Dawson nervously posted the invitation, feeling that this was finally it. He stood by the post box a little while after the depositing the thin envelope, wondering what to do next. He began to slowly walk down the street, not seeing the other people he passed. He meandered as he walked back to the dorm room. He knew Pacey would be there, and once again, Pacey would try to make him talk about Joey.

And of course, waiting at the apartment would be her. Sitting there, with her hair, and her nails and her thin eyes. Sitting there with her hypochondriac tendencies, and fluttering eyelashes. Sitting there orchestrating the world's greatest guilt trip. No, he didn't want to go home. He wandered through the park, not really seeing the new green growth on the once-dead trees that would come winter again perform their ritual of dropping protection. He saw a woman with dark hair and like it always did, it pulled on him, and he had to remind himself that Joey was in another state.

The weather was beginning to warm, and Dawson knew that he should get some footage of spring-it was always useful, and he already had tapes for winter, and summer and fall. Spring would complete it. He turned for home because he knew that he couldn't avoid it, and there was nothing he could do to change what his life was right now. Until he somehow managed to get her off the couch, Dawson would spend his time trying to avoid issues; trying to live a Spielberg world. He wished Joey were here to give him a kick.

He passed people he knew as he neared their apartment, and remembered to nod and say hello and smile. He felt so…disembodied. The past months, the winter hibernation had been focused on one goal-on one desire, and now it was finished, now everything he was, every dream he'd ever staked out for his existence hung in the balance, he couldn't remember ever feeling so empty.

He took the stairs like an old man, noting the grain on the polished wood. Dangerous stairs he remembered someone saying; it felt like eternity and more ago. He opened the door, praying she wouldn't be there. She was.

"Hey Jen," he said quietly. Pacey returned from his shift on time, surprising his roommate and guest. The fact that she'd been here for four months now had sunk in for Pacey, but he refused to delegate the title of second roommate. Even if she showed no signs of removing herself from their apartment.

Her clothes were spread out across the living room; her books and papers strewn all over the table. Her make-up clogged up the bathroom, and whenever he entered the shower, he felt like he had no room to breathe her shampoos and body washes cluttered it up so much. Their lives were full of her. Strange people left messages for her on the answering service, sounding stoned or drunk or angry. She was always crying, or moping, or practically begging for attention. Pacey had considered getting her a sign saying, "Look at me or I'll die," for Christmas, but had settled with some candles.

And she was there even when she wasn't. Whenever she left the house, which she did for large intervals of time, arriving home perky, depressed or slobbering, she was an avoided topic of conversation between Dawson and Pacey. To the point where she became a physical isolation between them; they couldn't speak of her and spent most of their time trying to get around the issue. Not that Pacey begrudged Dawson an inch.

There was nothing Dawson could do. She was desperate, homeless, penniless, jobless, uneducated due to dropping out of college and always pulling a guilt trip on Dawson. And there was nothing the good-hearted guy could do. He didn't like having Jen around anymore than Pacey, but he put up with it because he couldn't see a way out. Both of them managed to spend as much time out of the apartment as possible. Dawson did his filming and Pacey was working insane hours anyway.

He'd just started as an intern and he was seriously beginning to wonder if he'd made the right choice with medicine. He understood everything, but he didn't. He couldn't find time to stop and think. His first rotation was in the ER. He wasn't like a John Carter or a Lucy Knight, and definitely no Deb Chen, but things moved incredibly fast at County General.

"Hey Jen," he said. Her back was to him as he walked in-she was painting her toenails and the fumes went up his nose making him heady. "Watch out with that nail polish. That's worse then Dawson's dirty laundry."

Dawson, lounging on one of the couches looked up with a pissed expression on his face. "That's your month old laundry that stinks." Pacey knew Dawson was just annoyed and knew exactly what it felt like.

"Hey Pacey," said Jen. "I cooked dinner."

"You didn't have to do that," he said. Yes you did, he thought. He dumped his bags in their customary spot near the door and pulled his jacket off.

"Gross Pacey," she said. "What?" She was staring at his scrubs, which were covered with blood, and mucus, and even vomit. "Sorry," he said. He pulled it off, and rummaged in his bag, finding a loose blue top. "You don't want to know about my day. But what's for dinner?"

"Spaghetti."

She was finishing her little toe, and screwing the cap back on the nail polish. Dawson flicked the TV on, and then flicked it off. Dawson had been restless for a few weeks now; things were building inside his friend. Irritation at Jen, disquiet at his movie and the response of a certain brunette. Even his idleness had an irritated quality about it, and Pacey knew Dawson would shortly erupt and poor Jen would be in the fallout.

"With mushroom sauce?" Pacey asked.

"No," she answered not getting his joke. Dawson rolled his eyes. "It'll be ready in ten minutes."

"Well thanks Jen. It's nice to come home to a cooked meal and a relatively clean house…" and Pacey took on a southern accent, "and the wife, making herself pretty, and the boy," Pacey leaned over and ruffled Dawson's. "Sure makes a man proud to be the head of this family, and I would just like to say…" Dawson threw a pillow at him, and Jen's box of tissues followed not soon after. "I take it back," Pacey said, mock offended. "I wish I was still watching people die."

Jen made a face that suggested her discomfort at Pacey's words, and Dawson shot a glance in Jen's oblivious direction that suggested he wished a certain blonde who painted her toenails would die.

Joey leaned over the arm of the couch, gritting as her muscles complained and found what she was looking for. With straining tendons, she lifted the large book up, and flicked through looking for the case she wanted.

Alex was stirring, and the sun was beginning to show through the curtains that didn't cover the windows. Next door, Rosa her Hispanic neighbour had her music on, and the beat made the tired Joey feel a little more energetic. She only had to make reference to this case, Victor vs. State, and she'd be done. Then she'd have to make breakfast, their lunches, get Alex dressed and take him off to the childcare centre.

Alex was ecstatic-she'd promised to take him for a trip this summer. They were going to Cleveland-it was all she could afford, and even then, she'd had to cut out half of her needs from the budget. They had only a week to go till they left, and Alex had already packed his bags.

"Hey Mommy," he said sleepily from the bedroom doorway. "Why are you up?"

"I had some work to do so I got up early. Come here." He wandered over sleepily and crawled onto her lap.

"Mrs. Ryan said I was lucky to go to Cleveland. She said I was the luckiest boy at the centre."

"Well I should hope so."

Dawson stacked the dishes after the dinner, shooing Jen and Pacey out of the kitchen. Jen lounged indolently on the couch, watching television.. Pacey sat down beside her and tried to broach a subject that had been on his mind for a little while. "Jen."

"Yeah?"

"There's a café right next door to the hospital. All of the doctors and nurses hang out there. One of their waitresses ran off with her boyfriend, and they desperately need someone. I asked them to hold the job over until I could talk to you Jen. It's part-time-makes very good money…" She stared at him, boredom across her face.

"We've been through this before Pacey. I don't want to be pinned down to a meaningless job for the rest of my life."

"But surely," he counteracted carefully, "you don't want to be broke for the rest of your life. You could buy those clothes you're always looking at. And you're going to need a new dress for when we go to Los Angeles." He prodded her in the direction he wanted her to go.

"I'll know when the right job comes along Pacey." She was caving a little.

"But until then, how about doing this?" She bit her bottom lip and stared into the distance for a moment. Just wait, he told himself, come on, come on, just wait.

"Maybe you're right Pacey," she said thoughtfully. Let her make the next step, do not speak. "I'll take it," she said decisively.

Dawson looked slightly mollified. At least they wouldn't be supporting her anymore. Pacey could practically see Dawson's mind ticking over-he was now working out how to get rid of Jen.

There was a stack of mail awaiting her when they arrived home. It sat in the pigeonhole in a high pile of white envelopes, and Joey knew with a sinking feeling that half of them would be the bills that she seemed to constantly pay.

The meager existence that Joey used to support her and Alex came from the Ice House, which made just enough to cover Joey and Alex until the next cheque came rolling in. And her college scholarship took care of all that, and Joey thanked every God believed in by humans that somebody had seen fit to grant her a scholarship.

She handed Alex the mail-he loved to go through it and see if there was anything for him. He recognized his name as Joey had taught him what it looked like and how to write it. "Any for you Alex?"

"No, all for you. There's one thin green envelope though."

"Really? What do you suppose it is? An invitation-a thank you note, perhaps it's a card from someone."

"Open it! Open it!" She slit the envelope and read aloud to him.

"Josephine and Alex Potter are invited by Mr. Dawson Leery to the Egyptian Theatre in Hollywood, Los Angeles on the 6th of July."

"Los Angeles?" asked Alex stumbling over the words. "What's it mean?" For once, she hadn't a clue.

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