Letters Of Rembrance

by mocha-queen

Literati. Her husband died a year ago on Christmas, and the letters she finds three years after his death remind her of the love they shared. Future Fic.

Title: Letters Of Remembrance
Author: mocha-queen

Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. All of it belongs to those whose names appear on screen.
Spoilers: Season 2 and Season 3. Future fic.
Summary: Literati. Her husband died a year ago on Christmas, and the letters she finds three years after his death remind her of the love they shared. Future Fic.

Author Notes: I actually like this story. I just sat down one night and wrote it out, and I'm very impressed. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

Bold italics=letter

Italics=memory

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She sat at the long table watching her family celebrate the Christmas season, but to her, it was not the season to be merry.  Tomorrow was Christmas for everyone. But for Rory, it was a time to remember, for it was three years ago tomorrow that he had died.

Jess was on his way home from the store. He had made a last minute run to pick up more cream for dessert when his car was hit by a mini van on the slick December roads in New York.

She still remembered the day like it was yesterday. She was roasting the turkey for dinner that night, along with her three kids, their children, and significant others. She had just basted the turkey when she got the call.

"Mrs. Mariano?" The voice was old and cold. She could tell it was the bearer of bad news.

That day, she had awakened with the gut feeling that today was going to be a bad day. She tried to protest when Jess went out, but he dismissed it as nothing. But now, she knew that her gut had been right.

"Y-yes?" Her voice quivered into the handset.

"Mrs. Mariano, I'm afraid we have some bad news… Mr. Mariano was in an accident, and he's at the ­­­General hospital."

Dropping the phone and shattering it into a million pieces, she fell to the ground unable to comprehend. Her family rushed to her side, but she didn't notice. She ran to their second car, leaving them with two words. "­­­General Hospital."

She drove with a surprisingly focused mind. The only thing she needed to focus on was getting to the hospital to see her husband. ­

­"Jess Mariano," she ordered.

"Ma'am, you need to-"

­­"You tell me to take a seat and I will make sure you never leave yours!" She yelled, much like her now deceased mother did so many years ago.

"Mr. Mariano is in surgery. We'll tell you when he's out."

Rory's face relaxed a little. "What happened?"

"I don't know. It's not my job to know."

Rory just nodded and sat down. Her family started to fill the room. They told her everything was going to be okay. They told her not to worry. But she did.

"Mrs. Mariano?"

She ran up to the doctor. "Yes?" Her voice as scared as it was when she was first on the phone.

"He's out of surgery, but you can't see him yet. I'd like to talk to you in private, though."

She nodded her head and followed the doctor down long, colourless corridors, till they stopped outside a door that upon first inspection, held no importance, but that door led to a place she would never want to go again.

"He was hit by a van at an intersection­­­­­­­­­. The driver was drunk, and charges are pending."

All she could do was nod. She was at a loss for words.

"I'm not going to lie to you, though you probably wish I would. Mrs. Mariano, it doesn't look good. He was in bad shape at the scene, and I'm afraid surgery hasn't helped a whole lot. You can't see him now, but I'll try to get you in soon. I must warn you, though, it's not pretty."

She sat down on the chair by the door. "I'm going to wait here. And you will let me see him as soon as I can. Is that clear?"

The doctor nodded, leaving her alone. She watched doctors, nurses, and the like, run in and out of the room. She could hear beeping and other sounds coming from the room when the door was ajar. And even though the sounds meant he was still alive, it still worried her.

Finally, the doctor addressed her again. "You can go in, but-"

In a flash, she was standing right in front of the door, ignoring the doctor's last words. Her hand rested on the handle while she gathered all her courage to go in. But while her mind wasn't ready, her feet took her in. And when she walked in her hand flew to her mouth and her eyes darted to the side of the room.

The sight in front of her brought tears to her eyes. Her husband's beat up body lay still on the tiny hospital bed, tubes sticking out, machines flanking his head. And for once, she felt sorry for him.

She pulled the chair in the corner up to his bedside and sat down. Her legs couldn't hold the weight of her body for much longer. She slowly reached out and held his hand in hers, letting silent tears fall onto the bedspread.

She sat like that for hours. Just sitting. Not moving. Not crying. Till he finally woke up.

She wanted to jump for joy. She wanted to yell and scream in happiness. But she didn't. When she looked into his eyes, she knew this would be the last time she saw him alive.

She gave him a weak smile, trying to comfort him as she tried to hold back the tears that were drawing lines down her face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice raspy. Both knew they didn't have much time for goodbyes.

She put a finger to his lips. "Shhh…" As she tried to come to grips with this new reality, her world was falling apart before her very eyes.

"Promise me something?" He asked.

"Anything," she breathed, giving his hand a light squeeze.

"Promise me you won't turn into a bitter old lady," he smiled. But she knew he was serious. It was his way of telling her that she would have to move on. She just nodded, not wanting to cement the idea of him being gone.

"I need you to say it."

"I promise," she cried, letting the tears run free.

"I'll always love you, never forget that."
She watched him struggle to get the words out. She watched him struggle to live, and felt guilty for putting him through the pain.

"I love you," she said. Her legs lifted her body out of the chair and she bent over to kiss him goodbye. Her head hovered over his. "I love you so much."

"I know. I'm-"

She pressed her lips against his to silence him. "Shhhh…"

He nodded. He understood she didn't need to hear him apologize for something he couldn't control.

He drifted off into unconsciousness and she still held his hand, never letting go. She sat and watched while nurses ran in and out. She sat and watched as the machines slowed. She sat and watcheed as he died right in front of her. She sat in the corner and cried as the staff came to clean up the room.

Three years ago tomorrow, and she missed him more than ever. Never again would Christmas be a happy day. Never again would she feel his touch, hear his voice, or breathe his scent.

During this time of year was when her family left her alone the most, but it was also the time when they worried the most. They left that Christmas Eve with a heavy heart, dreading tomorrow's anniversary.

No longer did she celebrate Christmas. No tree, no decorations, and no presents. Everyone knew that. So she was surprised to find a box with her name on it lying on the kitchen table. She eyed it momentarily before leaving it on the table to be dealt with next morning.

Christmas day came all to quickly for her, but instead of dwelling on it, she went about life like it was any other day. But her heart was heavier than it was any other day.

She sat at the table eating breakfast and eyeing the box from yesterday. Once she was done and the dishes were washed, she sat in the chair in front of the mysterious package. Curiosity got the better of her as she pulled the box closer to her. She removed the brown wrapping, placing the paper delicately beside her on the table. Her eldest child's writing covered the post-it-note on the top.

Mom-

            Found these when cleaning your basement. I thought you might want to keep them some place safe.

She removed the small square of paper to reveal a stack of old letters. The papers were stained yellow by age. She ran her hand over the soft, worn corners of the envelope, tracing her name with a finger over the neat script of her late husband's writing.

She carefully lifted the first envelope off of the pile, afraid it would break if she even so much as breathed wrong. She opened the backing and pulled out the even more worn papers from within.

On the papers were his thoughts. He had been known to write things down and at a later time, leave it for her to find and fall in love with him all over again.

After his death, she moved most of his belongings, trying to get on with her life. It didn't work and she returned most of his things to their original place, but the letters had been missed. 

I remember the first time I saw her. She was so naïve, so trusting, and that's what drew me in. She was unlike anyone I had ever met. And she was the last person I would have thought I'd befriend.

She smiled, remembering the encounter.

She sat at her desk, her laptop open in front of her, when he appeared at her doorway.

"Hey," she said, when she noticed him standing there.

"Hey," he replied. He didn't want to be there, but maybe she would make this otherwise disastrous night interesting.

"I'm Rory," she introduced, already knowing who he was.

He casually answered. "Yeah, I figured." And walked into her room, invading her privacy.

"Nice to meet you," she was polite. Too polite for him, and he just moved on.

He walked up to the bookshelf and quickly scanned the titles for something of interest. "Wow, aren't we hooked on phonics."

"Oh, I read a lot," she said. A lot was an understatement. "Do you read?"

He pulled a book of the top shelf and flipped through the pages. "Not much."

But she would soon find out that he read as much, if not more, than her.

She continued to read.

I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow I fell for her. It seemed liked the weirdest thing. But why does it feel so natural? We're totally different, yet we understand each other perfectly.

She shook her head and laughed, remembering the time when he bought her basket.

They sat on the bridge, the place he had chosen to share their picnic lunch. "Basket, basket maker, guy who didn't bring enough money," was the quote that got him there.

They sat dangerously close, facing each other.

"Ten," she remembered.

"Ten?" he questioned, both her age and her sanity.

"Yeah, but I didn't understand a word of it, so I had to reread it when I was fifteen," she explained.

"I have yet to make it through it," he admitted.

"Really? Try it, The Fountainhead is a classic," she smiled, trying to persuade him.

"Yeah, but Ayn Rand is a political nut," he accused, but it was all in good humour.

She shrugged, and continued to try to change his mind. "Yeah, but nobody could write a forty page monologue the way that she could."

Unable to resist her charm anymore, he gave in. "Okay, tomorrow I will try again." But as always, he had a counter offer. "And you will…"

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "Give the painful Ernest Hemingway another chance. Yes, I promise."

Knowing the way to her heart was through books, he tried a literary pick up line. "You know, Ernest only has lovely things to say about you."

Trying to deny the new rush of feelings, she changed the subject to a question that she already knew the answer to. "Why are you only nice to me?"

"Excuse me?"

She knew he was playing her, but explained anyway. "An hour ago you were totally screwing with Dean and now you're totally nice to me."

He tried to come up with something that wouldn't reveal too much to her. "You see, it's the screwing with Dean-that's an important step to getting here so that I can be nice to you."

She tried not to smile. "So it was a plan."

Oops, he mentally slapped himself. He played the stupid card. "What?"

It didn't work. It never would on her. "The whole bid on my basket, it was a plan." 

New tactic, change subject. "Okay, I'm officially starving."

"And officially evasive."

He stayed on the new topic, unfazed by her questioning. "Come on, I'll get you a pizza."

She didn't falter that easily, either. "Answer my question."

"Do you like pepperoni?"

She finally came to her senses and realized he wasn't going to reveal anything to her. "Not going to, are you?"

He continued to play his game. "We can just get it on half if you want."

And she finally surrendered and stood to leave. "Okay, I give, let's go."

He just shrugged as if it was her idea. "If you insist."

She finished the first letter and moved onto another, and another, and another. Each thing he wrote about brought back all kinds of memories. Many that she had forgotten about but was more than willing to relive.

I thought I screwed it up. I really did. We were getting along. We were friends. Then I crashed her car. I broke her wrist. And I left. I went back to New York, a place that didn't feel like home without her there.

He drove her car, after insisting they go out and get ice cream in cones, because "It's always better in a cone." "Putting ice cream in a dish, eating it with a spoon?" "What is wrong with people?"

Prying into his life was a bad idea, he would never reveal anything, but she had to try anyway. "…You're smarter than most everybody at your school….You read everything, you remember everything, you could ace those classes easily. Why don't you?.. It's crazy they're talking about leaving you back."

He could care less, and tried to fend her off. "Whatever."

But she continued to pry. "You can do anything you wanted, you can be anything you wanted."

"Rory," he warned. He wanted to open up to her, but he couldn't.

"I... Is it like a cool thing?"

He laughed. "I could care less about being cool"

"Well, inform me, please." She wanted to beg, but she didn't want to be a fool.

"I'm never going to college, why waste the time in high school?"

She finally gave up, again realizing she couldn't get much of a direct, full-hearted answer and they moved onto her college dreams.

"What are your big ambitions?" he asked.

"Harvard," was her reply, and she was so sure of it, too.

"I'm going to be a journalist," she stated. Another thing she was so sure of.

"Paula Zahn?"

"Christiane Amapour," she replied. Yes, she was going to be an overseas correspondent.

"You're going to crawl around in trenches and stand on top of buildings and have bombs going off in the background and some wars raging all around you?" he questioned.

She became immediately defensive. "What you don't think I can do it?"

"Just sounds a little too rough for you," he said, unaware of the uneasiness it would cause. Unaware of the crack in her shell he had caused.

She loved how he made her doubt her self, but hated it at the same time. He opened up so much for her. It was both a welcoming yet scary experience. "Well, it's not a little too rough for me. I hope it's not a little too rough for me, I've been talking about this forever. I mean, I don't even know what I would do if-"

He tried to calm her. "Hey, I didn't mean to freak you out. I'm sorry." And he genuinely was. "I'm sure you'll do it. You will, I promise. I'll help you practice, okay? Tomorrow, you'll stand in the middle of the street and I will drive straight at you screaming in a foreign language."

She smiled, getting her confidence back, though the thought that maybe she wasn't cut for the job would always remain at the back of her mind. "Well, you're going to have to learn a foreign language first."

He smirked, his signature expression. "Well, it's lucky I've got me a tutor, isn't it?" And though, he didn't want the night to end, he did promise to go back and study. At least he would still be with her. "Okay, so I guess we should be getting back. I did promise to study if you went on this ice cream run with me."

"Yes, you did," she said. He could hear this disappointment in her voice at the prospect of putting an end to their fun. So he gave her another option.

"Okay, so I just go straight and we'll be back at Luke's."

"Good sense of direction."

"Of course, I could turn right and then we'd just be driving around in circles for a while.." he trailed off, letting her think of the possibilities.

"Turn right," she ordered, with more eagerness than she meant to.

"As you wish," he smiled, glad to have more time.

Her welcome home for me was very welcoming. I didn't expect her to kiss me. Never in my wildest dreams did I honestly think she would. Though, I can't say I wasn't beyond happy. And that was the day that I realized just how much she had changed me.

He stood on the bank of the creek, hoping she would show, and she did. As her dad walked out of view, her eyes fell upon him. Both surprised and happy, she went down the small hill to see him.

She tried to think of something to say, but she couldn't. Instead, "What are you doing here?" came out.

He smirked. "Hello to you, too."

"Is everything okay?" She asked. She needed to get to the bottom of this, because since he had left, she had tried to get her life back in order. But him showing up made everything fall to pieces again.

He continued his own conversation with her. "You look nice."

She finally answered him directly. "Thank you." But then moved back to the interrogation. "What are you doing here?"
His next comment took her by surprise. It was the last thing she expected to come from his mouth. "I moved back."

"But-what-why?" she stammered.

He just shrugged, and kept his answer vague. He'd never confess to her the real reason why he moved back. "Just wanted to."

She stood, motionless and tried to take all this new information in. Then in a sudden movement, her lips were on his and she was kissing him. It took him a few seconds, but he kissed her back, and put his arms around her to deepen the kiss.

Little did they know that that kiss would be the first of many....

Our next kiss was so much better. There was nothing stopping us. The kiss was what we, or at least I, had been waiting for. And no one, not even me, could have predicted how good it felt to hold her in my arms, to kiss her, taste her, to have her.

He leaned against the gas pumps, waiting for her to appear. His fingers played with an unlit cigarette to pass the time, he never had any intention of smoking it.

She walked up to him. "You going to smoke that or mind meld with it?"

He shrugged. "It depends."

"So where's the part for your car?"

He looks around. "Huh, I don't know. Gypsy said she was going to leave it for me somewhere. Guess she forgot."

She smiled, knowing there really wasn't a part waiting, just a clever alibi to get out and meet her later.  "She's bad that way."

He slowly moved to stand in front of her. "I'm just gonna have to take my business elsewhere."

"Looks that way."

They stood, staring into each other's eyes, trying to figure out what the other was going to do next.

"So," he said.

"So," she responded.

"Here we are."

"Yeah, here we are." She finally decided to move on. "So, tell me, what's your decision about smoking that depending on?"

He tried to make the next line causal, but he was shaking inside. "On what's gonna happen."

"When?"

"Now."

He attentively placed a hand on her side and she did the same. They slowly closed the gap between them, and when their lips met, it was like nothing else they had ever felt before. The passion was indescribable.

He put his other hand on her waist, and deepened the kiss. She eagerly wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down closer.

They finally pulled apart, their faces still inches away.

"I'm glad you didn't smoke it," she said, her face bright with happiness.

"Yeah?" His mouth in a full smile, one unlike anyone had ever seen before. He was truly happy.

"Yeah," she smiled back, happier than she had been in a long time.

He cupped her head in his hands and pulled her into another kiss. He put his hand on the small of her back, pulling her up against his body.

It was a kiss neither would ever forget. The first moment of true passion for her, and the first moment of true happiness for him.

Our first date was one for the books. Nothing went right, but we still had the most wonderful time. We were just happy to be around each other. I never expected any of this. I never expected her.

Stranded at a gas station after the car broke down, and they were still having the time of their life.

"Wow, what a night," she sighed.

He smirked. "Yeah. But let's make the best of it."

She laughed a little. "Why are you suddenly so optimistic?"

He shrugged not wanting to say it. But they both knew it was because of her.

He took her hand and pulled a picnic basket out from the trunk. He led her to a place on the grass a few feet away from the parking lot. He rolled out a blanket and sat down. She sat between his legs and snuggled into his warm body. He held her in his arms, and watched as she inspected the contents of the basket.

"Lots of food," she commented with a smile.

"I know how much you eat," he smirked.

She playfully slapped him on the arm. "Hey!"

Dinner went quickly and after, they rested on the blanket while the car was getting fixed.

"How's Hemingway?" he asked, knowing very well she handed read it yet.

She looked away. "Uhhh…."

He sighed. "You didn't read it. You know, I suffered through The Fountainhead for you."

She smiled. "I know. I just haven't gotten around to it yet."

"Well," he smiled. "Today is your lucky day, because I just happen to have one of his books in the basket."

"Noooo," she groaned.

"Oh, come on, I did read The Fountainhead, it's only fair," he coaxed.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

She nestled deeper into his arms, and let his voice wash over her.

I never meant to fall in love with her. I'm not sure I even wanted to. But I did. She pulled me in, and when I realized what she had done, it was too late. I had fallen in love. It was both scary and exhilarating. But it was by far, the best thing that ever happened to me.

She lay against him on the bridge. It was their spot. They watched the stars from their place on the ground. The light of the moon lit up the sky just enough to see each other's beauty. 

"I'm going to Yale," she said, quietly.

He was taken back. Harvard was always her dream, so her decision to go to Yale was a surprise to say the least. "What?"

"I'm going to Yale," her voice louder this time.

"Why? What happened to Harvard?" He asked, hoping it wouldn't have anything to do with him.

"Just wanted to," she replied, using his exact words from the previous year.

"Rory," he warned.

"I'd just rather go to Yale. It's closer to home. I'm not ready to live that far away from Mom yet."

"That's it? Just your Mom?" He asked, with caution.

"No," she admitted. "And you."

"No. No way," he stood up. "I'm not going to be the reason you don't go to Harvard."

"But-"

"No. You have to go," he ordered. He hated to be controlling, but he didn't want her to hold back on account of him and hate him for it later.

"No, I don't have to. This is my choice. I want to stay close to home," she cried. Then, with a quiet, scared voice, she asked. "Do you not want me here?"

He rolled his head back trying to figure out a way to phrase what he was about to say. "No, I want you here."

She was completely confused and stood up to face him in the eye. "Then what? Why can't I go to Yale?"

"Harvard is your dream. I don't want you to stay here on account of me and resent me for it later," he told her softly.

Then she got mad. Where did he get off telling her what to do? "What makes you think we'll last long enough for me to resent you, anyway?"

"Then why are you staying? Huh, Rory? You know your Mom would move to Boston in a second. What makes you think we'll last that long, then?"

"I don't know anymore. I thought you'd understand!" she yelled. Then she softened and looked him in the eye. "What makes you think we'll last that long?" Her voice was calm, even though she was almost scared to find out the answer. He looked away, not wanting to tell her. "Jess."

"Because I love you."

She stood there, shocked. She had no idea he loved her.

"I love you. I never meant to. I never thought I would. But this… it feels different, it feels good. And I don't want to lose it."

She walked up to him, and forced him to look at her. She saw the tears forming in his eyes.

"I love you, too" she whispered.

He let it sink in before cupping her face in his hands and pulling her into an earth-shattering kiss. It was rough, and full of raw emotion, more intense than anything they had ever felt before. But it was a comfort to know the other felt the same.

A year. It's been a year since we started dating. A year. It's so hard to believe. Time has just flown by and I still occasionally wonder what the hell she's doing with me. But I'd rather not question it. I like what I have.

They sat on the floor of her New Haven dorm room, celebrating their one-year anniversary. A picnic dinner was strewn about the room. Picnic always being the choice of meal.

He rested his head on her legs and she leaned against the bed.

"One year, huh?" he said.

"One year," she smiled, remembering everything leading up to this night. "Doesn't seem like it, does it?"

He shook his head, "No."

"I love you," she whispered, and bent down to kiss him.
"I love you, too," he whispered before kissing her.

He sat up and leaned into her, his hands roaming her body while hers roamed his. She began to tug at his clothes and he stopped kissing her. He sat up on the bed and she joined him.

He looked her in the eye. "You sure?"

She nodded. "Yes. I'm sure." Smiling at his concern, she pulled him back into a kiss, and he pulled them down onto the bed, consummating their relationship.

I proposed. It just came out. I didn't plan it, but when I said it, it felt right. I need her more than anything. Being so dependent on her scares me more than I'd care to admit. But I need her. I need her by my side forever. I need her to be my wife.

She had just graduated from Yale, majoring in journalism. He took her out to a fancy dinner, but like most days, they ended up at Luke's, anyway. They sat, facing each other, still dressed in their best clothes.

"I'm finally done," she sighed in relief. "No more school!"

"Unfortunately, I still go five days a week," he joked. After graduating from Hartford Community College he, ironically, became a teacher.

"Totally your choice," she reminded.

"And remind me why I chose teaching?"

"Because you need money to live," she said.

"Wow, Yale really paid off, didn't it?"

She smiled as he held her hands in his.

"I want to move to New York," he said, unsure of how she would take the news.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I want you there with me," he continued.

"Jess, moving to New York? I don't know…"

He didn't put any thought into his next question, but it's what he wanted. "Marry me, then."

She jumped out of the chair. "What?"

He stood and pulled her hands back into his. He gazed intently into her eyes, carefully watching for her emotions. "Marry me."

"You're serious?" She asked, but he could already see her answer.

"I am," he smiled. "So?"

Her head quickly bobbed up and down. "Yes!" She screamed and jumped into his arms. He twirled her around, and kissed her. When he put her down, she whispered in his ear. "And I'll move to New York with you."

I never thought ahead. I never had a reason to, but I have one now. Kids. I didn't think I'd have kids. I don't know if I wanted to, but it's too late for that. And as happy as I am, I'm scared to death about becoming a father, because I don't want to be my father.

It had been a week since they found out she was pregnant with their first child, and they had yet to have an actual conversation about it. They lay in bed, safe and warm in each other's arms, when she brought it up.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

"You know I am," he smiled, rubbing his face in her neck.

"I meant about having a baby," she explained, worried about his answer.

"I'm happy," he told her.

"Really? Because you've nicely avoided the subject," she turned to face him. He didn't answer, and she sighed. Nothing came easy, she always had to pry to get anything from him. "What's wrong?"

"I just.. I don't want to be like my dad," he admitted.

"What was he like?" She had never really heard him talk about his family, she briefly met his Mom at the wedding, but she didn't stay for long.

"A bastard. He left us. Just left. Things got hard, and he split with out so much as a goodbye. Not like he was a great dad to begin with. He was never home, and when he was, he was hurting Mom or me."

She tried to comfort him. "You're not going to be like him."

"How do you know that?" He retorted.

"I just do. You're not like him. You haven't hurt me once. You don't just leave when things get hard, you work them out. You'll be a great dad," she smiled, trying to get a positive response out of him.

"But what if I'm not?" he asked, and she could hear how scared he was.

She pulled him into her arms. "You'll be a great dad," she promised, kissing him goodnight, and effectively ending the conversation.

Needless to say, he turned out to be a great Dad to his three kids and an equally great grandfather to his many grandchildren.

43 years. These last 43 years have gone by so fast, and I can't remember loving her more. I can't imagine life without her. Her smile, her laugh, her face, her beauty, her strength, her charm, her body, her heart, her mind, and her soul.

Tears streamed down her face as she finished the last letter. Slowly and carefully she put them back into their neat pile placed them into their box. She walked slowly to the bedroom, inspecting the pictures of him on the wall. The box was placed at the back of the closet, and there they would remain till next Christmas when they would be brought back out to refresh her memory. To bring back the love, the joy, and the pain.

~end~