Hanging by threads of palest silver
I could have stayed that way forever
Bad blood and ghosts wrapped tight around me
Nothing could ever seem to touch me
I lose what I love most
Did you know I was lost until you found me?

Stroke of luck or gift from God?
The hand of fate or devil's claws?
From below or saints above?
You came to me
Here comes the cold again
I feel it closing in
It's falling down and all around me
Falling

"You know what's weird?" he said, reaching into the popcorn bag and pulling out a large handful. Flicking a kernel at her. She ducked, giggling, as he stuffed the entire handful into his mouth.

"Pig. No. What?"

"You and me," he said with his mouth full. Jen felt affronted.

"Charmed."

"You know what I mean," he said, grinning charmingly. "We could be Dawson and Joey. We're sitting on your bed, watching a movie, eating popcorn, laughing at the cheesy dialogue, blah blah blah. Apart from the whole I'm-in-love-with-my-best-friend-sexual-tension-thing."

Jen grinned. "Don't tempt fate." The sentence shot out before she could check it, and she gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as he glanced at her strangely. She sensed that she'd disturbed the fragile balance of... something. Of her friendship with Pacey. That was what it was, of course. She didn't want to bring any tension to what was currently her only secure relationship.

He wasn't looking at her any more; focusing his attention on the screen instead. "Yeah."

She reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Pacey, c'mon. I'm sorry. That was a little... inappropriate." That was the word that seemed to come closest, anyway. "Hey, don't pull away from me now. You're the best friend I have."

He looked her in the eyes again; Jen felt a surge of relief. "I'm sorry. It's just... I don't know what it was. That just made it a little awkward. I guess... Dammit, I can't explain it. I doubt Mr. The-Answer's-In-A-Spielberg-Movie could either. But it's minor, okay?"

"Yeah." She dropped her hand from his shoulder. "And like you said, here we are..."

"Here we are," he agreed, "not fifty feet from Dawson sulking on his bed over his fiftieth rerun of 'E.T.' and making snide comments about 'My Best Friend's Wedding'. On a Friday night, we're sitting on your bed watching a movie, eating popcorn, and bantering. Just like he'd be doing with Joey."

"If she were here..." said Jen reluctantly. "Has he moved much at all since she left?"

"Nope. Once he gets home from school, he sits on his bed and watches a movie and re-enacts the fateful kiss scene to whoever's listening, which has been me for the last ten days. You know, I don't want to hurt him, and I really do feel sorry for him, but there is only so much reliving of approximately fifteen minutes that one person can take. Tonight I finally told him you and I had plans. I had a feeling he was going to ask to come along, but he didn't."

Thankfully was the unspoken that rang in the air. Jen hadn't talked to him since the scene in her bedroom. She couldn't stop seeing him, one hand over the mark on his face, eyes full of shock tinged with fear. He'd been afraid of her. Physically afraid. That hurt.

He noticed her downshift, and commented, "He hasn't talked about you." They looked at each other. "I don't know if that's what you want to hear or not. The only thing I heard that could possibly be related to you is that he kept muttering he'd wait for her until she came back. For the rest of his life if he had to. Talk about your melodrama."

"Will he?" she probed cautiously, as though at a hurting tooth. "Will he wait?"

He frowned. "I think he believes he will. He's mapped out the 'rejected true love who stays faithful forever' role already. He probably kisses her picture before he goes to sleep at night. But I don't think he will. Love's too selfish for that. People don't purposely torture themselves for years pining over someone they can't have, or someone who isn't pining over them. They move on, and they find someone new to love, because what people want is happiness, not heartbreak. There has never been an unselfish love, a love that was pure enough to transcend all obstacles. I don't think there's ever been a love that people couldn't get beyond if they wanted to. It may sound cynical and hard-edged, but I believe that yes, love is selfish. Not even Dawson would wait his whole life."

She smiled, ever so faintly. "When did you become the wise Indian shaman?"

He smiled back, ever so faintly. "When Dawson became the Handbook of Love Clichés."

"Wiseass."

"I aim to please."

"And you do," she said, finally smiling broadly. They turned back to the movie again, but Jen's thoughts weren't on the screen. Jen's thoughts were somewhere far from the room, from the bed where she sat less than a foot from her only true friend at present. Sometimes her eyes were open, looking at a point two feet beyond the TV set, but more often they were closed, looking only into the eye of her mind.

"It doesn't work," she said suddenly, opening them again.

He turned to her in confusion. "Come again?"

She sighed. "This is masochistic, and it's unhealthy, and it's definitely not something I should be telling you, but..."

"But..." he prompted, as the silence stretched out.

"I picture Dawson in my mind's eye, at the moment he told me he wouldn't take me back."

"You're right. It's masochistic and unhealthy."

She swatted him. "I'm trying to be serious!"

"Okay," he said, sobering and focusing on her. "Go on."

"I picture him just at that moment, and I look at his face when he says it, and it hurts." Tentatively, she put one hand on her breastbone. "There's a physical pain, a little sharp one, right here. I think of him, loving Joey, and it actually hurts me. I used to do it all the time... practically every five minutes. Today, I closed my eyes, and I thought of his face, and it didn't hurt me."

"That's good, right?" he said cautiously.

"Yes. No. I don't know." She sighed again, heartfelt. "It should be good, but I miss it. It is masochistic. Hurting over him lets me know I'm alive, and that... I'm capable of loving another human being. Do you know how much that idea scares me? Of being so empty a person that I'm incapable of loving? I hit rock bottom in New York, and that's how I felt. Like I could never love anyone."

"But it is good," he said firmly, and she was surprised at his vehemence.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I guess you were right. I want to get over him. I need to get over him. And I'm selfish enough to do it."

"It's not just selfish, Jen," he said, putting his hand over hers on the bed. "It frees him too. Think about that."

"I want to," she said, pulling her hand away almost convulsively and turning to the wall. "But I am afraid of never loving again. Of never again looking at somebody and breathing faster for no reason at all, of never waking up in the morning being happy just to be alive, of never being able to read somebody's thoughts even though I haven't even known them for all that long, of being able to stay up all night to talk or just be together, because we don't need to fill the silence with useless words. I don't want to torture myself with it for the rest of eternity, but I don't want to let it go. How's that for your messed up emotions?"

She could hear his breathing behind her. "You don't need to worry, Jen," he said finally. "I promise you."

She turned back towards him and smiled, a little fakely. "You're right. Thanks for your advice."

"Anytime," he said, smiling widely.

She reached across him for the popcorn, which he snatched away and held above his head, eyes dancing and dispelling the tension. She flailed upwards, but he laughed, easily keeping it away from her.

She narrowed her eyes. "Give it back."

He gave her his trademark grin. "Make me."

"This is so childish."

"Sorry to disappoint the Big Apple sophisticate, Miss Lindley."

"You will die for that some day."

"Oh yeah?" he said arrogantly. Jen felt a spark of mischief alight.

"And I just might make it today." She jumped on him.

They scuffled, tangling arms and yelping, until she finally locked one hand on the popcorn packet and yanked it from his hand. They collapsed back onto the bed, helpless with giggles.

"See?" he said breathlessly. "Just like Dawson and Joey."

Jen tried to roll her eyes, but they hurt. "Sure. Whatever you say." "You're learning," he said, and winked.

You say that you'll be there to catch me
Or will you only try to trap me
These are the rules I make
Our chains were meant to break
You'll never change me
Here comes the cold again
I feel it closing in
You're falling down and all around me
Falling

The Jaws shark created a fairly satisfying thump when it hit his bedroom door, but Dawson wasn't satisfied. He picked up the E.T. doll and briefly hefted it, weighing it, pondering its possibilities as a missile. Then he sighed, and put it back on his bed. Some things were too sacred to profane.

He stared moodily at the TV; Elliot's nerdy hero appeal had gotten lost this evening. He frankly didn't care whether or not E.T. was going to wake up ever again. He wished the damn dog would get off the screen. He wanted Gerta to shut up.

In short, he was miserable.

Jaws had fallen to one side of his bedroom door, with one seam split. The smooth white plastic beads spilled out in a tiny fan around the woebegone animal. And there was an empty hole on the other side of the bed, and a spare undrunk Pepsi sitting beside it. Damn force of habit. He kept jerking his head up, imagining he heard the familiar rattle of the ladder against the wall. Now that he'd moved it back from Jen's window, of course.

Truly, he didn't know what had possessed him to do something so stupid and humiliating... and hurtful to Jen. He truly didn't blame her. She'd been right. Totally, completely, and absolutely right. And he just couldn't face her because of it.

Besides, she and Pacey had been tight for the last few weeks. Whenever he had seen her, it'd been at school with him. He didn't mind, really. In a way, he preferred being alone in his misery. But in another way, he just had to talk it out, and Pacey wasn't particularly good at hiding boredom. Having Pacey here would have been better than nothing, but he'd made a quick excuse about "having plans" and taken off like a shot.

And there was her giggle, light and fun, and Pacey's deeper laugh. Muffled voices, then silence. He was glad they were having fun.

Another movie night without his Joey. When he planned to kiss her, he had pictured the aftermath perfectly. She'd be so happy, and they'd be so perfect and smooth together, understanding and loving and sharing everything. They'd cuddle up on movie nights, and kiss, and hold hands walking to school. They'd laugh intimately when "their" song came on, and share speaking glances during movies.

He never thought she'd accuse him of manipulation, run away from him, and take a plane to Paris three days later. This wasn't in the script. But if this was the rewrite, he'd pick up on his cues, and he'd wait.

Finally, the movie ended, and she flicked it off, but he was still staring at the blank screen. She followed his gaze, puzzled, but he was looking far into the distance, and uncharacteristically serious. Lost in thought, she figured, but he didn't move for several seconds. Jen got restless.

"Pacey?" she prodded gently.

He almost shook himself. "Huh?"

"The movie's over."

"I know. I - "

"What were you thinking about?"

"What? Nothing."

"C'mon. I haven't seen you that serious ever. You were starting to worry me."

"No," he said weakly. "It's really..."

About you, she finished mentally. "You can tell me," she said cautiously.

He sighed, and shifted. "Well - you. In New York. About how you said you felt like you could never love anyone."

I was right, she thought, with a kind of bitter justification. "Oh. That," she said uncomfortably, shifting.

"Were you serious?" he asked directly, eyes focused on her.

She sighed. "Yes. I was. It's - Nobody knows what my life was like. Dawson knows that I was a bad girl. He classifies it as my 'slut' period, slotting in neatly between innocence and now with no blurred edges. Plain and simple. I did bad stuff because I felt like it. I saw that it was bad and quit it. No irrational feelings, just logical thought."

"But life doesn't work like that," he said firmly, and Jen felt a rush of understanding.

"Yes! Yes. You and I understand that the world isn't that simple, because we've been there. But Dawson, for all his good qualities, hasn't. He doesn't understand what it means to be messed up inside your own head, to not know what it means to not be able to take control of your life because you haven't got control of yourself."

"You wanted to stop, but there didn't seem to be a way to. You knew you needed to change, but to change is the hardest thing a person can do. It was easier just not to," he said simply, and Jen smiled wryly.

"You're good at this, you know that?"

"Tell me, Jennifer Lindley. What was it like?"

"It was like - " she sighed - "a black hole. You go too close, and the pull is just too strong. Not even light can escape it. The people that I hung out with, and partied with, weren't my friends, but they were all I had. To have them, I had to be like them. To be like them, I had to go to every party and booze-up, and let every guy that wanted me have me, because that was the way we lived. We were young, fun, wild New Yorkers with conservative parents that would raise hell if they knew what we were up to six nights out of seven. Everything was bull. Nothing really mattered, because if we got in too deep our parents had enough cash to bail us out. And it's true - everybody believes they are immortal. Booze and sex and even drugs couldn't kill us. And once you've lost respect for yourself, every guy and drink and party is the same as the last. If you go a little further, what does it matter? You can brag."

He was silent.

"At first, some of the things I saw - I was horrified. Everybody else acted like it was no big deal. Besides, we were drunk a lot, and some were stoned. Everything was blurred. You get deadened. You're sickened at yourself, but there's so much weighing you down that breaking free doesn't seem possible. If you did, you would be alone. And you would drop back in, and play along again. Until I got caught. With Billy, right on my parents' bed. And I came here."

"You're better now," he said quietly.

"This place helped me," she admitted. "Grams did care. I could see it, even when we tried hard not to let it show. Dawson helped, except when he turned his back on me when I told him the truth. Joey, I never got close to her - but you helped too. You still are."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Do you know that I've never had real friends before? Up until I was twelve, I had superficial friends, girls I would sit with at lunch and talk in the hallway. After I got into the... big city scene, there were just all the others like me. Lost, blank, hardened. We weren't friends, we were chains on each other. Dawson - Dawson was my friend, my first true friend as well as my boyfriend. But now he can't even look at me. Joey - I never had Joey. But now I have you, and that scares me too. I mean, you and I - we've been acquaintances, superficial friends for a while. Then in one night everything changes, and we got real close real fast. I worry that it's not going to last, that I'm going to lose the guy that's helped me the most already because we tried to go there too fast. Do you know what I mean? We'll try to press in too close and bounce off each other. And I'll be left without anybody but my Grams again. Do you know how much I'm frightened of - of losing something I've only just truly discovered?"

"You won't," he said intensely. "I wouldn't push you away now that I know how much you need somebody. Once you know what a friend is, Jen, you can find them anywhere. It only gets easier from now on in."

She smiled sadly. "I hope you're right."

There was silence for a few seconds before he spoke again. "Jen?"

She glanced his way. "What?"

He cleared his throat. "I can't promise you that you'll be able to love someone again, but... you don't have to worry about being loved."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

He held her eyes. "You're welcome."

They reached out, and held one another in a tentative hug.

Stroke of luck or gift from God?
Hand of fate or devil's claws?
From below or saints above?
You come to me now
Don't ask me why
Don't even try
Stroke of luck or gift from God?
Hand of fate or devil's claws?
From below or saints above?
You came to me now
Here comes the cold again
I feel it closing in
It's falling down all around me
Falling
Falling...
Falling...