[Please note: We don't own these characters. We just got bored, and needed something to play with, and are returning them in their original condition. We're not getting paid for this either.]

"Starlight, starbright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight," Jen recited as she looked up into the sky at the stars in the darkness of her back yard. She closed her eyes tightly, and held her breath as she silently made her wish. She emptied her lungs, and walked into her house.

Jen looked around the quiet, dark house. Despite it being late, she headed into her living room, and flipped on the television. She changed the channels searching for something that would suit her. She stopped when she saw the disfigured face of Freddy Kruger. She laughed. "I can't believe how stupid people are. What'd they do make seven of these things? When will enough be enough?" She stopped to laugh again. "Anyway, it's the last thing that I need before I fall asleep." Giving into temptation, she turned the channel back, and settled on watching "Nightmare on Elm Street." In another fifteen minutes, Jen was fast asleep on her couch with the television still playing. . . .

Jen was running down a deserted street in Capeside. Someone was chasing her, but it was unclear as to who it was. She kept running into the dark, knowing what was in front of her couldn't be as bad as what was behind her. Finally, all her energy was exhausted, and she stopped, placing her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

"Jennifer," a familiar voice called from behind. Jen began running again, but this time she wasn't fast enough. She was caught on the arm by a strong grasp, and she let out a scream when she felt long, blade-like fingers scratch her arm. The glove was frightening in itself, and she didn't want to see what was attached to it. She silently observed the black and red strips on the sleeve of the sweater the person was wearing. "Jennifer, it's time," the voice said again. With enormous strength the arm spun her around. She was shocked when she found herself staring into Joey's eyes.

"Joey?" Jen said.

"Jennifer, it's time," she said.

"Time for what?" Jen asked.

"Time to meet your doom," Joey said.

Jen laughed. "You've got to be kidding me, Joey."

"Do I look like Chris Rock?" Joey said. "I am deadly serious. I've been suppressing my homicidal tendencies toward you for a long time now."

"So you're going to kill me," Jen said. "Okay. Lets just keep it painless. Just give me a shot of hemlock, cyanide, whatever, and I'll be out of your hair for good."

"Not a chance blondie," Joey said. "I've been waiting far too long for this, and you're not getting off that easily. Just wait until you see what I have in store for you."

"Is this some kind of joke you and Dawson cooked up? Because it's not going to work. I'm not scared."

Joey held one of the long blades to Jen's throat. "You should be."

Jen thought for a moment. "Wait. You're supposed to be Freddy Kruger. But come to think of it, you and Freddy do have quite a few qualities in common. I guess it's easy for you to see how I might have gotten you two confused."

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Joey asked.

"I fell asleep watching a Freddy Kruger movie, but my psyche must be pretty screwed up if I see you in my dream instead of him."

"Oh, you poor, misguided, delusional girl. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost. Of course, that doesn't matter. Unfortunately this isn't a dream. This is your worst nightmare. Coincidentally, it's also a harsh reality."

"Okay, Joey," Jen said. "Why don't you just kill me so that I can wake up?"

"Oh, I'll kill you, but you won't wake up."

"Joey, I think this has gone far enough."

"Look you mentally challenged air head. Listen to me very carefully, and at least try to follow what I'm saying. I'm going to . " she trailed off. "No, wait. This is perfect."

"What is?" Jen asked.

"You've got the body, and I've got the brains."

"Excuse me," Jen said, flailing her neck back and forth. "I'm not stupid."

"Shut up," Joey said. "This will be perfect. I can take over your body, and carry out my plan with no one ever knowing."

"Are you ready for the men in white coats to come carry you away?" Jen asked sarcastically.

"Oh shut up blondie. I'm going to have to do this quickly, because I won't be able to tolerate you much longer. God knows it has already seemed like an eternity."

"You do what you want, Joey," Jen said. "I'm going to go home, maybe then I can wake up."

"It will be worse if you go to sleep," Joey warned.

Jen turned around, and headed for her own house. Joey slowly followed her. Despite convincing herself that this was a dream, Jen still was nervous as Joey slowly stalked her.

When Jen arrived at her house, an unknown force pulled her toward the dock. She stood there in shock looking on as the moonlight illuminated the creek. She saw a body floating face up. It was Pacey, with four cuts across his neck. She let out a scream as she saw the vision. She looked at her feet, and saw a trail of blood on the dock. She quickly turned, seeing Joey fast approaching her. Jen got her second wind, and took off for her house. She ran to the kitchen, hoping to grab a knife, but she looked in drawer after drawer coming up empty. She ran into her living room, and grabbed a fire poker from next to the fire place. "Stop right there," she screamed, as Joey approached her.

Joey let out a psychotic laugh that echoed throughout the room. "I really did underestimate your intelligence level," she said sarcastically, still laughing. "You actually expect to kill me with a dull, pointed metal stick? Please, I've got these on my side," Joey said, flashing her blades again. "I'm not afraid of that," Joey said. "You're not going to kill me."

"The hell I won't. What did you do to Pacey?"

"He's expendable, just like you. Without you, my life will be that much better." Joey began approaching her.

"Stop!" Jen screamed.

Joey smiled. "I'm going to enjoy this," she said, as she raised her hand, aiming the blades at Jen's face. Jen let out a scream. . . .

"Heavens, Jennifer, what's wrong?" Jen's grams asked.

Jen uneasily looked around to see the light streaming into her own living room. "What's wrong Jennifer?" Grams asked again.

"Nothing Grams," Jen said. "I was just having a nightmare." She glanced at the television that was on, showing a children's show. She shook her head as she walked to the bathroom. She splashed some water from the sink onto her face. She looked at herself in the large mirror, and did a double take to look at her arm. There were four long straight scratches on her arm.

*****

The small bedroom stood still as Pacey lay on his bed in a deep sleep. He turned and threw his arm over the edge of the bed, letting a Superman comic book slip out of his hand unnoticed. He rolled over again and continued to snore soundly. . . .

Pacey flew over the rooftops of Capeside surveying the streets with a bird's eye view. He was out to fight for truth, justice, and the looks that he got from the chicks when he swept down to save the day. "Ah yeah, the batmobile ain't got nothing on me," Pacey thought to himself. This was a far cry from his day job at the local video store where he served as a mild mannered sales clerk.

A cry from below reached Pacey's supersensitive ears, and in a flash he swooped into the abandoned S.S. Icehouse. "HEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!" the demanding voice screamed. "I'm being held hostage by a maniac with a camera, and no one cares. This is great," Joey said to herself bound to a chair with rope and tape. She eyed the mentally deranged scientist who was busily working over his latest invention. His usually ruffled blonde hair was now standing on end, his eyes bugging out, and he was still wearing that stupid pendant.

"Now that's Dr. Dawson to you, and after I tighten this last screw like that," he put his screwdriver down and turned to his hostage pointing his camera toward her. "This is going to help me take over the world!" He laughed sinisterly.

"Okay, Mr. Delusions of Grandeur, how praytell are you going to do that?" Joey said sarcastically.

"Why should I tell you?" Dr. Dawson sneered down at her.

"Because you have to," Joey replied matter of factly. "I mean, you should know. It's a classic movie plot. The evil psychotic villain spills his guts to the young damsel in distress because he enjoys seeing the girl squirm. It's a complete male, y-chromosome power trip. So go ahead lay it on me."

"Oh, well, okay," Dr. Dawson said lightly.

"Stop right there," Pacey stepped in wearing the classic super heroes' uniform: blue tights, a red cape, and a bright "P" blazed on his chest.

"Well, it's about time!" Joey yelled. "Even Triple A comes in less than half an hour! And what is this?" Joey scrutinized Pacey once more, "I ask for help, and they give me Pacey in blue tights? I would've had better luck with triple A."

"You know, you're blowing my cover here, Joey," Pacey said, taking his eyes off Dr. Dawson to argue with her.

"Oh, pardon me," Joey replied. "By all means, save the day, I'd love to see you get out of this one. Oh, and by the way, if you had just waited a few minutes, I would've been able to figure out Dr. Dawson's diabolical plan. Hasn't anyone rented a movie here in the last decade? There's a formula to this, people!"

"Sorry, if I didn't go along with your master schedule, Joey," he retorted, "but I'm on the clock here too, y'know. Don't screw this up. I've got everything under control."

"Oh, whoopdeedo, Wonderboy here has a plan." The fight continued to escalate, as each of them would not allow the other to get the last word in.

"HEY!" Dr. Dawson interrupted needing to be the center of attention once again. "Can we get on with this please?"

"Did we say that you could talk?" Pacey asked him already annoyed from his fight with Joey.

The statement finally pulled at the senile doctor's last nerve as he grabbed Joey around her neck and thrusting the camera lens into her face. "Some plan, Super Pacey," Joey was able to choke out.

"What exactly does that camera do?" Pacey asked, stepping back from the two raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

"I wired it so that when I press the record button, a laser shoots out of the lens and fries anything in its path. At the same time, it records every minute detail of the destruction." Dawson stated threateningly, brandishing the camera in front of Joey's face.

"Oh, is that all?" Pacey asked walking away. "Then go for it, I was getting tired of her mouth, anyway."

"What??!" Dawson's shocked question flew through the air.

"You heard me, shoot," Pacey answered. "Lights, camera,

action . . . you know the deal. Hey, do me a favor and send me a copy of that tape. I'd love to see that in instant replay, y'know?"

"WHAT??!" Joey yelled.

"Hey!" Dawson dropped the camera and began to run after Pacey who was quickly reaching the exit. "You're not going anywhere." He said closing in on him.

"Neither are you," Pacey said. He grabbed Dawson's arm and twisted it behind his back before the doctor knew it was happening. Pacey quickly bound him to the nearest chair and ran to Joey still strapped to her own chair. Super Pacey soon detached Joey from her constraints and pulled her up into his arms.

"You saved my life," Joey said. Her personality change into the thankful heroine came faster than a speeding bullet as she pulled him closer.

"Yes, it's just another day in the life of Super Pacey," he replied.

"How can I ever repay you?" Joey fluttered her long eyelashes as she stared up at him longingly.

"I can think of a few ways," Pacey smiled as Joey's hand moved behind his head to pull him in for a. . . .

"BZZZZZZZZZZZ!!" the alarm clock abruptly awoke him from his dream filled slumber.

Groaning, his hand found its way to the snooze button as he buried his head in his pillow. "You've got to be kidding me." He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. "Damn, and it was just getting good, too."

*****

Joey stared blankly at her ceiling. She rolled over for what seemed like the one-hundredth time in the past hour. She looked at the clock. "Come on Joey, you have to go to sleep!" she demanded of herself. Counting sheep was definitely not for Joey Potter, so to please herself she began counting all the sarcastic comments she had made during the day to Pacey. Around the third "bite me," she finally drifted off to sleep . . .

An older Joey Potter was standing behind a table in a crowded courtroom. As she stood to address the judge, she buttoned her grey jacket. "Your honor, I assure you that this witness was never included on my list, and furthermore has little relevance to the matter at hand. The state's case includes some very compelling evidence, and I'm sure there will be no trouble convincing the jury of that. However, I must say that to allow this man's testimony would be outrageous considering he was not present at the time of the crime, has no knowledge of the defendant, and is unable to connect anything that he may know to this case. This is just a stall tactic, your honor. This man's testimony would be a waste of this court's time, not to mention my own," she concluded looking at the high-priced defense attorney on her left who, strangely, looked like the man who played John Cage on "Ally McBeal."

"Thank you Ms. Potter," the judge said. He paused for a moment going over his notes. "After hearing both sides, and reading his statement, I must say that Mr. Smith's testimony isn't necessary to this trial." The defense attorney stood, pointing his finger, with his mouth open to speak, but the judge stopped him. "That is my judgement counselor. If it's so wrong, catch it on appeal. This court is adjourned until nine a.m. Monday morning. Have a good weekend," he concluded, banging his gavel.

A smile crept over Joey's face: She knew that she was a good lawyer. She couldn't help but to laugh at the face the smug defense attorney was making after losing his motion.

Joey left the courtroom, and headed straight for her car. A drive during rush hour on Friday was one of the things she absolutely hated. She hopped into her black Toyota Camry, and backed out the parking garage. "This is absolutely the worst thing about Washington, D.C.," she said to herself. She turned the radio on, and sang along, when she wasn't cursing out other drivers for cutting in front of her. She smiled when she stopped at a stoplight. She gently twisted her wedding ring around her finger as she watched a small group of children huddled in between two pieces of rope cross the street. Her commute to work was long, especially since it was during rush hour. It took her forty-five minutes to an hour to get home.

Finally, she was out of the concrete and brick of the city, and she, once again, saw trees and grass. Her home in suburban Virginia was getting closer. She turned onto Creek street, and made her way around the cul-du-sac until she found her driveway. She got out of her car, and smiled at the sight of home. Her house was large. It was a light shade of brown with dark green shutters and trim. All the windows had small flower boxes underneath them, and they were filled with purple, yellow, and white pansies. There was a swing set in the back yard, adjacent to the garden. All it was missing to be picture perfect was the white, picket fence.

She made her way to the door, and when she opened it she was greeted by the sound of Jazz music. It was Duke Ellington. There was also a very inviting smell present. "God that smells just like that little restaurant that I lived next to when I spent that semester in Italy," she said to herself. She took a deep sniff. The smell of the Italian food instantly took her back to her days in college. An image flashed in her mind in which she was standing in the pouring rain, kissing Pacey deeply. She quickly shook the image away. She looked around her living room. It wasn't decorated any one way, but had a sort of eclectic style. Every piece of furniture was something she liked though. She threw her jacket and briefcase on the sofa, and made her way to the playpen that was sitting in the center of the room. She bent down, and pushed her long brown hair behind her ears as she peered at the baby inside. He was a gorgeous child. He was about four months old, with a hair just beginning to sprout up off his scalp. He had his fists clenched as he slept, and was dressed adorably in a white shirt and pair of red and blue corduroy overalls. She kissed the end of her fingers, and touched his head. "Hey Michael, Mommy's home," she whispered. She stood up straight, and looked down at him, as she beamed with pride.

She grabbed onto the sofa for support as she kicked off her heels, and began to rub her aching feet. She decided to follow the smell and the music to the kitchen. "Hey baby, I'm home," she said as she walked in. There was a tall man standing at the stove stirring something. He had the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. She walked up behind him, and threw her arms around his waist. He turned his head to the side, and she looked at her husband. It was an older Pacey.

"How was work?" he asked her.

"Good," she said. "I won my motion. The trial starts Monday morning."

"That's great," he said.

"How was your day?" she asked, as she watched him turn away from the stove, giving her his full attention.

"Not too bad," he said. "Broke up three fights today."

"Ah, the rough life of an English teacher. Will the drama ever end?" she said sarcastically, throwing her hand to her forehead. "We can't all be high powered attorneys." He bent down to give her a passionate kiss.

"This smells wonderful," she said as she licked the spoon that she had removed from the white sauce simmering on the stove. "It took me back to the semester in Italy."

"You know, when I signed up for this whole marriage thing, I thought that the wife was supposed to do the cooking."

She shot him an evil look as she filled a glass with water from the refrigerator. "How's Michael?" she asked.

"Wonderful," he said. "When I picked him up from day care he was tired out, and fell asleep not too long after we started riding home. I was talking to him, and he cooing one minute, and the next I look in the mirror and see that he's fallen asleep."

"Well, he looks like a sleeping angel right now," she said. "It's obvious that he takes after me."

Pacey rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I guess that I didn't have anything to do it," he said.

"No," she said, "as usual, I did most of the work." She chuckled, and kissed him on the cheek, before she headed up the stairs to change her clothes.

Joey was seated at the table in the kitchen working on the opening statement for the trial on Monday. She heard "For You" by Kenny Latimore begin to play in the living room. She left her work, and walked in to see Pacey lighting candles. "Did you get the baby to sleep?" she asked.

"Yeah," Pacey said.

"So what are your plans now?" she asked playfully.

He gave her his patented devilish grin, which the years hadn't changed. He held out his hand, and said, "I was hoping to have a dance with the lovely assistant district attorney."

"That can be arranged," she said, taking his hand. She enjoyed the feeling of being so close to his body. He was quietly singing the song to her. After so many years, he still knows what to do. "You knew exactly what to do didn't you?" she asked. "Dinner, candles, music."

"Well, we said we didn't want things to change after Michael was born," he whispered.

"I have a feeling they won't," she said. She looked up into his eyes, and then gave him a passionate kiss . . .

Surprisingly, Joey didn't dart up in her bed with a cold sweat, screaming when her dream faded away. Instead she hugged her pillow tightly, and a small grin crossed her lips.

Joey awoke the next morning with some Jazz tune running through her head. In seconds she recalled her dream. She scrunched up her face like she was smelling rotten fruit. "Pacey?" she said aloud, completely confused by her subconscious.

*****

Dawson typed away busily at his computer. Brilliant thoughts of a new, upcoming movie script raced through his head as he scrambled to get them all down before the ideas slipped out of his mind. Soon the minutes turned to hours, and his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. . . .

"Okay, places, people! Places!" Dawson yelled from behind the camera. "Where's the lead actress?"

Dawson wildly looked around for his star as a small tech boy approached him. "Um, they fired her, sir."

"Fired her?" he asked. "How am I supposed to do this movie with no actress?"

"Well, they hired a new one," he answered humbly. "She's supposedly a big Hollywood name. I'm not sure who. She hasn't arrived yet." Suddenly the doors to the sound stage burst open, an entourage of people entered. Dawson's gaze followed the commotion and two people caught his eye. He thought he recognized Pacey and Jen amidst the multitude of people.

"Hey, D!" a familiar voice yelled. "What's up? Long time no see!" Dawson was pulled into a hug before he knew what was going on.

"Pacey? What are you doing here? And is that Jen over there?"

"Yeah, man, we're working for the same lady. That would be . . . " Pacey glanced over at a tall woman in dark sunglasses and a big floppy hat which graced her head.

"Okay, I'm here . . . " She removed her disguise, and Dawson mouth dropped open when he finally saw who the simple mask revealed.

"Joey????"

Joey turned to Dawson still sitting in his director's chair. "Oh no, darling, my stage name is Josephine. I haven't been called Joey in years. It sounds so . . . adolescent, don't you think?" she drawled out in an English accent.

"Joey, what's with the accent? You never talked like that." Dawson asked in a state of pure confusion.

"What are you talking about . . . what was your name again?"

"It's me . . . Dawson."

"And the importance of that fact would be?" she asked.

"You don't remember your best friend back in Capeside? And stop talking like that! It's scary."

"Oh! Capeside, yes! I lived there. Quaint little town . . . somewhat predictable . . . I remember there was this strange little blonde boy had this obsession with Steven Speilberg movies . . . he was somewhat over the top, if you ask me . . ." she trailed off still conversing with an English tongue.

"Yes! That's me, Joe!" Dawson said. "I'm the over the top kid. Overly idealistic, completely fanatical, excessively optimistic . . . that is me."

"Oh, Dawson! What a small world!" she tried to hide her apathy and boredom. She stifled a yawn. "Well, darling, we must do lunch sometime. Have your people call my people. How's that?"

"Your people?"

"Why, yes . . . here's my manager's card." Joey handed him a small business card.

"Pacey is your manager???"

"Of course," Joey replied. "Well, after we got engaged, I hit it big. I needed someone I could trust to handle my business, and I automatically turned to my honey bunch here." She cuddled up close to him, "why? Does that surprise you?"

"I . . ." Dawson stammered. "If Pacey's your manager, then what's Jen?"

"Jen?" she questioned. "You know Jen Lindley?"

"Yeah, of course, Joe."

"Please, stop calling me 'Joe'! Ugh," she shuddered. "It's positively juvenile. Anyway, Jen, my best friend, is also my stylist and make up artist."

"You wear makeup???" Dawson asked in utter shock. "Jen is your best friend???"

"Yes, we had this little tiff back in Capeside over some insignificant guy . . . I don't even remember his name . . . Daniel . . . Darren . . . D-- something rather. Anyway, we finally realized how completely trivial it was. He wasn't worth it anyway. He was way too romanticized."

"But that was me!" Dawson protested.

"Yeah, whatever . . ." she disregarded whatever Dawson was saying. "Anyway, where do I stand?"

"I, uh . " Dawson pointed toward the stage. "Over there . ." Joey took her place on stage and Dawson remained seated in his chair. "Okay, I guess . . . Action!"

"'Alone in a Dreamworld', Act 1, Scene 1 . . . Take 26, ACTION!" . . .

The sound of the clapper shook Dawson back into reality. He found his head resting on top of the keyboard. He shook his head to make sure it was just a dream, and he was back in reality.

"Good morning, darling," a muddled English voice drifted to him from his window. He jumped when he found Joey poised in the window frame.

"Heavens to Betsy, did I startle you?" Joey asked climbing down.

"Joey? What's going on?" Dawson asked his eyes darting in all directions suspiciously.

"What gives, Dawson?" Joey asked in her regular voice.

"You're not English!" Dawson sighed in relief grabbing hold of her shoulders.

"Uh . . . yeah, I think that was predetermined, Dawson," she pushed his hands off of her. "This is what I get for looping the English Patient into an eight-hour tape for Alexander. Maybe that's what got into me before that weird dream . . ." she trailed off.

"Joey, you will not believe the dream I just had . . . "

*****

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