Rogue: This is my first Gilmore Girls fanfiction, and it was written on a whim at midnight. I was watching my Season Three DVD set and decided that Rory really shouldn't have left that perfectly good piece of paper to waste, and added a little 'extended scene' where she does write a letter to Jess. She just doesn't send it. Like I said, first Gilmore Girls story. If you could comment on the style, or if I even got Rory down at all, that would be nice. Oh, and I deliberately don't use their names at all except in the actual letter. So that's why there are so many 'she's and he's' in here. It was an attempt at a style.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing this. It would've been included.


"See you Friday, doc."

"See you Friday." The words escape her mouth without really registering what she's saying. It's not until the dial tone is echoing in her ear that she realizes that her mother hung up, and she sets the phone back on the table next to her bedside. Her eyes circle the room once, as if searching for something in the dark. But there's nothing there, as usual. When she closes her eyes, there he is. Again.

This is why she can't wait to get home. He's always there whenever she closes her eyes, with that crooked smile and tousled hair. It's not even the boy she supposed to be missing –that would be Dean, her boyfriend- and yet his face is the one that keeps appearing on her eyelids. She knows it's because she hasn't written to him, or contacted him at all while she's been here. Here, as in Washington. And she knows the only reason she hasn't contacted him is because of what happened at the wedding.

It doesn't make sense. She's dating Dean, and he is just a friend. Or, he was just a friend. Does a person really get on a bus and skip school for a friend? Do you kiss friends at other friends' weddings? Do you sit up at night, at the writing desk in the corner, and try (unsuccessfully) to write letters to a friend, explaining what happened?

This is why she is dreading returning to Stars Hollow. He is there, and whether he waited for her or not, seeing him probably won't help the dizzy feeling she gets whenever she thinks of him, but at least if she sees him he won't keep appearing while she's trying to sleep.

But she knows now that she's awake, she can't fall back asleep. So she slips out of her bed and over to the writing desk in the corner of the dorm room she's sharing with Paris. Underneath multiple letters from Dean, there is a letter she's writing herself. The letter is not addressed to Dean, though. She's written him while she was gone. He hasn't heard from her since the wedding.

She sits there for a long while, the only light coming from a small lamp on the desk. The two words scratched on the paper seem to be glaring at her, urging her to continue the letter. Her eyes linger on the name for a brief moment, and she bites her lower lip, tapping her pen lightly against the edge of the desk. She hears stirring behind her, and her eyes jam shut. If Paris wakes up and asks her what she's doing, she doesn't know what her excuse will be this time. She's already used the 'writing to Dean' excuse twice already, and she thinks her roommate might be catching on.

But Paris mumbles something about Hilary Clinton and rolls back over, and she knows she's safe. With a resigned sigh, she realizes that she's never going to get this out of her system if she doesn't get it out somehow. So she puts her pen to paper, and the words begin to pour out, as if the pen has a mind of its own, and she's not the author.

She scribbles furiously for a few minutes, pausing only to scratch something out or to replace her pen when it runs out of ink. When her writing hits the edge of the paper, she slides the letter forward chews the end of the pen thoughtfully, her eyes falling closed. His face is still lingering there, deep brown eyes so familiar. Sometimes, when they were together, she felt like he was staring through her, not at her. She thought he could read her like the books they both loved so much.

Her eyes snapped open and she let her gaze shift to the letter. It read:

Dear Jess,

I don't know what to say to you, really. There's no way I can explain what happened at the wedding, what I did or why I did it. It was the heat of the moment, and it just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Looking back on it, it seems very impulsive and very not me, but I did it. And, you probably know by now that the reason I haven't tried to talk to you since then is because I have no idea what's going on in my head right now. I don't know about you. I don't know about Dean. About the only thing I'm sure of is that, when we did kiss, I felt something.

I'm just not sure what that something is yet. You're different, you know. You're practically the complete opposite of my type. If you were reading this, you'd probably be thinking that my type is Dean. Well, considering he's my only boyfriend, I guess he's my type. But, really, how can someone have a type if they've only dated one boy in their lifetime? Dean's my type. But does that mean he's my only type? I don't think so. I can't deny that I'm attracted to you. Well, obviously there was an attraction. I don't just go around kissing my friends on a daily basis.

That's what you were to me: a friend. My mother didn't like it. She didn't think you'd be a good influence on me. You really weren't. I skipped school to go chasing after you when you left. Except, I don't think you're the only one doing the influencing. I'd like to think I'm rubbing off on you, too. I can see it in you, Jess. There's a lot more to you than just the rebel without a cause image you're trying to pull off. You're really smart. I know you can do great things. You just need to set your mind to it.

But now, I don't know what you are to me. You're always there, even when I'm sitting in a conference with seventy-five of the one-hundred senators. If I close my eyes even for a minute, you're there. I guess that means something. I thought that writing this letter would make the dizzy feeling in my head and the dead weight in my stomach go away. But the only thing this is doing is making me realize why I did it in the first place.

I kissed you because I wanted to. I missed you while you were gone, and when you came back like that, all I wanted to do was kiss you. So I did. And now you won't leave me alone. Even when we're miles apart, you won't stop bugging me. Is that a sign?

I kissed you. You kissed me back. And now I can't stop thinking about it. I don't know what this feeling is, but when I figure it out, I'll let you know.

She took a deep breath and shook her head slowly, moving to grab the pen again. She signed her name with 'love' and once she realized what she'd done, she scribbled the word out about a million times. Then she turned the paper over and scribbled it out on the back side, too. She knew if he saw it, he'd be curious, and try and figure out what she didn't want him to see. She also knew that if he held it up to the light, he could probably make out the 'love' that had been scratched out.

She signed the letter with Sincerely, Rory, and folded the paper in halves, and then in fourths. She grabbed the nearest book (The Fountainhead) and stuffed the letter between the pages, in no particular place.

She decided it didn't really matter that she'd written love, Rory because he was never supposed to see the letter anyway. It was just an exercise to get her feelings out. She wouldn't send it, because she only had one more day here. She would return to Stars Hollow before her letter did. She wasn't planning on giving it to him, either.

And he would never see it anyway.