Rating: Harmless.

Short Summary: How does Joey react when Pacey buys her a wall?

Setting: Not long after "To Green, With Love."

Disclaimer: No, I'm not male, or American, or over thirty. All things considered I probably wouldn't pass for Mr. Williamson.

Author's Note: Well, this is dedicated first and foremost to the people who have helped me recently- SO much. Laura Smith, always. Jen, (my little 'angelina') Em, (you amazing thing you!) and Catherine, (who will have the power to move forwards when writing driving sideways.). You've been wonderful. Thankyou. Also, to all the people who have written with your feedback and encouragement. It's always appreciated!

Feedback? Pretty please?

It's all in the art of letting go.

I learned that a long time before now, but obviously fate's choosing to shove it down my throat one more time. As if I need reminding.

The first time at fifteen, almost two years younger, and several years less wise, I managed to wind up with my woman in a court of law. There are nicer ways to end a relationship, but no one can say I, Pacey Witter, am not original. And it had a nice ring to it; the final scene, the denouement, all clearly laid out for me to see. Finit. The End.

Then Andie, the Queen of dramatic exits and entrances, and I stood back for the second time to watch the woman I loved leave me behind. But I let her go, for all the right reasons, only to have it blow up in my face. I guess it turned out the 'right reasons' weren't enough for her. She came back, and I let her go all over again.

And so here I am, one last time. Not so much letting go as refusing to hold on. Joey Potter, standing just across the road. I could stop traffic to get to her- in fact, considering it's almost midnight, I probably wouldn't even have to stop traffic.

But I could go to her. Just a few steps, a single call, and she'd turn. I could tell her what I really want to tell her, and what she really doesn't want to hear. I love you, Joey Potter.

The words make my heart burn. You're a coward, Pacey Witter. I guess I got good at standing back, opening the door, and watching the women in my life decide that I wasn't meant to be a part of their 'permanent collection.'

I got good at the 'goodbyes.'

I suppose I've spent one too many moments realising that just because she needs something, needs somebody, that doesn't make it me. Doesn't mean I get to be the one delivering the goods, holding her hand. No, I don't get to be the mental patient, or Tamara's latest conquest. Or Dawson Leery.

I'm just that 'other guy'.

Rome wasn't built in a day. It's just the first step, that's what I told her, handing her a tin of white paint like it could eradicate all the bad things in her life. I'm not handing her a gun to finish me off, just a paintbrush. Just saying, "I love you, Joey Potter," in the way that requires the least words.

The way that doesn't require actually…telling her.

But it's the first step.

And maybe one day I'll be able to take the next. Hell, maybe she'll even be there to witness it. Maybe I won't need the goodbye.

Joey stood with the paintbrush gripped to her palm, so hard that the bristles had started to wear against her skin. She put it at her feet, turning to look again at the wall, just three feet away as it loomed over her. Brick and mortar had never looked so terrifying.

She took a deep breath.

Joey stared at the tin of paint at her feet, still unopened. The dirt on the wall was a strange kind of comfort, she realised, and she wasn't sure she could change that. Painting over it meant a promise; painting over it meant baring her soul, leaving it open; a blank canvas that needed filling; it meant a new start.

Joey wasn't sure she was ready for a new start.

She heard footsteps at her back and closed her eyes. So here he was. Here he was, just two hours later to see if she'd finished. To see if she'd started, to see if she'd even moved from her place.

Negative to all three.

Joey turned, ready for the look of disappointment on his face. Ready to say sorry. Her eyes widened.

Doug smiled wryly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in the cold as he stared down at her. "Wasn't quite the Witter boy you were expecting?"

"Well…" Joey took a deep breath, huddling tighter inside her thick duffel coat as she turned back around. "Not exactly."

Doug moved to stand by her side, peering up at the wall. "It's big," he remarked finally.

"Really."

Hearing the flat tone of Joey's voice, Doug smiled. "Not exactly flowers and chocolate." He paused, eyes running over her face. "I apologise for my brother, Joey. Pacey hasn't exactly read the chapter on 'small gifts'"

"I got that feeling." She shook her head, eyes trailing over the expanse of space in front of her. "He bought me a wall."

"Yeah. I know."

"And he stole my paintbrush just so he could give it back to me…" She sighed. "Bastard."

Doug laughed softly. "Well, he has flair." He paused, watching her face out of the corner of his eye. "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I suppose tearing it down is out of the question?"

Doug nodded slowly. "That would be vandalism, yes."

"Damn."

"Well, I don't know, maybe you could just…paint it?" Doug stared straight ahead with an innocent expression as Joey turned, staring at him in disbelief.

"Paint it? Just like that?" She shook her head, eyes wide. "Is it that easy? Doug, he said limited time offer. And the Water Lilies weren't painted overnight."

"The Water Lilies?"

"Monet." Joey sighed, rubbing her hands together to keep warm. "I'm not sure what he wants me to paint," she said softly, finally.

Doug was silent for a moment, and he stepped forward, trailing his finger along a crack in the brick. "I guess he wants you to be able to say...what you want to say."

Joey laughed softly, her eyes bright. "After last time I'm not sure Capeside is quite ready for any more of my political, and or social statements."

"Then just make it personal."

She turned quickly, eyes scouring his face, but his were blank. She watched him silently as he examined the worn stone. "Can I do that?"

"I don't think there's a statute against art on a public building. As long as it's not offensive and you actually own the building in question."

"That's not what I meant."

"No." He smiled gently. "I don't know. Why not, Joey?"

"Because…" Joey blew out slowly, watching her breath form clouds in the air.

"Because Pacey gave it to you?"

"No. It's not that."

"It meant a lot to him. To give it to you, I mean; it meant a lot."

"I know." Joey's eyes darkened as she examined her hands, red from the cold. "Isn't that the point?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's what he's trying to say…" She laughed. "He might as well have painted it himself, he might as well have taken my brush and written the words on the stone."

Doug nodded slowly, wondering if he had done it, if Pacey had finally gotten her to realise. Gotten her to understand. "Then why didn't he?"

"Because he wanted me to. Because he wanted me to say it back."

"Oh."

"And how could I say it back? How can I say 'I really like you, Pacey Witter' when he's too afraid to say it himself?"

"Is that what you call it these days? 'Like'?"

Joey winced, feeling heat behind her cheeks. "I'm not sure."

Doug was quiet for a moment, only the jingling of his keys in his palm making a sound against the silence. "For all intents and purposes, Joey, I don't think he bought this for you so you could declare your undying love."

"Then…"

"Call it a blank canvas." He smiled. "Something to start from. A beginning."

A beginning. Joey played with the hem of her coat, too afraid to look up, and knowing he was right.

"Want me to give you a ride home?"

Joey looked up then, giving him a warm, nervous smile. Her eyes found his. "No, Doug. I think I need a little while longer."

"Sure. Good luck with that, Joey."

"Yeah. Thanks."

She listened to the sound of his footsteps, and then the engine starting up, before the quiet returned, and she bent to pick up her brush, and the tin of paint. She took a deep breath as she walked forward, opening the lid. Balancing the paint between her body and the wall, Joey let the brush slowly sink inside the tin until the bristles were thick with white.

She held up her hand. And stopped. Joey thought of him, and smiled.

She started to paint.

He bought me a wall.

Maybe I shouldn't be surprised. It's so like him; so like him to make me want to laugh, and cry, and scream. And all in the same breath, the same look. The same touch.

How like him to offer me something, lay it out in front of me, the final hand. Offer me something when I'm not sure what I can offer him in return.

Maybe he knows that.

I stand here, and the wall is painted white. It's a start, I know it is. It's something to work from. And I also know it means an offer, even it's not the right one.

But white can be dirtied more easily than any other colour. Somehow, leaving it like this seems even more dangerous than leaving it completely, turning around and running home, pretending I don't own, albeit temporarily, a part of his soul.

I'd be kidding myself to think it means anything else.

He might as well be telling me out loud. And me, well I might as well be inscribing this on his forehead in red ink.

When I actually know what it is I'm meant to write.

For the first time in a long time I wish I had Dawson's analytical posturing, to always be so self-aware. I wish I could take a step back and know, wholeheartedly, what to do, and what to say, instead of this.

And yet 'this', so eloquently put, seems to be all I'm getting at the moment.

It's the story of my life.

I've never been the one to say what I'm really feeling, not at the right time. With Dawson I waited years to tell him I was in love with him, and when the time finally came around, maybe it wasn't as true as it should have been.

With Jack I was too scared, too petrified to voice my fears. Just out of curiosity, are you into guys? Just words. Just another reason to cry.

And then I told Dawson, again too late- told him that I wanted him, told him that I loved him, that I was wrong, that we could start again. And he turned me down.

And the lesson from today's debacle? It's time to start co-ordinating my feelings.

Sorry Dawson, I can't love you now, it's not good for my schedule.

Sorry Pacey, I can't love you because…

I stop. Something catches in my throat. I'm not sure I know the answer.

Bessie opened the door and frowned. "Oh, it's you."

Pacey grinned, cocking his head to the side. "Not exactly the Capeside teen you were expecting?"

"Not exactly. Right age, right hair-colour, right cocky attitude. But I think you're a little on the male side to be my sister."

"Well…last time I checked, yeah."

Bessie sighed, pulling the door a little further open. "You want to come inside?"

"Joey's not home?"

"No, but she should be soon. Or at least if she's not, I plan on hunting down the town until I find her sorry ass."

Pacey laughed gently, stepping through the door and following Bessie into the kitchen. "I have a feeling she may be contemplating her next art piece at this very moment."

"Huh?" Bessie gave him a curious look. "She's redoing her mural at school already?"

"No…not exactly." Pacey shook his head, letting the subject drop. "So how's Alex doing?"

"Alex is doing fine. He likes having his dad around the house."

"Well, you know…" Pacey grinned, puffing out his chest. "Every household needs a manly-man."

"Yeah, I can see why the Witter family has problems there," Bessie muttered, rolling her eyes and scooping Alex off the floor. "But since the idea of filling the role comes with so much ease, I'm sure holding this little guy for a few seconds won't phase you."

"Not…at…all." Pacey grinned, eyes fixed to the little boy's face as he swung him up so they were level with each other. "Hey, little man."

Bessie slowly put down the dishcloth she was holding, watching them both out of the corner of her eyes. Alex looked completely enraptured, his eyes glued to the older boy's face. Pacey was smirking at Alex, cooing gently. She bit back a grin.

"The way you're handling my darling offspring suggests you've had practise."

"Oh, yeah…" Pacey grinned wryly. "One too many sisters, I got paired with babysitting duty. Ain't that annoying little man? Yes…it is…"

"I hope you and Joey weren't planning on having a few of your own just yet, 'cause I think one young mother and the Potter clan should be warned for life."

Pacey choked, almost dropping Alex. His eyes widened as Bessie turned, starting to pull the boy from his arms. He shook his head, taking a step back. "It's okay, I got him," he muttered, eyes searching Bessie's face. "Bessie I really don't think…"

"Really don't think it's an issue?"

Pacey coughed lightly, his face turning red. He buried it for a moment in Alex's hair. When he lifted it again, Bessie was studying him carefully. "The act of having children involves some sort of…mutual consent, wouldn't you say?"

"Not always." Bessie grinned. "Sometimes children are the last thing on your mind."

Pacey could not believe he was here. Discussing sex. With Joey's sister. Talk about bad karma…

"Okay, I meant…"

"You meant the actual…having of the sex. I get you."

"No…" Pacey turned away slightly, rocking Alex who was probably far too old to be rocked. "I don't think you do. Bessie, Joey and I don't have some sort of sex-but-no-children agreement. In fact, we don't have any kind of sex agreement. Probably because we're not having sex…"

Bessie bit back a smile as she ran water over the dishes. "I didn't think so; I just saw it as a very distinctive possibility of the near future…"

Pacey shook his head, eyes incredulous. "Has she been telling you a few things she hasn't been telling me?"

"No."

"Damn." Pacey's face fell a little. Bessie caught the look and smiled.

"You think it's just you? Pacey, I think Joey has a problem working out what she's feeling full stop, let alone when she has to explain it to her overbearing older sister and the boy in question."

Pacey raised an eyebrow, hugging Alex a little tighter to his body. "I don't think I'm really the boy in question, Bessie. In fact, not that she'll appreciate me sharing this information, but if Joey were in the mood for a little extra curricular, she'd have a few other guys to choose from."

"And maybe she'd still choose you."

Pacey stopped moving, his eyes focussed on a single tile on the floor. He though he was getting dizzy for a moment. "You know what?" He turned around, moving towards her. "I should probably go."

"Babysitting getting old already?"

"Yeah." Pacey smiled wryly. "And little Alex here just warned me that I had better hand him back before you started discussing my sexual activities at length in front of his innocent ears."

Bessie laughed softly, shaking her head as she retrieved her son from Pacey's outstretched hands. "I thought you'd wait around for Joey?"

"No." Pacey smiled tightly. "She might be a while." He started for the door, stopping in his tracks as Bessie called out to him.

"You bought her something, didn't you?"

"What?"

He turned, and Bessie shook her head. "Just a feeling I got." She smiled. "Like the Bed and Breakfast wasn't enough."

"Oh, you know, I thought I could add a wall to her permanent collection."

"Pacey…"

"You know, just in case these four fall down, I thought she could have one in reserve." Pacey turned away quickly, something like anger in the back of his eyes.

"I hope she said thank you," Bessie muttered as he took hold of the handle.

"Yeah. In her own way."

"You want me to tell her something?"

He paused, staring at the metal ball he held in his hand. "Yeah. Tell her…" Pacey was silent for a moment. "Tell her that…that I'll extend that loan as long as it takes."

"Huh?" Bessie gave him a confused look. "Is there something cryptic I should be de-coding here?"

Pacey looked away. "Since…Sometimes it takes her time. Tell her it's hers as long as she wants it. I made the offer, I'm not one to take it back."

"Are we talking about the wall or something else now?"

"Call it a metaphor." Pacey smiled sadly, opening the door. He walked out into the cold open air. "Maybe she'll get it eventually."

She stood back from the wall, letting the expanse of white wash over her. She smiled, letting the large brush drop to floor and easing the cramp in her wrist.

Well, it was the end of the beginning. The end of the first step.

She smiled.

Joey turned around, half expecting to see him there, hiding in the faded light underneath the trees, or leaning against the street lamp across the road. Watching her. But the street was empty. She breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment.

Something told her he should have been there.

She turned back to the wall before she started to look too hard, and tried to curb the tightness inside her chest as she realised he probably wasn't coming.

Hell, in all likelihood she'd left it too late.

Joey bent down, picking a thin brush and a tube of red paint from her leather case. Standing again, she stared at a small brick on the left hand side of the wall, and smiled.

Red over white. It seemed fitting, she thought. Hard to paint over, hard to take back. And red like blood. She hoped he would find it; that he would be looking for something.

She kept her arm steady as she painted out the words with the thin tip of her brush, her eyes trained to the brick.

Stepping back, Joey traced underneath them with her finger. "Thank you for a beginning" it said, just a few words. Such simple words. She swallowed hard. One of these days, she'd be able to say other things. But it was start, and maybe for now that would be enough.

Smiling a little, she stood back, putting her brushes and paint away. She lifted the tin of white paint from the ground, dragging it behind her.

Walking quickly, she started towards home. The journey seemed somehow easier than before.

Pacey collapsed on the sofa, covering his face with his hands. Peeking out through his fingers, he saw Doug standing over him, hands on his hips.

"I love this, you using my couch like a personal home."

Pacey sighed, removing his hands and shifting along to one side of the coach, resting back against the cushions as Doug took a seat next to him. "Better?"

"Almost. So what were you doing out at this ungodly hour?"

"I was scouting the high-street for possible boyfriends for my gay brother." Pacey grinned. "But the only other guy with taste as lacking as yours was listening to Slipknot, and even I ran screaming from that window of opportunity."

"Thank you." Doug rolled his eyes. "I'm glad to see you've decided to take my romantic destiny into your own hands."

"You're welcome."

"Especially since yours is so blossoming…" He caught Pacey's surprised look and grinned. "Let's just say I paid Joey a visit on the way home."

"Oh." Pacey looked down at his hands, running fingers over the roughened skin.

"Yeah, 'Oh.'" He paused, searching his younger brother's face. "You're just dying to ask me what she's done, aren't you?"

"No…."

"Liar." Doug grinned, shaking his head. "She told me the Water Lilies weren't painted overnight. Am I meant to take something from that?"

"What?"

"Yeah, it's…"

"Monet. I know." Pacey smiled, thinking of a day a few months back. She'd been looking through this book, completely enraptured by a painting. He still remembered what it looked like. "So…" He brought his attention back to Doug. "Is that your kind way of saying she hasn't done a thing?"

Doug grinned, getting to his feet. "You should sleep, Pacey."

"You're right, I should."

Doug grinned, walking to the window to draw the blinds. He stopped short, peering forward. Pacey shot him a look.

"Just discovering the horror that normal people actually do go out at this ungodly hour?"

Doug's face broke into a grin. "You could say that." He turned, walking towards the front door as Pacey stared confusedly after him. "Make sure she gets home some time before sunrise, okay Pacey?"

"What?" he stood awkwardly to his feet.

Pacey heard Doug laugh softly before he walked through into the kitchen. Still standing, glued to the floor, Pacey listened to the sound of footsteps.

She peered her head round the corner and he laughed.

"Hello, Joey."

She didn't stay for long.

She stood awkwardly before me, and smiled. A warm smile, a thank you smile. I smiled right back, not really sure of what to say.

She spoke first. She told me thank you. She told me that she had started work on the first brick and just had another couple of thousand to go.

It made me laugh.

She told me thank you for the paint, and for the wall, and I think she meant thank you for something else as well, something she hadn't quite figured out yet. But I stayed silent.

I bit my tongue, held back, didn't tell her what she was missing. The part of what she hadn't quite seen yet.

Maybe it will come to her one day.

And until then, like I said to Bessie, it's hers as long as she wants it. Not just the wall, though that too, but my heart. On loan, to Joey Potter.

I'm not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Or somehow relearn the art of letting go.

The End