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Pacey’s fingers impatiently tap the steering wheel of his dad’s cruiser while he waits for the light to change. Jack had quietly settled into the backseat after he and Pacey had ushered the now-mostly-sober Andie into the passenger.
She’s disheveled from her time in the bathroom earlier, her prettily done-up hair a mess, her face wiped clean of her meticulous makeup and the body glitter she’d sparkled all over his dad’s backseat. He thanks whatever higher powers exist that the Leerys had extra toothbrushes on hand, because he knows Andie would’ve been embarrassed and devastated if she hadn’t been able to brush her teeth after having her head stuck in the toilet bowl half the night.
Sure, maybe he prefers her unmade and in her naturally beautiful state, but he can’t deny she looked gorgeous tonight, not to mention excited to let loose a little. To not worry about her mom or school or anything for once. He hadn’t expected her to get so absolutely wasted, but he knows that it was her sudden impulse streak and Dawson’s higher-than-normal misery that was the real cocktail of the evening. At least they had been able to commiserate in their misery together.
The light turns green, and before he can pull his foot off the pedal someone honks, loud.
Andie is somewhere between a panic attack and seething in her seat beside him at the noise, and all he can do at the moment is reach over and cover one of her hands fisted in her dress with one of his. It's the onsetting headache mixed with her onsetting anxiety and he's admittedly worried about her.
The car stays deadly silent all the way to their place on Windsor, and Jack makes out like he can’t get out of the car fast enough. He and Pacey share a look in the rearview mirror, a silent conversation where he assures the brother he’ll bring her in for the night in a minute. Jack doesn’t even nod, just gets out on Pacey’s side and books it to their front door.
Andie is curled in on herself in his passenger seat, her hands still fisting her skirt and her messy blond hair covering her face. If she wasn’t still buckled in or disinclined to feet on upholstery, she’d be curled up on the seat the same way she was in the bathroom after the election debate.
God, that felt like a lifetime ago, had it really only been a month?
She turns her sad brown eyes to him, apologetic and sincere, and Pacey could just crumble under that look of hers, heartbroken for her.
But then he remembers why she looks like that in the first place and he gets a little irritated. Not necessarily at her, but at the situation as a whole. He sets his jaw, turning over the words in his head. He wants to say them just right, and the last time he tried to put his feelings in a note for similar reasons she practically broke up with him.
“Are you mad?” Andie asks, before he can finish planning out his words.
Pacey sighs through his nose and gives a shake of his head, the hand over her fist squeezing reassuringly even as he puts his forehead to the steering wheel. “No, Andie. I’m not mad.”
“Disappointed? Hurt? Enraged? Regretful-”
He shakes his head again to cut her off. Nice to know she’s coming back to being a chatterbox. It’s one of the things he loves about her, the mile-a-minute word-vomit she spews when she feels too tense. Maybe it’s a side effect of her anxiety or maybe it’s always been part of her charm, but whatever it is, he can’t hear it right now. Not like this.
“No, Andie,” he says, and there’s a stranglehold on his heart, that fake heart stripe come to life. How did he not realize sooner? How had they snuck past him so easily? It’s his best friend and his girlfriend, two people he’s supposed to know better than himself! He grew up in this, how had he gone blind to the signs? “No, and I don’t-” He cuts himself off with a sigh, Andie turns her hand over in his so their fingers are intertwined. “I don’t blame you, either.” He lifts his head to look at her.
Her face is scrunched in on itself, confused and worried, about him. No one ever worries over him. He’s Pacey Witter, class clown, town joke, who cares what happens to him, right? “You should! It was my idea. I wanted to let loose and look what happened!”
“No, Andie, sweetheart.” He squeezes her hand again. “ No, okay. I mean, yeah it was your idea, I’ll give you that. Not one of your better ones, either. But I should’ve known. I should’ve noticed sooner that you guys weren’t just drinking Coke.”
“We weren’t trying to hide it from you, Pacey,” she says sadly, her sweet brown eyes genuine and hurting.
“No, I know, I just mean-“ he cuts himself off again, pulling away from her to run his hands over his face. “I just should’ve known.”
Her voice is so small, so quiet, he can’t believe it’s his Andie, bright and full of life. “Because of your dad?”
He groans, sighs, questions why he ever told her anything. But then he remembers her mom, her dad, and it’s not a competition, but yeah. He told her because she deserved to know she wasn’t alone. In wanting something normal despite normal not existing, in the Terrible Parents Club, in the way it sucks to see someone you’re supposed to love and respect prove themselves undeserving of it.
He just nods, head falling to the steering wheel again.
“I’m sorry,” her voice is still too quiet, too small, like she’s afraid of him. He never wants her to be afraid of him. “If it makes you feel any better, Pacey, Dawson and I made a pact to never drink again.”
He snickers, partially under his breath, imagining them both on the bathroom floor and moaning to one another about how they never want to do anything like tonight ever again. He shakes his head again and raises it so he can meet her eyes. “You don’t have to go that far.”
Andie crosses her heart, “I want to. The idea of feeling like this ever again is enough!” She’s getting some of her spunk back, some of that volume to her voice that carries across hallways and rooms to wrap around his heart, lift it like it’s tied to a balloon, and float it off until it’s near hers. He’s so hopelessly in love with her he’s starting to make himself sick. “I’m sorry, Pacey. I wasn’t even thinking about you having to take care of us or take us to Dawson’s after. I was just so focused -“
“On not thinking. Like you were supposed to. I’m kinda proud, actually.” He presses a kiss to her cheek, “But for the record, I like my girlfriend. Gap clothing and all. I’m all for hot, slinky dresses, or whatever this is,” he pinches the fabric of the skirt between his thumb and forefinger for emphasis, her hand wraps around his. “But there’s a lot more that I like about you than what you wear.”
Andie blushes, almost as red as her dress. He pushes some hair out of her face. She sniffles a little. “I’m still sorry. I feel like I ruined the whole evening.”
Pacey grits his teeth. “No, sweetheart, you didn’t ruin anything.” He doesn't mean for his bitterness to slip out. She feels bad enough as is.
Her hand tightens around his. “You know Dawson didn’t mean those things he said.”
“Yeah, but he did, Andie. He’s always meant them, always thought them. Pacey Witter, town screwup, here to make everyone feel better about their own lives.”
“You are not a screwup!” Andie practically shouts, before covering her mouth with her free hand. She seems embarrassed by her out burst. “Sorry,” she flushes red again. Then something steels in her and she shakes her head. “Actually, no. I’m not sorry. You aren’t a screwup, or a joke. You are smart, and funny, and kind. You have a sense of loyalty I haven’t seen very many places. In Providence, if a couple of best friends talked to each other the way Dawson did to you tonight, they wouldn’t be friends anymore! It would’ve broken into chaos! But you took it. You always just take it, Pacey! Because you know it’s not personal. But you shouldn’t have to.”
He squeezes her hand once more. “We’re not just talking about Dawson anymore, huh?”
She retreats, burying her face in her hands. “God, Pacey. You don’t deserve to have some psycho as a girlfriend. I mean,” she lifts her head and blows her hair out of her face. “Look at tonight! I can’t even cut loose without needing you to save me.”
“I didn’t have to save you tonight, Andie.”
“From the bartender? I almost got us all arrested!”
“But you didn’t!”
“Because you saved me! And Dawson!"
“For someone that just commended my loyalty you seem to be having a hard time wrapping your head around it.”
“Because I don’t deserve it! I failed you with Peterson and left you to fight him alone, I pushed you away with my mom, with me , every time something gets too hard I dump it on you and run the other way! None of that is fair to you!”
He reaches out for her hands again, and she lets him take them. “I never signed up for fair here, Andie. Yeah, sure, I didn’t know exactly what I was getting into at first, and I don’t blame you for not telling me, either. But I’ve made the choice to stand by you. Because I want to. I love you, Andie. You know that. And if that means taking some verbal punches every now and then I’ll do it in a heartbeat.”
Her eyes are so sincerely sad, “But you deserve better.”
“Andie,” he breathes out deep. “You are the single greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. There is no better.” He finally unfastens her seatbelt and wraps his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. “You want me to take you upstairs?”
She nods against him, and he feels teardrops on his shirt. She’s still only mostly sober, after all. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“No worries, McPhee,” he plants a kiss in her hair. “I don’t plan on letting you find out.”