Disclaimer: Listen, if I was Kevin Williamson or Paul Stupin or whoever
else, would I be writing fanfic and posting it on the internet?
NOPE! So now that you know that I'm not Kevin or Paul (or whoever now owns DC),
I'm presuming that you can *guess* that I don't own DC. Please don't sue me.
I only have about $3 in total anyway. It wouldn't be worth it.
Dedicated to: Everyone at IHJ who constantly bugs me for updates and
encourages me to get my lazy ass off the couch and write some more of this. I
LOVE YOU GUYS!!!
Feedback: I love feedback! Seeing that I don't really get
rewarded for this, feedback is my reward. Send me SOMETHING! I spend time
which I could spend doing other stuff (like WHAT?!) writing this, so I need to
know that people are reading it! Please, please, please???
[email protected]
Tempest - Chapter Two: Back To Business
Joey (Natalie Evoleurt) ran into her apartment, clearly shaken up over
something.
That guy at the gas station.
What was it about him? He reminded her of someone... who?
She sat down on her bed and peeled off her drenched jacket. She hadn't
exactly been thinking about the rain when she was at the cemetary. In fact,
she only ever thought of one thing when she was there: Pacey.
She sighed. Why couldn't she just let go and say good-bye once and for all?
It had been five years, and the pain was stronger than ever before.
She walked into her bedroom and headed straight towards her wardrobe. She
opened it up and pushed the clothes to the sides. Kneeling down, she removed
two shoe racks, then pulled out an old cardboard box.
Pushing the box out to the center of the room, she sighed again before opening
the tattered old box and slowly ran her fingers over the soft material of the
shirt which was in it.
She pulled the shirt out and undid the buttons, slowly, one by one.
She peeled off the blouse which she had been wearing all day long... and all
night long. It was now 3am. This was followed by her shoes, skirt and
underwear.
She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and secured it with an elastic
band.
She leant over and picked up the shirt, draping it over her shoulders before
putting her arms through the loose sleeves.
Finally, she buttoned it up and slipped into bed.
Despite the fact that five years had passed, it still smelled faintly of him.
He'd given it to her to wear the first night she'd spent on True Love.
"You gonna sleep in that?" he had asked her as she lay down on
the bed.
"Well it's not like I have anything else to wear, is it?"
"That's exactly my point!" he replied. She sat up and looked at him as though
he were insane.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"If you wear that to sleep, it'll be all crumpled in the morning and you won't
be able to wear it anywhere," he explained.
She laughed slightly. "Well then... have you got any suggestions?"
He pretended to think it over, scratching his head and rubbing his stubbly
chin. "Well... you could always sleep nude."
She glared at him, but was unable to keep that smile from creaping across
her face.
After a while, he just shrugged and took of his shirt, draping it around
her shoulders.
Kissing her lightly, he pulled off his shorts and snuggled up close to her
in a grey wifebeater and blue boxer shorts.
He didn't let go of her all night.
'How ironic,' she thought to herself. 'I was wearing the same shirt the night
he died.'
As she slowly drifted off to sleep, she softly muttered, "Night Pace."
How was she to know that he was saying the same thing to her at that
very moment?
"Good luck," James said to an agitated and nervous Jack.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks," Jack muttered as he looked up at the tall building.
James squeezed his hand. "You'll do just fine, David," he said. "I have
complete faith in you."
Before Jack could respond, James kissed him on the cheek and ran off towards
the bus stop on the other side of the road.
Jack sighed. "Here we go," he muttered as he pushed open the large glass door
to OBMUD BOOKS.
"Hey Steve!" Melissa yelled to her boyfriend as she welcomed herself into
his flat.
"Hey Melissa!" Dawson welcomed her warmly by running over to her and kissing
her passionately.
"Someone's happy to see me!" she joked. "How'd the wedding go?"
"I dunno. Britney seemed really happy, but I didn't really like her husband.
He was a total fusspot and bossy-boots. It took half an hour to get everyone
in place for the group shot!"
"Does five-thousand dollars make it any easier to deal with?" Melissa asked,
holding up a piece of paper.
"What? Five grand? Where's that from?" Dawson asked.
"Uh... it's your pay," Melissa said, her tone indicating that it
should be obvious.
"No. It can't be."
"Why not?"
"Well because we agreed that they'd pay me--"
Melissa cut him off. "I know what you guys agreed. She must've decided you
deserved more."
Dawson stood there for a while, stunned. Eventually, he spoke. "Hey why...
why'd you go through my mail?"
"Relax," Melissa said, patting him on the shoulder. "It was delivered to my
box and I opened it. When I saw the sum on the bottom of the cheque I kinda
figured that it wasn't mine."
"Ahh... one of the good points of living in adjoining flats."
"What's that?" Melissa asked.
"You have a perfectly good excuse for going through your neighbours' mail,"
Dawson replied jokingly.
Melissa smiled.
"Oh, and this was also delivered to me," she said, handing him a plain,
unlabeled, white envelope.
Dawson looked at it, confused.
"What is it?" he asked, perplexed.
"I don't know!" she exclaimed. "I was figuring you could tell
me."
Dawson flipped it over, trying to figure out what it was and who it was from.
"Well open it!" Melissa prodded him, getting rather impatient.
"Yeah," Dawson muttered. He tore one side of the envelope then took out the
piece of white paper which was inside it.
He scanned the first paragraph and his mouth dropped open.
"Oh my god!"
"So... what happened after you came out of the shed?" John asked Chris as he
dried a beer glass and placed it back on the shelf with all the others.
Chris took a glug of his beer. "She was gone."
"Gone?"
"Yeah. Gone. As in: not there anymore."
"Wow. Weird."
"Tell me about it! Even weirder was the way Brett was acting."
"How's that?"
"I dunno... it was like... he had this really strange look on his face. And he
didn't say a word for the rest of the night."
"That's not like Brett."
"Not at all."
John and Chris were silent for a moment, just thinking.
Suddenly, the door to the deserted bar swung open, and Pacey made his usual
NOISY entrance.
"Oiy! Waitress! Gimme... the usual," Pacey said loudly, smiling slyly.
"What? Eight shots of tequila?" she replied, moving from her spot behind
the counter, removing her apron to reveal her lime-green singlet and black
pants.
She was attractive. Definitely not model material. But she was still
attractive in her own way. She was very curvy. She had big boobs and a big
bum, and was probably a size twelve at least. Her wild, curly reddish black
hair was pulled back into a messy bun.
She didn't look as though she cared much for her appearance. But really,
when practically only ten people lived in this tiny... town? Village? Whatever
it was, it didn't really matter how she looked. She still somehow managed to
look attractive.
Pacey smiled with a sort of cheeky grin which was unique to him. "Actually,
I was referring to our usual quickie in the store room, but - yeah, tequila'll
do fine."
"Brett, what've I told you about hitting on my wife?" John scowlded him
loudly and jokingly.
Chris simply shrugged. The astmosphere was all of a sudden lighter and happier
than it had been merely three minutes ago. Whatever had been wrong with Brett
last night had been fixed by now.
Or so he thought.
As the night went on, Pacey ordered more and more beers. That, along with
several more drinks which were clearly much too strong for him.
No one seemed to notice. The four of them all drank. If there had actually
been a cop somewhere within a fifty mile radius, they would've been in serious
trouble.
Despite the fact that there were only four of them in the bar, two of which were
supposably working, they managed to turn it into a mini-party as they sang along
to the juke-box while trying a little of everything which John and Isabelle
kept behind the counter.
No one seemed to notice that something was wrong.
That something was dead, dead wrong.
Jack walked slowly towards the service desk in 'OBMUD BOOKS', admiring the
place.
He felt under-dressed for the interview. This was the sort of place that you'd
wear a suit and tie to. But then again, it's not like he could rush back to
his apartment, change his clothes, and rush back all in the next three minutes!
Anyway... what would he tell James if he didn't get the job?
"Hi! Can I help you with anything?" a female shop assistant asked him.
He was right about the suit thing. She wore a navy blue knee-length skirt and
matching jacket, along with a pale blue blouse.
Now he felt even more self concious than before... if that was
possible.
"Uh... yeah. I'm here for the job interview," Jack replied nervously.
"Oh! You must be David then. Am I right?"
"Yes," he said, trying to sound polite, but unable to think of anything much to
say... thus ending up sounding like an even bigger jerk than he would have if
he'd just splurted out something like 'DUH! OF COURSE I'M DAVID! WHAT?
YOU KNOW MY REAL NAME OR SOMETHING?!'
"Ok, come right this way," she said as she began to walk off towards a door
at the back of the store, Jack following along behind her.
"Oh my god," Dawson repeated to himself.
"What is it?" Dawson asked.
"Oh my god," Dawson muttered again, not really hearing her question.
"STEVE!!!" Melissa yelled.
"What?" he looked up.
She groaned. "What's in the letter?" she asking, her patience rapidly
disappearing.
"Huh? Oh. Um... you know that job I applied for in Paris?"
"Ye...ah," she replied hesitantly, a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"Well..." he started, trying to stay calm. It didn't last. He let his
excitement show. "I GOT IT!!!"
Her reaction was quite the oppisote to what he had expected.
She looked disappointed, but he chalked it up to shock.
"Oh," she muttered quietly, looking down at the ground to avoid his eyes. "Are
you... are you... are you gonna take it?"
He beamed, practically GLOWING with happiness. "Of course! I mean, this
is the kind of opportunity you wait your whole LIFE for!"
He looked at her. She didn't answer.
"Melissa?" he asked cautiously as he stepped towards her.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled, shoving his arm away.
"Melissa? What's wrong?" he asked softly, trying to look in her eyes. She
kept looking away.
"You're moving to Paris," she muttered, her voice blank, showing no emotion.
"It's not permanent," he replied. "It's only for a couple of months."
"When?"
"Umm... I leave to sign a few papers in Boston in a week, then I fly to Paris
on the Monday," he replied.
"A WEEK!?!?!" she screamed. "You're leaving in a
WEEK!?!?!"
"Yeah," he answered, unable to think of a better answer, mainly because he was
unsure of what she wanted to hear.
"So that's it?" she asked. "You're just packing up and leaving?! You
know. It's like, 'Bye Melissa. I had fun using you for the past eight months,
but now I'm moving on to bigger and better things. Have a nice life!'"
Dawson just stared at her, speechless.
"I'm right, aren't I?" she asked, not needing an response as she already knew
what the answer would be.
Without another word, she took a couple of steps backwards, fumbling with the
door handle, and in one swift move, she was out the door and down the street.
"Let's get loud! Let's get lo-ud!" Pacey and Isabelle sang very badly
from the table top, using beer cans as fake microphones.
Suddenly, Pacey burst out laughing.
"What?!" Isabelle whined.
"You know I hate Jennifer Lopez," he whined back. "I mean, don't get me wrong,
she's got a nice ass and all, but her music sucks. I hated this song five
years ago and I hate it now."
She rolled her eyes. "Brett! Stop whining! You're getting to be really
boring."
"Am not!" he retorted.
"Are too! You're becoming like John!" She pointed to her husband, who was
asleep, his head resting on the counter. How he was sleeping through the
loud music and their pathetic attempt at singing was a mystery.
"You shouldn't talk about him like that. He is your husband," Pacey
slurred, speaking loudly so that Isabelle was able to hear him over the 'past
hits' that were blaring out of the old radio.
"Whatever. That doesn't mean he's never boring," she pointed out.
"True."
Pacey glanced over Isabelle's shoulder. Chris was also asleep. What the hell
had happened to them tonight? Usually they just had a couple of drinks, then
went home. Tonight was different... very different.
Isabelle grabbed his beer and took a big glug. Wiping the dribbles from the
side of her mouth with her bare arms, she placed the beer can down on the table
which they were dancing on, and wrapped her arms around Pacey's neck, too drunk
to really even realize what she was doing.
They danced like that for about ten minutes before a familiar song came on.
Tears welled up in Pacey's eyes, and he quickly turned away from Isabelle...
...and threw up.
Jack walked silently along the corridor, the shop assistant walking along about
two steps in front of him.
Suddenly, a shrill ringing sound went off.
Her cellphone.
"Sorry, one moment," she said to Jack as she punched a button on her phone.
"Hello?...Yes...Uh huh...I'm aware of that...I understand that, but...ok, ok.
Could you please hang on for one second?...Thanks," she said into the tiny
phone.
She turned to Jack. "I'm sorry, David. I've got some business to deal with.
So basically, the interview will be in Sasha's (Andie's) office, which is the
third door on the right," she told him. "You be ok from here on?" she asked.
He simply nodded as his non-verbal reply.
"Ok. Good luck," she said before slipping into the coffee lounge. Jack shook
his head.
Business? Yeah, right. Whatever you say.
About two metres away from him, there were photos of the staff hanging on the
wall. The one in the middle of them all caught his eye.
He squinted. It couldn't be.
He reached up and ran his fingers down her straight blonde hair.
His missing sister.
"Andie?"
Pacey rolled over, letting his pounding head rest against the wall.
He was gonna have one hell of a hangover tomorrow... as if it wasn't bad enough
already.
Isabelle did the same thing.
"Brett, I just want you to know that... whatever I did tonight... I'm sorry,"
she said earnestly.
"No. I'm the one who should be sorry, Izzy," he replied.
"You're forgiven," she said as she moved closer to him. "So what seems to be
the problem?" she asked, much like what Doug had once asked him.
Pacey's head snapped up. "What?"
"Well... you just got drunk. And I mean really drunk. Then you wound
up dirty dancing with your best friend's wife on a table-top, so something's
gotta be wrong," she said logically.
"I could say the same thing to you," Pacey muttered, trying to avoid her actual
question.
"You'd be right," she said quietly, admitting it out loud to a friend for the
first time ever.
"What?" Pacey asked, suprised by what she had just said.
"You'd be right," she repeated. "I have problems.
"Have you told John?" he asked.
"Nope. No one here knows about it."
"No one... here?" he repeated, questioning her. "Does that mean that someone...
somewhere else knows about it?"
There was a moment of silence. "My counsellor," she finally answered.
"You have a counsellor?" he asked her.
"Yeah. I can't tell anyone here about my problems, but I needed to talk to
someone."
Pacey wrapped his arm protectively around her shoulder as tears welled up in
her eyes.
They sat there for a while as Isabelle sobbed. Pacey started sobbing too. The
night of that stupid strip party, he'd held Joey like this out on the docks.
"It's a new year. You never know. You and I might even become
friends."
"Pacey, I'm upset enough as it is."
Pacey turned to face Isabelle.
"Does it help?" he asked.
"Counselling?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Yes. It really does. It's helped me so much."
"Where... where do you go? I mean, it's not like there's any counsellors around
here."
"I go into the city."
"What?"
"Every weekend. When I go to pick up the supplies for the week, I go and spend
half an hour with her. It's not long, I know, but it does help."
"Mmm..." Pacey muttered sleepily.
"Hey Brett?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"For listening."
"Anytime, Pot---" he caught himself mid-word. "Izzy."
She noticed his little slip-up, but decided not to make anything of it tonight.
"I'd better go check that John and Chris are still breathing," she said, kissing
his cheek. She took a couple of steps away, then turned back.
"Hey Brett?"
"Yeah?"
"Here," she said, handing him a business card. "If you don't feel you can talk
to me about it, talk to her."
"Thanks."
She smiled softly then left the room.
Pacey looked down at the small card he held in his hands, mentally debating
whether or not he should call the number.
"Hmm... Natalie Evoleurt," he muttered to himself. "I'll think about it."
Soooo.... like? Hate? Pissed at me for not putting any Pacey/Joey scenes?
Well... believe me... the next part will have some (in case that's not
obvious enough already).
Anyway...
I want opinions, dammit!
There's two easy steps:
Step One: I give you my email address.
Step Two: You use it.
[email protected]
So there you have it. I completed step one. Now you have to complete step two.
PLEASE???
