Here I am
Looking in the mirror
An open face, the pain erased
Now the sky is clearer
I can see the sun
Now that all is, all is said and done, oh

There you are
Always strong when I need you
You let me give
And now I live, seriously and protected
With the one I will love
After all is, all is said and done

I once believed that hearts were made to bleed
But now I'm not afraid to say
I need you, I need you so stay with me

These precious hours
Greet each dawn in open arms
And dream, into tomorrow
Where there's only love
After all is, all is said and done

I'll never be afraid to say
I need you, I need you, so here
So here we are in the still of this moment
Fear is gone, hope lives on
We found our happy ending
For there's only love
And this sweet, sweet love
After all is, all is said and done

After all is said and done


* * * * *

I'm not sure what it is, but even before I open my eyes, I can feel that something is just not right. I'm overwhelmed by this horrible sense of dread, and I'm not sure that I should even open my eyes. Yet, I do.

The surroundings are vaguely familiar, but I feel warm breath on the back of my neck and strong arms insistently wrapped around me, and suddenly I place it. Pacey's bedroom.

It's probably been years since I've been here. I recall playing Clue in the corner that I'm staring at now. I feel myself concentrating on that memory for fear of thinking of the less stale memories, for fear of thinking about last night.

I'm afraid to move. I'm afraid to breathe. I'm afraid to think. I may not be able to take it back, but I'll be damned if I'm going to think about it.

I hear him murmur her name incoherently, the bastard. I feel him flinch against my back, and I wonder if his tentativeness is the same as mine. "Oh my god," he whispers. I can feel him remove his arms from me immediately. He's up from the bed now. Although my back is turned to him, I can almost see him pacing, anxiously running a hand through his ruffled hair.

I wipe a small tear from the corner of my eye and turn toward him. He shuts his eyes, almost as if everything just became the reality he was hoping to be a dream.

There was nothing I could say, nothing to explain what happened. All I can do is watch him and wait.

"Oh my god," he said again.

I look up at him anticipating he will say something else. Yet he just stares back at me, as unsure as I am.

We are quiet, the thick tension is hanging in the air, desperate to break.

"Last night, I..." he begins, something stopping him. He looks down at the bed sadly. "This shouldn't have happened," he says softly.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. And I am because he's right. It shouldn't have happened. Neither of us should've let it happen.

He shakes his head softly and looks away. He's no longer willing to look at me. It's no wonder that he can't look at me.

"It's not our fault," I say gently. Trying to change something I'm unsure of, but not sure if I can.

His look is of strict concentration when he turns back to me. "It is our fault," he says. "We did it."

"They caused it," I whisper.

"And now we're no better than them," he says, turning his attention out the window.

Maybe he's right. But then again, maybe he's not. How much can someone hurt you until you have no choice but to turn to someone else? That's all that happened.

I'm not sure how I feel. I need to justify my actions, but something deep inside me says that I should feel guilty. None of this is anything near what I expected it to be. I never imagined that my first time would leave me in such turmoil, not sure if I should be happy or sad, scared or lost, and not knowing what the man who I just gave myself to is thinking as he looks back at me. He is so much more a part of this equation that I thought he would be.

I'm no more sure of why I'm here now than I was last night. I'm not sure what to think or what to feel or what to do. My focus is on him--he seems torn, confused, and hurt. I wonder what that means to me. I wonder how that will affect me when I look back on this tomorrow, or a week from now, a month from now, a year from now. This is going to be part of me for the rest of my life. Somehow I'm just not ready to think it was a huge, life-altering mistake. Especially since last night it felt like the right thing to do.

My breath is shallow as I watch him. I sit up slowly, pulling the sheet tightly around my nude body. I'm not sure why I so suddenly became modest. His hand is clasped around the back of his neck and his eyes are everywhere but on me. I swallow hard, unsure what to say. This doesn't seem to be as big of a mistake to me as it is to him. Somehow it should be the other way around.

He came to my house last night after a heartbreaking conversation with Andie, and I could see the pain in his eyes. It was my responsibility to make it go away, just as he had tried for me last week.

My form of comfort turned out to be a very different. He was sad, wounded, and it just happened before I even realized. Now there are problems, complications, questions. I don't want to know, but I need to know. I need to know that I did this for the right reasons.

"You regret sleeping with me?" I ask.

He sits down on the bed, his back to me. "I shouldn't have . . . " he begins. "You and I were . . . "

The way he cannot seem to complete his sentences amuses me for some reason. I want to make him not so nervous. "I was hurt and so were you."

"Were you hurt or were you vulnerable?" he asks.

"I was both," I say. "I was concerned too."

He looks over his shoulder back at me. "About who?"

I lower my eyes to the hand that is propping me up. "About you," I whisper. "I wanted to make your pain go away."

"What?" he asks.

"I didn't want to see you hurting like that," I say, trying to make it sound less abstract. "If there's one thing I understand, it's when the only person in your life who cares about you betrays you. I'd rather be beaten or shot or stabbed than to have that happen to me again. I didn't want you to feel that."

That may be a lie. It wasn't mother-like concern that brought me here last night. It was the fact that I had been hurt as much as he had been. The Joey of Dawson and Joey wasn't as irreplaceable as she seemed. It hurts not to be needed. It seems miraculous that the same night I realized Dawson no longer needed me, I realized that somehow Pacey did. If there's one thing that defines Josephine Potter, it's the need to be needed.

But maybe he doesn't need me in this way. Maybe I have it all wrong. The physical comfort just seemed to come so much more easily than the emotional comfort did. But I'd be a fool to say that I did this because he needed me, because, perhaps I needed him just as much.

I see him squeeze the muscles in his face, and I wonder if he's not trying to hold back tears. When I see him tightly close his eyes, I know that he is. "I still feel it," he said.

Of course he still felt it. I'd be insane to believe anything I could do could make it go away. He loved her, and nothing I can do will make him forget what she did--what she did to him.

I pull him into my arms, as a mother would a scared child and he lets me. I can feel his tears drip onto my shoulder. I realize there's nothing I can do for him.

"Pacey," I say softly. He wipes his eyes gently before he pulls away from me. "I, um . . ." I begin, not sure where to go. The words seemed so clear in my head just a second ago, but now they're gone.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I never should've dumped all of this on you. You were just trying to be my friend and I . . ."

I shake my head. "We were trying to make things better," I whisper, "and maybe we didn't. But this is nobody's fault."

He looks up at me sadly. "What's going to happen?"

There is no answer coming to me. "Nothing," I say, even though it probably wasn't the best answer. "We don't have to talk about this anymore. I can see that it's hurting you."

"Is it hurting you?" he asks.

"We were both hurt already," I say softly.

He nods. "We can start over again," he says simply.

"Yes," I say.

"I still need you," he says. "Can you promise that you'll still be here?"

"Yes," I say again. That seems as if it is the one thing I need to hear. I need to know that this will not change things, that it will only strengthen them. "We don't need to speak of this again," I say. "It seems we know everything there is to know."

"Can I hope that next time will be different?" he asks.

I'm not sure what next time he's talking about; be it the next time someone destroys him, the next time I need someone, or the next time we seek comfort in each other. "It will always be different," I say.

He gently wraps his arms around me, and simply says "thank you."

"Thank you," I say. This whole thing is just as much about me as it is about him, and I'm surprised that he doesn't know that.

* * * * *

I cannot wait to get out of this place. Some job this is. I get sexually harassed by my boss and always smell like gas. I keep hoping that at some point things will get better, but I'm starting to wonder if that's possible. I thought they were and seemingly they did. But they didn't. Hell, I couldn't explain it myself if I tried.

As I walk down the street, I see him. He's sitting alongside that yellow building that used to be a bait shop. He doesn't notice me. He's too concerned with whatever it is he's watching on the docks, in the water. To me it looks like nothing.

I sit down beside him, partly on the road, partly on the stones. He looks at me and smiles. "I was waiting for you," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "You almost missed me."

"Preoccupied," he says. His eyes fall back to the water.

I guess he is. So am I. Things have changed so much in the past few weeks. And every time I look at him, he is a reminder of that. He doesn't know. He doesn't know that when we slept together it was my first time. I don't know why he doesn't know. I'm not sure how, or even if, things would change if he knew.

We haven't talked about it, just like we agreed to do. I think about it all the time, almost non-stop for the past week. I suppose that it's best we haven't, because I couldn't put all these conflicting emotions into words if I tried. I'm afraid how he would react if he found out how I don't regret it like I should, how I don't feel guilty, how I don't feel sorry.

"I saw her today," he says softly. "I still don't understand how I can hate someone who I used to love so much."

"You don't hate her," I say.

"I don't want to," he says softly. "But I do."

"Pace."

He looks back at me seriously, and I am sure that he has something profound to say. "She was the person I loved with everything I had. And she . . . she just didn't love me enough."

I touch the side of his face softly. "Maybe it's best that you know that now," I say.

He closes his eyes slowly, and I know to remove my hand. "I'm sorry," he says. "I shouldn't be dumping all of this on you."

"It's okay," I say. He doesn't even realize how much I like having him run to me when he hits a low point, and I don't know why. I think I should tell him that for some reason, but I something inside me just can't.

"I've been trying to be the best person I can," he says, "but I just keep making mistakes."

I smile softly at him, because I understand precisely what he means. "Maybe you're getting them all out of the way," I say. "Or maybe they're not as much your fault as you think," I add. He knows the many things I'm alluding to, including what happened between him and me.

He nods his head. "I feel really out of control," he whispers.

I know those sentiments well, and I wish I knew how to make those feelings go away. But I can't. Sometimes there's no cure for them. "We need to get away for the night," I say. "Let's drive up the coast or something." As much as it hurts to be with him, I can't even fathom being anywhere else.

He nods again, stands, and offers his hand to me. I less than graciously accept, and follow him to his truck. Being alone with him scares me and thrills me at the same time.

* * * * *

I watch him as he drives. It's dark, and he's covered by shadows. I can only see him occasionally when we pass under a street light. I'd like to say that he's just watching the road, not thinking of another thing. I know otherwise, though. I can see his brow furrowed, and I just wish I knew what was going on in his head.

"Where are we going?" he asks curiously, glancing at me.

I shrug. "Isn't it supposed to be the journey that's important, not the destination?"

"Speaking in proverbs?" he asks.

I nod slowly. "I'm not really sure what to say, Pace. I'm not sure what to think. But you and I . . . things aren't easy for us. And maybe . . . maybe for just one night we can get away from all this . . . crap. Maybe we can pretend to be everything we're not tonight."

He probably didn't understand what I was really saying. Maybe our whole relationship is predicated on the fact that there's always something I'm keeping from him, at least in the past few days. I don't see any other way, though. The prospect of him knowing everything is scary . . . it would change everything all over again, and I'm not sure if I'm ready for it. Although, I'm not sure if I'm ready for things to stay the same either.

That's why I need tonight . . . as an escape. For one night I can pretend like everything is okay. Maybe pretending will be enough. Maybe I'll see things clearer. Maybe I'll know what I want. Maybe I'll understand what he wants, what he needs, because I haven't figured that out yet. Perhaps that's why I'm in this precarious state where I'm not sure whether I'm coming or going. Maybe I'm just waiting to see how he feels. And maybe he's just like me . . . maybe he doesn't know how he feels.

"Do you know how many times I've wanted to be someone else?" he whispers.

"Probably as many as I have," I say.

He looks at me solemnly. "I should've known that, huh?"

"You don't know everything about me, Pacey."

He doesn't say anything for a long time, and I wonder why. "I'm sorry," he says.

I look over at him, a bit surprised. "For what?" I ask.

He looks at me seriously. "For everything."

"I'm not," I reply. He looks back at the road, but I can tell there's question in his eyes. I want to say something else, but I'm not sure what to say.

* * * * *

We finally stop at some deserted beach off the freeway. I'm not sure where we are. It's late now, probably around one in the morning, if not later. I'm not sure why he stopped here, considering we have the beach at home, but he stops and I say nothing.

He gets out of the car slowly, stretching his back before hopping up on the hood of the truck. He sits there, still, watching the ocean. I, in turn, watch him. He looks back at me through the windshield, and motions for me to join him. I get out of the car, take his hand, and sit beside him. "What are we doing here?" I ask.

"It's just as good as any place, right?"

"I guess," I say, looking out at the dark sea. The moon is barely even a crescent, so there's not much to see tonight.

He's quiet, looking at nothing. I pay close attention to the sound of the ocean as the waves crash. I need to tell him, but this seems like the most inopportune time to have this conversation, especially after all I wanted to do was get away. "I talked to Dawson today," I say.

He looks back at me, and I can tell he's surprised. "Why didn't you tell me?"

I shrug. This time I refuse to look at him. "He wants me back."

Pacey says nothing. I desperately want him to say something. Any other time he'd jump at the opportunity to give me bad advice. His eyes stay focused on the moon.

"Say something, Pace," I say quietly.

"Is it what you want?" he asks me, not moving his eyes.

I shake my head. "I'm not sure what I want anymore."

He nods. "Things have changed."

"What should I do?" I ask.

"You should do whatever feels right," he says.

I watch him for a moment. "That's not very definitive advice," I say.

"I don't have the answers," he says. "Nothing makes sense anymore. The one thing I used to know for sure . . . was that you and Dawson . . . there was something right about it."

"You don't know that for sure anymore?"

"Even you don't know that for sure anymore," he says, looking as if he wants to smile.

"And how did you know that?" I ask, out of curiosity more than anything.

"I know you," he says, looking sidelong at me. "Maybe not as well as I should. But confused shows on you."

I don't know if he's complimenting me or attacking my character, but the comment seems innocent enough. He's probably right to recognize my confusion. "It's just that," I begin, consciously breaking his gaze, "I don't understand why a few weeks ago we couldn't be together, and now . . . everything's fixed? I don't understand that."

"Sometimes it takes a man a long time to realize what he's given up; to realize what he thought were good things were mistakes and what he thought were mistakes were really the good things. Sometimes you do something, and it doesn't start to make sense until long after it's happened."

"That's happened to me," I say absently. I look back at him seriously, and I see that his face looks tired. "I don't think it explains Dawson."

"Are you afraid?" he asks.

I nod my head reluctantly. "I think so, Pace. Maybe it won't work out again. Or maybe . . . the one thing I wanted isn't what I want anymore."

"How can you know that for sure?" he asks.

"I can't," I say softly.

* * * * *

I've gone and done the wrong thing for the right reasons. Maybe I knew what I was doing when I got into that car with him, because here we are alone together in a motel, physically away from our problems. I feel like I'm creating more.

I'm getting too attached to Pacey and it scares the hell out of me. If I do that, what am I going to do when this is over? And I know that it will be over, most likely sooner than later. It's only a matter of time before this ruins everything; it's only a matter of time until things go awry and we have to discuss what happened--what's happening--between us. And I don't want to do that.

I just want it all to go away. I just want these feelings to stop, to go away before I start to love them, because I don't want to miss it when it's gone. This is so much like the rest of my life: No matter what I do I lose. In retrospect, I've already lost.

He comes out of the bathroom tentatively. I'm almost positive he stayed in there out of fear. We never should've put ourselves in this position. Yet, here we are.

He stands on the opposite side of the bed and picks up a pillow. "I'm going to sleep in this chair," he says, pointing toward a wooden chair that sits under the picture window near the door on the opposite wall.

"You don't have to do that, Pacey," I say quietly.

"I have to."

"Please don't," I say softly. I want him to stay. As sad as it is, I want to be with him in any capacity I can.

He looks tenative for a moment, wrestling with what to do. But he slips underneath the sheet, but turns his back to me and stays near the edge of the bed. I tuck myself inside the covers, and I watch the back of his head, the strong muscles in his back. I remember what it was like for him to hold me. I'm surprised that I don't cry. I just lay in the dark, my head so chaotic with thoughts I can't even keep them straight.

I decide to ask him, although I'm not sure if he's asleep or awake.

"What are you so scared of, Pacey?" I whisper.

The room is eerily quiet. It almost seems as if he's holding his breath. I know that he must be asleep or that he doesn't want to answer.

Then I hear it. It's soft and faint as it leaves his lips. Although it seems to take him a long time to think of how to answer, only a single word leaves his lips.

"You."

* * * * *

This wasn't supposed to be a huge deal. I was supposed to grab a gallon of milk and begone. But trips to the grocery store are never that simple, at least not in a town like Capeside. I see Andie, intently examining the magazine rack and try to hide my face behind the latest copy of the Weekly World News. I pay very little attention to the article about the child who thinks he's a dog because his parents kept him in a cage, but try desperately to will the line to move faster. I just want to get the hell out of here.

I learned last night through one small word that Pacey's just as confused about what has happened as I am, and the one thing I know for sure is that I don't need the added complication of Andie right now. I'm not even sure I could look her in the eye.

I shove three dollars in the hand of the cashier, shaking nervously as she slowly makes my change. Once outside the coins hit the ground. I trip over my feet trying to pick them up until I freeze when I hear her say my name.

"Andie," I say, drawing her name out as I slowly stand. I can't help but to notice the circles under her eyes. She's caked foundation over top of them, but they're still recognizable.

I hadn't stopped for one moment to think about how she was feeling. It had probably killed her to lose Pacey, probably nearly as much as she'd killed Pacey. "How have you been?" I ask absently.

"Fine," she answers mechanically. "I just wanted to stop you to say . . . god, this is going to sound horrible."

"Well, we can . . . save it for some other time," I say, hoping to end this conversation.

Andie shakes her head. "No," she says. "I want to thank you, Joey."

I laugh nervously. "Thank me? I don't understand."

Andie takes a deep breath and leans against the glass window. "Pacey," she begins tentatively. "Even though what I did was horrible . . . unforgivable . . . I still . . . I still care about him."

I look at her blankly. I still don't understand what she's trying to say. Above that, I don't know why she's professing her love for Pacey to me. She has no idea what is going on between Pacey and me.

"I know that you guys have been hanging out . . . And I'm so thankful that he has you right now. He needs someone he can depend on. I'm glad that he found you as a friend rather than hardening his heart any further."

I feel guilt: guilt deep down, starting in my stomach and expanding throughout every single, solitary inch of my body, passing synapse after synapse, leaving nothing untouched. "Andie, I . . ." I fumble my words. I even consider blurting out everything. But I can't. I'm not supposed to speak of it. I couldn't if I wanted to. It would only destroy the illusion. It would destroy her. It would destroy Dawson. Most of all, it would destroy Pacey. And I can't do that, because it would destroy me and my hopes of whatever it is that I'm hoping for.

"You don't have to say anything, Joey," Andie says, placing a sympathetic hand on my arm. "Just take care of him, okay?"

"If you care about him so much, why'd you do what you did?" I ask her.

She thinks for a moment, then looking at me with a sparkle in her eye that could easily be a tear hoping to be sprung. "Because some of the most important decisions of your life are made in a split second, and they change everything before you even realize it."

I nod slowly and look back to her. "I can't promise that Pacey will be okay," I whisper. I can't even promise that I'll be okay.

"I know that, Joey. Believe me, I know that. Just . . . make sure that he's not alone when he's not okay."

"Neither of us are okay," I say, maybe revealing more than I should.

"I think you're both stronger and more alike than you even realize," Andie said softly. She touched me on the arm again before smiling a solemn smile and going back inside.

Now I have no direction. I don't know where to go. If it's possible, I'm more confused than I ever was.

* * * * *

I look at the water seriously. I wonder if it holds all the answers. Hell, it was here long before I was, and it'll be here long after I'm gone. It obviously knows something I don't. It's calm and peaceful today--the opposite of what I am. I wish I could close my eyes and make everything peaceful, but that's hardly a possibility. If it were, I would've done it long ago.

I open my eyes and he's there. I can't help but to wonder if that's some sort of sign. I look for answers and he seems to magically appear.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm thinking," I say softly. He sits down beside me, but we don't say anything. The silence is uncomfortable.

I look at him carefully, weighing the words I want to say. "People on the outside looking in wouldn't have any hint of a reason to believe I cared about you." I pause for a moment, trying to read his expression and failing miserably. "Even you."

"That's because I didn't know," he says softly. "You should've told me."

"I showed you," I whisper.

He shook his head, defiantly looking at his feet. "We said . . ." he begins, "we said we wouldn't talk about it."

"I can't do that anymore, Pace," I say. I've finally reached the point of no return. I can't go around attempting to pretend it didn't exist. I can't live like this any longer. And somewhere deep down inside, he knows that too.

"It changed everything," I say. "That scares the hell out of me."

"This scares the hell out of me too," he says. "You're the one who's walking around as if nothing has changed."

I don't know how he feels like he can make that judgement. I can tell he has no idea what I'm thinking or feeling.

"I'm trying so hard, Jo. But I just don't know how to make this right," he says. "I want it to go away."

I don't quite understand his words. I don't want it to go away. I wish he could understand that. I need him to understand that. "Why?" I ask simply.

"Because in one night I was so careless in what I did that I could've hurt every important person in my life."

I swallow. I can't understand why now, of all times, he has to do this. Why does this have to be about Andie? It shouldn't be. "Does everything have to be about Andie?" I whisper.

He looks confused and shakes his head. "Not Andie. Dawson."

"This isn't about Dawson either," I say.

"No," he says slowly. "It's mainly about you."

"So treat it like it's about me, like it's about me and you."

He looks away and lowers his voice considerably. "I know that there's no possible way for me to redeem myself."

"Why do you care so much about everyone else?" I ask, raising my voice.

"I'm talking about you. You're who I'm worried about. Because I've changed things between us irreversibly," he says. "And I can't take back what I did."

"If we had talked about it," I say softly, turning my eyes away, "you would know that I don't want to take it back."

"Joey, I--"

"Let me finish," I interrupt. "I thought about it a lot, Pace. What happened that night was inevitable in the course of our relationship. It was inevitable because of what we've been through, what we're going through."

"How can you say that?" he asks me.

And I didn't really know how I could. But it makes sense, and perhaps the best times are when you're able to speak from the heart. I let it take over then. I tried to keep my head out of it for once.

"It felt right, Pace," I say slowly, avoiding eye contact with him. I twist my index finger with my other hand. "This happened between you and me. If I thought it felt right and if you thought it felt right, why isn't it right?"

"I don't know how I'm supposed to answer that," he says.

"You're supposed to reassure me by telling me that it wasn't wrong," I tell him. I wait, but he doesn't say a word. "I care about you," I add. "And you care about me," I say, smiling as much as my heart will allow. He looks at me, and I see question in his eyes. "What happened between us happened because we care about each other."

"Is that what you really think?" he asks.

I nod once, looking back to him. "That night . . . we both felt really lousy, and I think we tried to make it better the only way we knew how. And there's nothing about that that's wrong."

"Are you saying that you don't regret sleeping with me?" he asks slowly.

I know that he needs more than a simple "yes." He needs me to say the words. "I don't regret sleeping with you," I say.

"I can't . . ." he fumbles his words, then closes his eyes trying to order his thoughts. "I can't pretend like this makes everything okay. I mean, God, Jo, what happens the next time?"

I wasn't ready for that question. It wasn't something I'd thought about at all. It seems as if the last time we were together had been so surreal, there was no chance for it to happen again.

"Is there going to be a next time?" I ask.

"Yes. No." He stops, rubbing his temples.

"Which one?" I ask.

"If we . . . If we justify this as comfort now, what's going to happen the next time we're both hurt. Will it be okay then too?"

My breath catches and I'm not sure how to answer. He does it for me. "It won't be."

"Pacey, we shouldn't worry about that unless it happens," I say.

"When I look at you, it's all I think about. I have to police my thoughts when you're around, because I can't cross that line again."

"What?" I ask faintly.

"I still need someone, Jo. I just want someone to be close to. I want someone who can make me feel again. And you're the only one who can do that," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "And that scares me, because I've already destroyed what we had by letting those feelings take over me once. It's like I'm in a war every single, solitary second."

"I can't take care of you like you need to be taken care of," I whisper, tears escaping my eyes despite my effort to keep them at bay. "The only way I know how to comfort you is to give you what I've got. I don't have any words of wisdom to share about why she cheated on you or about why she didn't love you enough. The reason that we slept together that night was because I didn't have anything to give you but me."

I take a deep breath and try to be strong as he looks back at me. "Everything between us is so much more intense than it was before," I say. "But we feel stronger, closer. And the one thing I know for sure is that I'll do whatever you need me to do."

"You've given me so much more than you realize," he said, touching the side of my face softly. I close my eyes to feel him. I'm probably not as selfless as I present myself.

"I suppose," I begin, swallowing the lump in my throat, "I suppose that it would be wrong for me to . . ." I stop because I can't continue. There's no way to phrase what I want to say.

He wipes the space under my eye with his thumb, smearing my tears. "No, but it would be wrong of me to accept," he says simply, reading my mind.

"No, it wouldn't."

"You're all I've got, Jo. You're the only one who knows what I need. I can't ruin that."

I nod slowly, knowing I shouldn't say what I'm about to say. "Would it be wrong to make this a standing offer?" He looks back at me, seemingly awestruck. I continue. "Even if it is, I'll be wrong anytime you need me to be."

"Don't make that proposition," he says softly.

"It's made," I say simply. He looks at me questioningly as if he doesn't understand. Even I don't understand.

But it feels right.

* * * * *

currently missing ...

I know that I shouldn't be angry.

But I am.

I don't know what she said to get him to take her back, and I didn't ask. After all it's not something I need to know. I'm just his friend, at least as far as everyone else as concerned. Maybe as far as he's concerned too.

When he looked into my eyes tonight and told me that he had gone back to Andie, I'm not even sure how I felt. All I knew was that he'd made a mistake. He shouldn't have taken her back after everything she did to him. In hindsight, he should've known better. Now I feel as if he's gone on with his life, leaving me out in the cold with no other options. Not only is he hurting himself, but he is hurting me. Last night after the rain, he'd said that was the last thing he wanted, but somehow he'd managed to do it again, not even a day later.

After he leaves, I can't sit still. I feel uncomfortable in my own skin. I have to get out, and I wander to the beach. I hope the open and the quiet can clear my head; help me come to terms with what I'm feeling. I don't want him to be angry at me.

I'm surprised to see him there, sitting closer to the water. I don't know how to talk to him or what to say. I wasn't running to him this time, but here he is. I sit down beside him.

"Hey," he says, looking over at me for a moment.

"Hey," I say back.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me anymore," he says quietly.

"I won't stop speaking to you just because I don't understand you," I say.

"What don't you understand?" he asks.

"I don't understand how, after all she put you through, you'd still take her back," I say.

"You told me I should forgive her," he says.

So I did. It's funny, because I didn't think he was listening. "Forgiving her is one thing," I say. "But I never thought you'd be dumb enough to open yourself up to be hurt again."

"You really think I'm dumb?" he asks, looking over to me.

"When it comes to Andie," I say.

He holds out his hand to me expectantly. I look in his eyes for a second, and then outstretch my palm and place it under his. He drops a stone in my hand. Even in the moonlight, it seems to sparkle a metallic grey. I rub my finger over the smooth surface and look back at him. "It's beautiful," I say.

He nods. "It didn't start that way. It was probably some ugly little rock. It tosses and turns in the water forever, losing parts of it until it's smooth. After all that, it becomes beautiful."

"You're not talking about you and Andie," I say.

"I'm talking about me," he replies. "I have to think that all the shit in my life is for some reason. That somehow it'll make me more beautiful when it's all over."

"We're not rocks, Pacey."

He sighs, wiping his cheek wearily. "I'm trying, Jo," he says softly. "I feel like you wanna pick a fight with me."

"I do," I say. "It would be easier that way. I want to yell at you for not having more faith in yourself; for not realizing that your options are immeasurable."

"I waited a long time to find someone like Andie to love me," he says.

I look at him and I feel so confused. He's not the Pacey Witter that I've known for fifteen years of my life. He's so different. He's vulnerable and apprehensive and scared. Most of all, he's blind to other people. He refuses to believe he deserves anything. "Andie doesn't love you like you deserve to be loved."

"I don't think you can understand, Jo," he says softly. "I know that some crazy shit has gone on between you and Dawson . . . but you're . . . you're smart enough not to settle. You don't have to settle. Some of us, though, have no choice."

"Things between Dawson and me are more complicated than you know," I say softly, carefully not giving away anything.

"But Dawson will always know what you need. And you'd never hurt Dawson. There's something so pure about the two of you. It's almost like you don't live in the real world with the rest of us. I admire that you don't have to. But, because of that, you'll never understand why sometimes the best you can do is take what you can get."

"I understand," I say. "Nothing has been right with Dawson since the day I decided he was more than just my friend." Even though I don't say it, I mentally note that the same is true with Pacey and I. Nothing has been right since we became more than friends.

"But he's not all you've got, Joey. God, you're beautiful and intelligent and compassionate and just . . . everything. We're not all so lucky."

"So you think you deserve a mentally deranged slut for a girlfriend?" I ask. After the words leave my lips I regret them.

He stands up and looks down at me for a moment before turning around. "Tell me why the hell you hate her so much."

"This is about you!" I yell, as I stand up behind him. "You not being smart enough to know that she's not good for you."

"And what's good for me, Joey? Drowning my sorrows in you? Making more mistakes with my life just because I don't know how to let go?" he asks.

"Going back to Andie is the biggest mistake you could've made!" I yell. "She doesn't deserve you!"

"Only people like you and Dawson get the happy ending! In real life, some of us aren't so lucky," he screams.

"When I counted my blessings tonight and I didn't have you or Dawson, I felt really lucky. Right, Pacey."

"He loves you," he says, shaking his head. "Nothing will change that."

"It's simple," I scream. "He's not going to want me when he finds out that I'm not a virgin anymore! Things aren't so black and white, are they?"

His face falls and he takes a step back, but I continue. "He's no different than anyone else. It only takes a second to fuck everything up. And he won't want me anymore."

He squats to the ground, placing his head in his hands.

"Stop it!" I say. "I want you to fight with me, dammit!"

"What did you say?" he says softly.

"Fight with me!" I say again. "It's the one shot at normalcy I've got going for me."

It looks hard for him to breath, and I can almost see tears forming in his eyes. "You were . . . when we . . ." He swallows and stops talking. Suddenly I realize what he's asking me; I realize what I said.

I close my eyes and exhale. This isn't the way I wanted him to find out. I never wanted to be angry at him. I never wanted to be spiteful. I just wanted it to go away. I wanted things to be normal, and I wanted to avoid this added complication at all costs.

I kneel down in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his cheek. "Pace, I . . ." I begin. I stop because I have no idea what to say to him. It would sound to silly if I were to tell him that this isn't the way I wanted him to find out.

"I didn't know," he whispers. "I swear I didn't know."

"It wouldn't have made a difference, Pace," I say.

"Yes, it would have," he responds.

"It doesn't matter to me," I say. "I wanted to be with you that night."

He shakes his head. "I don't understand, Joey," he says. "I don't understand how you don't hate me."

"Because I don't regret it, Pacey," I say. "I don't regret being with you because you're everything I need."

"No, this was the last thing you needed," he says, looking up at me. "It took one night for me to screw your whole life up."

"You didn't do that, Pace," I whisper. "I think things are finally starting to make sense."

"That's funny," he says, "because I don't understand anything anymore."

"Well, let's make it simple," I say. "Andie broke your heart and you slept with me. And you took her back way too quickly because you couldn't deal with it."

"I couldn't deal with it," he says. "I still can't. It took every ounce of strength my flawed will could take when you offered to sleep with me again. Because I can't deal with whatever emotions you're bringing to the surface. Because I just found out I took your virginity and now I can't seem to understand why you didn't tell me."

"I don't know why you feel like you have to fight it," I say.

"Because we fell into bed together one night when we were both in pain. And I can't deal with the consequences of hurting you. Because of what she did to me, Andie is expendable. You're not. You matter."

"It meant something to me, Pacey," I say slowly. I touch his face gently. "Because it was simple and comfortable. Because it was you."

"I'm sorry," he says, putting his hand on mine. He held my hand.

A tear falls down my cheek. I don't know what he's apologizing for. I don't want to know. It seems too much like an ending. "Don't be sorry."

He lays a soft kiss on my nose and whispers, "I have to go."

I squeeze his hand tighter and don't let go when he tries to leave. "Don't."

"Tomorrow, Jo," he says.

I let go of his hand and lower my head. Whether I see him tomorrow or not, I can't watch him walk away.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Day two in the Potter house without electricity has gone seemingly well, considering I haven't left the house today. Of course, it's just now starting to get dark.

I pick up a book of matches and light the two candles that sit in the middle of the table. Bessie is searching the house for Alex's favorite stuffed giraffe before heading to the Leery's for the night.

"Ah ha," Bessie says, coming out from underneath the table triumphantly with the giraffe in hand. She handed it to Alex as he sat in his play pen.

I play with the rock Pacey gave me last night at the beach, as I watch her sitting across from me, throwing an outfit and some diapers in a bag for Alex. "Are you sure you don't want to come?" she asks me. "It could get cold tonight."

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"I promise I'll pay the bill first thing Monday morning," she says. "This will never happen again."

"Okay."

"What's wrong, kiddo?" she asks. She sets everything aside to look at me.

"Nothing," I say.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." With that, she goes back to folding her clothes. "Do you know that the ancient Greeks had lots of different words for love? Agape was sacrificial love. Philos was a deep kind of love between friends. Eros was sexual love."

Bessie stops for a second and nods. "That makes a lot of sense. Especially considering there are so many different ways you can love someone."

"But they over-lap so much," I say.

"I suppose so," Bessie says. "But think about it, Jo. There are so many things that we call 'love.' I mean, I love you, but not the way I loved Bodie. You love Dawson, and even though you wouldn't admit it to a soul, you love Pacey, but your feelings for each of them are very different from the other. But you still call it love. Even if your love for one of them is deeper than your love for the other, there's no difference as far as the word goes."

"But if you have a special bond with a friend, you make a sacrifice for him. And sometimes that sacrifice even turns into something sexual," I say.

"Sex isn't a sacrifice," Bessie said, smiling softly. "It's an expression of emotion."

"It's an expression of love?" I ask. "Why does it mean more than just telling someone you love them?"

Bessie thinks for a moment before she answers. "Because there's so much more at risk. Words are just words. Sometimes they just aren't enough."

"So can you express Philos through sex?" I ask.

"Philos was?"

"Friendship."

"It's not the way most people would express friendship," Bessie says. That's what I love about her. She gives a lot of thought to what I say, and doesn't always go with the conventional.

"I think sometimes," she continues, "we all do things that don't necessarily make sense. An intimacy exists between two friends that few people know. And I think . . . I think that intimacy can be a prelude to sex. It can transcend the physical and become making love."

Bessie looks at me seriously. I can tell she is giving this a lot of thought. "I think it would beat the alternative of sleeping with someone you didn't care about at all," she adds.

I nod and smile at Bessie. "I think you're right, Bess."

"Is this something hypothetical or do you have something you want to talk to me about?"

"We've talked about it," I say. "Thanks."

"Anytime, sis," Bessie says. And I know she means it. There'll come a time when I'll to talk to her about this, but I know it's not now. There's still so much I can't verbalize.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I feel stuck as if I don't have anywhere to go. I don't know how to make things right with Pacey. I know that I can't go to him, that I have to wait for him to come to me. But the waiting isn't easy.

Now, as I'm climbing up the ladder, I still don't know what in the hell I'm doing. Dawson won't understand. He can't even know. But when things go wrong, this is where I go. Maybe he won't be there and I can sit in my spot alone in the dark so I can think.

I see him lying on the bed as I push the curtain to the side. He smiles at me, sitting up and turning off his television. "Hey," he says softly.

"Hey, Dawson," I say, smiling crookedly. I sit on the window ledge, not wanting to get too close too fast. I guess that I'm tenative because so much has changed.

"I wasn't expecting you," he says. I can tell he wasn't sure what to say, and those were just the words that happened to come out.

I nod. "I know that, Dawson," I say. "I just thought I'd stop by. It's a small attempt at normalcy."

"I haven't seen you since we . . . you know," he says, letting the words hang in the air.

"I know," I answer. "Avoiding you probably wasn't the best idea." I walk over to the bed and sit down beside him. "I still don't know."

He nods his head slowly. "I understand. I mean, I know that it must seem strange, especially after I gave you that whole speech about us needing time apart."

I'm in the mood for some analyzing, for talking about feelings. It seems like it's been so long since I've done that with anyone, much less Dawson. "Tell me what changed, Dawson," I say.

He inhales and his eyes narrowed. "I don't know how to explain it," he says as he nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

"Try."

"I've changed," he says. "I feel like I know so much more about love; how it's not just about feeling the other person, but being in tune to who they are and what they need. Understanding that no matter how big the world is, it can be small enough to encompass only those two people. And no matter what the circumstances that got them there, they're better off for it after it's all over."

An image of Pacey and I together flashes in my head. Something seems strange about that. "What brought on this sudden epiphany, Dawson?" I ask. The moment is strange, almost like some sort of out-of-body experience. I'm waiting for an answer that I'm dreading, probably because I can predict it.

He closes his eyes and exhales. "This isn't how I wanted to tell you," he explained.

"Tell me what?" I ask, surprised at the indifference in my own voice.

"The reason that Eve and I are . . . over is because . . . she did what she set out to do," he says slowly.

"You slept with her?"

"Yes," he says, not stopping before he continues. "But I realized everything that was right and wrong with it."

It surprises me that I don't feel differently. I almost try to make myself feel bad. I want to feel that stab of pain in my chest like he betrayed me, but I don't. I don't feel anything but relief, almost as if the guilt is gone. Maybe Dawson and I were over long before now. He barely reminds me of the man I used to breathe for.

I probably say what he doesn't expect. Hell, he probably expects this as much as I did. "Like the fact that although everything you'd ever been taught about sex and love said it should've felt wrong, there was still something about it that felt right," I say in a hushed tone.

"Yes."

"Like the fact it's already done and there's no taking it back, and even if there were, you're not sure you would," I say.

"What?" he asks.

"Huh?" I say.

"What are you saying, Joey?" he asks quietly.

I shake my head. "I don't know what I'm saying, Dawson."

"I would take it back if I could," he says. "And now I know it's not right."

When I look into his eyes, I see we're so far apart. His experience seems to have been nothing like mine. If anything, it just leveled the playing field. And I see no reason why he shouldn't know that it did.

"I slept with someone too, Dawson," I say slowly, drawing the words out. "And I wouldn't take it back."

"You did what?" he asks.

"I slept with someone who wasn't you," I say, for my own clarification more than his.

"How could you do that?" he asks.

I'm stunned. I don't understand how he can do this. "Save the self-righteous indignation for another time," I say, standing up, walking toward the window. I don't know why I don't say the words. I feel like I don't care anymore. He's not worth my words. He's not worth my fight. He's not worth my tears. Especially not if he's going to judge me now.

"Joey, wait," he says, grabbing my arm as one leg stays outside the window. I narrow my eyes and look down at his hand with precise disdain.

"I didn't think you could do that," he says.

"Well, excuse me because I don't have ideals as lofty as yours, Dawson," I say. "Stop acting as though you have some stake in what I do, Dawson. This is my life."

"Who?" he asks, his voice forced, choking on the word.

"The who has nothing to do with you and me," I say softly. "It has everything to do with you and me if he's the reason you won't come back to me. I can't believe that I don't matter at all anymore." he says.

I shake my head. "You matter," I say, "just not when you act like this," I say. "We're not all perfect. We don't all see perfection even when we do screw up. I can't believe that you would do the same thing I did, but still not understand why I did it."

"Because I never thought that you would sleep with someone you didn't love," he says softly, releasing me from his grasp.

"Who said I didn't love him?" I say softly. Before he can respond, I'm making my escape down the ladder.

Something should've told me trying to talk to Dawson would be a mistake.

* * * * *

The darkness seems rather fitting, so I don't bother to light more candles than what I need to see my way around. There's nothing I want to see, nothing else to do. I much rather prefer to drown in my own misery. I'm home alone. I can't run to Dawson for the obvious reasons. And Pacey just need some time. I'm sure that he'll come around eventually.

At least that's what I keep hoping.

I sit at the window and look outside watching as another thunderstorm rolls in. It's fitting I suppose. I watch as it rains and count between the claps of thunder and the flash of lightning. When the sky illuminates with a flash, I see him there. He's walking to my door.

I stand looking at the door as I hear him knock. I don't exactly know why I hesitate, but I'm not sure if he's what I need today. I can't take another cold judgement or another conversation about what's right or wrong. Right now I just don't want to look in his eyes and see all the regret he still harbors about our night together.

At the same time, though, I need something from him. I open the door and see him standing on the porch, still wet, even though he's sheltered from the rain. "Can I come in?" he asks softly.

I nod and step back to allow him inside. "Still no power?" he asks.

I shake my head. "I should tell you straight off that I'm not in the mood for a long discussion, Pacey," I say calmly.

"There's no way for us to get around that. I have a lot I need to say to you, Jo," he says.

I motion him toward the table where we sit down. He links his hands together in front of him, and nervously twiddles his thumbs. A purple candle is lit in the center of the table, and I pick at some wax that has fallen on the oak surface.

He takes a deep breath before he looks up at me. "A year and a half ago I didn't know much about sex. And maybe I don't know all that much about it now. The one thing I have learned is that it can destroy things."

I watch him while he pauses. I can tell he's not finished, and if he were, there would be nothing for me to say. I don't even understand what he's trying to tell me.

"And last night, that was all I could think about. I slept with Tamara and I ruined her life. Andie slept with someone else and nearly destroyed mine. Until yesterday, you were the one casualty that I hadn't quite figured out."

"You're making this harder than it has to be, Pacey," I say. "I don't know why you feel like I need protecting."

"I can't help it that I want to protect you," he says softly. "And when I slept with you, I did everything but."

"I don't know how to say what you need to hear," I say. I stand up and walk over to him, squatting in front of him. "Nothing's changed, Pacey. I wanted you. And there are no regrets."

"You didn't get what you deserved," he says, raising his voice slightly. "You wasted something you can't get back on me when I sure as hell didn't deserve it. I took something from you that you can never get back."

"And you gave me so much more in return."

"All I did was hurt you." "No, you didn't hurt me," I whisper. "It makes so much sense now, Pace. We're it. In the long haul we've figured out that there's no one else on this earth who understands. It's you and me together to the very end. And we're both scared because we don't want to change that."

"It's too late for that," he says.

"I cannot even begin to think of the words that describe how I feel about you," I say, resting my palm against his cheek. "And even though some of those feelings made me feel the lowest I could possibly feel, I know I'm so glad to have had them. I'm thankful that my first time I could have been with you."

"I didn't give you everything you deserve," he says softly. "I want you to know that."

He's not letting my words sink in. It's almost as if he doesn't want to understand, and there's no way I can force him to. "I don't want to talk anymore, Pacey," I say quietly. I stand up and turn around, but I feel his hand grab mine. When I turn back, he's standing there.

He moves closer and puts his hand on my cheek. His hand is cold, but it is still a welcome feeling. "I don't wanna talk either," he says.

He kisses me. It doesn't take long for me to submerge myself in him. I didn't need some long, over-drawn, angsty conversation where tears are shed and nasty words are exchanged. I didn't need revelations and epiphanies from him; long dissertations on what we were, what we are.

All I need is him. Here. Like this.

For the first time since we slept together, everything is simple. It's just me and him. He's just what I need right now.

I take a step back, slowly pulling him along with me. I feel like I'm jumping head-first into this. But now I've realized what I couldn't see before; that this thing between us is far more than we wanted to admit.

When we reach the doorway, he pulls away from me. I lick my lips and open my eyes. He looks like he's confused. "Don't stop," I say.

"If you think things are complicated now," he begins, "it will only make them worse."

"I don't care," I say, twining my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.

He closes his eyes and breathes a deep sigh. "I want to," he whispers, his rough fingers grazing my shoulder. "God, I want to."

"It's different this time," I say. "It's so different, Pacey."

"Different," he says. It doesn't have the lift of a question, nor the strength of a statement.

"It's just about you and me this time," I say. "This is about me wanting to show you how much I care about you."

"I care about you too," he whispers. "But I want you to have everything you deserve."

"Then stay with me tonight, Pacey," I say softly, bringing my hand down to his cheek. "Make everything else go away."

* * * * *

I watch him as he sleeps. I'm glad to be lying here face-to-face with him where there's no threat from the outside.

I think back to when we woke up together the last time, and this time I pray that it's different. He was afraid this would make things more complicated, but as I lay here they feel so simple. This time we weren't looking for comfort we just wanted to be close.

Slowly his eyes open, and I see him staring back at me. "Are you okay?" he asks.

I smile softly. "I'm fine," I say. "I was just watching you."

He pauses momentarily. "I don't want to scare you away," he says softly. "And when I found out that you . . . that your first time was with me, I thought you would hate me. I had the deluded idea that I could come here tonight and fix that."

"You did," I say. "I'm more sure now than I've ever been. Still no regrets."

"Do you mean that?"

I nod in response. "I knew things were different when I saw Dawson today."

"Why?"

"Because, he . . . told me that he slept with that woman," I begin, "and it didn't hurt. That's when I knew things had changed."

His brow was furrowed and I could see that he was confused. "Did you . . . did you tell him about . . . us?"

I shook my head. "I just told him that I had slept with someone and then he passed judgement on me. I don't know if I was ever more angry at him."

"Jo, I . . ." He stops, taking a deep breath. "I have to tell Andie."

"I was hoping we could save this conversation for another time," I respond.

"I don't know what to say," he says. "There's no way for me to explain."

"Why do you need to explain?" I ask.

"Because that's what she deserves," he says.

"Even after all she did to you?"

"Yes."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out, then," I say softly.

"So what are we?" he questions.

"This all started because I didn't have the words," I begin. "That's a place I'm still in. How do you feel?"

"I don't know how I feel," he answers.

"You can tell her that . . . that you took her back more quickly than you should have, but there is someone . . ."

"Else," he finishes for me. "But someone else who is . . . what?"

"Someone else who it feels right to be with," I say.

"Is that the best we've got to go on?" he asks.

"For now," I say.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I'm surprised to see her standing on the other side of the screen door. Her blonde hair is pushed back by a headband, and she wears a winter coat. I can't even feel the cold. I step out on the porch and face her. "Andie," I say slowly. "I'm surprised to see you."

"I need to speak with you," she says in a hoarse voice.

I nod. We sit down beside each other on the dock. "He told me," she whispers.

"What?" I say. I know that my voice shows I am startled.

"I knew that he'd be upset," she says. "I never thought that he'd be spiteful, that he'd seek revenge."

"That's not what he did," I say softly. Although, I'm not sure whether I fully believe it or not.

"It hurts," she continues, "more than I ever imagined it would. That night he came to ask me to go back to him, I thought my wish was coming true. But really he was just setting me up for payback."

"That's not what he did," I say again, with less conviction. The more she says it, the more I believe her. I'm not sure what it is, other than the fact it makes some sort of sense. Things had been too simple last night, and while I thought the reason for him being there was to show me what I couldn't see, maybe he had been there for Andie. I never imagined that my "standing offer" would become revenge.

"The one thing I didn't understand was you, though," she said, looking over at me. "Pacey could've found lots of girls to sleep with, and I wasn't sure why he chose you. But he did it because it hurts worse." She pauses, turning toward the setting sun. "I'm surprised that he didn't orchestrate it so that I would walk in on you two."

"Stop it," I say, my voice cold. "You have no idea what went on between us."

"I know," she says quietly. "He slept with you to pay me back. It took me a little longer to figure out exactly why you slept with him, though."

"So now you think you can pass judgement on me, I suppose," I say.

"I had questions when I came back. I wanted to know why you and Pacey were such quick friends," she said. "Eventually, he told me what Dawson did when you propositioned him after he returned from Philly."

"I don't think that's any of your business," I say bitingly.

"My brother was a little less than responsive when you tried to sleep with him. And Dawson, well, he outright rejected you. But Pacey, he's exhudes and air of being sexual. You were so desperate to be wanted that you threw yourself at him at a time when he was vulnerable."

I laugh sardonically and shake my head. And I feel like I don't respond how I should. My confidence in Pacey seems shaken, but yet I feel the overwhelming need to defend him. "You'd like Pacey to be the victim in this, wouldn't you?" I ask. "Well, you're partially right. But not because I slept with him when he was vulnerable, but because he was wounded by what you did to him. I wasn't part of this equation until after the fact. You can go on pretending that I seduced him if it helps you sleep at night, Andie. But the fact remains that of the two of us, you're the one who's needy."

She shook her head. "You think I'm going to let some common whore like you pass judgement on me? You're like a hurricane, Joey. You run through everything, destroying everything in your wake."

"I didn't destroy him, Andie, you did," I say quietly. "I think you should take responsibility for that."

"You're going to get hurt in this too, Joey," she says.

"Pacey doesn't hurt people with calculated malice," I say slowly. "You know that he doesn't do things like that."

"How did he make love to you, Joey?" she asks.

Then I know. She's looking for someone to blame and she's looking to make someone as miserable as she is. I stand up and I look down at her sympathetically. "Now you're just reaching, Andie."

~*~*~*~*~*~

I've looked all over for him tonight. My mind has continued to reel since my conversation with Andie. I know every well that she was just there for some sort of pay back for whatever it is she thinks I did to her. I all about that and I know I can't blame her for hurting.

At this moment, though, I don't feel much better. I can't live doubting him. He's too important now.

He's sitting on my porch steps as I walk toward my house. Bessie must've already left for Dawson's. I'm glad. Right now we both just need to be alone.

"I was looking for you," I say, sitting beside him. "I got a visit from Andie today."

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"She thinks that the only reason you slept with me was to get even with her. I don't think you did, but I see it as a definite possibility."

"You saw me that night, Jo. She destroyed my whole world. I was hardly interested in getting even with her. And I never would've hurt you just to do that."

"So why'd you go back to her, Pacey?" I ask.

"Sleeping with you . . . it could've destroyed everything. And you . . . you offered . . . anytime," he fumbles. "I've never exactly been a man of high morals or lofty ideals. I didn't trust myself."

"So you went back to her to avoid me?" I say slowly. It was the one thing that never occured to me.

He nodded. "I didn't know what to make of you and me. I still don't."

"So what's going to happen?" I ask.

"That probably confuses me more than anything." He stops, looking out at the creek for a moment. "I'm very reluctant to use the word . . ."

"Love," I say during his silence. I think for a moment. I'm not sure how this discussion took such a decidedly serious turn. I knew the time would come when we are forced to define whatever it is we have, but I wasn't sure it would be now. "When I had my . . . discussion with Dawson the other night, he told me that he didn't know how I could sleep with someone I didn't love."

"I think that's rational," he says, taking me by surprise.

"But I did sleep with someone I love, Pacey," I say softly.

"What?" he asks turning toward me.

"I do love you," I say slowly. "Maybe not like . . . like I love anything else. That's why it's different. Things were right because I love you, because I feel comfortable with you. Maybe it's not traditional love. But it's what we've got. And . . . It's what I think will make me happy."

"Do you really think I could make you happy? Even after all that's happened?" he asks.

"Pacey, you're not living in the real world if you think that anything that happens is going to turn out perfectly. If you're lucky, you just find a break in the chaos."

"So is that what this is?"

"Yes, Pace. Now that it's all over, I think that we're in for some clear, sunny days. At least for a little while. And I think we'll be okay if we don't let the imperfection scare us anymore."

He nods, taking my hand in his, kissing my knuckles gently. "I think I can handle that."

I smile at him. After everything that's happened, I feel like we get a chance for a new beginning.

* * * * *

The End