Rating: PG-13 for cursing.

Pacey Witter groaned, and rolled over in bed to the insistent bleeping of his alarm clock. A Saturday. School was out, and what did he have to do?

Dawson was in Philly, helping his mom and doing some internship on that dumb TV station.

Andie was in Providence with her father and mother, in a mental ward. The last time he tried to have a conversation with Joey, who was constantly at work in the Icehouse in any case, she shut him down to rant about Dawson, and then dissolved into tears.

When he tried to comfort her, she literally ran away from him. Jack and Jen hung out together constantly, with no time for anyone else. He knew that they lived together, but did they have to be so self-involved?

Why had he left his alarm clock on anyway? He groaned again, tortuously, and smacked down the red button. With the irritating beep finally silenced, he opened one bleary eye to his uncurtained window, groaned for a third time, and stuffed his head under his pillow.

Almost immediately, his mother's imperious treble reverberated throughout the house.

"Pacey! Your father wants you. Now!"

Great, he thought. A peachy way to start off an already stunning day, and chuckled dryly into his much-abused pillow.

"I'm coming, Mom!" he called downstairs through the silent household, and dragged his lethargic body to the edge of the bed before staggering in the direction of the bathroom.

In the shower, with the hot water raining down on him, he thought of her, as he did every day. She was so far from him now, and he'd barely been able to speak to her from the time she had left up to now.

Ironically, his father had had more contact with her than he'd been able to. He'd called, and been told some bullshit reason about how she 'wasn't available'. She'd called, and missed him. And then there was the time when his father'd picked up the phone, and barked into it, 'He isn't home.'

When Andie, politely, inquired where he was and when she should call again, John Witter had snarled at her, animal-like,

"I don't know, and frankly I don't care. God only knows what that boy gets up to, hanging around with the trash he calls his friends."

Andie'd been shocked, he knew; she'd recounted almost the entire conversation to him in the letter he'd gotten yesterday. They'd discussed their parental relationships many times, but Andie had never seemed to grasp just how bad things could be between him and his father.

Her parents were the more obviously dysfunctional. Her mother was crazy, however much Andie couldn't bring herself to say the actual words. Her father was gone - or had been gone.

Selfish as it was, Pacey couldn't help wishing it'd stayed that way. He knew she needed help, he knew it, and he'd kill himself before he'd do anything to stop her from getting it.

But, paradoxically, he couldn't stop himself from hating the man who'd come to make sure that she got it. She'd been taken from him, and he'd been left behind, alone - a puzzle with half the pieces missing; a bird trying desperately to fly on with only one wing.

Anyway, Andie had been unable to stop herself from blurting out, "How can you say that about Pacey?"

No-one had ever challenged his father on that before. Pacey had become too dispirited, and Dawson was still incapable of seeing his father's putdowns as anything more sinister than elaborate jokes.

Doug would only leer and join in, his sisters were barely around enough to care at all, and his mother would never go against his father, no matter what he did.

Mr. Witter had been severely taken aback that his son's mentally unstable girlfriend would dare to speak to the Police Chief in this manner, and had said so.

Infuriated, Andie had told his father about some of the things they'd been through together, and he and his father had briefly been able to open up to each other. Things had been a little better since then, and he hadn't been bawled out in a while. Not that he missed it.

God, he missed her, though. More than he'd ever thought it possible to miss someone. It was like a physical pain, which hit him every time he passed her house, or looked at the photos of them together he kept in his drawer, or smelt her particular perfume on a woman; since Jen used the same perfume as Andie, this was all too often.

Sure, he'd missed Tamara. He had truly cared about her, and been lonely for her in the following weeks.

Now, wherever he went, he was carrying around an Andie-shaped hole that everyone was trying to fill for him- but nobody fitted. His mind drifting, he thought about the first time he realised how much he could truly care for her.

He sat on the counter in the darkened kitchen, listening to Andie as she told him the sad story of her family.

"Columbia had just beaten Cornell," she'd begun, bemusing him with one of what he'd come to recognise as her characteristic non-sequiteurs.

"It was Homecoming, almost exactly a year ago. Dad had had one too many tailgate martinis," she'd continued, with an almost-choked laugh, "so Mom was driving. And Jack and I were fighting for Tim's attention" - she'd smiled sadly - "We were always fighting for Tim's attention."

He could feel the sheer, crushing weight of the guilt behind her words. She blamed herself, he could sense; the whole family seemed to.

Beginning to lose control of the tears she was so determinedly fighting back, she went on, "And Mom, she didn't see the truck......"

She was avoiding his eyes, he could tell; he knew why. The sympathy would only make her lose control of herself completely.

Almost begging, she'd asked him, "Please don't say anything to anyone, Pacey. I don't want my mother to become the town gossip."

Trying to put all of the sincerity he could muster behind it, he'd assured her of his silence, then offered up pitifully the only thing he could think of.

"Is your mother getting any help?"

The control she'd struggled for was slipping, bit by bit.

"We've tried. She was in the hospital for a little while. Uh, Dad kinda bailed, and..... he checks in once a week. He lives in Providence, with the business.... Which is going under, so he's hurting too. So it's basically just me. I mean, Jack helps, you know..... some, but..... he kinda lives in this fantasy world where, if you don't think about it, it just didn't happen."

She bit her lip, as the tears began to spill over.

"I mean, she's not always like this. Sometimes she's fine, but you just never know - and I'm the only one who can handle her. And sometimes that just gets really hard......"

Pacey was completely unprepared for the depth of feeling aroused in him when her voice cracked and her tears spilt.

He was almost swept away by the overpowering wave of protectiveness he felt; right now he would do anything, if it would stop her from feeling like this.

So he did the only thing he could think of, pulling her up from her seat and wrapping his arms around her.

She'd struggled weakly away from him, but he'd persisted, and he held her close, rocking her as she cried softly into his chest. At that moment, he would've held her until the world ended.

Drifting out of his reverie as the water began to run cold, he wondered vaguely what his father wanted. Still, no time but the present. Stepping back into last night's clothes, he wandered downstairs to find out.

Instinctively, he stopped in the doorway, closing one hand around the doorhandle protectively.

Why did he always let his father get the upper hand from the very beginning. Why couldn't he ever stay to face up - why was his instinct always to run, as fast as he could, anywhere - as long as it was away? Still, he thought, as his father began relatively mildly.

"Got the results of those finals you retook."

That was quick, he thought inwardly. "And?" he prompted, gently, cautiously.

"You failed four of them."

Run, he thought. Run run run and don't stop. "Oh."

"I thought we'd been through this, Pacey. Your psychopathic other half is in the loony bin. Deal with it. You told me you were actually going to work for these." His father's voice was rising into a crescendo of fury. "You told me you'd do better, you stupid bastard!"

Pacey's hands were beginning to shake; a cold fear-sweat broke out on his forehead. "I tried, Dad, I did," he pleaded, and hated himself for being cowed. Why did he always lose to the old man?

"I don't know why I put up with you. I really don't." The disgust in his father's voice was palpable. Pacey couldn't bear to be looked down on, like an insect. He already had an inferiority complex a mile high; did his father really have to constantly add to it?

"I'll retake them again," he offered up fearfully, ready to run if the explosion came. He didn't have to wait long.

A stinging pain blinded him temporarily, as the old man fetched him a powerful backhanded slap to the nose. Pacey staggered back, trying to stem the flow of blood a little, as his father yelled over him.

"You're damn right, you'll retake them, you dumbshit! You'll retake them, and this time you will pass, or there'll be worse coming to you than there's ever been before." The ice in his voice could have deep-frozen a chili pepper.

"Now get the hell out of my sight. And don't come back until you've thought about this."

Tears in his eyes, Pacey ran for the door, and slammed it with all the force he could muster.

As the guidebook pointed out, "Lovers may particularly enjoy the scenic dockside walk, which passes one of Capeside's premier eating establishments, the SS Icehouse."

Many were enjoying the walk that evening, but none of them noticed the brown-haired boy sitting alone on the edge of the dock.

I wonder what it was like in there for Abby. Did Jen see her fighting, or did she just give in and let the water sweep her away? Was it peaceful? Did she finally go to a better place?

Nobody noticed his hands, closing convulsively on the edge of the dock, as though afraid of what might happen if he loosened his grip.

I wish I was there. I want out of this life. There's nothing left here for me any more.

Nobody noticed the mingled tears and blood dripping from his nose, causing tiny concentric circles on the water, which slowly spread and dissipated.