Title: Rough Spot
Author: Katie
Story Summary: Joey deals with being fired…Pacey helps.
Spoilers: Post 3.05 (Indian Summer)
Ratings: PG
Pairing: pre Pacey/Joey
Authors Note: This is my first DC fic
Distribution: Please! Just let me know.
Feedback: Please…Please!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything…at all…

Joey is half way up the steps of the porch, arm out to reach her fingers around the door knob when she hears it; Alex crying softly inside – no doubt protesting his bed time, while Bessie shushes him softly. She stops dead in her tracks, her arm falling limply to her side; she closes her eyes tightly and sighs a little to herself, bringing her hands up to tuck her hair behind her ears. She turns on her heals and walks back down the drive way, retracing the steps that brought her home until she realizes that she really has nowhere to go and her walking becomes a little more aimless.

She's not quite sure how long she's been walking, or where it is exactly she's going – her mind is too preoccupied to be bothered with these trivial topics. Instead, she thinks about how she will ever tell Bessie that she lost her job…lost the only source of income they have since the insurance company is still dragging its feet about the money from the fire…she's sure they are trying to find a way to deny them, not wanting to give a pay out to Capeside's most notorious…and only, drug family, it's a fear she does not share with Bessie, not wanting to add to her sisters concerns. Bessie would never say it out loud, but Joey is smart enough to know that her sister blames her, at least a little, for their father's re-incarceration and their current situation. She does not relish the task of adding to the list of ways she is disappointing her family.

When Joey looks up, realizing where her feet have taken her, she smiles a little – growing up near the water has given it a sort of calming effect on her and ending up at the downtown docks should not surprise her a bit. She watches boats bob up and down on the water for a moment before catching sight of Pacey's boat out of the corner of her eye – it's still in the yard, a few hundred feet from the docks, surrounded by about a dozen other boats, all in various states of repair, all with owners hoping to get them ready for the summer season. She walks over, running her hand lightly over a rough spot in the exterior of his True Love.

She pulls in a deep breath, feeling her eyes well up a little, as the realities of her situation hit her all over again. She shakes her head a little, trying to force her mind clear and tucks her hair behind her eyes, squaring her shoulders. She walks around the boat, pausing at the ladder slug over the side for a moment before climbing aboard. Pacey probably wouldn't mind, she reasoned, she just wanted a moment to collect herself. She surveys the deck of the boat for a beat, looking at the wooden planks he has staked in the corner, to replace out some of the shiftier ones she's standing on now, before finding her way to the small door that will lead her down below.

She makes her way down to the cabin and shakes her head at what she sees…it's just so Pacey; there is stuff everywhere, and in no order at all. There are hammocks off to one side, one above the other – it makes her think of bunk beds, and a pull down Murphy style full bed extended out from the far wall. Every available surface is stacked, as high as possible with supplies to fix the boat. With the exception of a sliver of the Murphy bed, off to the far left side, which is clear (she assumes Pacey has been sleeping there).

She sits on the cleared off section of the bed for a minute before her thoughts start to overwhelm her and she darts back up, pacing the length of the cabin then back, over and over. She picks up a paint brush, playing with it absentmindedly before placing it next to a paint can on the floor. Before she really realizes it, she's organized all his stuff; sanding supplies on the top hammock, painting supplies on the shallow shelf that surrounds the cabin, nails and screws on the bottom hammock, ect. She's even managed to clear off the entire bed so that Pacey won't roll into a power sander or a box of nails in his sleep. She sits back down the sighs and shakes her head a little, grabbing a sanding block and walking back to the deck. She rolls her eyes at her inability to sit still as she climbs down the ladder and starts sanding the rough patch she had run her hand across when she first walked over to the boat a little over an hour ago.

She has no idea how long she's been working before, "What are you doing, Potter?" Pacey askes, walking up behind her, chuckling a little when she startles.

She's not really sure of the answer, or how to explain that to him, so she rolls her eyes and flusters a little before, "If you don't want the help…" she lets her voice trail off, holding the sanding block out in his direction. He holds his hands up in a surrendering gesture so she shoves him lightly, adjusting her grip on the block.

They stand, eyes locked, for a brief moment. Joey knows that he still wonders what brings her here, so when he grabs another sanding block and nods a little, she smiles gratefully.

They work together in quite for a long while – Joey bumping his shoulder with hers when they move toward the same section, him bringing her a bottle of water from the vending machine in the work shed when he goes to grab something. It's nice, a companionable quiet that allows her to think without her thoughts overwhelming her.

"I got fired" she says quietly after taking a long drink from her water. "I got fired, and I was going to go home but I couldn't bring myself to tell Bessie, and I just sort of ended up here…" she's rambling, all nerves and sadness, her words tumbling on top of each other until Pacey's hand circles her elbow.

"I'm sorry, Jo" he says, barley above a whisper. "What happened?" He asks after a pause.

"I was trying to help -" she cuts herself off mid-sentence and shakes her head a little, "My boss was kind of a sexist pig, which I could deal with for a while but it all just kind of came to a head and…" She trails off and shrugs a little.

He gives her elbow a soft squeeze before dropping his hand and leaning his back against the boat, "I'm sure we can find a new job befitting the great Josephine Potter" he give a half smile when she rolls her eyes.

She follows his lead, leaning back against the boat, "I can't wait tables, I can't gas up boats, it's probably time for a life of crime" she muses with a smirk.

"Definitely" He concurs with a nod. He's about to tell her about a help wanted poster he saw in a book store down town a few days ago when she sighs and zones out a little. He taps her arm with the back of his hand and when she gives an embarrassed scoff he smiles and raises his eyebrows in question.

"My mom…" she smiles and clears her throat a little, nodding when Pacey smiles encouragingly, "My mom always wanted to open a Bed and Breakfast. She loved the idea of hosting people, of introducing them to this town that she loved so much. She…" She smiles again, wistfully, remembering, "I think she even drew what she wanted It to look like, how she wanted to add onto the house and what she wanted the rooms to look like…nothing official, nothing real, of course, just…her dream" she shakes her head, pulling herself back to reality, "this was all before she got sick and my dad…well, you know. Of course" her words come quicker now, trying to erase what she said, embarrassed to have gone there, injecting her trademark cynicism back into the conversation.

There's a long moment where Joey looks out at the water, not really seeing and Pacey stares at her. It goes on until Pacey clears his throat, "You know, the local police force is a fraternity that I'm never looking to join, but I think they may be able to come in handy on this…"