

"What?" My heart tumbled, skipped.

"The day you left. After Gail and Mitch's wedding, I was sitting on the dock with Dawson, wondering if I could tell him, trying to find some shred of bravery inside to break his heart. But I couldn't. All I could think about was you leaving, sailing away without me ever having told you the breadth of my feelings. He could see I was upset but didn't know why. I made an excuse about a headache and left.

I ran to your slip. I tripped. Blood was pouring down my leg. And when I got there, I saw you on the horizon, just the tip of True Love's sail disappearing through the waves."

"What were you running for?" I asked.

"To stop you? To come with you? I'm not entirely sure."

I pressed into my knuckle, feeling the intense burn of it. I relish how good it felt to hit Dawson. To let the pain and yearning from childhood leech through me and pour into him.

He kissed Joey before bed each night. He spent every Christmas waking up with her. He married her.

I punished him because it wasn't me.

"If I left that wedding ten minutes earlier," she whispered. "Everything might be different."

"If you spend your time wondering what if, you will go crazy."

"I'm already going crazy, Pacey. We had years filled with a thousand What Ifs and look at what it's done to everyone. Why couldn't I, why couldn't we, be honest?"

I had no answer for her, like I had no answer for Dawson. Explanations always came up short.

Moving towards her, I banished the space between us. She was folded against herself, a ball beside me. I uncurled her, brought her into my arms.

She cried then. Tears she had held back all night. They trickled down my bare chest and fell onto our sheets.