This is a slightly fluffy angst piece about Rory remembering Jess. It takes place after the season three finale. Slightly AU, due to Luke never telling Rory where Jess went and Jess never climbing through Rory's window (so far as we know). Sadly, I do not own Gilmore Girls, as shown by the distinct lack of Jess in the later seasons. Enjoy!
She always kicked off the top cover.
Not the blanket, not the sheet, just the top quilt. Jess used to joke, during his midnight forays into her bedroom, that she should weigh down each side with one of her Ayn Rand books- Atlas Shrugged for this side, The Fountainhead for the other. She had always maintained that it was his fault- the blanket just wanted him to be warm. Jess would laugh and curl up in the cover at the end of her bed with an innate grace that she could only assume came with the career of being the Dodger.
They would sit and talk, just talk despite Ms. Patty's insinuations, not only about books, music, and safe daylight topics. It was only when the lights were out that Rory felt truly comfortable talking about their future. In the harsh glare of sun and townspeople alike, their separate futures seemed just that- separate.
At night, their futures seemed closer together and more tangible, not in the what-are-we-doing-tomorrow sense (Jess never did master that), but in another equally important, perhaps more so in Jess' case, I-will-be-here sense.
They discussed places they wanted to go; hers were mostly abroad from Europe to Tokyo, while Jess' destinations were more the practical haunts of his favorite Beat writers. Occasionally though, they'd agree. Barcelona- for Jess' obsession with Hemingway, or England- to visit Charles Dickens' grave.
They never discussed cost or timing; the most specific planning they did consisted of Rory requesting that they hop a train to Edinburgh after London. Jess agreed once she threw in a side trip to Stratford-on-Avon.
It was always far, far away from Stars Hollow.
It was funny, in retrospect, that they had discussed California so many times. Rory had to bite back a tinge of hysteria, when she finally pried Jess' whereabouts from Luke. California, Venice Beach.
Silly Rory, she thought later. Did you really think you'd go together?
During her Europe trip she watched carefully in the streets for him. She held her breath when she passed a Parisian café that Fitzgerald wrote at, and couldn't fully pay attention Agatha Christie's headstone. She couldn't help but wonder if she wanted to experience this with him or just show him what he had lost by leaving.
Now melancholy winds blow in the window she can never quite close, chilling her feet as the comforter slips to the floor.