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The day began just fine: beer, giant bags of spicy Doritos, yakisoba, Twix bars, a look in the mirror and a smile at it all. He was giving the gift of loving himself on Valentine's, which had been sorely needed after what felt like almost a month of throwing himself into work and fussing over people. He'd borrowed a computer and several movies, stuck to a corner of the lab, and enjoyed himself for as long as the haze would last. He watched Bruce Willis kick a**, drank, are, drank, remembered he used to promise Lori this would be the first adult movie she'd watch with him when she turned 13, drank, forgot if this year she was or not, drank, drank, drank, and forgot what caused him to be there that day, drowning in cans and a quiet sorrow he couldn't quite shake.

Dawson didn't remember how it happened. One minute he was watching Die Hard, the next it was in its case, his mess blurred into a stern scolding and a sheepish clean up, something burbled like an apology in between; the next he was in his room, cold and dark and exceedingly lonely, licking the chip dust off his fingers; and then the next he was in front of Claude's door with his large Scooby Doo lunchbox, vaguely making out the pictures on her door.

He blinked slowly, hesitated, and then knocked several times.

"Cap'n," he greeted her in lower and thicker voice than usual, gaze hovering around her legs like he was a cowed child aware he was bothering an important someone. Dawson smelled of alcohol, chips, sweat, and loneliness. He wiggled his lunchbox and it made a dull sound as something rolled within. "You busy? Erryone else is."

Guilty as charged. Rather than plop on the floor, he shuffled his way to her bed and tipped over. A regular bed. Windows. No blood stains or scary rusty instruments. It was mind boggling.

He took a long breath of her sheets, exhaled, and then rolled over. Another long breath as he gazed in a daze at the ceiling. "You wanna drink?" Dawson asked, patting the lunchbox blindly. "I got few beers here...You had a goodday so far, Cap'n?"

Normally Dawson would have plunged right in, but he felt lazier than normal. The bed was also super comfy. Cracking the lunchbox open, he revealed that indeed he had managed to stash three cans of beer and pulled one out, clicked it open, and gestured sloppily for her to grab one as she pleased; a little beer sloshed as a result.

He stared at the ceiling a little more before pushing himself into a sitting position with great effort. His hat was close to falling off but he didn't seem to notice. "If somethin' wen' wrong witchu, you'd tell me, yeah?" Dawson asked after a while. "You'd lemme know? 'Cuz we frien's?"

He gave a sad sort of laugh, the beginnings of a guffaw that petered out into something pitiful. "See, tha's what I like aboutcha, Cap'n," Dawson said with a bracing smile. "I like yer honesty. People migh' say it's bad, like yer some kinda b***h, but hell, I don' think so. Tha's why yer a good friend. We're honest with each other."

He raised his can to Claude with a lazy half smile and drank.

"Well, even if ya wouldn't talk, I wantcha t'know m'here, okay?" he said more quietly. "One text, that it. I'd come runnin'. No questions. I don' gotta know s**t t'help." He gave the Sun a doleful yet somehow hopeful look, like a basset hound quietly begging for a treat. "That better?"

Even drunk as he was, he knew that didn't answer his question. Dawson debated pursuing as he drank more beer, then decided there wasn't any point. As long as Claude knew.

"Good. Sawry," he mumbled against the lip of the can. "I needed t'say so. Needed y't'know. Maybe people don' know it, maybe I gotta put it out there..." His gaze grew unfocused for a few seconds, and he started to sway just a little--not out of a drunken sense of balance but because it was an inherent trait of his that Dawson couldn't sit still for long.

"Sawry," he repeated more glumly. "I missed practice 'cuz I got my a** beaten too hard. Been pickin' up more spars t'try n'..." He gave a pointed look at his gut and sighed. "Couldn't barely move fer a while. I, uh..."

He dug around in his pocket and sighed again, this time in relief, when he was able to produce a leather bracelet of his own from his coat pocket, this one with a gold sun charm woven in.

"Not gonna say it's a bribe, but not not gonna say it ain't either."

"So yer not mad I skipped out," he replied with a guilty look. "N' ya don'...replace me wi'someone else o-or somethin'." His voice cracked at an unfortunate juncture, and he looked even more guilty for putting Claude in this awkward position.

"Y'don't...?" Dawson blinked. His outstretched hand started to lower, and his eyes started to shine. "Really, Cap'n?"