Summary: A new conflict surfaces in Rory and Jess's relationship, manifested as they struggle to define themselves as adults.
Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual innuendo. Nothing graphic.
Feedback: Greatly appreciated. I won't withhold writing for feedback, but it certainly makes it feel more worthwhile. I'd love to hear anything, a sentence you liked, a piece of the story, your general thoughts. Anything.
Author's Notes: Rory's POV. This is a bit of a departure from my usual style. I hope you guys like it. I was trying for a more realistic feel than some stuff. Let me know what you think. I used as many facts as I could but obviously, some stuff is made up. The main titles and chapter titles are e.e. cummings quotes.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the other creators of the Gilmore Girls universe.

Ch. 1: laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph


The candle on my bedside table, having burned its wick to the bottom of the white saucer, extinguished in a lazy curl as the room drifted into darkness. Headlights from a passing car swept across the far wall, illuminating a wispy tail of smoke as it hung in the air like a forgotten question mark. I stretched in bed and sought a cool spot among the tangled sheets.

The bed moved slightly as Jess shifted beside me, his fingertips lightly brushing down my arm. You awake? His voice was gruff with sleep, but warm.

My reply was noncommittal, but he took it to mean yes. It tickled when he kissed the side of my neck. I turned over, tucking myself against him, breathing in the scent of his skin. He exhaled softly, a contented noise in the back of his throat.

What time is it? I asked, vaguely trying to pull my thoughts back to a fixed plane.

Don't ask stupid questions, he said affectionately.

My eyes were adjusting slowly in the dim glow of the streetlights outside, and I blinked as I began to make out the angular contours of his face. He was smiling; I could see it in the line of his jaw. I reached up, my fingers brushing the damp hairs at the base of his neck, and pulled him down to kiss me. While his eyes were closed, I stretched out my other hand and fumbled in the dark for my watch.

He pulled back just far enough to ask, What time is it? He knew all my tricks.

I pressed the indi-glo button, saw my fingers briefly bathed in blue light.

What time's your class?

Not until ten.

He rolled away from me, flat on his back. Breathed out. Hard to believe you're almost a graduate.

I know. I joined him staring at the darkness that masked the ceiling. He sensed that there was more I wanted to say and waited patiently, hands resting lightly on his stomach. It's weird, I guess. I mean, I've been talking about being a journalist for so long. What if it's not like I imagined it?

Then you'll join the circus.



He moved his hands behind his head. I think you'll be fine.



Hey, would I lie to you? I saw a dim flash of teeth as he grinned.

I'm serious. What if I can't hack it?

You'll be great, okay? You will go striding through foreign countries like a goddess, and people will rush out to greet you in the streets. They'll crown you the reporter deity of the Middle East.

I kicked him under the sheets. Now you're just being silly.

Maybe, but it's true. People like talking to you.

I was silent, trying to picture myself capably handling different currencies, arguing in foreign languages, sleeping in cities across the world from my home. The idea was surreal to me, even though I'd been preparing for just that lifestyle all through college.

I nudged him. Do you like talking to me?

Of course. He drew in a sharp breath and held it. I'll miss that.

I propped myself up on one elbow, fighting the gravitational pull of the mattress in an effort to watch his face.

I'll miss that. Talking to you. The sound of your voice.

I'm not dying, you know.

I know. But once you start traveling, everything will be different.

The threat of tears was so sudden I almost wasn't prepared to fight it. Jesus, I'd miss him when I started working. It was a double edged sword; in starting my dream job, I'd have to be far from the man I loved. I swallowed once to gain time before saying lightly, Then I'm just going to have to sneak you with me when I travel.

He released his breath, the somber mood broken. Where will you keep me?

I laughed softly. In the overhead compartment.

With your pillow?

I rested my head on his chest, smoothing a hand over his stomach. You are my pillow. Most of our conversations in the middle of the night disintegrated in this manner, moving from intellectual discussion into sleepy, nonsensical endearments.

Lying there as his breathing dwindled to a whisper, I drifted from the moment gradually. Listened to the sharpened silence of the room. A plane soared overhead, nearly drowned out by the gentle hum of the fan in the corner, turning back and forth to watch over us. The air was heavy, damp and intoxicating.

Consciousness spun away on the threads of sleep.