NOTES AND DISCLAIMERS: Pacey is from Dawson's Creek, etc, Inc, et al. Gunn, etc are property of Mutant Enemy and etc. Not for profit, ever ever. Post-Not Fade Away for Ats, pre-Dawson's Creek finale. Thanks to missy, Younger, Dine and Nikki. Title and quotes from the Todd Thibaud song.



TAKE ME BACK ST. CECILIA




Take me back St. Cecilia, bring me to my knees
I've been lost, been forsaken, help me to believe



Working at the resort was turning into Pacey's favorite dead-end job. First he'd screwed up yet again in Boston and then financed Dawson's movie well enough that Dawson moved to L.A. to become a junior writer on the latest hot teen property on the WB. Pacey ended up on an actual to God Caribbean island, cooking and cleaning and generally care-taking for three bungalows and a maximum of six guests.

His only complaint was that he never got laid, but it wasn't for lack of offers. Pacey just wasn't interested in adulterous trophy wives or threesomes with software geniuses. Genii? He blamed Joey because she'd broken his heart for the second time. Normally, he'd be all over stupid choice sex.

The sun was bright every day and the ocean was everywhere.

It was the end of the summer season and only two of the bungalows were occupied. On the east side of the tiny island there was this month's sixty-year-old millionaire and twenty five year old wife, Pacey thought of them as "waiting until the last day to offer up the threesome."

On the west side of the island there was That Guy. Registered with no name, just a booking for a huge software company for one person, That Guy was different from anyone who'd ever come as a guest to the resort. First because he wasn't over fifty and not a shade of pasty pale, second because he was just barely thirty if that, third because he seemed really depressed. Most people who came to the resort were pretty damn happy or took enough drugs to float around in a pretty good simulation.

That Guy had arrived on Pacey's day off, the only one he had every week, so Marion had met him at the docks and set him up in his bungalow. But Marion had gone on at length about the new guest, so Pacey felt pretty up to speed. Didn't talk much, tall but not ball-player tall, no smiles present, seemed a little slow. Not slow-short-bus, but slow like he was sick. Marion read a lot of detective novels and liked to go all Sherlock Holmes on each of the guests. Pacey never got that into it.

Pacey waited in the bar/kitchen and fiddled with the DVD player attached to the large TV. He'd had a TV that big once. But this DVD player was fucked up for some reason and wouldn't play Pacey's VCDs. The ones in the guest bungalows would probably work but Pacey could get fired for using those. Pacey was wondering if he could afford to buy his own and if it was even worth it when That Guy came in.

"Is this where I get breakfast?"

Pacey walked back behind the counter and said, "Yes, it is. I'm Pacey, I'm your cook and maid for the next month, except on Tuesdays, which are my day off. What would you like for breakfast?"

That Guy sat down across from Pacey and said, "Menu?"

"Nope. I have many ingredients, I make anything you want. I used to be a chef." Pacey grinned. "But first, you have to tell me your name. I keep thinking of you as That Guy in my head and it's annoying."

"Gunn." He paused. "Everyone calls me Gunn."

"Okay. Now tell me what to make for you."

Gunn shrugged and said omelet, so Pacey set to work, holding up ingredients and waiting for Gunn to nod or shake his head. He poured a glass of orange juice and Gunn drank it without comment. Pacey said, "If you want, I can get you a newspaper, in the evening, every day. Starting tomorrow."

"You're the go get it guy, huh?" Still no smile.

"That I am." Pacey put the omelet on a plate and passed it over. Gunn played with his fork and stared out the window. Pacey took the hint. He said, "Okay, I'm going to my bungalow. You can buzz me for lunch through the intercom in your bungalow and eat it here, or I can just bring it to you. You can see as much or as little of me as you want." Pacey grinned and put up a bowl of fruit. "Whatever you want."

Gunn nodded and Pacey left.

Gunn buzzed him for dinner, not lunch, but he ordered big. Hamburgers and fries and more fruit and an ice cream sundae. It took Pacey an hour to get everything together and he knocked on Gunn's door with his apologies in place. Gunn just said, "Come in and leave it."

Pacey took the food out of the basket and put it all the on the table with a fork and knife and spoon. And ketchup. He said, "Now I get you want me to motor, but I gotta say, you've got the sweet deal here and you did something to earn it so --"

"Stop." Gunn stared straight ahead with his face set.

"Right, sorry." Pacey held up his hands. "I'm sorry. I talk too much. Everyone says so. Buzz me in the morning, and I'll pick up the plates or bring 'em with you to breakfast."

Gunn said, "Got it." He sounded grim.

Pacey had said something wrong, he knew it. And he felt like an ass. Mostly the people who came here annoyed him or bored him. Gunn didn't act rich and he wasn't annoying and Pacey wasn't bored. He felt a strong surge of that feeling he'd had with Andie, as odd as it seemed, like he wanted to help.

So he got a little drunk and shared two joints with Marion to forget it.


I've got my feet back on the ground now but it took a little while
I never thought of myself as lucky but I made it through in style
And the wind up world goes by, takes a beating on the other side


Two days later, Pacey had rid himself of his urge to be a savior. When Gunn showed up for lunch, the first time since he arrived, Pacey resolved to not talk more than he needed to. Gunn sat down and grimaced. Pacey bit back the urge to comment. Gunn said, "Lunch. Maybe a break from burgers. What can you do?"

"Whatever you want. I've worked for two years as a chef in some very nice restaurants. If we have the ingredients, I can make it."

Gunn said, "Okay. Fish. I want fish."

"Which kind?"

"You choose, chef man."

As Pacey cooked up the scrod and sauce, Gunn sat. Then he picked up one of Pacey's VCDs and said, "What's this?"

"Something I can't get the DVD player in here or my bungalow to play."

"If it could play, what would it be?" That, Pacey thought, was almost a smile he saw.

"My ex-best friend's television show. All 22 episodes from this season, of which he wrote four. I'm sorry, had writing credit on four, to be technical, which he would. He's very proud."

Gunn stared at the VCD. "Which show?"

"Some crappy teen show on the WB. I think it's called Santa Monica. I mean, seriously, can you name one good show on the WB?"

Gunn shrugged. "I don't watch much TV."

"Frankly, neither do I. I don't even watch that. But I have to."

Gunn put the VCD down. "You said ex-best friend. Why do you have to if it's ex?"

"Because it's Dawson. Which, I know, for you is not an adequate explanation. Suffice to say, he'll ask me what I thought and when I say I haven't, next thing you know, Joey will ask what I thought of it so she can tell Dawson my honest opinion. Joey, you see, is the key here. Joey, which is short for Josephine, by the way --"

Gunn nodded. He looked slightly less grim.

"See, Joey and Dawson? Best friends. Soulmates, some say. Not me, also by the way. Joey and me? Used to date."

"Sounds complicated. Are there more chapters? Because that lunch smells done."

It was and Pacey dished it out. It did smell good; Pacey hadn't lost his skills at all. To his surprise, Gunn said, "Okay, so you have to watch that show not because of the ex-best friend but because of the ex ex."

Pacey sighed. "You know, it's also because it's Dawson. We were best friends. From snot-nosed childhood to about, well, the time I started dating Joey. That was many many years."

Gunn looked up from his plate. "Loyalty."

"I guess it is."

Gunn ate quietly but didn't indicate he wanted Pacey to leave this time. He smiled after he was done and said, "You are a good cook."

"I aim to please." Pacey knew he was smiling back. Pacey was an idiot.

"So, you think it'll play on my bungalow's TV?" Gunn held up the disc.

Pacey said, "I'm pretty sure. But you don't want to watch it, do you? I swear, it's bad. Not only is it most probably bad, it's definitely an annoying WB teen show starring twenty five year olds pretending to be sixteen."

"And they're all white," Gunn said, still almost smiling.

"Every one except the token Latino." Pacey walked out from behind the counter. He'd finished cleaning up everything but Gunn's plate. He could get to that later. "Are you sure you want to watch this?"

"I'm bored, man." Gunn palmed the discs and walked out, not looking to see if Pacey followed him.

The VCDs played in Gunn's player, just like Pacey expected. Pacey made popcorn after the first two eps and then made even more food and brought beer for Gunn as they watched the rest. The show wasn't horrible and the presence of other writers meant that it wasn't the fifth rehash of Pacey's teenage life he'd had to see filtered through Dawson's eyes. Not quite, though, because the first episode Dawson had full story credit on introduced the loser best friend who charmed the second lead's girlfriend. Pacey pointed at the thirty year old actor and said, "Now, that, that is me, Gunn. Right there."

Gunn snorted. "Your best friend thinks you're an asshole."

"Ex-best friend. Note the ex. He always makes me the heavy. Always."

"And you're still watching." Gunn reached for another beer. He offered Pacey one and Pacey waved it away. "You not drinking on the job or something?"

"Nah, I have to make you breakfast and clean the other guests' bungalow in the morning. I sure wish I could be drunk for this."

Gunn snorted. "If I'm hung over, you have time to sleep in." He handed Pacey a beer and Pacey took it.

They'd watched seven eps before Pacey yawned and said he was going to bed. Gunn turned off the show and wished him a good night.

Pacey cleaned the departed couple's bungalow in the morning and then waited behind the counter for Gunn to wake up. Around 10 am, Gunn buzzed him on the intercom, saying, "Hey, bring me breakfast and let's see if that Brooklyn chick hooks up with asshole you."

Pacey made another omelet and brought snacks. It was a horrible show, Pacey thought. Gunn agreed, he kept snorting and nearly laughing during the heavy drama moments. There were a lot of heavy drama moments.

They were watching the fourth episode written by Dawson Leery when Gunn said, "He got that all wrong."

"Of course he did. I never slept with Jen, though not for lack of trying." Gunn gave him a sidelong look. Pacey said, "What were you talking about? Cause I am once again dwelling on how Dawson Leery insists on making me out to be the worst person in the world, and always sex-starved and desperate."

Gunn snorted again. "I mean, your friend got his comic books wrong. That's not right, what that guy said about 1602? Completely wrong."

Pacey grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Pacey said, "You should write that down. If you could write that down so I can repeat it to Dawson, that would make my month."

Gunn rolled his eyes but he did it.

They watched all day, with short breaks for Pacey to make lunch and dinner. After the predictable cliffhanger ending to the season finale, Pacey stood up and stretched. He looked at bedside table and saw two framed pictures. One of Gunn standing by a man in a wheelchair and a curvy girl with long brown hair like Joey. The other picture was Gunn, wheelchair man standing up with no wheelchair in sight, curvy girl and a skinny girl. Pacey said, "Nice pictures."

Gunn stared at the pictures and said, "My inheritance." He paused. "Someone left them in a box for me, along with some other junk. Don't know why I put them out."

"Your friends?" Pacey said. He could tell this was dangerous ground. But Gunn was a mystery and unhappy and that got Pacey itching.

Gunn looked at Pacey. "Everyone in those pictures is dead."

"Except you."

Gunn stood up and held the door open for Pacey. "Right."

When Pacey brought breakfast the next day, the pictures were gone. Pacey would have kicked himself, but Gunn was poking at the television and something on the floor. The X-box. Gunn said, "Is this thing broken?"

"It might be. You'd be amazed, man, incredibly rich people stay here and they steal our DVDs, our DVD players, and screw up our video games. Like, whatever happened to common courtesy? Do the rich just get to ignore that?"

Gunn looked at the machine on the floor. "Rich think they can do whatever they want."

Pacey brought in the replacement X-box and whatever games hadn't gone away with sticky fingers. When he brought Gunn's dinner, Gunn was playing some kind of hockey thing. Badly. Pacey made a face and said, "Do you even like hockey?"

"My boss liked hockey." Gunn turned off the game. "I never did." He looked up. "You sure you don't have any more games?"

"Positive. I told you, people steal shit."

"No, they steal the good games and leave you shit." Another pause. "Wanna play this one? You steal cars and beat up people. Something fun for the chef. Pretend the bad guy is your pal Dawson." Pacey put down Gunn's dinner next to him and grabbed the second controller.

At the end of Gunn's second week, he had a visitor. A scorching hot female visitor. Pale, dark hair, built, completely capable of snapping Pacey in half. Pacey fell in lust from her first swagger. Gunn stood in the bright sunshine with a bored expression on his face, like he had when he was trashing Pacey in a videogame. Gunn said, "Gosh, Faith. You found me."

"We did." She cocked her head and smiled. "Look at you." She paused. "You're not gonna tell me what happened, are you?" Gunn shook his head. She said, "Any idea where Spike and Angel are?"

Gunn glanced at Pacey and then back to Faith. Faith was such a pretty name. For a scary scary hot girl. Gunn said, "Is that why you came? Looking for them?"

"Sure," Faith said, shrugging. She walked past Pacey without even a look. "Also, I have a proposition for you."

Gunn rolled his eyes. "Whatever." He turned around and started walking back to his bungalow. "Come back to my bungalow. You want food, Pacey's your guy."

"Yes, yes, I am." Pacey stumbled as he headed towards Faith's lovely leather-pantsed ass.

She gave him a long look over her shoulder of the completely contemptuous kind. Pacey smiled brightly. Break me in half, he thought, please? Faith laughed and caught up to Gunn. She said, "How did you ever find this place? It's swank."

"I used my savings, called a friend of a dead friend. Always nice to have a nodding acquaintance with a software billionaire." Gunn glanced back at Pacey and said, "Bring us a big lunch."

A little overboard, Pacey thought, looking at the four sandwiches, three cans of pop, two bowls of fruit salad, and a full bag of potato chips. Maybe they'd ask him to stay.

He walked up the path slowly, holding up a basket on one arm, and drinks balanced on the other. When he got a few feet away, he heard Gunn saying, "Maybe I'm just not interested in working for your damn Council."

"You're not going back to Wolfram & Hart, right?" Faith had a sexy voice. Pacey grinned listening to her.

Gunn said, "You're funny."

"I'm saying, you're looking good. You're recovered, right? Ready to get back in the fight now."

"I'm recovering." Pacey knocked on the door with his forehead. Gunn pulled the door open and almost smiled. Gunn said, "I think that might be enough food."

Pacey put it all down and tried not to drool at Faith, legs spread on the couch, leaning back, ignoring him. She didn't say anything until he left. The minute the door closed, he heard her say, "It sucks about Wes."

He didn't hear Gunn's reply even though he was walking slowly.

Marion told him Faith left on the evening boat while Pacey was cleaning up the other bungalow. Then Marion went on about how he was convinced that Faith had to be gay, except he used a word Pacey liked to avoid because Jen got pissy when he said it.


Cause I hear voices in my head sometimes
I see angels in my dreams, in my dreams
And the wind up world goes by, takes a beating on the other side



Pacey felt like he and Gunn were almost friends now. When Gunn hadn't buzzed for breakfast or shown up by ten, Pacey walked over to his bungalow. Maybe Faith had broken him. Maybe Gunn would tell Pacey all about it.

Instead he found Gunn in the front of his bungalow in sweatpants and no shirt, jumping rope. There were sticks on the ground and a scary looking axe. Pacey smiled and waved and tried not to stare at Gunn's chest. And back to thinking of Gunn like Andie, he thought, except in a different way. Pacey had fooled around with a few guys, Jack, Drue, random guys while working on boats or the restaurant. He liked people.

Gunn threw down the rope and stretched for a moment, long enough for Pacey to notice a wicked and kind of recent looking scar on Gunn's stomach. And much older ones on his shoulder and hip. Marion had said Gunn moved slowly when he got to the island, Pacey thought.

Gunn said, "Hey, good morning to you." He picked up the axe and started swinging it. Pacey backed up a step.

"Good morning to you, person with scary axe. Did I screw up dinner?"

"Dinner was great. Just getting back in shape." He muttered something but all Pacey could hear was 'Faith.'

"Which involves an axe? What do you do?"

Gunn grinned and this smile, Pacey thought, was feral. He backed up another step. Gunn said, "I used to be a lawyer. Now? Not so much."

"Lawyering involves axes? Because, no, that's not surprising." Gunn didn't reply and Pacey said, "Do you want breakfast now or after you've chopped down the trees?"

"Can I chop down the trees?" Gunn grinned a happy grin at that one.

"Technically, no. On the other hand, you have a scary axe and you're taller than me." Gunn snorted and threw the axe at a tree by the side of the bungalow. It went straight in. He frowned and walked over to the tree. "So breakfast later?"

"Later," Gunn muttered.

"You hit the tree real good."

"I wasn't aiming that high." Gunn looked over his shoulder as he pulled the axe out. "I'll buzz you, man. Don't worry."

"Just don't do it with the axe." Pacey went back to the main bungalow and waited.

They played video games in the late afternoon after Pacey brought a huge lunch. They were mostly talking in grunts and a lot of choice male posturing for the first two hours. Then Pacey sat back and said, "What do you think about dinner?"

"Dinner? I'm still full from lunch. Man, you like to eat."

Pacey patted his stomach and said, "I do. I definitely do. Also, I had lunch before you." Pacey stretched and thought his stomach probably didn't look nearly as nice as Gunn's had. He said, "So you took down the pictures."

"I did." Gunn rubbed his head briefly. "I don't know why I had them up in the first place. Hell, I don't know why he saved 'em in the first place."

"It's good to remember your friends."

"Sure." He hunched his shoulders and fiddled with the strings from his hoodie. "But I remember 'em fine without seeing the pictures." Gunn said, "Why don't you make dinner now?"

For the next week they had a little routine: Gunn would do his work out all morning in the bright sun, Pacey would make lunch and bring it to Gunn's bungalow, walking by the new fresh cuts in the trees from the axe, stepping over broken wooden staffs on the path, then they'd play video games and watch bad old movies Pacey had found in the other bungalow.

Pacey discovered Gunn had a sister, also dead, grew up in LA, in the bad part of town, believed Denzel Washington should have won the Oscar for Malcolm X and could trash Pacey's ass in every single video game ever invented. Including the very lame ones made for young children. Pacey was willing to accept defeat but the inevitable crowing was a little obnoxious.

He looked at the schedule that morning in his own bungalow and frowned. Gunn was only booked for two more days. They hadn't had a guest yet that Pacey liked as much he liked Gunn, even minus the little crush. Plus, he hadn't solved the mystery or made anything better. And such is life, Pacey thought.

He wanted, suddenly, to go home. Capeside. Catering to rich asshole tourists was something he could do just as easily in Capeside, but he'd have the glow of familiarity. Also, his family. But he wouldn't let his family bring him down this time. He was itching for something different and new. And maybe this time he'd go with something old.

Gunn said he was only back at about 90% from whatever had happened. Pacey thought 100% must be scary as all get out. He went to Gunn's bungalow around noon with a big lunch and couldn't find him anywhere. Pacey put the food down in Gunn's empty bungalow and then went looking. Two axes embedded in two trees, a new pile of broken wooden staffs, and no Gunn. He finally found him swimming in the ocean. Pacey called out, "You heading back in?"

Gunn didn't answer but he was heading towards the shore so Pacey just waited. Gunn smiled quickly and said, "I got more to do this afternoon. Last training before I leave, so come back in a few hours with dinner." Gunn walked back to his bungalow without looking back. Back to business, Pacey thought. Gunn's business was apparently all about the stone cold and in charge and not so much the happy video game fun.

When Pacey brought dinner, heavy on the carbs, Gunn was back to axe throwing. Pacey heard the thwacks and starting singing loudly to make sure he didn't end up a target. Gunn was holding both axes when Pacey walked up. "Just put it down inside," Gunn said. "And hey, later? Like in a few hours? Maybe some booze."

Pacey nodded. He waited two hours and brought back half the bar because he didn't know Gunn's preference in brain blotting out. Gunn was sitting inside, polishing one of the scary axes and staring at the blank TV set. As Pacey put the bottles on the table, he noticed the pictures were back, on top of the TV. Gunn laughed as Pacey pulled out the fifth bottle. "I don't drink that much, man. Am I gonna be charged extra for all that, because I used most everything I had for this place."

"Believe it or not, this about the amount of liquor we budget per bungalow per month. So you're actually behind on your allotment." Pacey rubbed his hands together and said, "Want some help?"

Gunn shook his head. "Feel free to check on me later, make sure I haven't tried more swimming or something."

Pacey went back to his bungalow and waited. He reread three emails from Jack about three guys he'd dated and how Jen was and Grams and fingered his one postcard from Joey, tracing her handwriting and even holding it close to his heart like a complete loser. Then he walked down to Gunn's bungalow.

Instead of thwacks he heard the shattering of glass. One more thing to dodge, he thought. Drunk guests were actually stock in trade. Though, Pacey thought, as he walked closer, he wasn't used to drunk guests who might possibly have axes. Suddenly Capeside was looking really good.

He called out, "Hey, Gunn, you okay?"

"Motherfucking fine."

When Pacey could see the bungalow, he could see Gunn, standing in front of the open door. He was standing up, not clinging to the door, which Pacey thought was a good sign. Then Gunn said, "Broken glass, you better watch out."

"Great. And you know who has to clean that." Pacey tried for a light tone.

"I can do it. Sweep up the dust, disinfectant on the floor, dismember the bodies, I've done all of that." Gunn crossed his arms and stared.

"Dismember?" And that wasn't so much a light tone as Pacey's voice squeaking.

"Weren't the human ones. I never had to do that. I tell you, I will miss having a cleaning crew."

Pacey kept his distance. "They're good."

Gunn laughed. "Please, god, don't say good, don't say evil, don't say anything about right and wrong. I'm taking the night off. Hell, I took the whole month off. No discussion until tomorrow. Tomorrow, we pack the boxes, tomorrow I am back on task." He leaned against the doorframe. "Though that might be wrong, too."

"Okay, then." Pacey was getting used to it, not understanding anything.

"You think you know right and wrong?" Gunn sounded like he was wondering, not belligerent.

"I don't," Pacey sighed. "My dad and my brother are cops. I think, I think they're good cops. You know, and please don't tell him I said this, but I think Doug would know better than me."

"But you have to know," Gunn said, and he was suddenly a foot from Pacey's face. "You got that ex-best-friend and you still watch his damn show even though it was shitty. And don't tell me it was for Fred."

"Joey. Who's -- never mind. Okay, but is that good? Or right? Or am I just chickenshit and holding on to stupid memories of when I was five or six or whatever the fuck. Even when we were best friends, he fucking forgot my sixteenth birthday. Like, how impossible is that? An entire friendship summed up in that one day. He was too busy with his girlfriend and I don't even remember which one it was." Pacey rolled his eyes.

"He sounds like an asshole."

"Yeah," Pacey said. "But he's not, not completely. I mean, you're right. Or, you're correct. Because we're not saying right."

"We can say it." Gunn turned around and walked very steadily back into the bungalow. "Come on in, take away the rest of this shit, man."

Pacey had brought five bottles, there were two left, both full. That was a prodigious amount of booze. But Gunn was just sitting on the couch. Pacey said, "You ready to sleep?"

"Not particularly." Gunn patted the cushion next to him. "Sit for a while."

Pacey considered and sat down. They were both looking at the blank TV. Pacey said, "So, where do you go from here?"

Gunn said, "Not completely sure. I have a list of places I ain't going."

"That leaves some places to go, right?" Pacey leaned back on the couch. "I'm thinking of going home. Lately, I mean. Back to Capeside. This place is too bright for me. A little too relaxing and easy." He laughed.

"Yeah, easy." Gunn sighed. "So home will be hard and that's why you're going there. Maybe."

"Home is where the heart is." Pacey stood up. "Okay, I'm going to bed. Make sure to wake up, okay?"

Gunn waved as Pacey left with the remaining bottles.

In the morning, he found Gunn asleep on the couch on the bungalow, cradling his axe. That was a little disturbing, Pacey thought. He cleaned around Gunn and spent most of the day welcoming the new occupants of the other bungalow, a sixty-year-old couple who for once seemed pretty nice.

He made lunch for Gunn, heavy on the grease and left it on Gunn's doorstep. When he checked back, it was gone.

Then he was busy and Marion took over the cooking while Pacey did other maintenance, lugging things and sweating and not thinking except about Capeside in the summer and the humidity and Joey's smile and then it had been a really long day. And then it was morning and Gunn was carrying a huge duffel bag to the boat to the mainland. Pacey stood on the dock and said, "Have fun with your axe."

Gunn laughed. "Fun. That's an interesting word for it." He kicked the duffel bag onto the boat. "You gonna go back to your little town?"

"Yeah, I think so. I've only made a fool of myself about a hundred ways back there; I bet I can find a hundred more. It's a skill."

"It's a good skill." Gunn paused. "Anyway, it was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you, too. Keep safe and all that. Come to Capeside, man."

"Your father or your brother can arrest me for being the only black man in town. It'll be loads of fun." Gunn laughed.

"Now, see, that's not true. I can think of at least two others. You really should."

Gunn called, "Maybe," as the boat started up. He didn't look back as the boat pulled away. Pacey watched until the boat disappeared and then went to Gunn's bungalow to clean up. It was already close to spotless. Good, Pacey, thought, because he was only cleaning up these places for one more month and then he was going home. His favorite dead end.

THE END

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