AN: Sorry this took awhile, I had a hard time getting into it. And...there's one dream sequence in this chapter.
Pt. 5-- He had a vision of seeing things straight
Everything is black around him. He can't see a thing, and he is scared senseless. He can't ever remember being this scared, but he can't see, and he's alone. He can't find her anywhere, anywhere! He calls her name frantically, searching, but to no avail.
She is gone.
Suddenly, he hears a dull tone in the distance, the ticking of one of those large grandfather clocks. The sound grows louder and louder with each passing second, and it's making his head pound. He would scream, maybe, but his head hurts so much he can't think straight enough, and it's not really his style to scream.
Besides, she's gone. Not here. Never coming back. There's nothing worth screaming for.
The pain builds up, but he doesn't really care, because he's just sitting here, waiting for his time to run out.
That was always his worse enemy.
Time.
And now it had taken her, and he doesn't know what to do with himself, so he thinks he'll do nothing at all.
ooo
Jess woke up suddenly, panicked. His eyes are still shut, he's almost afraid to open them.
What if she really wasn't there?
He wills himself to stop being such a wuss and opens his eyes slowly, turning on his side. Softly, he breathes an involuntary sigh of relief.
Rory lies beside him, sleeping deeply. She is facing him, and he takes in her slumbering form. She seems almost innocent, angelic. Her skin is porcelain, seeming even more fragile and milky white in the dim light from the moonlight streaming through the solitary window. Her chocolate strands are strewn haphazardly against the pillow, several linger against her bare shoulder.
She is beautiful.
He has thought that sentence so many times that he's lost count, but he never tires of it. Beautiful, beautiful. And his, he's made her his.
If it weren't for those dreams (nightmares, really) plaguing his night, he might actually believe that she would belong to him forever.
Absently he thinks that maybe she doesn't belong to him, maybe she never has. It's probably the other way around; she owns him. It's completely clichéd, but she's taken his heart and soul, and he isn't about to make her give them back. He likes it like this, his breath labored just watching her sleep, so perfect and delicate.
He's flying, fucking flying. If she left, he'd fall and hit the ground hard, but he doesn't care, because she's here know, lying beside him naked and exposed, more vulnerable than she's ever let herself be with him. He's vulnerable too, he never gets like this, emotions worn on his sleeve. But she smiles and he melts, and he hates it, but loves it. He's never felt like this before, and it's scary. He's shaking every time she comes too close, but he gets over it, because he wants her, and he doesn't want to know what will happen if doesn't let himself have her.
Slowly, he moves a hand out a slides his finger gently to trace the outline of her collarbone. The skin is delicate underneath his own, and he holds his breath without realizing it, as if the slightest noise would disturb her. Her skin is too smooth, too tempting. He moves to place his lips gingerly on her jaw line, and leaves a trail of kisses as he tastes her, sweet and tempting.
She stirs a bit, and freezes. He hadn't wanted to wake her. He liked watching her sleep. Slowly, her eyes open, and a smile slowly plays on her lips as her eyes focus a bit and she makes out the outline of his face in the dark. She moves in and kisses him slowly.
"What are you doing?" she asks drowsily, not quite awake.
"Watching you sleep," he replies in a whisper, and she blushes, deep enough for him to see in scarcely lit room. He smirks a bit, loving how childlike she seems.
"Isn't it boring?" she asks, wrinkling her nose.
"Never," he whispers huskily, and he sees a split second look of realization on her face, and knows she gets the double meaning. Sighing, she snuggles in closer, and he pulls her against him, her head resting on his neck. He shuts his eyes and breathes in the scent of her hair (soft lavender) as he drifts back to sleep.
ooo
Sitting on the couch, reading his paperback, he can hear Rory's giggle from the kitchen. It is a glorious noise.
It's been such a long time since he's heard that sound escape her lips, and of course, he blames himself fully. She cries so often now, for no reason at all, it seems, and he's worried about her. He can't help but think she'd be better off without him, happier without him.
Happier with someone she loves.
He tries to shake that last thought, but it's been bothering him for days now. He swore he didn't care if she loved him back, as long as he could see her, touch her, know that she was, indeed, real. But lately, he wonders if it's worth it to put himself on the line like this. He's been shot down a few too many times by this love, and he's not too sure he'll survive another blow.
He's discovered it's hard to be happy when she seems so depressed. It seems that he's constantly worried about her, and the fear of her leaving is always in the dark recesses of his mind. She cries all the time, and when she's not crying, she stares blankly out the window, looking so lost and innocent. He desperately wants to read her mind, to rush over to her and tell her it'll all be okay, but he can't. He's not so sure it'll be okay, and with them, it most likely won't be. So he stands behind her and watches, motionlessly, helplessly.
But now, for the first time in days, she's laughing, and she sounds truly happy. He smiles to himself. He loves her so much in that moment.
She walks out towards him, smiling brilliantly. He smirks at her, setting down his book as she slides onto his lap. She bounces around, grabbing his hands and entwining her fingers with his.
"I just had my first pleasant conversation with my mother in a month and a half," she says, cheerfully. "And it wasn't just civil, it was actually pleasant! I think she's starting to come to terms with this. Not exactly approving of it," she frowns, pausing for a moment. "But that doesn't matter. I'm here anyway."
Yes, she is. He wonders for a moment if she had to say it to believe it, if she really didn't want to be here, but quickly dismisses that thought.
"Good, I'm glad," he says, smiling at her. (He wonders if she gets the double meaning.) She's gorgeous in this light, sunlight streaming in from the windows, highlighting her face, loose strands of hair falling out of their ponytail and landing every which-way.
She smiles softly, and leans in to kiss him. He reciprocates gladly, and deepens the kiss. She pushes him back, so he's now lying on the couch, and she's on top of him. He breaks away from her lips, and just stares at her. She stares back for a moment, and if he didn't know better, he could swear he heard her breath skip. After a slight moment, she grins a stunning grin.
"I'm happy, Jess," she sighs, and rolls over, flopping down next to him. He pulls her closer, her head resting on his shoulder, and kisses the top of her head.
"Me too," he says softly.
He wonders if he really means it.