Rating: PG

Author’s Note: Thanks a mill to Laur for always being there to lend an ear and for being my proofreading gal (love ya!), my other readers: Alex and Kilbers, and everyone that told me to "hurry up and write the next part before I have a heart attack!", in the words of one of my readers (thanks, Sarah!). You guys keep me writing and I couldn’t do it without all of you.

* * *

Capeside Municipal Office
10:45 a.m.

"See, the way I figure it…" Steve began while perched on the corner of T.C.’s desk in the Capeside Municipal Office. The mayor had been kind enough to lend them a desk and some corner space for a home base of operations while they were in town and they took full advantage of it. It was nice not to have to do all of their work out of the seedy rooms in the Capeside Motel. "How do you figure it, Steve?" T.C. prompted while flipping through some paperwork that still needed to be completed regarding Lesley’s death.

"These are the first murders in Capeside in over half a century, right?" T.C. nodded. "In my book, that means that the killer has already exceeded his or her quota, so-" T.C. snorted and gave Steve a disbelieving stare.

"So now there are rules to how you commit murders? There are murder quotas?" she repeated, laughing. "Sounds like Ellis Island." Steve raised a hand to silence her.

"It’s not that ridiculous; hear me out. Besides, I’m using quota figuratively. Anyway, these two deaths so far mean that the average murder rate in Capeside has already been reached."

"I’m still not following," T.C. said in confusion. "I don’t know where you’re getting the idea that murders follow a prescribed mathematical formula."

"For the purpose of this explanation, they do. Just pretend that you understand what I’m saying so I can move on."

"I think I can manage that. I already do that whenever you open your mouth." Steve shot her a dirty look but continued.

"Well, since the murder rate has already been reached, that means that the killer will be apprehended before he or she can strike again."

"For the umpteenth time, you’re not making any sense. You’re rationalizing something that, by its very nature, cannot be rationalized."

"T.C.!" Steve groaned. "For someone that’s supposed to be the most brilliant addition to our precinct, you’re a little on the slow side."

"I’m only slow when I’m asked to accept something that’s total malarkey."

"Malarkey? What a word."

"Are you going to finish talking or make fun of me?"

"If you’d let me finish instead of complaining, maybe I would."

"Fine," T.C. replied. She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair.

"Good. Like I was saying, the killer will have to be apprehended soon - we wouldn't want to mess up the statistics, would we?"

"What if the killer’s smarter than all of us put together?"

Steve laughed. "Possible, but not probable. I’m willing to bet that we catch the jerk within two days."

"You’re on. Now get lost so I can finish my work."

"Yes ma’am," Steve replied, saluting T.C. He meandered over to the area of the office devoted to the secretaries’ desks and struck up a conversation with the first one that he came to. T.C. shook her head and returned to her work.

"Let’s see…cause of death. I wonder if ‘blunt trauma to the head as a result of assault with a toilet seat’ would be appropriate enough for the big guy…" she smiled to herself, engaging in a bit of detective humor that no one but other detectives understood. "Even better - porcelain toilet seat. That ought to throw him for a loop when he reads this!" she chuckled. The phone rang, interrupting her fun. "Hello?"

"T.C. McGonigle, please," the voice replied.

"Speaking."

"It’s Pacey."

"Hi, Pacey. What can I do for you?"

"For now, just listen."

"Pardon?"

"Just listen," he demanded. He began explaining what had happened at the church to T.C.

"You’re kidding me," T.C. muttered into the phone after hearing the story. She shook her head. "You are absolutely kidding me." When the voice on the other end answered in the negative, she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "All right. We’ll be there in ten." She placed the phone in its cradle and ruffled through the papers on her desk until she located the keys to her car. She strode quickly across the tiled floor of the office to where Steve sat. He was deeply engaged in conversation with a young secretary, however, and pretended not to have heard her.

"Steve," T.C. said insistently, tapping him on the shoulder. "Come on."

"Hang on," he ordered, continuing his discussion with the petite blonde behind the desk.

"Now, Steve," she shot back.

"Can I ask what’s so incredibly important that it can’t wait five minutes?"

"Kristen McGill’s funeral was this morning and a crazed gunman shot up the church." Steve’s jaw dropped.

"What?" he whispered in disbelief. "You mean it’s not over?"

"Not by a long shot."

* * *

Capeside Memorial Hospital
Emergency Room

"Talk about your deja vu," Pacey muttered as he and Joey walked through the bustling emergency room. "Weren’t we just here?"

"Seems like it," Joey replied. "There’s Dawson," she said, pointing to him. "Let’s go." She made a move toward his bed, but Pacey grabbed her arm. She looked at him quizzically. "What are you doing?"

"I don’t want to go in there."

"Why not?" she inquired, completely confused. "Does blood make you nauseous?" He shook his head.

"I just don’t want to see Dawson right now, okay?" Realization dawned on her and her eyes narrowed.

"Why not?" Joey demanded. "Why can’t you just go in there and be civil for a few minutes?"

"You know that Dawson and I still aren’t on the best of terms. It’ll be too uncomfortable in there, trying to pretend that the two of us can be in the same room without wanting to kill each other."

"So? He just got shot in the shoulder, for crying out loud! And his father’s in the morgue. I think you can swallow your pride and show a little respect. The two of you were friends at one point," she said angrily.

"Until he screwed you." Joey’s jaw dropped.

"That was completely inappropriate," she said, seething. "This is neither the time nor the place and I expect an apology."

"Sorry," Pacey said sincerely. "Anyway, part of the reason that I don’t want to go in there just yet is that we’re meeting T.C. now."

"What?"

"I called her from the pay phone outside the church and told her to come here. I don’t want to talk about the incident in front of Dawson."

"Maybe I don’t want to talk about it, period. Don’t you think you should have asked me first if I wanted to talk to that woman before you called her?"

"Jo, don’t be like this. Don’t you think it’s important that we tell T.C. what happened so they can finally catch the person that’s doing this?"

"I don’t think it’s necessary to talk with her right away."

"I do," Pacey said firmly. "I want to be able to stop worrying about you all the time. I want to be able to leave my apartment without fearing for my life." He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. "Most of all, I want things to be the way that they were."

"Things will never be the way that they were," Joey answered, catching his double meaning. "I’m sorry, but we can’t change the past, Pacey." He turned his head slightly towards the window, avoiding her gaze.

"Maybe I should talk to T.C. alone, then," he said finally.

"If that’s what you want," she replied sadly. "I’ll be with Dawson if you need me."

"Don’t hold your breath." Joey touched his arm gently; he still refused to look at her.

"Good luck," she said as she retreated down the hallway. After she was gone, Pacey collapsed on the nearest bench and cried.

* * * Approximately one mile from Capeside Memorial Hospital
10:57 a.m.

"Can’t you drive any faster?" T.C. urged Steve from the passenger seat of his car.

"I’m going ten miles over the speed limit already. Unless you want to get pulled over, we’re not going any faster," he said firmly. "Take your tranquilizers or something."

"Look, Steve," she said, facing him squarely. He put a hand up to silence her.

"I know you’re worried about the kids, T.C., but taking it out on me will only make things worse for everyone. Don’t say anything you’ll regret."

"I won’t regret saying this."

"You’ll regret it when I shove you out of the car and make you walk the rest of the way to the hospital." T.C. crossed her arms defiantly.

"You wouldn’t dare," she challenged.

"Watch me," he replied, stepping hard on the brakes. T.C. shrieked involuntarily as she flew forward. She managed to catch herself on the dashboard and glared at Steve. He smirked and continued driving.

"Jerk," she muttered, straightening her skirt.

"What was that, T.C.? Did I hear a ‘please do that again, Steve?’ I believe I did," he teased as he turned into the entrance of the hospital.

"You are such a-" she started, shaking her head. She stopped talking as soon as she saw Pacey’s figure by the door. "Stop the car," she ordered. "Yes, ma’am," Steve teased. "Page me when you want me to come back and get you," he added, quickly giving him a way to get out of talking to Pacey. T.C. didn’t even notice; she merely nodded. She leapt out of the car and into hospital.

"Hi, T.C.," he mumbled as he saw her enter.

"You look awful," she replied as Steve drove away, presumably in search of some young blonde to flirt with. "Come on, let’s go inside." They walked, side-by-side, into the lobby and down the hall into the cafeteria. She sat Pacey down at a small table and bought a cup of coffee for each of them. He smiled gratefully.

"Thanks."

"Don’t worry about it. Are you ready to talk about what happened in the church?" she inquired, pulling a notepad and pen out of her bag.

"Not yet. First, I want to ask you something."

"Shoot," T.C. said. She quickly raised a hand to her mouth. "I didn’t mean to say that. Oh, that was bad. I mean, go ahead." Pacey smiled slightly.

"Do you think I’m being unreasonable towards Dawson?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I’m justified in still hating the guy?"

"I’m a believer in the validity of emotions, although they sometimes may not be warranted. Why are you asking me this? Why do you hate Dawson? I don’t believe we ever touched on this."

"Joey doesn’t like how I’m still mad at Dawson for what he did. I think that it’s costing me a second chance with her," Pacey continued, oblivious to T.C.’s question.

"What did Dawson do?" T.C. inquired, still confused as to why Pacey had brought this up. Pacey blinked and finally appeared to realize that he hadn’t let T.C. in on this aspect of his life.

"This is actually what I wanted to tell you about today; this is why I set up the original meeting," he revealed, reminding her of their original date at Mollye’s for that morning. "But then Mr. Leery got killed and…things kind of went downhill from there. I completely forgot that I was supposed to tell you about Joey and Dawson’s little liason." "Joey and Dawson had a liason?" T.C. repeated in disbelief. Pacey nodded.

"You ready for this?"

"Go ahead." And, for the next hour, Pacey explained everything to T.C. in the small cafeteria of the hospital while Joey stayed at Dawson’s side.

If you liked this story at all and would like to read the next part, please write to me and let me know! Feedback is the only thing that keeps me writing; I don't do it for my health!

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