Jen dropped the papers on his desk and collapsed on the chair. “See?” She shot Pacey a look. “I have just proved beyond any reasonable doubt that I, Jennifer Lindley have absolutely no talent to be spoken of. In fact, the marks I did get? Were probably for spelling my name correctly, which considering its shortened version probably isn’t much of a feat.”

Pacey was silent as he picked up the sheets, rifling through them slowly before he turned to her, pointing out the thick red mark at the top of the first page. “D minus?”

Jen smiled grimly. “Seems to be my currant lucky number. At least it’s better than an F.” There was silence, and she watched him curiously, hands resting on the desk, gaze fixed in front of him. She laughed shakily. “You have nothing to say, Pacey? No ‘I told-you-so’s or words of encouragement or even dismissal?” Her eyes narrowed. “Not even a brief commentary on my stint down the road towards academic ruin?”

Pacey placed the papers carefully down on the desk and turned to her. “What do you want me to say, Jen? That you could have done better?” He looked away. “You know that already.”

“Words wisely spoken by our very own Pacey Witter.” Jen laughed bitterly, shaking her head. She got up, running a hand tiredly through her hair and moving towards the window, leaning against the cold glass of the pane.

When had it come to this? When had it come to seeking words of academic advice from a person who had done his best at almost failing high school? When had it come to not sleeping, lying in bed alone, no boyfriend, an awful job and a grade that was ever so slowly sinking from the average mediocre to downright appalling?

What had ever made her think it could be any other way?

Jen raised a hand, placing it against the glass, the imprint from her skin leaving soft cloudy marks on the pane. Except, even that was about as permanent as everything else in her life.

She needed something else. She needed something more. She needed to get a hold of herself.

Jen jumped as she felt her roommate’s hand gently cover own against the glass, his larger palm covering hers. She watched curiously as her own seemed to disappear, trapped between the cold of the glass, and the warmth of his skin.

“What are you going to do?” he asked her softly, bending to rest his chin on her shoulder.

Jen tilted her head to the side, comforted by the feeling of his breath against her neck. “I don’t know. I was figuring abandoning school and living a life of petty crime. What do you say?”

“Hibernation from the world and the police at our door?” He kissed her cheek softly. “Sounds delectable.”

Jen sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck with her free hand, trying to ease the tension there. “I think that’s where my life is heading anyway. Why shouldn’t I just give fate a helping hand?”

“You,” Pacey said firmly, pulling her away from the window and towards the couch, “are not going to fail.” He tucked a finger under her chin. “You hear me, Lindley? Jen, you are a talented, beautiful and intelligent young woman and you’re going to pick yourself up and get over this, alright?”

Jen made a face. “Pacey, I don’t think morale-boosting comments and enthused propaganda are really going to help me now.”

“Ugh…” Pacey rolled his eyes, taking a seat next to her and pulling her legs into his lap. “What is a guy like me meant to do with a pessimistic like you?”

“First degree murder?” she offered, leaning back with her head against the cushions.

“Hmm, it’s a thought,” Pacey murmured, a tiny smile on his face as he eased Jen’s shoes off and ran his thumbs over the arch of her foot. “But I think I’d miss you.”

“Please,” Jen quipped, rolling her own eyes as she made herself comfortable, easing down the couch so Pacey had better access to her legs. “Freddie Krueger would make a better roommate.”

“You’re right. You’re messy, testy, and have PMS far longer than any woman should.” He brought her foot to his mouth and kissed her big toe affectionately. “But I love you anyway.”

“Well you have issues,” Jen murmured, closing her eyes as Pacey continued to rub her foot gently between his large hands. “But if that means a hormonally charged man such as yourself is driven to massaging the feet of messy, testy, PMS-ridden young women, well then I supposed I shouldn’t complain.”

Pacey grinned, running a single finger over the sole of her foot, fingers cradling her leg gently in his lap. “Well, I do have a proposition.”

Jen opened an eye, throwing him a questioning look. “You’re propositioning me now, Witter?”

“Count you’re blessings I’m not,” Pacey returned, slapping her leg gently by means of protest. “Actually, call it guilt by association, but I quite possibly have a friend who is even more in need of a life-makeover than you are.”

“With a friend like you I’m finding that hard to understand,” she quipped sarcastically.

Pacey slapped Jen’s leg again, causing her to grin through her closed eyes. She had always known how to get under his skin. “He’s an old friend. Old in both senses of the word.” He grinned himself, pulling Jen’s other foot onto his lap and beginning to work it like the other one. “Thirty-three, middle-aged compared to us.”

“Ten years,” Jen sighed, propping her hand in between her neck and face and using it as a cushion. “That’s like an entirely different generation.”

“He’s actually more a friend of Doug’s.”

“A cop?” Jen asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“A one an only.”

Her face broke out into a large grin. “I thought you made it your business never to associate with a member of the law enforcement ever, ever again.”

“You’re right,” Pacey admitted. “My family are more than enough to put a guy off uniforms for a life. But…” He tickled her feet with his fingers, causing her to giggle softly, before leaving them propped on his lap and leaning back against the arm of the couch. “This guy is an exception.”

“Not one of the greasy coffee-drinking doughnut-eating variety?”

“Not exactly.”

“So…what’s your proposition?”

“Well…” Pacey winced, hoping she wouldn’t take offence that he’d already offered Mike a place in their apartment. Of course, she didn’t have to know that. “It kind of concerns our living quarters.”

Jen, her eyes still closed, raised an eyebrow. “Pacey, I am not sharing my apartment with a police officer.”

Pacey gave her a pained look, one that was entirely lost on her. “Jen, please, the guy’s going through a rough time.”

“Of course he is. He puts criminals behind bars for a living. It’s not exactly a cheery, happy-go-luck job now, is it?”

Pacey sighed, his hand resting casually on her leg. “The guy just separated from his wife Jen. So I know compassion is at times a hard emotion for you to pull out of that hard head of yours, but…believe me, you think your life is screwed?”

“Yes.”

“Well imagine being a separated police officer at thirty three.”

There was silence, and looking at her, seeing the pained but relenting expression on her face, Pacey knew he was gaining ground.

“Ugh,” Jen muttered. “What about my reputation?”

“What, as a proud, law-despising, crime-committing citizen of New York City?” He tapped his fingers against her shin. “I promise not to tell your friends we have a cop in our apartment.”

Jen sighed, shaking her head. “What’s the use in arguing anyway?”

“You’re right.” Pacey grinned. “I always win our arguments.”

“Actually I was referring to the fact you’re already said yes. Haven’t you?” Opening her eyes and seeing the look of surprise tinged with guilt splayed across his face, she knew she was right. “Pacey,” she whined, closing her eyes again, “Have you just sold my fate to the devil?”

“Absolutely,” Pacey admitted guiltily, relieved she was taking the news with relative ease. He had expected temper tantrums and storming out at the very least. This, he decided, was easier to handle.

Jen sighed, rubbing the space between her eyes with a tired hand. “When does he arrive?”

“Tomorrow.”

Pacey caught the cushion just before it hit him squarely in the noise and threw her another apologetic smile. “Sorry, Jen.”

Jen shrugged, rolling her eyes. “He’s sleeping on the couch.”