. Author’s Note: I always wanted a soap opera style fic, where the relationships change constantly. Anyway it’s sort of based on some life experiences from when I was in high school and had my own Dawson, Pacey, Jack and Jen, in fact some of the PJ banter comes from some banter I shared with a friend of mine. It takes place in multiple points of views so between every break I’ll label the narrator. Summary: The beginning of junior year, this picks up after season 2. Some plots and season 3 story lines from the actual show will be used but only briefly and altered. Example: Andie still cheated on Pacey and Dawson is still being seduced by Eve.. Warning: Contains sexual content. Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15

Pacey 

Joey and I walk through a department store “taking advantage” of the latest sale. 

“Pace, would you still talk to me if I wore this?” She asks holding up one of the ugliest sweaters I’ve ever seen. 

“Only on Tuesdays,” I wink filing through the rack. “How about this?” I ask holding up a mini skirt. 

She rolls her eyes, “Sorry Pace, you just don’t have the legs for it.” 

I smirk, “Really? Because I thought my ass would look great in this.” 

She smiles pulling the skirt from my hand, “Well that goes without saying,” she says, we kiss, it’s nice. 

We continue walking through the store, “Pacey, as you know the holidays are upon us.” 

“We’re not going to start exchanging gifts on Thanksgiving are we?” 

“No,” she says grabbing my hand, “I was just wondering what your plans were for it.” 

“Well, what are your plans for it?” I counter. 

“Grams invited Bessie, Alexander, and I over for a lunch,” she shrugs. 

“Then I’ll be there too.” 

“That still leaves an entire evening of Turkey day,” she begins to make her point, I sense evil is upon us. 

“What are you getting at?” 

“I’m sure the House of Witter’s will have place set for you,” she’s giving me the Bambi eyes, God damn those Bambi eyes. 

“I eat dinner with them everyday, but only in small portions, Mom and Dad are enough, trust me.”

“Well I was considering going over there after lunch,” she explains latching onto my other hand. 

“Why would you go?” I urge giving her the ‘I know what you’re getting at but am not going to play your game’ eyes. 

“Because I was going to bring you with me.” 

“Jo.” 

“Pace,” she counters in the same tone, damn she’s good. 

“Will the words, ‘I don’t want to’ be sufficient for you?” 

“They’re your family Pacey, and that’s what Thanksgiving is about, being with your family,” I purse my lips. 

“See that’s where you’re wrong,” I counter, “I have it on good authority from years of research between grades 1-4 that Thanksgiving is about sharing with the Indians… that and the mass massacre of the turkeys…” I trail off under my breath, “bastard birds.” 

“I’ll make it up to you,” she’s got me now. 

I sigh heavily, “Fine, we’ll go, but I’m going to warn you,” she furrows her brows, “It ain’t going to be pretty.” 

She rolls her eyes kissing me again, nothing like a traditional family dinner to ruin a relationship. 

~*~ 

Jack 

…Thirty four, thirty five, thirty six… 

I plop each marshmallow uniformly throughout the slush of yam like goo, my artistic gene crying out as I create the perfect dish. 

“Jackie darling,” Jen says snatching the bag of marshmallows from my grasp. “They’re yams, gross, discolored, gooey, mushy yams and you’re scaring me,” she finishes dumping the rest of the marshmallows all over my master piece. 

“Hey Miss Snippy Pants,” I snap fetching the now empty bag back, “We’re hosting dinner for the entire Capeside crop and Grams has got a reputation to uphold." 

Jen pinches my cheek, “You’re so adorable when you act stereotypical.” 

I pick off one of the fluffy marshmallows and throw it at her. She ducks away. Bitch. 

“When’s everybody coming anyway?” I ask popping a few of the excess marshmallows in my mouth. 

“The Leery’s are coming at 2,” she says checking her watch. 

“Wait,” I freeze, “Dawson’s coming?” 

She furrows her brows, “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” 

“Joey and Bess are coming at 1:30,” I sigh, “and Andie’s going to be here any minute.” 

“Wait, not good,” Jen’s eyes widen wider then when we saw Silence of the Lambs. “Pacey’s coming with Joey.” 

I drop my head so it rests in my hand, “This middle man thing is hard.” 

Jen narrows her eyes, “I quit, I say we skip dinner and catch the 5:40 to Vegas.” 

“I hear the weather is lovely this time of year,” I comment rocking out of my chair now towering over her. 

“Hey Jack,” my darling little sister says all too perkily as she pokes her head through the kitchen entrance. Boy is she in for a surprise. “Jen,” she addresses, “I know Misses Ryan told me not to bring anything but I couldn’t help myself,” she explains presenting a lovely batch of yams. Each marshmallow organized in a beautiful pattern uniformly in various swirls, Jen’s a bitch. 

“You know what they say,” Jen grins swiping the plate, “you can never have too many yams!” But you can have too many marshmallows sprinkled across it, I finish shooting a venomous glare her way. 

“Yes mom, I’m sure they…” Dawson trails off offering us a wry smile, “nothing better to be thankful for then arguing parents amidst a divorce trying to swing down reconciliation road all in one swift motion.” He holds up another dish, “I brought pie to commemorate the event.” 

“Please be pumpkin pie,” I beg crossing my fingers. 

“Ta da,” Dawson exclaims pulling off the cover. 

I smile content, the pie is mine. 

“So where are we setting up camp?” Dawson asks gesturing towards the pie again. 

“Backyard,” Jen explains, “because nothing screams warm cozy Thanksgiving dinner then a cool November afternoon, on Cape Cod,” she finishes dryly. 

“Good thing I opted for the sweater,” he smirks tugging at the collar. 

“It’s very comely,” Andie teases pulling on a loose thread. 

It’s not very comely, in fact when his mother purchased it she must have been pissed, or drunk, or both…definitely both. 

“Just to warn you,” Jen explains her blonde curls bouncing as she climbs off the chair she was leaning on, “Grams is expecting deep and thoughtful declarations of thanks, that means sports cars and Frosted Flakes are out of the picture,” she finishes directing an accusing finger in my direction. 

I bite the air around her finger with a growl before scooping some more soggy marshmallows off of the concoction. 

“And,” she continues, “I want a little bit of originality, if you’re thankful for friends and family, elaborate, mention how wonderful they are at giving you advice, and taking care of you when you’re down, and how cute her new skirt looks on her,” she says running a hand down her leg and doing a few model spins. 

“Alright then,” I nod, “Andie I’m thankful that you have good fashion sense.” 

Andie grins, Jen slaps the back of my head… ouch. 

“I’m just thankful to be spending the holidays with you and not…” Dawson trails off. 

“From the can? That’s all you could get was from the can? Why didn’t you pick up a batch of condensed clam chowder while you’re at it?” 

“Nobody eats this stuff anyway, it’s merely made for decoration, that’s why they make sure when you scoop it out it always keeps the ring pattern.” 

“What else did you bring?” Joey’s face finally matches her voice as she continues to scramble through a paper bag, Pacey closely behind. She stops in mid motion, “Pace, please don’t tell me that the butter is sculpted like a turkey.” 

He snatches the bag from her, “Okay.” 

Dawson turns to stone, Andie huddles into a bubble, let the awkwardness begin. 

~*~ 

Jen 

Jack and I smile nervously at one another, “Lindley you’re looking beautiful,” Pacey says grabbing onto my hand and spinning me around a few times. 

“We come bearing turkey butter and cranberry sauce from the can,” Joey explains snatching the bag from him again. 

Jack takes the box of butter from her looking through the transparent package, “How do they do it?” 

“You know what? I’m going to take this outside,” Dawson breaks in uncomfortably. 

“Great idea, we don’t want to leave all those hunger adults out there foodless,” Andie breaks in with forced perk. 

Pacey and Joey’s eyes follow them as they go, “I could leave,” Pacey suggests when the door latches shut. 

“No!” I direct sternly shoving a bowl of pretzels in his hands, “You go do guy stuff, watch football or something.” 

He opens his mouth to protest, I cover it with my hand, “Football, now.” 

Jack quickly volunteers to follow him heading towards the living room with an extra bag of chips. 

“That didn’t turn out very well,” Joey sighs running a hand through her hair. 

“Well how’d you think it’d turn out?” I ask dumbly resting my hands on my hips. 

She sinks into a chair and pouts, “I really hate what I did to Dawson and the fact that I’ve ruined our friendship, but…” she trails off wringing her hands together, “I don’t think I could stay away from Pacey, no matter how hard I tried.” 

“You Josephine,” I begin sliding into a seat next to her, “are falling hard.” 

She blushes hiding her face in her hands, “Is it that obvious?” 

“You minus well be wearing a neon sign,” I taunt. 

“Funny, because if you had uttered that statement one year prior I would have slapped you silly.” 

I smirk, “I don’t think it would take that statement to receive a slap from you.” 

She rolls her eyes in spite of herself, “Funny,” she says picking up to cups and filling them with soda. “Now, we should probably go into the living room before the testosterone consumes it.” 

I laugh and begin to growl, “One yard, two yard, let’s go, go, go.” 

“Quiet Jen!” Jack protests from the other room as I take a seat next to him on the couch. 

“Miss me?” Joey asks settling on the arm of the big comfy chair that Pacey has claimed as his own. 

“It’s been like twenty seconds,” he says trying to reach for one of the offered cups of soda. 

She holds it out of his grasp, “Miss me?” She repeats. 

He rolls his eyes, “Terribly,” content she hands him the cup and he kisses her hand in return. 

I direct my eyes back towards the television, heavily padded men chase each other back and forth across a field jumping on one another and tossing around some sort of ball…I’m riveted. 

"You know,” I say, “most of these sports are based on the idea of one group protecting its territory from invasion by another group." 

"Yeah," Pacey nods dumbly. Jack snickers, “Girls are funny.” 

I smack him… hard. 

“I don’t get it,” Joey says resting her arm on Pacey’s shoulder as she balances on that chair’s arm. “How’d they get six?” 

“They scored a touchdown,” Jack explains. 

“I thought that was seven,” Joey furrows her brows. 

“No it’s six and then you can score a bonus point,” Pacey says. 

“What’s the point they always get it,” she refutes. “Why’s they get three?” She asks focusing her attention back to the TV. 

“Because it wasn’t a follow up to a touch down,” he answers. 

“This is stupid, why come up with so many different point rules when guys watching the games are too drunk to follow it anyway?” I ask. 

“Why don’t they only make it one point? Like in soccer,” Joey offers, “soccer is very easy to follow.” 

“What about off sides Jo, what’s a full back? Care to give me some of the means for penalties?” Pacey asks. 

She stares at him darkly. 

“How bout the next time we watch a hockey game I’ll explain the rules to you… right now,” he gestures towards the TV with his cup, “the game.” 

“Hockey?” She asks, “The first one to throw a punch wins right?” 

He grins looking up at her, “This may be easier then I thought.” She smoothes down his hair with her hand and placing a kiss on his nose… I want a boyfriend! 

~*~ 

Andie 

Dawson’s eyes stay trained on the house, “She’s not coming out, you know,” I say breaking him out of his trance. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, slightly off guard. 

“Joey, she’s not coming out to wrap her arms around you and apologize for thinking she could be with anybody else,” I explain setting a plate. 

“I didn’t think that,” he refutes his eyes still glancing at the house periodically. 

“Why don’t you just go in there?” I ask nudging past him to set another dish. 

“Because he’ll be in there, and he’ll be with her, and then my breakfast will be on the floor,” he explains dramatically. 

“I seem to remember a time when he was your friend.” 

“That was a long time ago,” he refutes, “he ruined that the second he went after Joey.” 

“Maybe instead of being so bitter, you can be the bigger man, Dawson.” 

He furrows his brows, “How do you do that?” 

“Get over it,” I exclaim, “It's not about getting it right, Dawson. It's about knowing something's wrong and doing something about it." 

“What do you mean by that?” 

“The reason why I’m not so bitter, sure it hurts that the person you loved could move onto somebody else so quickly, but Pacey and I got our second chance and it didn’t feel right, so if he’s happy, I’m happy too.” 

He looks at the ground twitching his lips, “I’ll work on it.” 

I smile, “Good.” 

~*~ 

Dawson 

“Alright kiddies, time to eat,” Jen exclaims charging into the yard, the rest of the ‘gang’ file out behind her. 

Joey takes a seat next to Bessie, Jack on the other side of her and Andie next to him. Grams heads the table and Jen takes a seat across of Andie and next to Pacey. 

You can be the bigger man, Dawson, “Is anybody sitting here?” 

Pacey glances up at me surprised his mouth twitching into a shocked smile, “Yeah, man sure,” he says scooting his chair over. 

I take my seat glancing at Joey over the table, she smiles warmly at me at I just shrug my shoulders, perhaps this moving on thing won’t be so hard after all. 

~*~ 

Joey 

“Last chance to bail,” Pacey begs as I tug roughly onto his hand. 

“Two hours,” I offer, “I promise. 

“Joooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeey,” he extends my name far longer then its designated two syllables. 

“You can make it, I have faith in you,” I say dragging him up the steps. 

Before he can protest I have the door swung open and we peer into find his entire family huddled around the television set. 

Jon checks his watch, “Home so soon, you only left a couple of hours ago.” 

Pacey rolls his eyes, “I figured I’d stop by on the holiday’s seeing as technically I still live here.” 

I smile sweetly at him but he just narrows his eyes at me, “Pacey, Pacey, Pacey,” one of his sugarized nephews exclaims bouncing up to him, “Uncle Pacey!” 

“Mark,” he says tightly, “How ya doing buddy?” 

“We’re watching the TV,” he explains still bouncing. 

He nods, “Well Joey and I were just going to go…” 

“Watch the game,” I cut off taking his hand again and dragging him towards his family. 

Pacey scratches his head taking a seat next to Gretchen who sits lazily swinging her foot. “Joey,” Doug says offering me a hug, “the baby brother’s already dragging you to family events?” 

I shrug nervously, “Guess I’m serious.” 

Pacey looks at me dully and I offer him a wink before settling by his feet. “So when are you going to make an honest man out of my Grandson?” His grandfather suddenly asks me off guard. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Somebody needs to carry on the Witter name and Douglas over here is sure taking his time.” 

“We’re sixteen, Grandpa,” Pacey cuts in slightly amused. 

“Well in the olden days they were popping them out at fourteen,” I cut in, “besides senior year of high school isn’t that important anyway.” 

He chuckles running a hand through my hair, “I always wanted a trailer, six kids, and a wife in curlers and a nightie.” 

“You’re Potter’s girl,” Jon finally cuts in. 

“That’s me,” I shrug, “I’ve been friends with your son for years, we’ve all gone camping a few times,” I say trying to surge through his memories. 

“Ah yes, you and that Leery boy,” I turn to stone, Pacey’s fingers stop their weaving through my hair. 

“Yeah we’re good friends.” 

He chuckles, “What Pace, only going after your friend’s leftovers now?” 

Pacey’s hand clenches into a fist, ow, pulling some of my hair with it. “It wasn’t like that pop,” he says casually. 

“Well at least you know this one is stable,” he says in a joking tone that comes off harsher then I want to believe he intended. 

I climb to my feet, “Pace, wasn’t there something you wanted to show me?” 

His eyes stay trained coldly on his father, I look at Gretchen next to him and she nudges his shoulder. 

“Yeah, sure,” he sighs following me. 

“I’m sorry,” I offer as we climb down the stairs to the basement. 

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he dismisses, “I just need some time to breathe that’s all.” 

I feel awful for all the years that I’ve known him and the fact that I always ignored his own insecurities with his family, because really, all he’s ever wanted is to be loved by his father, the way that his father loves Doug. Things that Mister Witter may say doesn’t always seem overly harsh to the normal recipient but somebody as fragile as Pacey can’t handle that sort of abuse, especially since people playfully insult him all the time. I sometimes feel that I’m one of the reasons, because it seems alright to tease people but at the end of the day when he needed support his family continued to tease him. If I could go back I’d probably be more supportive, help him when he was doing poorly at school instead of wishing him good tidings in the oil transfer business. 

“You know,” I say settling onto the couch, “you are an amazing person, Pacey Witter.” 

He smirks, “Fuelling my ego isn’t going to help Potter.” 

I pull him down beside me, “I just don’t say it enough,” I shrug. “The way you helped Andie when she needed you, the way you handle Alexander when I’m too tired to move, how supportive you always are of Jack…” 

“I know what you’re doing Joey,” he silences me. 

“I’m just saying it Pace, because you deserve to hear it,” I explain shifting on the seat so I’m facing him. “You’re not a loser, Pacey.” 

“Funny I’ve never heard you say that before.” 

“I admit it,” I throw my hands up in defeat; “I held a grudge.” 

He furrows his brows, “and why is that?” 

“Let’s see,” I drape my arm over his shoulder, “You said I looked weird, you told me I threw like a girl, you pushed me off the swings, you made fun of me endlessly.” 

“You always tease to one you love,” he offers. 

I roll my eyes, our faces slowly drifting closer, “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” 

“Hey,” he defends, his fingers tangling back in my hair, “at least I never pulled on your pig tails,” he finishes tugging on a few strands. 

“I never wore pig tails,” I reply stubbornly. 

“I beg to differ,” he says before capturing my lips with his. 

It starts out slowly, slick strokes of the tongue, his lips massaging mine sweetly before he dips me down pinning me against the old couch in the basement. A couch that has seen its fair share of spin the bottle games, peeks at Playboys, stolen puffs off a cigarette. Five children have grown up in this house all with their own stolen kisses in the basement and suddenly I’m a part of their history, carrying on a tradition and becoming a part of another family. 

He growls deeply in his throat and I giggle running my hands along his neck. He smothers my laughs with loud smooches that only fuel further fits of laughter. “C’mon sugar,” he says with a hill Billie drawl, “we’s gotta make some babies for Grandpappy.” 

I silence him with a long lingering kiss, his hands traveling down my sides and bunching up the sides of my shirt revealing more and more skin… slick bastard. But I’m good at this game, I arch my back crushing our chests together eliciting a straggled groan. 

“Ahem,” we jump apart. “Mom says that dinner’s ready,” Gretchen explains gesturing down the hall. 

“Right, dinner,” Pacey nods hopping to his feet, “Joey shall we?” He offers a hand still licking his swollen lips. 

“Yeah sure, let’s go,” I nod tightly following him. 

~*~ 

Pacey 

I sort of waddle up the stairs, and trust me it’s rather embarrassing trying to hide your attraction towards your girlfriend at dinner, especially when that attraction comes in the form of the world’s most painful bonner. 

I lead her to the kid’s table, introducing her to it as that, Gretchen takes a seat at the head, practically adults and we’re still dining with our nieces and nephews. 

We let Mark serve his own plate as he scoops mass quantities of some sort of marshmallow apple sauce and gross looking green bean casserole on his plate without realizing what it is. After slopping on a drum stick and a good helping of broccoli I lean over the table. “Hey Mark,” I say, “I triple dog dare you to stick a handful of that in your mouth,” I say motioning towards the plate. 

Since the boy idolizes me he willingly obliges sticking a large slosh of the concoction into his mouth, I’m evil, I know. 

Joey shakes her head, “Don’t encourage him!” 

“Oh don’t worry,” Gretchen dismisses, “he does this every year. You know Pace, some day you’re actually going to have to pay him to do that.” 

I disagree, “As long as we have the show Jackass, anything is possible.” 

And no matter how boring this dinner may be, no matter how bad dessert will taste because my mother read the recipe off the back of the Betty Crocker brownie box wrong, and no matter how much I hate my father, there’s always that couch down in the basement where Joey owes me another kiss.