"It's not what you lose." He took a long drink from the glass in his hand and closed his eyes, wishing it would wash everything away. "It's what you give up."

"Is it because he's gone? Or is it because he came back?"

He didn't respond for a long time, sipping the amber liquid slowly, listening to the glass clink in the silence. "You probably think I'm an ass, right? A complete jerk?"

"The thought crossed my mind." She leaned back against the pillow that rested on the arm of the couch, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him. "Of course, I've thought that off and on most of our lives, so I might not be the prurient judge you're looking for." She watched him take another drink, nursing this one on his tongue before swallowing it. "You were scared."

"Yeah." He nodded his agreement, getting off the chair and moving to the fireplace, pulling the crystal decanter off the mantel. "But it had nothing to do with being scared."

"What did it have to do with then?"

He shrugged and poured his drink, watching the liquid tumble into the cut glass. "You sure you don't want anything?"

"I think one drunk in the room is more than enough, don't you?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Not yet."

"Exactly." He laughed and took a sip from the glass before sliding the stopper back into the decanter and returning to his seat. "Let me ask you a question, okay? A serious one."

"Aren't all of our questions serious?"

"Answering questions with questions is an annoying habit," he saluted her with the glass. "Maybe you should have gone into law enforcement."

"Which will lead you into your serious question, am I right?" She smirked and leaned forward, grabbing the pillow from the opposite end of the couch and holding it in front of her chest like a fluffy shield. "Go ahead."

"Don't you resent it sometimes? Having to do everything, shoulder all the burdens? Don't you get angry that, when it comes down to it, your dad's major concern every time is your sister?"

"She's the baby," she shrugged. "It's the way it happens."

He scoffed. "Not in my family."

She sat up, dropping the pillow. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched him drain his glass in one long swallow, the ice washed away with the alcoholic heat. "You know what matters to your dad, more than anything in the world, is how people see him. How people see his sons. He's a chauvinistic, materialistic bastard, but he's always been that. And you're jealous that Pacey's given him something to be proud of."

"Proving that my dad isn't the only bastard in the family, right?" Doug smirked and looked away from her, staring at the unlit logs in the fireplace.

"You're jealous that Pacey got out, that he proved himself. You're jealous that he's more successful than you. You're jealous that he gets all the cars and money and women."

"I'm jealous that he did everything wrong and it all works out for him. I'm jealous that, even though he was the family fuck-up, the black sheep, he's sitting pretty all of a sudden and the fact that I devoted my life to what my family wanted and what my father wanted and what was best for the Sheriff of Capeside doesn't amount to a goddamn thing." He bit out the words, the thick venom lacing them tinged with the sharp sting of scotch. "I did everything right, Bess. Every. Goddamn. Thing."

She bent her head, avoiding his hurt stare. "You did."

"I gave up the things that mattered the most to me."

"You're not telling me anything I don't know." She finally met his eyes and held them for a long moment, history suddenly heavy in the room. "I was there, Doug. I know what you gave up, what you sacrificed. I know why you did it…"

"And you still hate me for it."

"I had to hate one of us." She half-laughed, half-sobbed. "Your dad's trying to mend fences. He'll never admit it, but he was probably scared to death, Doug. He woke up and, for the first time in his life, he had to admit that John Witter wasn't the strongest, healthiest, heartiest guy on the block. He wasn't invincible and he wasn't a hero. And he had to admit it to the son that looked up to him, because he didn't have a choice. You saw it all with your own eyes."

"I've never thought my dad was a hero."

"Your dad always thought you did." Her eyes darkened with a haze of memory. "What was it like seeing him in the hospital bed, Doug? On the gurney? Did he look small? Waxy? Unreal? Like the man you've known your entire life had suddenly been replaced with a not-quite life-size model? Like Madame Tussaud's did a decent but not fabulous job at the recreation of John Witter?" She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging herself. "Was the only thought in your mind what the hell you were supposed to do without your dad?"

He looked away from her, hurt by the emotion in her voice. "I really am a selfish bastard, aren't I?"

She laughed, tears clinging to her lashes. "Not so much, no." After a long silence, she got off the edge of the couch and moved in front of him, kneeling on the ground at his feet. Her fingers rested lightly on his knees, never sitting still for long, moving as if she was afraid of being burned by his touch. "You're human, Doug."

"I'm jealous of my fucked-up little brother."

"Your very sweet, very successful, very handsome little brother."

"Thanks."

She sighed and her hands stopped moving, her palms hot through the material of his uniform. "Just because he can admit that he loves Pacey doesn't mean that he doesn't love you anymore. And just because he respects Pacey, it doesn't mean he doesn't respect what you do and who you are."

"He respects Pacey's money."

"He doesn't know how to connect with Pacey. They don't have anything in common other than blood and money gives him a means to communicate. Your dad understands money. And it's the only thing about your brother that he does understand."

"Whereas I'm an open book because I'm so much like him?"

"This self-pity is getting old, Witter." She rubbed her hand on his thigh absentmindedly, her eyes locked on his. "You have the same ideals and values as your dad. You go about achieving things the same way. You see things in the same shades of gray. Pacey's…you and your dad, it's like…it's like you're colorblind and Pacey isn't. And he can't explain to you what blue is. And so it's easier to get angry or upset or pretend there isn't such a thing as blue than it is to just accept it on faith."

"So now I'm a colorblind asshole bastard."

"Drunk, colorblind, asshole bastard." She sighed and shook her head. "Pacey's a dreamer. You're a realist. Pacey's the guy who runs away for a summer to forget a girl and ends up having her a tag along with him."

"And I'm the guy who gives up the girl because it's what's best. What's right." He laughed, the sound bitter. "You know, in the end, I think that's what bothers me the most."

"The fact that Pacey got the girl?"

"No." He reached out and touched her cheek, his thumb smoothing over the flushed skin. "The fact that I didn't." He released her as soon as he spoke the words, looking away from her searching gaze. "I made my choices."

"We all did." She nodded and pulled away. "For what it's worth," she paused, weighing her words carefully, "you made the right ones."

"Absolutely," he nodded in return, the sarcasm buried in his tone. "After all, you're happy, right? Great guy, great kid. B&B's doing well. You're living the high life. I did the best thing for everyone."

She bit the inside of her lip and blinked her eyes against her tears. "Your dad's going to be fine, Doug. And after the scare of this is all over, things will go back to normal."

"Nothing's going to be normal again, Bess." He stood up and moved to the window, his back to her. "I'm going to leave Capeside."

"What?"

"I was sitting there in the hospital room tonight, the one Pacey lied about so I'd look good, proving he's not only the better son, but the better brother…"

"Doug."

"And I realized that I don't have anything here. I don't have a life of my own. I don't have a job of my own. I eat meals at my parents' house even though anyone in the world could cook better than my mother. As long as I'm in Capeside, I'm not going to grow up. Get past anything."

"But…"

"Pacey was right." He shrugged and laughed again. "Now he's smart, too. Did you know that one?"

"Pacey's always been smart." Her voice hurt in her chest, the words hurt against her lips.

"You're right. He has." Doug turned and faced her, watching the expressions move through her eyes. "He asked me if I expected him to stay here all his life. And I think I did. I think I just kept expecting everything to keep going the way it was going and if it didn't change, if I didn't think about it or dwell on it, if I just pretended I was in a holding pattern, then I wouldn't have to feel anything."

"So you're leaving? That's your solution?"

"I don't have a reason to stay." He smiled slightly and he knew from her expression they were both thinking of the same thing, the same summer of whispered blood red words. "And I don't have anyone to give me one."

Tears fell down her cheeks slowly. "Where will you go? Or do? Or…" She sniffed and looked away, closing her eyes to stem the tide. "What about your dad? Don't you think that it would bother him? Hurt him? Maybe he'd suffer a relapse or…or…"

"Bessie, you won't miss me." He shrugged as if the knowledge didn't hurt. "You've got a life and a family and a world that has nothing to do with me." He watched her walk to him, closing his eyes as she moved close enough to breathe his breath. "It's been eight years. I think enough time has elapsed, don't you?"

She laughed, the sound marred by her soft sob.

"Besides, I think it's the only way I can live with how I acted today. Let it mean something, serve something." He wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb, inhaling her. "You'll be too busy to miss me."

"I've missed you every day."

He took a deep breath, needing it. "Stop."

"I can't stop."

"And I can't stay." He held himself still, fighting the temptation to kiss her, to sail away for a summer without warning. "And you can't ask me."

She shook her head and took a deep breath as well, the taste of him filling her senses. "No. I can't." She smiled sadly, touching his lips with her fingers, reveling in the gentle pressure he exerted on them. "But I'll miss you."

"I'm just moving away. I'll come home."

She nodded, knowing he was lying even if he didn't. "I know you will." She stepped away from him, her heart constricting with the distance. "I should go."

He nodded and shoved his hands into his pockets, clenching them into fists. He held her gaze until she turned at the door, her hands shaking as she opened it, looking back at him once more over her shoulder. He lifted one hand in a half-hearted wave, sucking in a harsh breath of air as the door closed behind her.

3/28/03