Angel

Author: X_tremeroswellian

Disclaimer: These characters are property of Kevin Williamson and the WB. Please don't sue. Song is by the Goddess of Music, Sarah McLachlan, and can be found on her albums, "Surfacing" and "Mirrorball."

Rated: R for adult content and language

Classification: Joey P.O.V. with some Joey/Pacey friendship stuff.

Spoilers: Up through the 3rd season premiere, "Like a Virgin," with a few specific spoilers for the episodes, "Baby," "Breaking Away," "Parental Discretion Advised," and of course, "Like a Virgin."

Distribution: Take it, just let me know the link.

Author's Note: The dialogue you recognize is from "Like a Virgin," and there may be some references to my fics, "Common Bonds" and "Seeking Warmth." If all of the actions aren't perfect, it's because I haven't actually seen the first 2 and 1/2 seasons of D.C., I've just read the transcripts. All of my D.C. fics can be found at www.geocities.com/angela_d_9_9/dawsonscreekfic.html.

Angel

***

"Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay..."

***

I sit on my dock, knees pulled to my chest and my head resting on my arms as I cry. It's cold, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I'm aware that I don't have on a coat and will probably end up with a severe cold by the end of the week, if not pneumonia, but right now I don't care.

Actually, I take that back. I *do* care. In fact, I hope I do get pneumonia, and I hope it kills me.

That's a horrible thing to hope for, isn't it? I've never really hoped for anything like that before, though I have considered taking matters into my own hands on more than one occasion.

Like right after I sent my own father back to prison. I never wanted to die more than I did that night. I almost went through with it, too. I had a bottle of advil and a huge glass of water ready. Then I heard Alexander crying, and calling for me after he'd had a nightmare. And I realized that I couldn't go through with it. I couldn't leave Bessie all alone after everything that had happened.

But dying from pneumonia and swallowing a hundred pills are two entirely different things. My mom died from cancer--obviously something she didn't intend to happen. She didn't *intend* on leaving me and Bessie...sometimes, though, I wonder if it was her way of escaping my father. She knew he was cheating on her...had been cheating on her for years. Even at her worst, while she was lying in that hospital bed, barely able to breathe--he still cheated on her. For that, I don't think I can ever forgive him. I love him, that much I can't help, but I can't forgive him for what he did to her.

Sometimes I have a hard time remembering what she looked like. Sure, we have a few photos of her around the house, but when I lie awake at night with my eyes squeezed shut and I try to see her face in my mind, it's blurry. Each time I try, the blurrier her image gets, and the farther away she seems. Like she's slowly but surely fading from my memory.

And that scares me. It scares me to think that one day I'll wake up and will have forgotten that I ever had a mother.

I try to remember her before she got sick...like how she'd fry bacon and I'd wake up to that wonderful smell and think how great the day ahead would be.

Or how beautiful her hair was before she started chemotherapy. She had the longest, silkiest brown hair and I loved to play with it because it was so soft. Bessie has her hair. Hell, Bessie looks so much like her it's scary. She's beautiful and intelligent and I know she tries to be like Mom...but she can't be. I love my sister--I do--but she's not my mom. She never will be.

Bessie and I have never been what you'd call close. Maybe it's because of our ten-year age difference, or because we don't have any common interests, but we're just not close.

I still remember all the times we fought growing up. It's petty and stupid to still think about that, but I do.

In all honesty, though, I'm jealous of her. She's beautiful, always has been, always will be. She always had dates for school dances and the guys all practically worshipped her.

She and Mom always used to have these marathon mother-daughter shopping trips where they'd find her the most gorgeous dresses and jewelry to wear. Then when the dances were over, she and Mom would stay up all night, talking and giggling over who wore what, and how much fun she'd had.

Of course, there were hard times for Bessie in high school, too. I mean, like the place is *fun* or easy for anyone who isn't rich and popular. The girls for the most part, hated her. They were jealous of how pretty Bessie was, and how she got all the attention from the guys. So they tormented her.

She always says she hated high school. But sometimes I wonder if I'd hate it less if I were just a bit more like Bessie.

***

"...There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day..."

***

I'm not beautiful.

I'm not a hideous monster that sends people running in the opposite direction, either, but I'm a far cry from beautiful.

Bessie is beautiful.

Jen Lindley and Andie McPhee are beautiful.

My *mother* was beautiful.

But me? Nowhere near it.

At my best, I'm cute. Most of the time I'm just average. I'm just this tall, plain looking girl from the wrong side of the creek.

I'm the one who used to play soccer and basketball and touch football with the guys--the one who was eager to make mud pies while the other girls wrinkled their noses at me in distaste and disdain. The funny thing was...it never mattered then. My best friends were guys so I didn't care.

I just never realized, at least until recently, that when you grow up, and when those best guy friends grow up...your guy friends start looking at girls whom they've never rolled in the mud with, and you wind up completely and utterly alone.

***

"...I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins..."

***

The sad part of the whole thing is...it's my fault that I'm alone. The one person in the world whom I could always count on to be there was Dawson, and I ruined that. Just like I ruin everything.

I said horrible things to him...things I wish I could take back now. I realize that he didn't want to break up my family. He wanted to keep me from getting hurt. He was trying to do the right thing, and I know that's how he saw it. But at the time, the only thing I knew was that I had lost my father again.

Before this summer, Dawson and I hadn't gone more than a week without talking. Ever.

So when he crashed his dad's boat into the marina today, and I saw him standing there...part of me was thrilled, and the other part was scared to death.

That's when I saw her.

Eve.

And it hit me: Dawson had found someone else. Someone who was drop-dead gorgeous and who was willing to do things for him that I never did.

It hurt. That's when I decided there was no reason I couldn't do those things for him. And if I got Dawson back, it would be worth it.

So I crawled into his window and waited for him. I was nervous, but I wasn't going to back down

Unfortunately, Dawson had other things in mind. He was shocked when I pulled off my shirt, and he couldn't even look at me. I realize I'm not quite as endowed as Jen or Eve, but he didn't even look at me.

He pushed me away. He said he loved me, but he didn't want to be with me now. That the timing was bad. In reality, Dawson didn't want me.

Not that I blame him. It's not like he's the first person who didn't want me. I don't think anyone's ever *wanted* me, sexually or otherwise.

Do you know what that's like? To know that no one wants you, that no one needs you? That if you died or ran away, no one would even care or miss you.

It's like someone has opened up your stomach and placed a huge chunk of ice on the inside that refuses to melt. And if you try to move around, or deny the truth of it all, the heavier the ice gets and the colder you feel. Sometimes I think that I'm never going to feel warm again.

***

"...Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight..."

***

I hear a sound in the distance, like a boat is being rowed towards me. I squint in the darkness, trying to figure out who would be coming here at this late hour.

"Ahoy! Anyone ashore?"

I recognize the voice immediately. It's Pacey Witter, Dawson's best friend. "What are *you* doing here?"

He's quickly approaching the docks. "Well, a funny thing happened. I got in Dawson's boat and it magically drifted to your dock."

I am *so* not in the mood for a verbal sparring with Pacey right now. "Magically drift any closer and I'll kill you."

"I almost believe that."

I watch him as he ties the boat to my dock and in one fluent motion, jumps up to sit next to me. It suddenly hits me why he's here and I glare at him. "He told you, didn't he? Didn't he?"

"What do you think?" he retorts.

I think my life is a mess and the more I try to fix it, the worse it gets, I thought, but I don't say that. Instead, I reply, "I think I hate you both."

"You're gonna hate what I'm going to say even more. He did the best thing, Joey. You two need to be apart now."

His statement infuriates me. "How would *you* know what *I* need?" I demand, new tears threatening to fall.

"You're probably right. I'm sure I don't have any idea what you're going through," he says quietly. "How hard it is to let someone go. How painful it must be to know that as right as you two are for each other, it doesn't mean you're right for each other right now. I wouldn't know a thing about that. About how it makes you want to scream, or hit someone...or cry."

A wave of guilt hits me. In my torrent of self-pity, I have forgotten all about Andie, and how hard this whole situation has been for Pacey. Maybe we have more in common than I realized. "Of all the people to see me like this, it had to be you," I say, making a half-hearted attempt to keep up our usual banter.

He nudges me gently with his elbow. "It's a new year, Joey. You never know, we could even end up friends."

"Pacey, I'm upset enough as it is."

His smile is not lost on me as he moves closer to where I'm sitting and puts his arm around me. "Hey, Potter. C'mere."

I give in because I can't help it. I lean against him, and I press my face into his shoulder as I begin to cry again.

***

"...In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear..."

***

I hate crying, especially in front of other people. It makes me feel weak, and I hate being weak. So I don't make a habit of doing it. Very, very few people have seen me cry. I've shed a few tears in front of Dawson, Bessie and Bodie, but that's about it. I don't want people's pity.

And when I do cry, it's always fleeting.

But this time, I can't stop. The tears keep coming, like all the clouds of pain and anger and guilt that have been building inside of me over the years have finally opened up and produced this torrential rainfall and I am in serious danger of drowning.

I feel Pacey shift positions and pull me closer to him, so that I am now fully wrapped in his arms, my face buried in his chest. Normally I would be embarrassed about being this way with someone, but I am too far gone to care at the moment. Right now he is my life preserver, and I'm terrified that if I let him go I'll drown.

"It's going to be okay," he whispers softly, stroking my hair as I sob. "It's going to be okay, Jo."

I want to tell him that he's wrong, that it's not okay, and never will be again, but I can't find my voice at the moment.

His voice is soothing, and his hands are gentle. One continues to stroke my hair while the other rubs my back tenderly. He is rocking me back and forth slowly, like a small child after a nightmare. His chin rests on the top of my head.

"Why doesn't he love me?" I manage to choke out. I just want answers. I need to know what it is about me that makes everyone around me hate me.

"He does love you."

"No...no, he doesn't," I say, tears spilling onto my cheeks as I pull away to look at him.

"Jo, believe me. He loves you. He does. He just...needs some time to figure out who he is." Pacey's hands rest on my shoulders as he tells me this.

I close my eyes. I feel so lost right now I don't even know which way is up. The question in the back of my mind is spinning, and even though I know I'll regret ever voicing it later, I can't help it. Out of all the people in my life, Pacey has always told me the truth, no matter how much it hurt, and right now, he's the only one who might be able to tell me what it is I want to know. "Why isn't he attracted to me? Why didn't he want me? Am I that ugly?" I whisper, bracing myself for his response. After all, Pacey is Dawson's best friend. If anyone knew what Dawson was thinking, it would be him.

I force myself to look at Pacey, and he looks shocked by my questions. "Please tell me the truth. You've always been honest with me...I need to know."

"Jo, believe me, ugly is the last thing you are."

I shake my head and look away. Great. Now Pacey feels sorry for me and so he's telling me what he thinks I want to hear.

Pacey takes my face in his hands and forces me to look at him. "Have you looked in the mirror lately, Potter?"

"I try to avoid it whenver possible," I mutter.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I'm serious. Jo, you're one of the most incredibly gorgeous girls in Capeside. If it weren't for Andie and Dawson, and if you had any interest in me, I'd go out with you in a second. Any of the guys here would."

I stare at him in surprise, unsure of whether he's joking or not. "I thought you hated me."

"I've never hated you. Actually, I've always been rather fond of you."

If he's lying, he's doing a good job of it, because he appears to be completely sincere.

Another tidal wave of emotion hits me, and I start to wonder just how much a person can cry in one night before they dehydrate.

"Come here," he says quietly, and I don't hesitate. He wraps his arms around me, and I allow myself to take comfort in his embrace. He is real: solid and warm, and that's all I want. To feel warm, alive again. It feels good to be held.

I can hear the steady beating of his heart, and it calms me. I focus on it and close my eyes. Within a few moments, I have stopped crying all together and I am relaxed, and more comfortable than I ever thought possible in the arms of Pacey Witter.

***

"...You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here..."

***

I have no idea how long we've been sitting here. It feels like hours. And though by normal circumstances right now, I know I should be embarrassed and ashamed for my near-hysterical breakdown, I'm not. I actually feel better. Like some of the ice has melted.

Like I'm not alone.

I haven't felt like this since...before my mother died.

Pacey is still gently rubbing my back while his chin rests on the top of my head. I have never seen this side of him before. There were moments throughout the course of our relationship when I thought he was probably capable of being an incredibly comforting, sympathetic person, but I'd never really experienced it personally, with perhaps the exception of one occasion.

It was a couple of years ago, and he came into the Icehouse as I was closing up. He came in looking for an escape from his family. It was one of the few real conversations we'd had since we were kids. As we talked, I realized I had things I needed to say to my father, and Pacey drove me to the prison so I could. He even paid the prison guard twenty bucks to let me see my dad past visiting hours.

I wish now that we knew each other better. I remember when we were kids--Dawson, Pacey and I--we would play together for hours. I never felt like an outsider when I was with them. They just accepted me. Both of them. Dawson and Pacey.

I wonder what happened to that friendship. Why Dawson and I ended up so close, and Dawson and Pacey ended up so close, and yet Pacey and I drifted apart.

***

"...So tired of the straight line
And everywhere you turn
There are vultures and thieves at your back
And the storm keeps on twisting
You keep on building the lie
That you make up for all that you lack
It don't make no difference
Escaping one last time
It's easier to believe in this sweet madness oh
This glorious sadness that brings me to my knees..."

***

As I lay here trying to figure out why Pacey and I aren't friends anymore, I feel Pacey shift slightly. "Jo?" he whispers softly.

"Yeah?"

"Just checking. I thought you might have fallen asleep on me."

"No, I was just thinking."

"About Dawson?"

"No. About why we aren't friends." I open my eyes and look up at him, and find him gazing back at me. "Do you know? Because I haven't figured it out."

Pacey thinks for a few minutes. "I don't know either, Jo," he finally admits.

"Because, I mean, we've known each other forever, and we used to be friends..." My voice trails off and I stare out over the moonlit creek. "How's Andie?"

"Better. A lot better. Actually, I'm supposed to go and pick her up next week and bring her home."

I smile, noting the excitement in his voice. "It'll be good to have her back. I miss her."

"She misses you, too. She asks about you every time she calls."

"Yeah?" I say in surprise.

"Yeah. She's been worried since...well, since everything happened." There is a moment of silence. "Actually, I'm sure she'd love to see you. And it's a long drive up there. I could use some company to keep me awake." He glances down at me and gives me a wry smile. "If, that is, you think you can stand being in the same small space as me for a few hours."

I laugh. "Sounds pretty torturous, but I think I can handle it. For Andie's sake."

Pacey grins. "Of course."

I shiver slightly, suddenly becoming aware of how chilly the night has gotten.

"We should probably get you inside before you turn into a Joey-cicle." He stands up and I instantly feel the loss of his body heat as he pulls me to my feet. It doesn't last long because then he drapes an arm around me and pulls me to his side. I instinctively put one arm around his waist and lean my head on his shoulder. He smiles at me.

He walks me up to my front door. I turn to look at him. "You want to come inside for awhile? I can fix you some tea or hot chocolate."

"Nah, I gotta head home. I have to work tomorrow morning."

Work. I'd forgotten all about it. "Yeah, me too, actually," I say with a frown.

"Well, then I'd better go so we can both get a little shut eye and don't pass out tomorrow."

"Okay." I bite my lower lip, and then step forward and impulsively hug him. His arms come around me, as well. "Thanks, Pacey. For everything."

"Anytime, Jo. I mean that. If you want to talk, just pick up the phone and call me, all right?" he says softly, his breath warm against my cheek.

I nod. "Pacey?"

"Yeah?"

"If you ever tell anyone about tonight, I'll have to kick your ass," I warn him with a grin.

Pacey chuckles and releases me. Then he kisses my forehead. "Cross my heart. I don't want it getting around that I'm a sensitive guy, anyway," he replies with a smile, which I return. He turns to go, and then stops. "Hey, Potter. What time do you get off work tomorrow?"

"Five."

"Same here. Hey, you wanna catch a movie tomorrow night?"

"Sure, what movie?" As I answer, I realize that I'm looking forward to spending more time with him, and getting to know him better.

"I don't know. You choose. Just do me a favor and don't pick some chick flick."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Pacey, I don't watch chick flicks."

He grins. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

I laugh and shake my head. "See you tomorrow."

"Okay. 'Night, Jo." Pacey waves at me and walks down the pathway towards the docks.

I watch him as he goes. "Goodnight, Pacey," I say softly, smiling.

Maybe we really will end up friends this year. I hope so.

I open the door to my house and step inside, ready to crash. As I head towards the sofa, I realize I feel a lot better than I have in months.

And for the first time in even longer, I drift off to a peaceful sleep with a smile on my face.

***

"...In the arms of an angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort there
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here..."

***

The End