Chapter Text
Prologue: A Chance Encounter
March 7, 2009
LAX
When Pacey spotted him, he couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a hallucination. Thirty-seven hours without sleep could do that to a guy.
But reality set in: why would his brain hallucinate Dawson Leery in the Duty Free store of the International Terminal at LAX? Surely if he was going to come up with mirages, they should actually be fun visions. The universe couldn’t be that cruel to him.
The Dawson illusion turned and spotted him, and Pacey realized finally that no, he wasn’t seeing things. Even he wasn’t creative enough to create a Dawson wholesale who smiled at him like that, like he was actually happy to see Pacey.
“Pace! Hey,” Dawson said, abandoning his perusal of various overpriced wines. He actually hugged Pacey, and felt solid, another point in the ‘not a hallucination’ column. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Dawson was the kind of guy who could say that genuinely and not be sarcastic about it.
Pacey, on the other hand, was a sarcastic asshole who’d had no sleep, but his smile at least felt real. It had been eight years since he’d seen the guy. Enough time to at least tuck the senior-year animosity onto a back shelf. He peered at his ex-friend. The years in LA had washed away the baggy clothes of the late nineties, replacing them with far more fashionable, expensive clothing. He was even wearing rings, though his ring finger was empty. “Been awhile,” Pacey said. “Where are you headed?”
“London. Studio thing.” Dawson waved it off. “You?”
“Málaga. Hopefully.” His flight had been delayed twice. Pacey was beginning to believe this airport might become his new home.
Dawson’s eyebrows went up. Pacey didn’t exactly want to unload the whole saga in the middle of a Duty Free store, so he jerked his head toward the nearby Starbucks. “Let’s go get a coffee and catch up?” he said. “I have a feeling your story’s just as interesting as mine.”
“After you.” Dawson gestured.
They settled in by Dawson’s gate (lucky bastard; his flight appeared to be on time and ready to board soon) with coffee, Dawson already talking his ear off about the studio deal he was headed to London to secure for an upcoming project. Pacey may have loathed the guy a time or two, but he couldn’t deny it made him at least a little happy to hear that Dawson was enjoying the career he’d always dreamed about.
Whereas Pacey…
“So what about you? What’s in Málaga?” Dawson asked.
“Yachts.” Pacey couldn’t stop the yawn. “Sorry—been awake too many hours to count. You’re looking at the newest graduate of the Los Angeles Maritime Academy, off to make his way up through the world of yachting. Got tired of trying to strike gold up in Alaska, decided to go somewhere with way more bikinis, you know?”
It was a lame joke, one he’d made every time Gretchen or Doug called to check in. The only gold he ever saw up in Sitka was the sunrise and the sunset, usually on the same day from the deck of a boat that only ever smelled like fish.
“That’s exciting,” Dawson said. “As long as you’re not the one wearing the bikini.”
“I’ll save that for the incredibly hot women,” Pacey said. At Dawson’s prodding, he told him all about the past few years working in the fishing industry. He got the feeling Dawson would treat it like fodder for a project, but Deadliest Catch didn’t have anything to worry about. He did talk up the danger a bit, but he could admit that was entirely for his own ego. Plus, it would help whatever character Dawson turned these stories into, so Pacey saw it as a charitable act.
The first boarding announcement for Dawson’s flight made both of them look up. Dawson grimaced. “That’s me, unfortunately. I’m in the first group, so I’d better go. But it was really nice to run into you. Hey, here.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a business card and a pen, scribbling something on the back. “You should join this site, catch up with everybody. I bet you’ll have better pictures than the rest of us combined. I just talked Joey into signing up last week.”
Pacey’s eyebrows went high. He honestly wasn’t sure which of them would say her name first. But he took the card and gave Dawson a hug, sticking around to watch him board the flight.
He headed back to his gate, and scowled. Delayed again, this time until tomorrow. With a sigh, he headed for the gate to secure a hotel voucher. It would mean suffering through security again, but the last thing he wanted was another twelve hours with a crick in the neck from using his duffel bag as a pillow.
And hey, the hotel would probably have a business center. He could check out this website Dawson had given him. Just to look and see what everybody was up to.