Slow, Quick, Quick

There are moments when there's simply a flickering thought that slips through your mind, in one ear and out the other. It usually lacks convenience has little to no rationality and is only a glimmer of your subconscious fantasies. And as Joey Potter stepped a quiet foot on the creaking salt wood of the dimly lit marina, she realized that it was quickly becoming one of those moments.

She had left the B&B no less then twenty minutes ago, dissatisfied by her sister's impuissant interpretation of sagely advice and no longer interested in the low hum of the television and its even less informative displays of human nature. She had spent the first fifteen minutes shuffling her feet against the sidewalk as she wandered through town. Fingers tucked stiffly in rough jean pockets, nose slightly frosted by the chilling spring air, that pesky idea tingling her thoughts again as she realized she'd been magnetically drawn in that direction, the scent of sea water wafting in the air.

She hadn't concluded her exact reasons for venturing off towards his region, they were clouded behind her genuine desire to see him again, the brief and minimal contact they shared over the past few weeks creating a persistent ache in her chest that she had yet to identify. The closer she got however, the more her reasoning became blurred, and yet her feet persisted onwards against her own conscious will.

He wouldn't want to see her, wouldn't want to digest the information that she would undoubtedly blurt out in some ill-conceived attempt at small talk. He'd probably smile tightly, a sadness dulling his rich blue eyes before he pressed his lips together and muttered something along the lines of "you don't say, I really can't say that I'm surprised." It would sting at first, but she'd proceed anyway, discussing their ninth grade pact, how at the time they never thought they'd be where they were, certain they'd still be the same innocent hyper verbal teens with no sense of reality. He'd continue to nod paying loose attention, trying to subdue the pain she unintentionally continued to fuel.

She'd never asked him to love her, never asked to hold his heart in her hands. He'd simply given it to her and she hadn't a clue how to handle it with proper care. It was far too heavy and fragile; scars dipping deeply below the surface that were impossible to mend and cuts quickly forming from where she refused to let him in.

Sighing heavily her breath clouded faintly before her in the moist air before fading beyond the stars, the dock shaky beneath her, but perhaps it was merely her flimsy feet as they attempted each step closer to the slip where the True Love bobbled gently over the undulating waves.

The air was silent however, and the only sign of his presence was the rustle of the cabin. She pressed her lips together in anticipation, knowing he'd appear through the cramped entrance soon to discard of some extraneous debris that she knew littered the interior. In fact she knew it all too well. Early spring afternoons tucked inside with a suffocating canister of white paint drawing intricate images that blended together in the uniform color. And as of recently, nestled in his arms both of them swallowed in the loose net hammock as he whispered huskily insignificant lists of things he needed to do for the boat before pressing warm kisses against her neck.

He climbed out onto the deck with a grunt, a crate hoisted in his arms as he set it down heavily, causing the boat to swash at the sudden thrust of weight. It took him a moment to register her presence. A swipe over his sweaty brow as he let out a tired breath before turning his attention to her nervous form.

"Hey," was the only word that would roll off her tongue, suddenly her eloquent vocabulary clogged somewhere in the back of her throat.

A hopeful glint peered through the shadow of a smile that tugged on his lips, "Hey," was his simple reply.

She stood stationary, hands still tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket, words she knew she should say still not forming.

"Is there something you want?" He asked finally, the depth of his words only scraping the surface of their current disposition.

"Uhm," her mouth opened and closed a few times, stretching her capacity to speak, still floored with her sudden inability to do so. "The B&B," was the first thing she could mutter. "Seems the absence of Handyman Witter is beginning to take its toll on the sister's Potter," she explained. "Bessie refuses to admit that she needs your help, that she needs you, so I was sent as a messenger."

He stepped off the boat, catching his balance on the solid ground, still weary of her proximity, "What does she need me for?"

"Uhm," she dropped her gaze to the dock, "the boiler shut down again, the house has been freezing at night," she laughed nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

He swallowed thickly, "I'll try to stop by and look at it."

"Okay, thanks," she said quickly, noting that she'd have to sabotage the boiler in some easily reversible way as soon as she got home.

"Alright then," he said, leading to the inevitable end of their conversation. He stepped back aboard True Love swiping his hand through his hair as he rummaged through the crate he had brought up earlier.

"I can't believe school's almost over," she said, and he looked up strangely, surprised that she hadn't left yet.

"Yeah," he replied his drawing it out in a soft murmur.

"I mean finals start in less then two weeks and prom is only a week away," she continued, cringing as the mention of prom slipped past her lips.

"Yeah I've been studying history with Andie all week," he said causing another tighten in her chest.

"Oh," muttered through a sigh, "I, uh, I didn't know you two were talking again."

"I guess I just took your lead," he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"You keep on saying that," he noted, "yet it only seems to get worse."

"Then you're really not going to like what I say next," she said nervously.

He looked at her beneath the hood of his eye, his jaw setting in anticipation.

"I'm going to prom with Dawson."

And like a cannon through his stomach it had hit him. The faint glimmer of hope that he still had a chance at winning her heart now fading into the summer, fading past the hours, the days till he would be sailing off into the open sea. He hadn't decided yet if he would take the voyage to the Keys, but the more she flocked to his arms, neglecting the hearts she stomped on along the way, the more appealing the idea became.

"Really."

"Yeah," she smiled weakly, "we had this pact that if we didn't have a date then we'd just go together and low and behold far past the deadline time when all of our other peers had paired off we were left dateless."

"How convenient," he said wryly.

"I really don't even see the point of going, nothing significant ever happens except for tales of drunken fumblings but some people are misguided enough to think I'll regret not going in the long run."

"It's all about the memories."

She frowned before looking up at him hopefully, "Are you going?"

He bowed his head, "I doubt it," he said, "my only prospect is suddenly unavailable."

"Did you even try to ask?" She said with courage she didn't know she contained.

"She's been avoiding me, apparently I carry a disease worse then the plague."

"Maybe she's scared."

He pressed his lips together, "Of what?"

"Of exactly what's happening right now."

"Joey, why did you come here?"

She took a deep breath, shutting her eyes tightly before a tear could slip down her cheek, "I don't want to lose you, Pace."

"Jo, can I ask you a question?" He asked stepping back off the boat, waiting for her slight nod of anticipation. "If I had asked, would you have gone with me?"

"Pacey…"

"I'm sorry," he smiled in spite of himself, "forget I asked."

"It would have been nice to see you in a tie," she said suddenly, "I feel like it's been eons since you have and back then they were all clip-ons."

"Am I the only one who recognizes the unmistakable resemblance to a noose?" He asked with a slight smirk.

"And you know it would really be pointless for you to go," she continued, "seeing as you're so adamant in your dance-less ways."

"I did take lessons for you," he said quietly, as if merely noting it to himself.

"You did," she said distantly. "But that was a bartering."

"Yes, but I did learn a thing or two and a few dance steps too."

Their eyes met for a long moment, and he eased the tension with a light chuckle. "I should get back to the B&B," she said finally.

"Right," he nodded, "I'll come over sometime this week for the boiler."

She furrowed her brows, "The what?"

"The boiler," he repeated, "the broken one."

"Oh, yeah," she secured a wayward lock of hair behind her ear, "thanks."

"Hey Jo?" He said to her descending form.

"Yeah?" She asked over her shoulder.

"Since the girl I wanted to go to prom with is currently unavailable for the actual night…" he sighed, "do you think she could maybe find the time to save me a dance, seeing as I took all those lessons and I'd hate for them to go to waste."

"She can try," she offered.

"How about now?" He asked.

She narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean."

He stepped forward extending his hand, "Miss Potter, may I have this dance?"

Her lips curved into a lopsided grin, "But there's no music."

"Don't tempt me, I may sing," he warned.

She placed her hand in his, small and delicate in contrast to his large and callused one. He placed his hand on the small of her back, his fingers searing her skin, branding land he had once claimed not long ago.

"Slow, quick, quick," he began to mumble as they waltzed clumsily to the rhythm of the boats rocking in the harbor. "Slow, quick, quick."

"I think you have the step," she said, afraid to look him in the eye when they stood so close.

"I was listening to your heartbeat," he explained, "although the slow beat isn't cooperating anymore."

She rolled her eyes playfully, "I guess it wasn't designed for waltzing."

"It wasn't designed for a lot of things," he noted, "that's why it's so easily broken."

She frowned, dropping her head to watch their feet as they moved. His foot slipped, landing firmly on hers and he shut his eyes with a grimace, "Sorry."

She bit her lip, swallowing the pain that barely registered to the continuing tightness in her chest, "Maybe we should stick with the stationary rocking," she suggested.

"You know I was considering that whole ribcage touching rule," Pacey began, his nose brushing across her forehead, taking in a greedy inhalation of her scent. "And the fact that there wasn't a single couple who had said cages touching yet we were the only ones to feel the wrath of Adolph Pretty."

Joey smirked, "I knew she was out to get us."

"That's because she saw our potential, she was probably planning on entering us in nationals," he reasoned.

"For our flaw-full performance of a box step?"

"Horatio Alger, Jo, rag to riches, slovenly to professional, that's what all those 90's sports films were based on, and they all had sequels."

"And let me guess, by the end of the 90 minute documentary of drivel we'd be waltzing to 'I Had the Time of My Life' with Patrick Swazy as a judge," she said dryly.

"I never thought of that," he chuckled resting his chin on top of her head, his arm tightening around her waist.

"I've obviously spent too much time with you to be making these connections," she laughed burying her face in his chest, her eyes fluttering shut in his warmth.

He sighed brushing her loose hair behind her ear, knowing she was twitching to do so, "Me too," he muttered softly.

"Pacey," she looked up at him, her lips parting when her eyes met his intense gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said pinching her earlobe between his forefingers before letting it drift down her cheek.

"For what?" She asked wondering if he could feel her tremble, "You didn't do anything."

"Not yet," he whispered brushing his lips across hers. She sighed, warm and heavy, her body becoming limp as her lips found his in the next sweep sucking softly, tenderly. But then the hunger took over and their arms were wrapped securely around one another, sealing any plausible gaps that could seep between them.

He dragged his lips across her cheek, down the column of her neck, suckling the tender flesh, his fingertips playing with the ends of her hair. She threw her head back, pressing her lips together feeling the familiar heat of tears brimming behind her lashes. "Pacey, no," she finally worked out.

He licked his lips, dropping his forehead onto her shoulder, "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I just want things to go back to the way they were," she said desperately.

"Jo this was the way it was, this whole year, you and me dancing under the starlight, be it a neon glowing sign or the physical living breathing ones, the only difference is that I've admitted to what's always been there." He frowned, "But none of that changes the fact that in a week I'll be watching you dancing with him from across a crowded gym, remembering this moment and wishing I could hold you again."

"I never meant to hurt you Pacey."

"I know."

"And I wish things were different, that we could go back and fix the moment where everything went out of control," she sighed biting onto her lower lip, "because I miss you Pace."

"I'm right here Jo."

"But when I'm with you, you expect things from me that I'm not ready to give. You want me to choose and I can't."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I should go," she muttered. "I'll, uh, I'll see you Pacey."

"Yeah," he nodded slowly, adjusting his gaze to the open horizon, "see ya Joey."