Evil Willow's Favorite Fanfic

Freaky Friday


Part 13

Written By: Cat
Rating: G
Summary: Dawson's Creek goes through some changes.

Disclaimer: I am not in any way affilated with the show.
I don't not own any of the characters from the show. I do
own rights to any characters I have made up. No copy rght
infirgment intended.

Cloey was getting into her car one bitingly cold December morning when she realized that it was Friday the thirteenth. Shrugging, she continued on her way, driving carefully on the icy roads, taking the time to reflect on the changes of the last few weeks. She and Dawson had been spending a lot less time together recently, m she was busy modeling and was often with Pacey during her free time, while Dawson was working furiously on his new script. As she pulled into the school parking lot, she allowed herself one more fleeting leisure thought. Her and Pacey's carriage ride in New York had been…nice. She smiled, grabbed her bag, and got out to start another day at Capeside High. Pacey was waiting for her in the usual spot. "Hey there, Witter," she said softly "Hey, Clo. I'd almost given up on you. Onto first period?" he asked, extending his arm. "As always," she said, grimacing. "Icy roads this morning." "Ah…" he said understandingly, giving her a squeeze around the shoulders as they walked into the school. They soon met up with Dawson, who was just leaving the office. "Hey, D-man," Pace exclaimed, slapping him on the back. The three moved off to a bank of lockers to get out of the busy hallway traffic. Clo," Dawson started, "I've got the script pretty much finished. I think we're going to officially start production in January, and I need your approval before we move on to casting and all that." "Not a problem," she reassured him. "I've got a few people in mind for the leads. They're not big names or anything, at least not yet, but they're good." Dawson had just started to respond when first bell rang. He sighed. "English calls. See you guys later," he said, heading off down the hall. "I guess that's my cue," Pacey told Cloey, giving her hand a quick squeeze. "See you at lunch." "Gotcha," she told him, starting down the stairs to her first class. As she went down, she saw Jen standing in the hallway below. She had just started to wave when she realized who the blonde was talking to. She tried to rush past, but it was useless. As she went by, he caught her arm. "G'day, Richardson." She shuddered involuntarily. Months ago, she had found his Aussie accent incredibly sexy, but now that she knew him better… "Cloey!" Jen exclaimed. She fought to keep herself from shaking, managing to get out a weak "Hey." She didn't realize they had been standing there silently for a few seconds until Jen spoke. "Look," she said, "I gotta get to class, but I'll see both of you guys later." Flashing a million-dollar smile, she squeezed Cloey's arm and walked away. Cloey was left standing there, her heart pounding. Alone. With Stephen. "Cloey…" Stephen said, somehow amused. "Cloey, Cloey, Cloey. What have you been up to lately?" he asked, stepping forward until she was forced to back up against the lockers. "Just the same old stuff," she whispered, trying to look confident. "I've got to get to class, though," she added with a touch of defiance. "You're not going anywhere, you know," he replied conversationally. "We have some talking to do." "We…" Oh, God, she was stammering. "We…" She tried again. "We have nothing to discuss," she finally said. The wheels in her head turning, she continued. "And I have to get to class, so I guess I'll be seeing you later." She quickly stepped around him and made for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to get out, to leave, to get away from him. Surprisingly, he didn't stop her…but followed closely behind. When she reached the main hallway and made for the parking lot, she started fumbling in her purse, trying to find her keys. Seeing her car halfway across the lot, she suddenly realized the very real danger she was in. If she didn't get to her car… Quickly shaking the thought off, she suddenly saw the situation very, very clearly. She had been an idiot to leave the basement; he wouldn't have gotten her up the stairs without a fight, which would have doubtlessly attracted someone's attention. Here in the parking lot, however…well, it was unlikely she would be heard in time if she screamed. With that thought first and foremost in her mind, and Stephen close at her heels, she decided to run. Shaking and making no attempt to hide it, she looked around. "You bastard," she said, realizing he had taken her to a secluded park that was all but deserted during the winter months. "Get out of the car, you little whore!" he yelled, hitting her. He was still holding her keys, which he had taken from her during their struggle in the parking lot, and they left three raised red lines across her face that started to bleed. Losing patience, he shoved the keys into his pocket. "I said, get up!" When she shakingly complied, he took her arm in an iron grip that pretended to be a caress. "So, how have you been?" he said mockingly, dragging her away from the car. "I've missed you." Apparently, he found the statement hilarious, and laughed savagely--a short staccato bark. "I didn't," she muttered. *Bad mistake, Richardson!* she screamed at herself when he swung around to face her. They were in a secluded spot, and she was alone with him…and his face had taken on a look of demonic rage. He slapped her across the face as she struggled from his grasp. "You're still the same little bad-mouthed slut you were before, aren't you? Well, that's certainly good." He moved closer, his mouth meeting hers in a harsh, bone-jarring mockery of a kiss. When he pulled away, panting heavily, his eyes hard and anticipating, she made an attempt to reason with him. "Stephen…" she started. That earned her another blow, this time to her ribs. She doubled over, pain shooting through her body, as he pushed her to the ground. "Don't even try to yell, sheila. Save your breath," he told her, smiling cruelly. "It won't do you any good." Meanwhile... As Pacey made his way to lunch, he wondered where Cloey was. They shared fourth period, and he was a little worried that she hadn't been there. After grabbing a coke and a slice of pizza, he went to sit with Dawson and Jen. "Have either of you seen Cloey today?" he asked. "Only this morning, with you." "I saw her right before first…" Jen started. Pacey cut her off. "I'll be right back." Walking over to the pay phone, he dialed his voice mail number. No message, which was strange, especially since they had plans for after school. He returned to the table. "No message. Where could she be?" Dawson shrugged. "Well, usually she leaves a message for you the minute her schedule changes, but maybe she forgot. I mean, it's happened before," he pointed out, always the optimist. "You're probably right," Pacey replied, more to reassure himself than anything else. Later that afternoon... Cloey looked down at herself. She was covered with bruises, and the bleeding from her split lip and the cuts on her face was only just starting to slow. Reaching for her jeans, which lay nearby on the frozen ground, she winced at the pain centered low in her body when she pulled them on. As she stood, she grabbed her sweater and tugged it over her head. The humiliation of having been made to strip in thirty-degree weather was only overshadowed by the degradation of being raped. She hugged herself tight as she debated putting on her shoes. Then, suddenly, the reality of what had occurred really hit her. Turning, she began to run blindly, her hair a tangled mass down her back. She knew on some level that she must look strange, running barefoot, tripping, gasping for air, but the presence of the few cars on the road didn't penetrate her screaming mind. Finally, she slowed. Looking around, she realized that her feet had taken her straight to Pacey's street--more accurately, to his doorstep. Ringing the bell, she stood, a thin, defeated figure, until Pacey answered the door. As he gathered her into his arms, trying to soothe away the tears streaming down her face, she managed to choke out, "Please don't let him hurt me anymore!" Exhausted, she hid her face against his shoulder. "Shh, I'm here now. It's okay," Pacey murmured into her hair. "Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you." He gently rocked her back and forth, trying to give what little comfort he could, holding her close until her sobbing and sniffling subsided. Pacey was furious. He wanted to find the person who had done this and make him suffer as much as she had. Adrenaline coursed through him as he tensed, imagining what he would do, how much pain he could inflict--until Cloey raised her head and looked at him with dazed, fear-stricken eyes. At that moment, he knew he had to take care of her. Feeling her cold, damp clothes even through his sweatshirt, he frowned. "C'mon, now, let's get you cleaned up," he told her, gently pulling her into the house. A half hour and a warm shower later, Cloey sat on Pacey's bed wearing a pair of his flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt. Both were ridiculously large on her petite frame but warm and soft. "There," said Pacey, applying a butterfly bandage to her forehead, "I think you're just about done." He paused, his brow furrowing in concern, then added, "But you really should have a doctor look at your ribs, you know." She shrugged. It was strange, but though she had just been raped--a fact that was still not totally clear in her mind--she didn't feel at all threatened by Pacey's closeness. *It just goes to show,* she realized, *how much I trust him.* Keeping that thought in mind, she drew in a deep breath. *I trust him,* she told herself. *I trust him.* "Pacey," she said hesitantly, "can I talk about what happened?" Relief instantly lightened his face. "If you're sure you want to," he responded. "I wanted to ask you about it but I wasn't sure how you'd take it." She nodded. "Well," she said, steeling herself for his reaction, "he raped me. There's no getting around it." His face was a carefully shielded mask. "He spotted me this morning, before first period, and followed me to my car when I tried to run away. He took my keys and shoved me in, and we ended up at that little park over there." She waved her hand in the general direction. "I tried to run," here her voice faltered a bit, "but it was impossible. And when I fought back…well, look at me," she said, indicating her battered face. "I thought I was going to die." Finally, she raised her eyes to meet his. She was momentarily taken aback when she realized he was literally seething with rage--not at her, but at Stephen. She exhaled, relieved. "That's the whole sordid tale, then," she said to him. "But I'm here, now, and that's what matters." He frowned and took her hand. "Cloey, you've said it gets worse and worse every time he attacks you. What if he'd knocked you unconscious? What if you'd stayed out there all night? You could have gotten pneumonia or hypothermia or something and died." Cloey shrugged. "Well, it didn't get to that, did it. And what would you do, anyway, Pacey? I mean, if you lost me?" Knowing that she would suffer no censure from him for her situation, she prodded for his underlying feelings. "I'd go insane, literally, Clo. I'd go on a mass killing spree and end up in the State Pen," he said, laughing, then looked away. There was a pause. "I'd miss you, more than you realize," he added quietly. Cloey smiled, reaching to turn his face back towards her. "I know, Pacey. I'd miss you, too." She moved closer, and it seemed only natural to be enfolded in his strong arms and held tight. She nestled her face against his neck and breathed in the comforting masculine smell of his aftershave as his heart beat under her hand. Meanwhile... Stephen stroked his cheek and frowned. The little bitch had fought back, and boy had she fought. There were nail marks and bites all over his face and shoulders, marring his normally perfect visage. After returning to his hotel, he had showered and dressed for his date that evening, but his face wasn't in top condition…he shrugged. He had the power to render women senseless with his charm, and that was all that mattered. Smiling to himself, he considered the evening's possibilities. Jen had mentioned a grandmother, so he had gone with the "boy next door" look, but he was anything but. As he hopped into rented Mustang, he resolved that Jen would be fully aware of that by the end of the night. Following the directions she had given him, he arrived at the modest Cape Cod and knocked. Upon coming face to face with a woman in an apron and graying hair, he turned on the charm and made his accent thick enough to cut. "Good evenin', ma'am. I'm here to pick up Jen." "Ah, yes. You must be Stephen," Grams replied. "Please come in. Jennifer will be down shortly." "Oh," he told her, flashing a smile, "there's no rush." Upstairs... Jen was just finishing her make-up when the phone rang. Frowning at the bad timing, she answered it. "Hello?" A breathless voice greeted her. "It's Cloey. Do you have a minute?" "Yeah, but make it quick, because Stephen's waiting," she responded, debating whether to use her Cappucine blush or Tahitian Kiss bronzer. "Well, that's why I called. I wanted to warn you, Jen. About him--he's dangerous." Jen laughed. "I'll be fine, honey. I'm a big girl." "Please listen, Jen! It's for your own good!" She sighed. "Look, Clo, I've gotta go. I'll be fine, okay?" Hanging up, she stood and took one last glance at herself in the mirror and she headed downstairs. Upon reaching the living room, she found Stephen laughing and talking with Grams. *Him, dangerous?* she thought derisively. *Cloey must have really flipped this time.* Turning to Stephen, she flashed a smile. "All ready." "It was good to meet you, Mrs. Ryan," Stephen said, rising to help Jen with her coat. Grams nodded, whispering, "You keep this one around," to Jen as they headed out the door. Jen's smile grew brighter. "So," she said, turning to Stephen, "what's on the agenda for tonight?" After an intimate dinner at an exclusive Italian bistro, during which Stephen was nothing but gentlemanly and courteous, Jen had to wonder at her friend's ravings. *I have no idea what Cloey was walking about. This guy is one of the nicest I've ever met,* Jen thought as Stephen helped her into the car. They drove to the Rialto and quickly settled on a movie. As they stood in line for popcorn, Jen saw Pacey out of pass by. Waving, she caught his attention. "Hey, Jen," he said, surprised, when he made it through the crowd. "What's up?" She stepped back to reveal a tall, well-built man standing attentively beside her. "Pacey, this is Stephen. Stephen," she said, turning and gazing up with smiling eyes, "this is my friend Pacey." *So,* Pacey thought, *this is what the Devil looks like.* "…So, are you here alone tonight?" He started. "Oh, no," he replied, trying to sound like he'd been paying attention during Jen's little monologue. "I'm waiting for Dawson," he lied. "What are you here to see?" Stephen spoke up. "We decided on 'The Haunting.' Takes a bloody long time for your movies to make it down to Australia, y'know." "Seen it. It's good," Pacey said, his mind whirling. "Well, take care of yourself, Jen. Oh, and good to meet you too, Stephen." Turning, he disappeared into the crowd. When Cloey got out of the bathroom, he put his arm around her. "Hey, how about 'American Pie?'" he asked. "I hear it's good." "I was hoping to see 'The Haunting.'" Thinking fast, Pacey shrugged. "Um, I've already seen that," he replied casually. "What about 'The Sixth Sense?' Dawson recommended it." Cloey shrugged. "That's fine," she said, looking away. Pacey looked down at her concernedly, then asked, "Okay, what's the matter? I know something's up." "I'm just worried about Jen. I don't want him to get to her the way he did to me," she replied, genuinely shaken up. "Don't worry. Jen can handle her life." He tilted her chin up and met her gaze with his. "I want you to stop worrying about other people--namely, him--and start thinking about yourself. Okay?" "Yes, Officer Pacey," she replied meekly, taking his hand in hers. "Now come on, or we'll miss the movie." Pacey just shook his head and laughed. *Who's in charge, here, anyway?* After the movie… "Thank you. I had a wonderful evening," Jen told Stephen with a smile. "Oh, well, who says it's over yet?" Laughing at his devilish grin, she replied, "Well, I know a place where you can see almost every star in the sky. It might remind you of home." "Nothing can beat the Australian outback for stars, but if it comes close…" Jen directed him to the ruins and they found a secluded bench. "See, I told you," she said, looking up into the night. "Fabulous," Stephen murmured, moving closer. Jen glanced over. "Of course, there are different start here in the Northern Hemisphere," she pointed out, trying to stifle her growing irritation as she scooted to her right. "Marvelous…" His tone changed. "What's this? Playing hard to get?" "No," Jen said, looking him in the eye. "Good, then," he countered, before forcing his mouth down on her. Jen pushed him away. "That hurts!" "You think that hurts? Wait till we're through!" With that, Stephen had her down on the ground, a hand casually anchoring hers over her head. "After all, no one can hear you, my beautiful American miss. No one a'tall." On the opposite side of the ruins... Dawson sat, deep in thought. *Okay. So the main character falls in love with his best friend, but then she leaves for college. Then he ends up falling for her sister…but she's in love with his other best friend. Hmm… *Nah. It's been done before.* As he sat, deep in thought, he suddenly heard a cry for help. There it was again. He made his way through the woods, growing more and more worried, until suddenly he nearly tripped over two figures on the ground. It was Jen!…And Stephen. His blood began to boil as a murderous rage possessed him. Grabbing the man from behind, he threw him down and began pummeling his face. He didn't notice the pain in his knuckles when he connected with Stephen's jaw, the agony shooting up his wrist when fist met teeth…his rage subsided only when Stephen stopped reacting. "That," he said, "was for Cloey." His fist connected with his left eye. "That was for Jen." The right. "That was for Pacey, because he hates you more than you'll ever know." He struck the lower lip, splitting it open. "That was because I want to kill you right now." Finally, the ribcage. Jen winced at the audible crack. "That was because you deserve it." Standing up, he turned to Jen. "Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. She nodded, speechless for a moment. Hugging him tight, she managed a weak, "Thanks, Dawson," through her tears. "Don't ever scare me like that again, okay? Let's get out of here." "I wish I would've listened when Cloey called me." "Shh…it's alright. I'm taking you to my house." An hour later… Pacey turned to help Cloey through Dawson's window. As soon as she stood, she turned to Dawson. "We got here as fast as we could. Where is she?" she asked, worried. "Bathroom," he replied, making a gesture towards the door. Despite his worry over his ex-girlfriend, it still bothered him that his two newest guests wereholding hands…and he felt like a jerk for the thought. As Jen entered, Cloey jumped up from the bed to wrap her arms around her friend. "He didn't…hurt you, did he?" Jen shook her head. "No. Dawson showed up in time." She paused, taking a breath. "He just scared me more than anything." "Where is he now?" Pacey said quietly to Dawson. "Probably where I left him--in the ruins." "Well, now that we know that, I can finally call my dad and send a couple of assault cars out." He smiled bitterly. "After an assault and a rape, we shouldn't have much trouble--" Cloey turned, hearing the last sentence. "Don't even bother, Pacey. The second you do that, he's in our lives for much longer--months, at least. And if you try to lock him up, he'll just walk away more furious than ever," she warned him softly. Going to sit beside him, she took his hand. "His dad's one of the richest men in Australia and virtually controls Sydney. It's his lawyers against us. That's why I showered, got cleaned up. They'd eat us alive anyway, so why try?" Pacey shook his head. "After what he did to you…" he ground out, drawing her close. She lay a hand over his mouth. "I think he's learned his lesson. I really don't see him bothering me--us--again." *At least I hope not,* she prayed, closing her eyes. There was something in the back of her mind telling her that Stephen wasn't totally out of the picture.