All the restaurants and shops are closed now, only the dim wired lights bobbing in the air along the slips light the shadows. He tugs his coat closer around him, warding off the cold that threatens to seep against his skin and burn him.

When had everything changed? Why had it changed? Was it because he was afraid? He hadn't been afraid before; he'd always been the guy that just went for it, just did it, simply because it was there to do. Maybe it was that afternoon on the dock with Joey, sitting there talking about the rest of the summer, the rest of their lives, and he got scared. Maybe that's why it was different.

He'd never been scared before.

Which is kind of amusing, considering how much he's done that being scared would be the logical course of emotion. He'd dated his teacher, an offense punishable by law. He'd dated a mentally unstable girl; he'd broken up with her. He'd chased after the love of his best friend's life; he'd broken up with her. Those were scary things. But they hadn't scared him.

Tamara had been someone he wanted, not to mention an experience he'd wanted so badly the consequences didn't matter. He needed her and wanted her in equal measure, and it honestly hadn't seemed wrong or bad or dangerous to him. It had just been about emotion and awakening and realization. Andie had been sane then crazy and he'd done everything he could for her, but the fear was for her, not for himself. He'd known even then that, as much as it might hurt, his future wasn't invested in what her future was. He wanted the best for her, but he never once worried that no cure for her meant a lifetime of pain for him.

He'd never been afraid of wanting Joey because he'd never believed he'd get her. And he'd never been afraid of losing her because he knew that he would. He'd never been afraid of the sea or the sky or the world, always knowing that something would come along. He was a jack-of-all-trades, master of none. He could be whatever someone wanted him to be, so long as whatever it was allowed for him to be a smartass at least half the time.

So why had sitting on that dock been scary? Why had he run after her, run after the plane? Even then he'd known that he hadn't loved her in the way that you need to love someone in order to make romantic gestures. He knew that he liked her and wanted her and enjoyed being with her, but he knew. He's always known.

So why had he run?

Maybe he has a quota. So many women to save, so many romantic gestures to perform. Maybe he wasn't scared of losing her so much as he was of finding himself in the same place in three months with nothing to show for it except a meager bank account and a loose-fitting uniform that belonged to the guy they fired two weeks before he moved back down from Boston. Maybe that's what was scary. Or maybe it was the thought that she'd be there all summer and there was no way he could just be her friend with no one in between them. No one to stop them from falling back into old habits, old routines. So he ran because if he hadn't, she wouldn't, and he would have been stuck here watching her wait for him.

He'd written her a letter one night, somewhere in the middle of the country, scribbling it out in his messy handwriting as Audrey slept on the big king size bed, sprawled out over the mattress like she owned it. He'd written words that he knew would never see the light of day, asking her questions, asking himself the same. Wondering where it all happened and when it all went wrong and where they'd be now if he hadn't wanted to head the inevitable off at the pass.

Then he'd left the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He'd slipped out of the hotel and stood next to the building, setting fire to the paper and watching it burn, coil up with smoke and heat, until the words melted into the night. When he'd gone back, Audrey was curled on her side, the pillow hugged to her bare chest. He'd stared at her for a long time and then taken off his clothes, sliding in behind her and holding her tighter than he'd ever held her before.

Scared.

A few flurries of snow start falling around him and he shivers. It's been warm lately, but suddenly it turned cold. Maybe it was just a psychological effect of seeing his car plunge through the wall and feel all the heat get sucked out of the room that's left him so cold. Maybe it was seeing his father's face, seeing it refuse to change into any kind of resemblance of pride or respect. Maybe it was hearing him ask him all those questions about what he was doing, mocking him for skating so close to the edge of the law. Taunting him with the difference between what happens to a blue collar criminal and a white collar one. Telling him he was a thief no matter what kind of tie he had on.

Maybe it was seeing Doug look so damn disappointed. When had he started caring again what his big brother thought of him? Why did it hurt so much that Doug seemed happier when he was a god damn cook than he was hearing that Pacey was making money, making a place for himself. Why couldn't anyone in his goddamn family just be fucking happy for him?

Maybe it was hearing Audrey's words. Maybe hearing her shout it out to the world and everyone in Dawson's living room that he'd never been able to really love her because he was still hung up on Joey. Maybe that was what had sent this permanent chill down his spine. He hadn't denied it, hadn't wanted to. Couldn't. It was truth, even if it wasn't news. He'd never loved anyone the way he loved Joey. Sometimes he thought he never actually loved Joey the way he loved her. But how was he supposed to explain that to Audrey, drunk and disorderly? How was he supposed to give her comfort when he was so damn cold and hurt himself?

The water used to soothe him. He used to lie on the deck of True Love and not think about anything but the sky and the water and the future full of new skies and new waters and places and people and adventures. He smiles a little because it's funny to think that he's really the dreamer. Dawson's got his life planned out professionally, even if he continues to fuck it up personally. His emotions might be based on dreams, but his life was reality.

His has never been. Living in the fantasy world of Dawson's as long as he could. Venturing out only to find more dreams that might be his own, only to have them all come crumbling down around him.

He digs in the pocket of Jack's coat and pulls out the pack of cigarettes. The wrapper crinkles in his hand as he taps one out, slipping it between his fingers, between his lips. Replacing them, he finds the lighter and flicks the flame on, staring at it for a long time before touching it to the cigarette.

He breathes in deeply, holds it for a second too long then expels it, watching it curl up into the air like the letter he'd burned.

"Since when do you smoke?"

He takes another hit, inhaling hard, holding it in until it burns hot in his lungs. They both watch the smoke as he exhales, tendrils drifting away in the wind. "A while now. I don't do it often."

"Just under moments of extreme duress?" There's a hint of a laugh in her voice. "Like when your recent ex-girlfriend plows your very nice car into your ex-best friend's house in the middle of Christmas dinner?"

"Times like that. Yeah." He thinks about the words, wonders how many times he's said them to her before. How many conversations have they had? How many have turned out badly, how many turned out wrong? How many ended right? How many ended in him touching her whether she wanted him to or not?

"Doug called her parents. Mrs. Leery isn't pressing any charges."

"I'm sure Audrey's parents can afford to pay for the damages."

"It's something that I think they might be used to." She reaches over and takes the cigarette from his hand, staring at it contemplatively before lifting it to her lips. She inhales just a bit then makes a face, dropping it over the railing into the water. "Nasty habit."

"You think this is all my fault?" He says the words softly and, if she hadn't been expecting them, she would have had to strain to hear.

"No."

"No?" He seems surprised as he looks at her. "No?"

"I think things were going too well for Audrey and she wanted a little drama. I think she and I aren't as different as we all first thought." She smiles a little in the cold night and he watches the curve of her lip. "We need drama and angst in our lives so badly that, when none seems to exist, we have to make it. She doesn't love you any more than you love her, Pacey. She just…"

"Expected me to leave her."

"Made sure of it, in fact, by behaving in a way she knew would bother you. Of course, she then proceeded to behave in a way that would be sure to grasp your interest right back."

"Is my armor showing?"

"Not so much, no." She reaches out and touches his shoulder through the thick coat. "I just know you."

"And here I thought I was an enigma." He chuckles softly and reaches back into the pocket, pulling the cigarettes. He frees one and taps it against the pack, turning the slim white stick over and over. "You think the stars are different?"

"From what?"

"Boston."

"The stars in Capeside are most definitely different than the ones in Boston." She watches him as he finally lifts the cigarette to his mouth, his face caught in the orange flame of the lighter. "Do they feel different?"

"Everything's different." He smiles and it's a private one, one she's no longer privileged to understand. "I'm quitting my job."

"Why?"

"Money can't buy happiness. Audrey proves that. Money can't buy respect. My dad proves that." He shrugs. "I wanted to be good at something, you know? Something that I thought would finally put to rest all those 'Pacey Witter, what a loser' comments. Something that would put my blackened past behind me for once and for all and just let me get on with my life."

"You've been good at everything you put your mind to, Pacey. You were a good student when it mattered to you. You were amazing with Andie when she needed you. You were, by far, the best boyfriend I've ever had."

"That's not saying much, Potter."

"You were a great chef. You were a great stockbroker." She doesn't look at him directly, catching him out of the corner of her eye as the glowing ember lifts to his lips, his blue eyes clouding in the thin stream of smoke. "You were quite the ship captain."

"I had a mutiny or two, as I recall."

"Well, you had the world's most insubordinate crew." She smiles and turns, looking at him directly, resting her hip on the wooden railing. "So that isn't your fault."

He takes another hit, turning to look at her through dark eyes for a long second. "Where's everyone else?"

"Well, Dawson and Jen went with Mrs. Leery to the police station. Doug took Audrey in the patrol car."

"I saw that."

"Natasha is probably in Dawson's room going through his things and freaking out to be in the real thing as opposed to the movie set." She laughs. "If her reaction is anything like mine upon seeing the set of Dawson's room, then she's in for a surreal evening."

"And where's Eddie?"

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"Well, he said he was okay with my dad."

"But?"

"Apparently he was okay with it so long as he was safely behind bars. Having dinner with a convicted felon was a different story." She shrugs. "At least that's what I gathered before I kicked his ass out of my house."

"If you're bored, you might be able to salvage enough of my car to plow it into his house."

"Nah." She shrugs again. "It was sort of symbolic of your relationship with Audrey. I don't think it would work out for me and Eddie."

"There's enough of it left that you could have a good time in the back seat before plowing it into his house." He takes another drag then grinds the cigarette into the silvered wood of the dock. "I mean, it's not like Joey Potter to have a usual break up. Aren't boys supposed to prostrate themselves before you and beg you not to leave them? Sacrifice their futures for a chance to stay with you?"

"Well, that's the rumor, but amazingly it hasn't happened yet." She stares out over the water as he bends down and picks up the butt, dropping it into the coat pocket. "What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know." He chuckles softly. "I was thinking maybe I'd go back to school."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Take a few classes here and there. Find something that interests me." He traces his finger over something carved into the wood railing. "Even with having my own apartment, I managed to save quite a bit of money at the firm."

"Yeah?"

"It's enough for school, I think, so long as I just do a few classes, work my way through." He digs his thumb against the words he's tracing. "I thought I might travel a little bit."

"Anywhere in particular?"

He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, taking a few steps away from her. "New York. Visit Danny. See the Big Apple from the ground instead of the sea."

"That sounds nice."

"I found a guy who's sailing down to Brazil this summer. He heard about me from the dean and asked me to crew for him."

"That's amazing." She's smiling, although there's something concerned in her eyes. He pretends not to notice as he turns and makes his way over to a nearby bench. "You'd probably like Brazil. Lots of tanned women in bikinis."

"I told him no."

"Why?"

"Because sailing around the world is easy, Joey. Sailing around the world is exactly what everyone expects of me. It's what everyone thinks is all I can do. They think that I'm some crew hand, slaving away for some rich guy on his boat."

"It's an incredible opportunity, Pacey."

"So was Paris, Jo."

She stops, taken aback at the comment. Paris was her and Dawson. Paris wasn't him. "You don't know anything about Paris."

"You're right." He shrugs and smiles sadly. "Paris is a part of your life that I'm not exactly privy to, right?"

She folds her arms over her chest, defensive now. There's a hurt lurking under his thin surface, and she's afraid of it. It shows in her eyes. "I'm going back to the B&B."

He reaches out to her, stops her. His hand is warm on her arm, even through the thick layer of her coat. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For being an ass?" He shrugs as if he's offering the first of many answers. "Some things in life mean more than just what they are. Paris is like that for you. Sailing is like that for me."

"What does Paris mean for me, O great and wise one?" She's laughing, but he can see that he's hurt her. Seems to be something he excels at. "Because I'm dying to know."

"You say you're through with Dawson, that you're over him. That everything between you is in the past and sleeping together put a very definite ending on your saga."

She's defensive again, her smile completely gone. "So?"

"It's a lie. Until you do what you didn't do for him, until you get the hell out of here all by yourself, you're not going to be free of anything, least of all the image you've been dying to shake since the day you got saddled with it."

"And what image is that?" She's angry now, bitterness welling up in her tone. He lifts out another cigarette, starting to light it when she snatches it out of his hand. "Don't hide from me!"

He turns to her, his face composed and placid, only his eyes on fire with emotion. "Little Joey Potter," he sneers. "Poor innocent who has nothing to do with what happens to her. She needs a man, but no one will ever live up to the saintly image in her head of the Great and Powerful Dawson Leery." He realizes he's shouting and wonders when he started. He grabs the cigarette back again and lights it, concentrating on breathing it all in so he doesn't have to look at her.

"You think going to Paris would change all that?"

"You turned it down for him, sure that it was going to change your life forever. And look at you, Jo. You're still in the same place you were before he kissed you, before everything changed and everything stayed the same. You keep rebelling against it, but you're never going to break free until you become your own person."

"That's rich coming from you, you know." Her voice is hard but he can hear the emotion trembling underneath it. "The boy who hasn't grown up yet, the boy who keeps running home, hoping he can impress his daddy, hoping he can make him not hate him."

"I'll be doing that all my life, Jo. Just like you becoming something important and good and strong and rich would be snubbing your father in the face and showing your mother she didn't die in vain."

The cigarette burned down to ashes as they sat in silence. They've had years of practice at hurting one another, years of perfecting it. "About what Audrey said..."

He takes a long drag, lengthening the silence, letting the sentence hang in the frigid air between them. "What about it?"

"About you…about not loving her."

"You mean about you?" The corner of his mouth turns up in a small smile, more of a self-deprecating smirk. "And about how you broke my heart and I've never quite gotten over it?"

"You didn't deny it."

"How can I, Potter? I don't think it's any surprise to anyone, no secret from the good citizens of Capeside, that I loved you with everything I had. I risked it all for you and I would have risked more. You broke my heart a million times before you even knew you had possession of it, and I kept coming back for more. I've never loved anyone like I loved you. And I don't know that I ever will again."

"You'll fall in love again, Pacey."

"Yeah, I imagine I will. I wasn't your first and you weren't mine. But no one will ever be the same, Potter. And it would be stupid for anyone to try."

"I don't think she was trying."

"No," he agrees. "I don't think she was either, but I think she deliberately made a comparison that she knew she'd lose. And I think she knew she was making a comparison that I couldn't refute."

"You did love me, didn't you?"

"Always will, Potter."

She's silent for a moment, staring down at her hands. After a while she turns her head and stares at his. They've touched every part of her body, his fingers have been buried in her hair and inside her. He's kissed her skin and tasted her; he's made her feel whole and incomplete. Reaching over, she takes one of his hands and pulls it into her lap. "Want me to read your fortune?"

"It's all a bunch of hocus pocus, Potter. Telling people what they want to hear." Still, he doesn't protest as she turns his hand over and runs her fingertips over the lines of his skin. "Long life line. That would have irritated me a lot when we were sophomores. The thought that you were going to live."

"You know you were hot for me even then."

"Head line is short. No surprise there."

"I ain't big on the book learnin'."

She smiles, ducking her head to hide it from his laughing eyes. "Heart line."

"What does it say?"

She looks up at him, the rough catch in his voice thudding through her chest. She'd forgotten that her heart could beat this hard, this loud. Blood pounds in her ears as she traces it with her finger. "Lots of breaks. You're going to have a lot of girlfriends."

"Well, I've run through a couple already, can you just tell me what the future holds?" He reaches over with his other hand and captures her chin, tilting her head up so that she's looking at him. "Do I have a lot left to go?"

Her lips graze his palm and they both shiver, neither of them feeling the cold. "Maybe one or two until…"

"Until what?" Neither of them recognize his voice, it doesn't sound like him at all, but they both immediately know it, know the husky sound of desire, of need, of love. It is the sound of the open sea, of sunlight and rain and scrambling for money and docking fees and floating in the sun without a care in the world. Without the world.

"Until the right one comes along."

Her tongue is tracing the line on his palm now, moving over his skin, ending in another soft kiss. She looks up at him and it's all there in her eyes and he wonders how she's managed to hide it for so long, how they both have. It's been there all the time, hiding in plain sight, waiting for them to see it, to recognize it.

"I should get home," she whispers, not releasing him.

"I'll walk you."

She nods and stands and they're holding hands without any effort at all, falling into patterns, falling into rhythm. "The sea…that's our Paris, isn't it?"

He doesn't answer, simply walks her home and walks her to her room. And doesn't say no when she asks him to stay.

11/18/02