Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, Rory and Jess, or Dido's "White Flag". I don't even own the computer I made this on, which I find pretty sad, especially since I'm the only one who uses it in my entire house.

A/N: He, he, I made an author's note with no meaning. Aren't I witty? Okay I guess I'll just remind you to please, please, I beg of you...read and review. Oh, and I'm also kinda curious how the whole "beta system" works, so if someone could explain it to me, I'd be appreciative.

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I know you think that I shouldn't still love you,
Or tell you that.
But if I didn't say it, well I'd still have felt it,
where's the sense in that?

Jess: I want to be with you, but not here. Not this place, not Stars Hollow. We have to start new.

Rory: There's nothing to start!

Jess: You're packed. Your stuff is all in boxes. It's perfect. You're ready. And I'm ready. I'm ready for this. You can count on me now. I know you couldn't count on me before, but you can now.

You can.

Rory: No!

Jess: Look, you know we're supposed to be together. I knew it the first time I saw you two years ago, and you know it, too. I know you do.

Rory: No, no, no, no, no!

Jess: Don't say "no" just to make me stop talking or make me go away. Only say "no" if you really don't want to be with me.

Rory: No!

I promise I'm not trying to make your life harder,
Or return to where we were.

Freeze. In one painstaking, agony-filled moment, every vein in Jess Mariano's body turned to ice. His bones froze inside out, and he could feel a light frost burn his eyelids, refusing them closure...to simply disappear from the hell he had created between them. Turn his world black, if only for a few wondrous seconds, then he could stop staring at her, pleading pathetically like the scum he always believed he was. But alas, any small favor was denied of him in this moment, and he felt his eyes shatter from beneath the hold of his own gaze and surrendering, drop to the floor as he backed away from one of the only people who had ever given him a chance.

I will go down with this ship,
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door,
I'm in love and always will be.

He drew himself from the room and forcefully pushed through the dorm's entry doors. It was getting very dark, but he had almost no trouble finding his beat-up car in the nearly deserted parking lot. Making his way toward it though, he noticed another slightly familiar truck dart out of the darkness from behind him, narrowly missing Jess by inches, probably too focused with his own retreat to notice someone else was leaving as well.

Soundly flipping Dean off (or more like his ghost, the truck had already began to turn out into the street), feeling the spring breeze lightly hit his face, Jess wondered about how many possible synonyms there could be for pitiful...he came up with deplorable, lamentable, sad, sorry, and woeful before reaching his car and pulling out a cigarette. He had quit two months earlier, but he decided right then and there if there was any time he ever truly deserved a smoke, it was now.

Climbing into the car, he just sat there a couple of minutes, sinking to the last degree of miserable as he stared at the school he had tried to drive her away from, pleading silently for her to fling open the doors and race up to his car, begging him to not leave without her. But he knew nothing like that was ever going to happen now. He had been utterly naive to think such fifteen minutes ago. What had he been expecting? A warming reconciliation? Her willingness to be simply swept away from her home, friends, life? An ending complete with his crappy apartment, full of sour milk, dusty bookcases, and torn furniture...what a tantalizing romance, he thought grimly. She didn't love him anymore, he was now even doubting if he had ever loved him in their first place. After all, it had only been a "thought" to begin with.

I know I left too much mess and
destruction to come back again.
And I caused nothing but trouble
I understand if you can't talk to me again.
And if you live by the rules of "it's over"
then I'm sure that that makes sense.

Taking a drag on his cigarette, he sped out of the parking lot, windows rolled down and with him going at least 95 miles an hour. He figured if he drove fast enough he could forget all the crap that had happened not so long ago, get back to New York and drink everything alcoholic in his fridge, and drink, and drink, and drink until he passed out or died of alcohol poisoning. Maybe both if he was lucky. Oh well, at least then he wouldn't be around to screw up anymore. He didn't even care if he got pulled over. The police couldn't put him off much worse than he already was. Running so many red lights that all he could see were random flashes of red, green, and yellow, he reached New York in half the regular time, a blur of cigarette butts, quick turns, and the pounding noise of Elastica rising from the radio.

I will go down with this ship,
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door,
I'm in love and always will be.

Slamming his apartment door behind him in a violent manner, silently hoping that it would swing off his hinges and wake up all of his damned neighbors, he threw off his jacket and pulled a beer out of the fridge, briefly enjoying the cool breeze that emanated from it. Checking to see if any of his roommates were home, and not surprised when they weren't (they usually used what money they had to party at nearby clubs or hire hookers at all hours of the night), he settled at his beaten-up couch, thinking about her.

After all this time, he still couldn't figure out what made him so crazy about her, and only her. He knew he wanted to be with her, yet he despised the agonistic feeling of always needing to be with her. He had pretty much just sunk to an annoying love-struck idiot, as his desperate act had proved, and he was stuck in his actions like a piece of paper to super-glue. It would be so quieting and calm if he could just forget about her and drift aimlessly through life: go to a strip club, satisfy his roommate's request for a party, nearly anything just to put her out of his mind. But that was impossible. Every time he flipped the page of a book, took a sip of some coffee, passed an ice cream shop and watched Almost Famous she was there, with her twinkling blue eyes and long (short?) brown hair, swishing back and forth, back and forth...like a rhythmatic dream, haunting every moment of his crappy life, teasing him with a better one. One that could have been with her...if only he could have changed in time...

And when we meet,
which I'm sure we will.
All that was there,
will be there still
I'll let it pass.
And hold my tongue.
And you will think,
that I've moved on . . .

He drifted off slightly, in and out of consciousness, beer half-empty and dangling limply from his weathered hand. He could feel himself reliving his own memories, accelerating through each and everyone, almost as if he was still behind the wheel, speeding through exits, whipping behind dark alleys and twisting through sharp turns, right until he was painfully faced with his own inner demons, each and every one of them exhibiting her face. Pain. Desire. Happiness. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness.

All around him, she was there like a thousand flashing pictures. He couldn't escape her face. He started wondering if maybe one of him roommates thought it would be funny to slip some LSD into his beer. She was all around him, circling him thoroughly, bringing his shadow into the light, motioning to him, telling him he could fix it. That he could fix his worthless life if he grew up and stopped hating himself. With everything he did to her, no wonder she didn't want to talk to him anymore. He could finally even feel the presence of his own hatred, burning familiarly in his stomach like acid, gone untouched for so long. Here he was, a useless pile of unwanted crap, steaming under the sun. No real friends, little caring family, and the only person he had ever loved giving him long detesting stares. And then a roar filled his ears and all the copies of her face disappeared in the blink of a second, abandoning him...and all he could do was shout for her to come back, to not leave him the way he left her. He was sorry, he was sorry, he was sorry, he was so, so sorry...

He sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat, his hand clutching so tightly to his beer he could feel the imprint of the top making a bruise from in his clenched fist. Glancing at the clock and realizing that he had indeed fallen asleep, since it was early morning, he jumped up and made his way over to his rickety wooden desk, a sudden inspiration circling through his blood like liquid fire. Putting his beer down, he counted the minutes until he had to get ready for work and pulled out a few sheets of paper and a pen from one of the desk's drawers.

I will go down with this ship,
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door,
I'm in love and always will be.

As he began to write, he made the hard decision to disappear for a while, maybe wish his mom well, give Luke a chance to stop worrying about him, and...and maybe let her go for the time being. Not forget her, because he could never do that, but maybe just push her a little farther to the back of her mind, let her waver there while he put his life together. He needed to do it. He needed to fix everything, even if her rejection still throbbed painfully fresh in his mind. He wasn't giving up just yet, that would so not be him, he was just giving everyone some space. Besides, he had work to do.

I will go down with this ship,
And I won't put my hands up and surrender,
There will be no white flag above my door,
I'm in love and always will be.

He sat at the desk at what must have been the longest time he had sat still in weeks, pencil clawing at the paper, scratching words upon it that twisted into sentences, that writhed into paragraphs, spinning the tale of a lost boy, a break away from the ordinary, a "miracle" filled with figurative language and carefully selected anastrophes and hyperboles. He filled up pages and pages of random papers and notebooks, skipping work, waving away his drunk "friends," and for one of the first times ever, finishing what he had started.

A few weeks later, after the notebooks had been combined, the spellings had been corrected, and he finally checked to make sure his grammar was perfectly straight, he packed the little he owned and left a note on his sleeping bag, informing his roommates that he was gone and leaving his last few hundred dollars to cover the rent. Walking out with only the small bag slung around his shoulder, a book in the back of his leather jacket, and the beginnings of his very own novel safely rolled in two of his shirts, he left the dingy, confined apartment forever and made his way into the world, away from Stars Hollow, away from New York, and away from her.

It wouldn't be forever though. He'd come back and show her how she had changed him, refined him, made him a better person. Gave him the strength to place his feelings down on paper, giving his stoicism a well-needed rest. And in the end, he would be able to thank her for everything. All the good and all the bad.

After all, he couldn't have done it without her.

I will go down with this ship,
And I won't put my hands up and surrender.
There will be no white flag above my door,
I'm in love and always will be.