Disclaimer: Don't own the show. Don't own the characters. Matter of fact, I don't really own much at all! Feedback: PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?!?! [email protected]
Tempest - Chapter Eight: Reunions All 'Round
"Anything you'd like to tell me, JOEY?!" he asked as he glared at her. Not knowing what to say, and refusing to accept that this really was Pacey, she demanded to know, "What the f*ck are you doing in my MY house with MY stuff?!" Pacey scoffed. "YOUR stuff? Uh, no, Honey. This is MY stuff! See? MY shirt," he said as he held up the shirt which he'd found in a box full of other... interesting stuff... from HIS past. "I got it on sale at that cute little store on the east side of Capeside. Remember that place, Joey? Capeside? How about the plaque, Joey? 'True Love.' As far as I can remember, that was MY boat. I ordered the plaque a WHOLE YEAR before we supposably died. But we didn't die after all, did we?" Still refusing to believe that Pacey was really still alive, mainly because of her fear of being let down again, Joey put up all her defences. "Who are you?" she asked. "Sweetie, I think we both know the answer to that one," he replied. "What do you want?" she asked, aware of the fact that she sounded like the victim in some bad horror movie. "I want you to admit who you really are. Then I want you to tell me why you did it. Why you faked your death." "YOU DID THE SAME THING!" Joey screamed as she fought back tears. Pacey looked up at her, not saying a word. The look on his face silenced her immediately. Heck, a look like that could make hell freeze over! "Who. Are. You?" he asked slowly and sternly. "I'm Natalie Evoleurt from---" "Evoleurt my ass! Evoleurt is just 'TRUE LOVE' backwards! Who were you?" Joey closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I was Joey Potter," she admitted. "You know, poor girl from the wrong side of the creek. Grew up in Capeside. Died on her way to Florida along with the love of her life, Pacey Witter." "That's all I needed to know," Pacey said, his voice cold and emotionless. He then walked up to Joey and kissed her hard on the lips, before walking out the door as Joey crumpled to the ground, not saying anything. Not trying to stop him. Just letting him walk out of her life. Again.
"Melissa, I like this hotel too, but we're in Paris! We have to go DO something!" Dawson insisted as Melissa lolled around in the bed in their hotel room. "C'mon, Steve! How often do we get to stay in hotel like this? We're only going to be staying here for a couple of days. Besides, you're a PHOTOGRAPER! You'll be seeing TONS of sights whilst working!" she argued. Dawson rolled his eyes. This was frustrating. "Alright. If you really don't want to go sightseeing today, at least let me take you out for some coffee or something similar." "Un cafe?" Melissa asked. "Oui, sil vous plait!" Dawson looked at her weirdly. "Oh my god, don't you know French?!" she asked, shocked. "I'm currently trying to figure it out," he said, holding up a phrase book. Melissa shook her head. "Idiot," she muttered.
Dawson and Melissa walked up to a small cafe. They stopped at a sign and Dawson looked expectantly at his wife-to-be. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Please take a seat and a waiter will attend to you soon," she translated. They took a seat outside the cafe, under a veranda. I'm just gonna go to the toilets, 'k Honey?" she asked. "But---" he started to argue, but she was gone. He sunk into his chair, hoping that no one would come and try to talk to him while she was gone. Just his luck. A blonde waitress in plaits, a short black dress and a white apron tied around her waist who couldn't have been more than sixteen sauntered over to him and asked for his order. Dawson picked up his menu, but couldn't make any sense of it. "Um... I'll have a coffee," he said awkwardly. "COF-FEE," he said slowly and loudly. "Un cafe?" the waitress asked. "Yeah I know this is a cafe," he muttered under his breath, before remembering what Melissa had said earlier. He turned bright red. "Yeah. Un cafe. Two of them. Two," he said, holding up to fingers. When she seemed to understand, he added, "And do you have any cake or---" The waitress excused herself and Dawson sighed. This was hopeless. Why was Melissa taking so long in the bathroom anyway? He watched as the waitress ran into the back room. "Madam Lyttle! Il ne pas francais," she said. "Il parle anglais!" Jen climbed up off the couch, clutching her stomach, then hobbled out muttering something about stupid non-French speaking people, and how if they live in the country then they should speak the language. She tapped Dawson on the shoulder. "Hi. You the guy who can't speak French?" she asked. "Yeah," Dawson replied as he turned to face her. "Sorry, I don't mean to be a problem. All I want is two coffees and..." he trailed off. "And...?" "Have we met before?" Dawson asked. "I don't... think so," Jen said. "You look familiar." 'Please don't let him be from New York,' Jen prayed, knowing that she HAD, in fact, met this man before, but unsure of when. "You're an American, right?" "Yeah," Jen replied cautiously. "Mass---" "Capeside, am I right?" Jen's mouth dropped. "Yep, I'm right. So... let me ask, why Paris? How'd you get the money to go to Paris!? I mean, I assumed that you probably went back home to New York," Dawson said, pretty damn sure that he knew who this was. Jen froze up. A look of both shock and anger passed over her face, but disappeared so quickly Dawson had to wonder if he'd just imagined it. "Do you ever regret driving them away? Ever feel remorse? Dawson, it was YOUR fault they died!" Jen shot back. "Jen, don't do this. Don't start," he pleeded. "Look, I came here to get away from everything. My past. In both Capeside AND New York! Don't bring it back to haunt me. Please?" "Ok. I can understand that," Dawson said kindly. "Thanks." "Hey, I think it'd better make that three coffees," he said. "You think you can get some time off work?" "Dawson, I own this place. I think that it'll be possible to sit outside and watch the people walk past rather than sitting inside and watching the dishwasher do it's work for about fifteen minutes." "Your job sounds exciting," he said sarcastically. Jen smiled, then entered the back room. Dawson waited for five minutes, before he was approached by the same waitress from before. She looked panicked. "Are you Dawson?" she asked, obviously unsure if she was making sense. "Yeah," Dawson replied. "Do you... drive?" she asked slowly, hoping he'd understand. "Yeah, why?" "Madam Lyttle needs to be driven." "Where?" "To the hospital."
"Here we are," Andie said as she drove her estranged brother into her driveway and parked the car. "Here?" Jack asked, disbelieving. "Yes here. What's wrong with it?" she asked. "Nothing. It's just... well, you're such a successful business-woman. I guess I expected something a bit... bigger," Jack replied as they walked up the steps to Andie's small cottage. It was a beautiful old building. The brick walls were overgrown by ivy and she had some rosebushes growing next to a stylish park bench. "I considered getting a big place, but big places get too lonely. I've got everything I need here anyway." "I guess," Jack sighed as Andie propped the box she was carrying on her right arm and twisted her key in the lock. "You said we had a lot to talk about," Andie said, changing the subject as she dropped the box in the hallway. "So go ahead. Tell me a little about yourself." "There's not much to know," Jack shrugged as Andie switched on the dining/living room light. "C'mon, Jack. We haven't seen each other in about four and a half years! There's got to be something for you to tell me!" "Nope. Not really. For me the past five years have just been one failed relationship after another. How about you? I mean, you're successful. You're beautiful. You're the one with the story to tell!" Andie sat down on her cream coloured arm chair. "What do you want to know?" "Well, firstly... realtionships. How many? Any long-term ones?" Jack asked. Andie rolled her eyes. "Five relationships that last over two months. Only one of which was actually long-term." "Ooooh... tell me about it." Andie chuckled. "His name was Paul. I was nineteen, he was twenty-three. Yeah, I know, I know. Anyway... we lasted for nine months. He helped me a lot with the business, which, at the time, was just one store. Matter of fact, his uncle is actually the guy I run it with! We still see each other from time to time. We get on ok. The break-up wasn't really that bitter. Our lives were just headed in different directions. He was into acting while I was spending most of my time working at the store. And when I got home, I'd keep working. We tried to make things work, but it wouldn't happen, so we just kinda accepted it and moved on. It was sad, but it wasn't the be-all, end-all." "You're lucky," Jack commented. "Why?" "Your break-up wasn't crushing and heart-breaking. It wasn't the end of the world." "Yours isn't either." "That just goes to show that you really don't know much about me anymore, Andie."
Dawson pulled out his cellphone and handed it to the blonde waitress (whose name, he had learnt, was Brigette). "Call her husband," he ordered as they sped through a busy main road. She didn't appear to have understood. "Her husband." When she still didn't answer, Jen, who was in immense pain in the backseat, yelled, "Mon mari, Brigette! Jean-Luc!" The girl immediately understood and got right to it. Dawson followed the road signs, along with Brigette's hand gestures, and they arrived at the hospital in no time. Brigette hurried Jen off into the emergency room as Dawson made another call. "Melissa?" "Steve! Where the f*ck are you? I can't find my way to this hospital! Why did you have to rush off to the hospital anyway?" "Long story." He could hear her groan on the other end of the line. "Look, just ask someone for directions. It's a big city. Someone here's gotta know English. I dunno when this'll be over. It could take half an hour. Then again, she could still be here tomorrow." "Alright Dawson, WHAT is going on?! Dawson?" she asked. "Dawson, are you still there? My phone's crapping up. Dawson?" "Yeah, Melissa. I'm here. I've got terrible reception. Just go back to the hotel or something. I'll see you again later---" The phone went dead. "Sh*t!" he cursed as he ran into the hospital.
"Hey Steph. I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to cancel our plans for Tuesday," Joey said, her voice sad, blank, and, well... different to usual. "What? Why?" the chubby blonde asked on the other end of the line. "I just don't feel up to it," Joey said. "Oh," Stephanie replied, worried. In the three years she'd known 'Natalie', she'd never been sick. Not once. "Don't worry, Steph. It's nothing serious. I'm just not feel one-hundred percent," Joey lied, after hearing her friend's concern. "Alright. I hope you feel better soon." "I do too," Joey said, then threw in a few coughs for effect. "See ya soon... hopefully." "Bye," Joey said, then hung up the phone and crossed one name off of her list... - "Chris?" Pacey asked. "Brett? Where are you?" his friend asked. "You were s'posed to be at work half an hour ago. "Sorry. I can't make it in today," Pacey said, his voice blank and emotionless. "What?! Brett, this is WORK! You can't just decide when you want to come to work!" Chris argued, although he could sense that something was seriously wrong. "I'm just not feeling that great, ok? Nothing major," Pacey lied. "Besides, we never have any customers anyway. You can handle the place on your own." "I guess. It'll be pretty boring, though," Chris said, concerned. "Yeah. You'll survive. Chris, can I ask you to do me a favor?" "Anything," was Chris' reply. "Tell John and Izzy why I'm not there," Pacey requested. "Sure," Chris said solomely. "Thanks." "Anytime. Bye, Brett. Hope you feel better soon." "Me too. See ya later, Chris," Pacey said, placing the phone back on it's stand. - "Hello. Is this Lisa?" Joey asked. "Yes. Who's this?" "It's Natalie... Evoleurt," Joey replied, feeling like such a terrible person - such a liar - just for saying her name. "Oh! Hi! Sorry," Lisa replied. "Is anything wrong?" "No. Not really. Well... a little. Actually... yes. I'm just not feeling that great." "Oh. I'm sorry. I guess you won't want me to come 'round this afternoon." "Sorry. I'm really not up to it at the moment." "It's ok! It's ok!" "You can make up for it another time." "I will. Thanks for telling me." "Sure. Bye." "See you some other time." "Yeah. Just call me." "Sure thing. Bye." Joey turned the page in her address book. She dialled the number before even checking who it was she was calling. It was Isabelle. Oh crap! Oh well... it had to be done. Isabelle picked up the phone. "Hello." "Hi. Isabelle?" "Yeah. It's me," she said as she took the cordless phone into the back room to avoid letting John and Chris overhear their conversation. "What's up, Natalie?" "Uh... I'm just calling to say that I'm not feeling that great." "So?" Isabelle asked, confused. "Why does that matter to me?" she said. She wasn't being rude. "I'm not coming up 'til Saturday." she pointed out. "Yeah, but---" Joey sighed. She had a point there. "I'm just not sure how bad this is." "You too, huh?" Isabelle asked. "Excuse me?" "Brett's also sick." "Oh," Joey muttered. 'I should have guessed,' she thought to herself. "Must be something going 'round," Isabelle shrugged, unaware of the reality behind this situation. "Yeah. See ya, Isabelle," Joey said. "Bye," Isabelle replied, hanging up the phone. As soon as Joey heard the tone, she burst into tears.
[email protected]
