Pacey was in the door less than a minute when a bundle of blonde pre-teen launched herself at him. He caught Dawson’s little sister around the waist and swung her around before planting her firmly back on the ground. “Hey there, squirt.”

“I’m not a squirt.” She glared at him. “Just because you’re bigger than me…”

“Everyone’s bigger than you, Kara. You’re like microscopic.” He patted her head, deliberately making his voice patronizing. “And you’re in the way of my sojourn to the bar.”

“Mom and Dad don’t keep alcohol in the house anymore. Not since I found it and sort of used it to set the house on fire.” She looked embarrassed. “I figure I should tell you what the scorch marks are before Dawson decides to humiliate me like he usually does.”

“It’s a tough job,” Dawson admitted. “Well, it would be, if you didn’t make it so easy.”

She stuck her tongue out at her older brother as she grabbed Pacey’s hand. “Come into the kitchen. Jenna and I are making cookies.”

“Jenna?” Pacey cocked an eyebrow in Dawson’s direction. “You actually managed to convince her to come with you?”

“More than that,” Kara said teasingly. “He actually asked her to marry him. And, strangely enough, she said yes. We’re considering calling Jen and asking her to give the poor girl some treatment.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure that Mom and Dad wouldn’t miss you in the slightest if you disappeared mysteriously.”

“It would get me away from you.” She tugged Pacey into the kitchen and forced him to sit on one of the stool surrounding the small island in the center. “So, you want milk with your cookies?”

“Actually, I think I’m a little too far past sober for cookies and milk. However, I’ll take you up on it a little later, okay?” He kissed the top of her head and slid off the stool, heading over to the fridge. “Dawson? Tell me there’s more beer?”

“There is.” Jenna walked into the room and gave him a hug. “Hey, Pace.”

“Hey there.” He hugged her back. “Tell me the rumors aren’t true? Tell me you haven’t been lured to the dark side by his assumed sense of innocence? Tell me that you’re not going to marry this chump?”

“I don’t have much choice. He’s the only one who asked.” She grinned. “Where’s Andie?”

He released her and took a step back. “Andie’s…uh…” He looked over her shoulder, making sure that Kara wasn’t in the room any longer. “Andie committed suicide yesterday.”

“Pacey.” Jenna’s face fell. “I’m…oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She pulled him back into a hug and held him. “How are you?”

“Really sick of that question,” he chuckled lightly, his eyes distant and staring over her shoulder at nothing. He pulled out of the hug and forced an expression onto his face, hoping no one would notice that every word was devoid of emotion. “I’m sorry, I’m just...”

“It’s okay,” Jenna assured him as she stepped away, moving closer to Dawson and sharing a worried glance with him. “Forget that I asked.”

Pacey smiled. “Thanks. I will.”

Jack led Jen down the hall to his apartment, his hand firm around hers. He could feel his heart pounding, his head screaming at him. He reached into his jeans pocket for his keys, taking a deep breath as he clicked open the lock, firmly pushing his thoughts away.

Jen leaned against him, relying on his strength to support her. “Jack?”

He shook his head and swung the door open, moving his arm around her and guiding her inside. She moved without hesitation, afraid now that any resistance might shatter this fragile circumstance.

Jack shut the door behind them, heading for the bedroom. Jen closed her eyes, following him, unsure if the burning tears that blurred her vision were ones of pain, anticipation or disappointment.

They stopped moving and Jen looked at him, watching his expression. Nothing showed in the stormy blue of his eyes. They were mirrors reflecting a flat absence of emotion. “Jack...”

His hand snaked around her neck as he pulled her close, kissing her. Everything was slow and deliberate, the insidious movements of his tongue, sliding between her lips and luring her into a deeper embrace. As one hand tightened around the base of her neck, caressing the skin there, the other slipped around her waist and kneaded the flesh at the base of her spine, working its way under her jacket and blouse to bask in the bare heat.

Sliding one leg between both of hers, Jack pulled Jen closer, turning her as he did so. She was facing the door now, the edge of the mattress pressing into her calves. Jack’s hands moved over her body, exploring her as his tongue danced over her skin.

Her nails grazed the thin material of his shirt, sliding across his back as she buried her face in the hollow of his neck, her lips leaving a burgundy trail down to his collar. Jack’s hands moved up, finding her head and capturing it, holding her still as he looked down into her eyes.

Nothing.

Jen tried to pull away, unable to as Jack held her still. There was nothing in his eyes, just a blank stare, echoes of The Stepford Wives. She struggled in his grasp and he seemed to focus on her, smiling slightly as he brought her mouth to his once again.

This time the kiss was fast and harsh, his lips grinding into hers, skin trapped between teeth, painful. Tears swelled in Jen’s eyes as he pulled her closer, hating her, hating himself. Finally, she jerked away from him, her own eyes wild, as much emotion in them as was lacking in his. “What the fuck, Jack...”

“Exactly,” he whispered harshly, pulling her back to him and pushing her toward the bed all at once. His hands were relentless then, tugging at her clothes. Silk and linen tossed aside, her suit disposed of like so much junk mail.

Jen didn’t resist as he lowered her to the bed, discarding his clothes as easily as he did hers. Her eyes swept over him, memorizing him and this moment. She wanted to cry, wanted to call up the tears that she knew she’d shed soon enough, but found them lacking as he spread her legs, stroking her thighs with distracted hands.

The softly whispered endearments and the hopeless laughter of friendship seemed somewhere lost in the past, lost in the fantasy of what she’d imagined this moment to be like. Instead she was faced with his utterly unimpassioned gaze as he reached past her, grabbing for lubricant out of sheer habit.

Her sigh was lost on him, as was her relief as he coated his semi-erect cock before sliding it inside her, easing his way along the dry passage. She closed her eyes and pictured things as she wished they were, hoping that some semblance of arousal would ignite something in him, in her.

Jack groaned in frustration, finally feeling some hint of emotion as he thrust harder and harder, having no effect on his need. His cock hurt, ached with each movement, the flaccid skin accepting the punishing strokes easily, the pain delayed until he could feel again.