Seven years, you bastard. You’ve been dead to me for seven years. How dare you do this to me? Come back to me without my knowledge then leave me before I have a single moment with you.”

“If you weren’t already dead, Pacey Witter, I'd kill you myself.

“Joey?”

She looked up from her journal. “Hey.”

“You were mumbling.”

“Grumbling, actually.” She smiled and leaned back in her chair, allowing Dawson to drop a quick kiss on her lips. “How was your trip?”

“Good.” He walked around and sat across from her. “Everything is cast, pre-production is a go.”

“Good.” She closed her journal and sighed. “So, what’s next?”

“Another few weeks of hard work before shooting.” He ran a hand through his hair. His eyes caught the glint of the ring on her finger and he reached out to grab her hand. Holding it up to the light, he ran his thumb over the stone. “Not so hot date this weekend? Or were we fending off the amorous advances of some random guy?”

“What?”

“The ring.”

“Oh.” She pulled her hand away and slipped the ring off. “Potentially hazardous meeting.”

“Was it?”

“What?”

“Hazardous.”

“He didn’t show. She put her hand on the letter that lay next to her journal and slid it across the table to him. “For some not-so obvious reasons.”

Dawson picked up the paper and read it with wide eyes. “Is this some sort of sick joke?” Setting the paper down, he smoothed it on the table. “Who did this?”

“The signature sort of says it all.”

“Pacey’s dead, Joey.”

She looked up at him and saw the knowledge and hurt in his eyes. She wondered if she had looked that shocked. “No. He’s not.”

Dawson shoved away from the table and paced the room wildly. “No.”

Standing, Joey walked over to him and put a hand on his arm to stop him. He froze and she held her arms open. They fell into each other’s embrace and Joey couldn’t stop the hard sting of tears that fell from her eyes.

Dawson’s hand smoothed her hair, comforting her as she cried. “Shh, Joey.”

“He walked away again, Dawson.” She said the words brokenly. “And he thinks he knows everything.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Right now?” She pulled away from his comfort and sat in her chair again. “I’m cussing him out in my journal.”

“Is that where it’s going to end, Jo?”

“He’s gone, Dawson. What am I supposed to do?”

“You found him this time.”

She shook her head. “By chance.”

“So imagine what it would be like if you were trying.”

Dawson walked slowly into Joey’s room. The lights were out and the curtains drawn tightly against the sun. He nodded absently. It seemed wrong that the sun was shining, wrong that the days kept moving. He sat on the edge of her bed and rested his hand on top of hers.

“Jo?”

Her dark eyes were wet with tears as she looked up at him. “Dawson?”

He pulled her into his arms and let her cry. “It’s okay, Joey.”

“I can’t go…” she shook her head, her tears staining his shirt. “I can’t go and be there for this.”

“I know, Joey. I know.”

She pulled away and looked at his damp whit shirt, so stark against his black suit. “What are we supposed to do, Dawson?” She moved away from him. “How are we supposed to go on?”

“Pacey…”

Fresh tears assaulted her. “Don’t…don’t say his name.”

“He wouldn’t want you to be sad, Joey.”

“Right. He wanted me to be happy. He left so that you and I could…” She laughed bitterly. “Do you think that means that I killed him?”

“It was an accident, Joey. A freak storm. You read the police report. There was no way that…nothing that could have saved him.” Dawson reached for her. “Blaming ourselves isn’t the answer.”

“You blame yourself?” She looked over at him. “I made the choice that sent him away.”

“Who made you choose?” Dawson lay back on the bed. “Who spent the summer romancing you so that when Pa…” he caught Joey’s look and stopped. “When he came back, it would be obvious that he never stood a chance with you?”

“Can I ask you a question, Dawson?” She lay down beside him, staring up at the ceiling. “And I need you to be completely honest with me.”

“Of course, Jo.”

“You know…knew him better than anyone. Did he…” She felt her breath catch, her heart ache. “Did P…Pacey love me?”

Dawson rolled towards her, burying his head against her shoulder as his own tears finally came. “Yeah, Joey,” he managed between sobs. “He did.”

Joey stared up at the building in front of her. It had taken a lot of persuading, cajoling, bribing and a large number of favors to find this place.

And for all that, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing there.

Dawson’s words rang in her ears. The two of them had long since given up on their ill-fated romance. There was an inordinate amount of love between them, but they’d learned throughout the course of their twenty years of friendship that they were destined to love each other.

And be in love with someone else.

Dawson was forever falling for blondes, always trying to recapture whatever he had expected to find in his first relationship. In Joey’s private estimation, he wanted to fix his fuck-up with Jen and be the good guy he wished he’d been when she’d told him the truth.

One drunken night, Joey’d shared her analysis with him, after which, he’d sworn off blondes. At least until the next movie was cast.

She walked up tot he front doors and let herself in, a little surprised by the opulence.

As for herself, she had a tendency to seek out smart-ass men, dark hair and blue eyes. All of them with exceptionally nice asses.

But none of them seemed quite prepared for the reality of Josephine Potter. Maybe because none of them had grown up with her, giving back as good as they got.

“May I help you, Miss?”

Joey turned and smiled at the doormen. “I hope so. I’m looking for Ryan Wilson.”

“Mr. Wilson isn’t accepting visitors.”

“Please?” She set a picture on the podium he stood behind. “I knew him…a long time ago when we were kids. Please? I’ve been looking for him for a long time.”

The doorman picked up the picture and studied it. He looked up at Joey, noting the anxiety in her eyes. She looked like she’d been crying, looked like she hadn’t slept. “I could lose my job.”

“He wouldn’t ever do something like that,” Joey insisted. “He’s not that kind of man.”

He looked back down at the picture. “You look like you love him.”

“What?” Her eyes met his, wide with surprise. “What do you mean?”

“In this picture. You look like you love him.”

“I did. I do. I love them both. I…I haven’t seen him in a long time. He left town without a word and I’ve finally found him. I need to see him. Please?”

The doorman came out from behind the podium, his keys jingling. He swiped a card and opened one of the elevators. With a long look at Joey, he gestured her into the small car. “Get in.”

“What floor?”

“It’ll take you there.”

She shook her head, not understanding. The doors closed before she could say anything more and she took a deep breath. The ride was silent, not even music playing. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe. It was Pacey. She could handle Pacey. Just because she’d thought he was dead, didn’t mean that she couldn’t handle seeing him.

Hell, he’d been haunting her for the past seven years, why should now be any different.

When she’d first heard his voice on the radio, she’d cried all night. So much of what he’d said had made her think of the young man she thought she’d sent to his death on the rocks off the coast of Maine. Maybe, subconsciously she’d known or at least hoped that the impossible was true.

Not so impossible.

She started as the doors slid open. Stepping into the penthouse, she looked around in awe. *This* was where Pacey lived? This? This…gorgeous, sprawling space? She ran her hand along the bar as she made her way to the window.

She’d been places like this before, been to parties on Dawson’s arm. But something about the fact that he’d lived here, spent a part of his life she knew nothing about here, made it somehow magical. She forced herself away from the window and walked to the bedroom. She knew, deep down, that he was not here. If anything, Pacey inspired loyalty, and the doorman downstairs wouldn’t have let her in if he had been.

But she needed to see where he’d lived, where he’d been while she’d been missing him.

She sat on the edge of the bed and inhaled, drawing the scent of him that lingered in the air into her lungs. It was funny how certain things came back to you so easily with the right sight or smell. The bedroom smelled like Pacey, salty and warm. She remembered him in the sun, working on his boat. She could picture his golden skin, his dark hair lightening as the summer progressed.

She remembered hating him and loving him, remembered refusing to kiss him and dying from not being in his arms.

Looking over at the nightstand, she noticed the telephone. She picked it up and ran her thumb over the mouthpiece, remembering his words and his touch.

She wanted to hate him so badly. He’d known all along it was her, known that she still loved him. And he’d lain here, completely content in the knowledge while she’d lain in her own bed, wishing so much that it had been Pacey she'd been making love to. She’d made love to him with her words, made love the way she dreamed of sometimes.

Had she known, subconsciously that it was him?

Tears stung her eyes and she set the phone back on the table. It tumbled sideways as she set it on the edge of something. Grabbing the obstruction, she put the phone down and looked at what had toppled it. It was a small silver frame.

She turned it over, tears stinging her eyes as she stared at the picture inside it. The three of them – her, Dawson and Pacey, their arms around each other, the ever-present creek in the background. She remembered the day it had been taken, one of the last days before everything had fallen apart.

She was between the two men she loved the most.

How fitting.

Taking a deep breath, she set the picture back on the nightstand. There was a piece of paper sitting next to the phone with a number written on it. She recognized it vaguely and, hoping that whoever it was would know where he was, she dialed it quickly.

“Hello?”

The voice forced a smile. “Doug?”

“Yes.”

“It’s…It’s Joey. Joey Potter?”

“Joey.” His voice was a little distant, which only made sense. “How are you?”

“Been better. But I’ve…I’ve been worse. Have you…gotten any calls today? Strange calls?”

“Strange? Strange how?”

“Like…never mind.”

“I had three blank messages on my answering machine. That kind of strange?”

She nodded, “Yeah. That kind of strange.”

“You know anything about them?”

“No. At least, I don’t…I have to go. I’m sorry.” She hung up quickly, not wanting to waste anymore time, not wanting to think. “All right, Pacey Witter.” She stood up and walked toward the elevator. “Where are you?”

Joey clung tightly to Dawson’s hand as she pressed back against him. She wanted to be hiding behind him, wanted to hide from the eyes she knew had been focused on her instead of the gaping hole in the ground. They were alone now, standing beside Pacey’s empty grave.

“You okay?” Dawson’s soft whisper seemed heavy on the air.

She nodded, still not trusting her voice. She wasn’t sure how either of them had managed to make it her, not sure why either of them were there. Dawson squeezed her hand and stepped past her, stopping just at the edge of the deep pit. Joey released him, not wanting him to draw her closer.

He looked up from the coffin and met the blue eyes so similar to his best friends. “I’m sorry, Doug.”

Doug looked away quickly. “Thanks. I’ll be sure to pass the condolences on to my parents.”

“I…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Dawson.” Doug’s voice was as harsh as his gaze. “Maybe you were his friend all of his life, but the one time he needed you most, you weren’t there. You couldn’t see the one thing he needed.” Doug laughed bitterly as Joey flinched. “I may not have been much of a brother most of his life, but at least I was there when he needed me most.”

Dawson watched him walk away. Doug’s usually proud posture was slumped, the sun glinting dully off the metal of his badge as he turned. “Come on, Joey.”

She shook her head. “No. I need…can I just have a minute, Dawson?”

“Of course. But I do need to get to the restaurant.” He hated the words as soon as they’d left him. He didn’t want to make her feel pressured.

“It’s okay,” she managed a weak smile. “I know what you meant. Go ahead. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” The Leery’s had offered to host Pacey’s memorial service at their restaurant and Joey could imagine the crowd of people there.

“You’re sure?”

“Go, Dawson. I’ll be there soon.”

He walked away and, as soon as he was safely out of sight, she moved over to the edge of the grave. They had yet to start filling the dirt in above the coffin, and the cherry wood gleamed even in the dark hole. Dawson’s mom had told her it was lined in dark blue satin and that the Witters had decided to bury the remains of the boat’s plaque in Pacey’s stead.

Her heart ached for them, as dysfunctional as they were. It was hard enough losing someone, but to lose them without something tangible to…bury, to mourn. She knelt down in the cool grass and ran her hand along the edge of the square. She felt someone sit beside her and turned her head.

She expected Andie, Jack or Jen.

“Did you ever finish your wall?”

Doug’s words were calm, not laced with the hostility she’d grown accustomed to. “Ye…yeah.”

“I haven’t been by in a while.”

“The lease was up on September first. I don’t know if they’ve painted over it.” She tugged at blades of grass. “Not that it matters. The person I painted it for won’t ever get to see it.”

“What did you paint?”

More grass met its end at her hands. “Did you know your brother kissed me a long time ago? Our sophomore year. He kissed me and I was thinking of someone else, in love with someone else. He was just some dumb, cocky annoyance that I had to put up with all my life, vying for Dawson’s attention.”

“And then?”

“And then nothing.” Joey shrugged. “You want some sort of grand, graveside revelation here?” She tossed the clumps of grass into the grave, listening as they thudded dully on his coffin. “You want me to say that I fell in love with him?”

“Did you?”

“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “I don’t think I fell. Plummeted, maybe. Sky-dove.” She sniffed back tears, a soft laugh setting off their harsh sound. “Dive-bombed?”

“He had a way of…getting under your skin.” Doug nodded, staring out at nothing. “He loved you.”

“I know.”

“And you loved him?”

“I love him.” She felt the hot tears make their way down her cheeks. “And he died without knowing that.”

“He knew it.”

“He just thought I loved Dawson more.” She nodded, watching as the falling tears stained her simple dress. “I didn’t know what to paint that would let him know,” she admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell him that he was just as important, just as much what I needed in my life. I love them both. Equally and completely differently.”

“So what did you paint, Joey?”

She started as two workers carefully lay the headstone beside the grave. “I painted my heart.” She stood and grabbed her purse from beside a nearby tree. Digging inside it, she stared out at the creek. Pacey was buried by the water. Only fitting, she supposed.

Doug was behind her and she turned slowly. His blue eyes were aching, sad beyond measure. Were his regrets more painful than hers? More of a heart ache? Holding out her hand, she handed him a picture.

“Keep it.”

Doug’s cool composure slipped and he sobbed, tears leaking from his eyes…eyes just like Pacey’s. It was a picture of her wall. A picture of a painting of the picture of her heart.

A picture of her and the two men she loved, their arms wrapped around one another, before emotion got in the way and ruined everything. It was her and her two best friends. Her, Dawson and Pacey.

She looked at Doug, her own tears matching his. He held out his arms and Joey moved into them, taking the comfort he offered, wishing with all her heart it was his brother’s arms she was in.

She stood by the dock, staring out at the boats. She was wearing Doug’s jacket again, thinking back to the day he’d unwittingly given it to her. She’d worn it home after her night on the dock and never given it back. She’d stolen a jacket from a cop. The irony of it was about the only thing she could laugh at right now.

The boats moored at the dock bobbed gently in the water, bells jangling. The docks were always alive with noise and light, and it was comforting to lose herself in the anonymity of them. Looking up as the lights flicked off, she finally noticed it was almost sunrise. Dawson was probably wondering where she was.

Either that or Dawson figured she’d found him and taken him someplace she could beat the shit out of him.

Right after she fucked him.

Joey grinned. At least she had her priorities in order. “Wilson!”

She stiffened at the sound of his new name, her eyes searching for the source.

“Yeah?”

“You ready?” Joey searched frantically, needing to find him. It was him. It was.

“Just about.”

He sounded so near. There was a flurry of movement down and to her right and she headed that direction. A man came out of the small shack, a rope draped over his shoulder. It was too dark to see his face, but Joey didn’t need to see him.

“Pacey?”

He froze.

Joey heard his sharp, shuddering intake of breath and dared another step forward. “I didn’t know that I knew, but I did.”

“What did you know?” She recognized his voice now; not the sarcastic cadence of her arch-enemy, but the husky tone of a someone who’d spent a lifetime falling in love with her.

“I saw the boat.”

He looked involuntarily to the boat docked at Pier 42. True Love. “Nothing gets past you, does it Potter?”

“Not much.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t get past me, Pacey. We collided. And in the aftermath, you slipped away.”

“I may have been pushed.”

“Would you look at me?”

He laughed. “No. No, I don’t think I can quite do that. Because I’m about to get on the boat, Joey. And I’m going to get the hell out of Dodge one more time.”

“I wear the ring whenever I go out with amorous clients or if I’m meeting strange people…strange men I’ve never met before. It’s a charade.”

“So am I.”

“No.” She felt tears threatening and she refused to let them fall. “No. You’re real.”

“Pacey Witter died seven years ago. His family, his friends. They all think he’s dead.”

“I think they’d welcome the knowledge that they were wrong.”

“And how is that, Jo?” He finally turned and she caught her breath, losing the fight against her tears. They fell copiously as she stepped forward, her hand going to his face. She caressed him, touched him, drank him in with her eyes and her touch. He closed his eyes, losing himself in her touch. “How am I supposed to explain this away? I…I can’t.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t walk away from me again.” She shook her head, her tears clouding her vision. “I…I…I love you, Pacey.”

“Oh,” he inhaled the word, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Their tear stained skin was slick to the touch and they wrapped themselves up in each other until Pacey broke the kiss. He backed away from her, his eyes wild. His breath was coming in short, harsh gasps and he shook his head vehemently. “No. I can’t.”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” she sobbed. “Waiting for you, when you didn’t even exist. You can’t ask me to pretend. You can’t walk away.”

“I can’t do it again, Joey.”

“Dawson is my best friend,” she met his gaze evenly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And I will always love him.”

Pacey took a step back, his eyes no longer soft with love. “So nothing much has changed.”

“But Dawson doesn’t complete me, Pacey.” She walked toward him, not allowing him to put distance between them. “And I’m not in love with him. I knew that seven years ago, even if I was too afraid to admit it. But I’m not afraid anymore.”

“You’re not?” He laughed incredulously. “Because I’m petrified.”

“Pacey, please?”

He looked back at his boat, watching her move in the water. True Love or something that could end up being very much like it. She wiped away a single tear that fell down his cheek. “What are you doing, Joey?”

“I’m doing what I should have done years ago, Pacey.” She brushed her thumb across his bottom lip and looked into the eyes she’d lost herself in so long ago. “I told you once that all the good ones are gone. So I’m asking you to stay.”

05/28/00