Martyr

Ever had that feeling in the middle of the night that something is about to happen? You can't explain it, but you just know you have to get out of bed and out there, and there's no way on earth you're able to fall asleep again? No? Well, I have. And I'm having that feeling right now.

The cold night air hits me as I step onto the deck of my borrowed home. I've always loved the ocean, but I don't think I ever realized just how much until that summer on True Love. When she sank I knew I'd end up owning another boat someday. Fine, I don't exactly own this one, just rent it, but it's a start. The money I've earned this summer is already growing into a nice little downpayment on True Love II. Though all things considered, that's probably not the name I'll give her this time.

Shivering slightly, my eyes travel across the harbour to the distant lights of the city beyond. Boston. Why did I end up in Boston? I shake my head, as a grin travels to my lips. For months now I've tried to fool myself, convince myself that I'm here because this is where Mel is, because this is where her uncle's boat I'm renting is docked, because this is where my job is. The truth of the matter is that I can get a menial job anywhere. I'm sure I could even find a boat to rent as well. It's definitely not for the less than two hour drive back to Capeside, 'cause apart from Dougie there's nobody back there I'd miss. And lord knows it's not Mel who's keeping me here. Sure I'd miss her, but like I miss Tamara, like I miss Andie.

No. As much as I hate the knowledge there's no way I can deny it. It's because of her, the precious bane of my existence. I don't know why it still surprises me. It's always been her, long before she started wearing make-up and training bras, long before there was a Pacey and Joey, long before there was a Dawson and Joey even.

An involuntary snort escapes me at the thought of the self-proclaimed soulmates. Once upon a time I would have been perfectly happy - okay, happy's probably not quite the word - to play third wheel to their dysfunctional little unit, knowing that she would never look at me the way she looked at Dawson.

And then one day, holy shit, she did. Did anyone really expect me to play the noble martyr and refuse what she was offering out of loyalty to Dawson? I'll admit, I came this close to doing just that, but then I thought, fuck this! Life's too short for what if's and might have beens.

So why am I playing the martyr now? I almost ask the question to the dark sky, wondering if the stars above will be able to offer me a satisfactory answer.

A voice, the one I've been holding onto with self-righteous anger for the last six months echoes through my brain. Because I got so fucking tired of it. How many times can a guy look at the back of his girlfriend's head as she runs after her ex before his head explodes, huh? When Gretchen told me about Joey's lie, my whole world crumbled. I brushed it off as unimportant, but even Joey knew that it hurt me more than I ever let on. Things only went downhill from there. Because what hurt most wasn't the lie itself. What hurt most was that I knew she'd do it.

That's it, you see. I know her better than she knows herself. I'll even go one further and say I know her better than Dawson does. He might flare his nostrils and snort at the idea, but it's true, you know. All he sees is the fifteen-year-old girl that used to sleep beside him and watch E.T. with him. He claims he knows her, that he knows what she needs when all he ever does is hold her back.

It's like the whole sex thing. I'm eighteen for crying out loud, of course I want to sleep with my girlfriend. I'd have to be insane, in a coma, or Dawson Leery, not to want to sleep with a goddess like Joey Potter. I'm all for not pressuring a girl into doing something she's not ready for, but I know Joey and I knew that if I didn't give her that push in the back she needed, we would be sitting here forever talking about it, instead of doing it. Just like she and Dawson are forever locked in that room, unable to escape it, unable to move forward.

That's what she told me she fell in love with, when we ran away together last summer; that I'm the only one who forces her to move forward. At least I'm grateful to know that's what I could be to her, the one who took her hand and pulled her across the threshold into adulthood. And once she crossed it... man, how she flew! Dawson can never be that person to her. He's too scared to take that final step himself, so they remain forever hovering on that brink.

Maybe that's why her whole Dawson dependency pisses me off so much. It...he's not helping her to reach her full potential and she has the exact same effect on him. They don't challenge each other, they stifle each other. She's scared to be on her own, so she asks Dawson to stay. He finds out the world outside Capeside is a little tougher and grittier than the Leery homestead, so he drops out of his dream school to be with Joey in Boston. So afraid to grow up, they hold each other back.

That's what shocked me the most about watching her dance with him at the Prom. I. Felt. Nothing. And it scared the crap outta me. I loved her, for fuck's sake. I was in love with her. I should have felt something! But there was nothing. No anger, no distress, not even jealousy. By then I was just so fucking numb to the whole Dawson issue that I really couldn't take it anymore.

So I took it out on her. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for the things I said... no, shouted at her that night and I still feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it. And although I might have considered my words a bit better, I still stand behind the intention. I wanted her... needed her to care, not just love me so much that she'd automatically forgive me my screw-ups. That's not the spitfire Joey I fell in love with.

That's the whole damn thing that drew me to Mel. She calls me on my bullshit, the way Joey used to, the way I used to for Joey. Before we lost ourselves in each other. Is that what made me run? Was it the intensity? Did it scare me that I was losing myself in her more and more each day? Did I cut her out of my life before she came to her senses and cut me out of hers and ran back to Dawson?

Well, she did, didn't she? And no, it doesn't hurt any less knowing that I'm the one who made the decision for her. I thought it would. I was wrong. Why break a habit of a lifetime?

Perhaps it's guilt that's driving me tonight, keeping me awake, guilt about the pain I've caused her. She said I broke her heart into a million pieces. The thought conjures up a sad smile. I broke my own heart into a million pieces. But at least I'm not holding her back. Even if the price was two broken hearts.

Almost unconsciously I start digging inside my jacket pocket, the cigarette appearing in my hand out of nowhere. It's a cold November night, but there's hardly any wind and I can light the cigarette with ease. As soon as I pull at it and feel the stinging smoke hit my lungs, a smile of contentment resurfaces. I'm content. There's something to be said about being content. Happiness is far overrated.

"Of all the bad habits you could have picked up, that's the one you went with?"

The unexpected voice, though soft and uncertain, cuts through the silent night and right into my heart. Because no matter how soft, there's no way I'll ever mistake that voice, the one that still haunts my dreams. The sound has me spinning around in shock, my eyes peering through the darkness to find the source of that voice. And there she is. My jaw drops at the sight of her, sitting on the deck bench all prim and proper, her wool coat wrapped tight around her body. How long has she been sitting there in the shadows? Would I have noticed her if she hadn't spoken?

I'm aware no words come out of my mouth. All I can do is stare at her, stare into those big brown eyes that find me despite the darkness and reel me in like they always do. Fuck! Am I ever gonna build up some resistance to those eyes?

Finally her words register and I can't help chuckling as I look down at the cigarette in my hand. When I stole the pack of cigarettes from Karen it had been to stop her from smoking, instead it started me on the foul things. After all the "smoking is bad for you" speeches I gave Jen, it must look odd to Joey to see me with one. I shrug. Just one more thing she can feel disappointed about in me.

The thought suddenly makes me feel nasty and turning my eyes away from her, I gaze across the harbour. Some boats still have their lights on, but most of them are huddled in darkness. The words that slip out of my mouth leave a bitter taste in their path, but not enough to hold them back.

"Yeah, I forgot," I croak, "Miss Josephine Potter, doesn't drink, doesn't smoke, doesn't..." My words trail off as I realize what I was about to say. Doesn't sleep with her boyfriend. That's the one bad habit she picked up.

As of their own accord my eyes drift back towards her and my heart sinks a little lower. I've just noticed how she looks. Stunning of course, but that's not what comes as such a surprise. To me, she'll always be the most incredibly beautiful woman on the planet. But there's something wild, something dishevelled about her. Her eyes are round and look haunted. Her hair is all over the place, giving the impression that she came here straight out of bed.

His bed. A wave of nausea assaults me as an image I keep trying to ban from my mind but refuses to leave rears its ugly head again. Anger immediately follows. Turning my back on her completely, I flick the cigarette overboard with an angry twist of my wrist.

"What are you doing here, Joey?" I know I have no right to feel the bitterness that colours my words, but I can't hold it back. It hurts too much to be this close to her. Contentment is suddenly not good enough when I'm this close to her. Without even waiting for her answer, barely noticing that I'm starting to babble like an idiot, I continue. "Perhaps it's escaped your attention, Potter, but it's four o'clock in the morning. Civilized college students should be in bed right now, not necessarily their own, but..."

"I broke up with Dawson."

The words that cut through my rant are so unexpected and make so little sense that they don't sink in at first.

"What?" I ask, turning towards her in surprise.

A slow smile finds it way to her lips, even if it's still a hesitant one. "I said, I broke up with Dawson."

"Oh." Is that all I'm able to say to the words that fall like rocks on my soul?

The smile growing wider, she nods her head. "Yeah."

The first nasty thing that comes to mind finds it way out of my mouth. "What? Did you fuck him for sixty thousand dollars worth already?"

My heart skips a beat as I watch her flinch, and once more as she almost immediately pulls herself together again. Looking me straight in the eye, she eyes me challengingly. "You ought to know, Pace."

Oh god, not this. She's at her most seductive and her most irresistible like this. I need to keep my wits about me if I'm gonna get through this conversation, I can not let myself get sucked back into her power. She's still focusing that provocative stare at me and suddenly my mind is unable to form anything but one word sentences.

"When?"

The smile is still on her face and I can't deny that it's very unsettling. It's like I'm sixteen again and totally out of control where this woman in concerned. I frown as I watch her look down at her watch. Finally she looks up at me.

"About half an hour ago."

Now I'm confused. She broke up with Dawson half an hour ago, no doubt after the ten thousandth silly argument and knowing how well Dawson handles rejection, it can't have been pretty. Why isn't she lying on her bed, sobbing her eyes out? What is she doing here on my boat, sitting there calm as a cucumber? I just have to know.

"How did he take it?"

Her eyes dart towards the lights of the city as she contemplates her answer. Turning back towards me, there's a light shining in her eyes that I hadn't noticed before.

"He doesn't know yet."

Fuck no! Not again! I'm so pissed I feel like walking over to her and shaking her. Not this again. This is another one of those scenes, one of those moments where wishy washy Joey doesn't know what to do and good old Pacey will tell her, will make up her mind for her. If she's gonna break up with Dawson, it has to be because she knows it's the right thing to do, because it's what she wants, not because I give her a reason to break up with him. I've been down that road. I'll be damned if I do it again.

Knowing what I have to do, I plaster a smirk on my face on purpose. "Don't you think it's common courtesy to at least inform your present lover of the break up before you throw yourself at the next one?"

I aimed those words to hurt and I'm sure they did. There's not a visible sign of it though. She doesn't even flinch. It's making me even more uncomfortable.

"Go home, Joey," I tell her, not unsympathetically. "Crawl back into bed with your soulmate. There's nothing here for you anymore."

Just for a moment she bites her lower lip and my fists ball at my side. God dammit, she knows exactly what that sight does to me. The sly smile that returns to her lips proves just how well she can read my body language and I curse myself as she narrows her eyes in contemplation and shakes her head. I am so fucking dead.

"Oh no, you don't," she announces with determination. "I'm on to you, Pacey Witter. You can push me towards Dawson all you want, I'm not going. Because Dawson isn't what I want. I know it. You know it." She stops a moment to take a deep breath. Unconsciously I take that breath with her. Finally she sighs. "I know it's going to take time. We can't just pick up where we left off. But I'm not giving up on you."

I'm speechless. I can't catch my breath. Whatever I expected to hear, those words aren't it. That's not the spineless, indecisive, clinging-to-the-past Joey I dated for the last year. This is the determined spitfire I sailed off into the sunset with. This is the independent hussy who seduced me in a secluded ski lodge. This is the Joey Potter I fell in love with.

How long I stand there, just staring at her in complete shock and unabashed admiration, I don't know, but the moment between us is shattered by the door behind me slithering open.

"Pacey?"

My eyes still locked on Joey's I see hers grow wide, her smile faltering. I know who's just appeared on deck and judging from the look on Joey's face I can guess in what state of undress. Although my eyes close at the pain in her eyes, I can't bring myself to feel guilty. What did she expect? That she could fuck Dawson and I would just sit here twiddling my thumbs while she figured it out?

But she has, hasn't she? that voice echoes inside my head. It took her long enough, but she's finally figured me out. The message is hammered home when the smile hesitantly returns to her lips. Slowly, gracefully, she rises from the bench at last. Her eyes never leaving mine, she walks in the direction of the plank. The closer she gets, the stronger her scent assails my senses, causing my pulse to quicken, my breath to stall. Who am I trying to kid? She'll always be my undoing.

She's right in front of me now, and the wildness and resolve in her eyes hits me like a lightning bolt, the boldness of her smile seducing me all over again. "The ball's in your court, Witter," she whispers in my ear. Her hair brushes against my cheek, the perfume of her shampoo wafting up my nostrils. This shouldn't be so easy. I should be able to resist her.

Without even waiting to see my reaction, she grazes past me and down the plank to the deck below. My eyes are glued to her back and as I watch her retreating form, I can't help but grin. She's walking tall. For the first time in a long long time she's actually walking tall.

"That's my girl," I mumble despite myself.

"Pacey?"

No longer able to make out Joey's form on the dark dock, I finally turn towards the woman standing behind me. And it hits me. It hits me so hard that for a moment I can't breathe. Just what the hell am I doing? I've got a gorgeous, smart woman on this boat, who actually wants me, who doesn't make me feel like I'm constantly being measured against some ghost and found wanting, who's funny and sweet and loving. I need to get over Josephine Potter. I have to get over her.

"Pacey, who was that?"

The replies to that question race through my head. The love of my life? My poison? My addiction? As the painful truth announces itself, I grimace. She's my downfall.

Wrapping my arm around Mel's shoulder, I guide her back below. I've made my choice. Joey's my heaven, but she's also my hell. "Nobody, Newman." My heart breaks at the implication, as my eyes involuntarily stray in the direction she disappeared into. "Just my past."