Title: Cheers, Darlin'
Chapter 3: I Remember
Disclaimer: Nope, nothin'.
Summary: She remembers it well. Her marriage. His toast. His packing. The reason they are together now. She remembers it well.
A/N: All right, fine. Three shot. All songs from Damien Rice's album "O". This chapter is based on "I Remember", but just the part sung by Lisa Hannigan.
She lies on his couch—their couch, she corrects herself. She smiles and pulls the blanket tighter around her. "Their couch." She loves the sound of that, loves that they have a couch together, an apartment together….
She marvels at the fact that it took them years to get where they are now. She even had a brief interlude with another man—
She scoffs at herself. She's reduced her first marriage to "a brief interlude." She knows that he wouldn't put it that way, either man.
She was married for two years. Two horrible, horrible years. Well, to be fair, it was a very good six weeks, a kind of okay eleven months, a not very good six months, and then six horrible months.
They broke up in Prague.
She laughs. They met in New York, got married in Stars Hollow, and broke up in Prague. What a strange relationship they had.
They were in Prague for her, a wonderful amazing absolutely fabulous opportunity for her. It was an international convention of reporters with networks from all over the world.
She was so nervous she drank eighteen glasses of wine on the plane over.
She made quite an impression on the network executive she almost threw up on.
She doesn't know why she is thinking of this today…that day was so long ago, another two years in the past. And then she remembers—two years ago exactly.
She smiles.
I remember it well
The first time that I saw
Your head 'round the door
'Cause mine stopped working
She had just gotten into another fight with her husband, the third since they'd arrived. She was drinking yet another glass of champagne, her eye on the door to see if anyone more interesting arrived.
And he appeared.
The door slowly opened and his head peeked through. He glanced at the doorman, wondering if he was really allowed to be in there.
"No invitation needed," she'd whispered, watching as the doorman nodded at him and let him in.
She stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped breathing.
It was him.
He was there.
What was he doing there?
Oh. It didn't matter.
I remember it well
There was wet in your hair
You were stood in the stair
And time stopped moving
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other holding her champagne. She watched as he stood there, scanned the crowd for her, or her husband; she wasn't sure which. She noticed the droplets of rain in his hair, the sprinkling of water on the shoulders of his jacket.
He was wearing a suit.
She remembers his suit with a smile. That was the first time she'd seen him all dressed up. She remembers thinking that he cleaned up well.
As a matter of fact, that's the first thing she said to him after he'd confronted her husband.
He confronted her husband quietly. He just walked up to her husband and said a few choice phrases. Her husband's face seemed to turn to stone, and he glanced back at her. She smiled at him, a tight smile, a smile saying, "What can I do?" without actually shrugging. Her husband set his champagne glass on the nearest table and walked away.
The next time she heard from her husband, he was her ex-husband.
I want you here tonight, want you here
'Cause I can't believe what I've found
Want you here tonight, want you here
Nothing is taking me down
She sits up as she hears the elevator moving. It is, oh, so late. She wants him home, right now. He has gone to the store, to pick up things for them. He has only been gone for twenty minutes, maybe more.
But she wants him home. She wants him home right this second, and not any later.
She smiles. She can't remember ever feeling this way before. She wants it to last, wants it to stay.
She doesn't remember any good feeling ever lasting this long with anyone else.
She remembers this feeling from years ago, way back when, back before they found each other again.
She shudders when she thinks of how she hurt him. She hurt him only to get back at him, only because he hurt her.
But, oh. He hasn't hurt her lately. They've been together for two years now…had found each other six years before that. It has been eight years since they found each other again…they are both older, and more mature, and more confident in their commitment to each other.
She sits up again. The elevator is moving again, and this time he has been gone for thirty minutes. It must be him, it has to be him.
She grins as she hears the key in the door.
He's home!
He opens the door and pauses.
"Hey," he says after a minute, continuing to take the key from the door.
She smiles. "Hey."
"I'm back," he says simply, setting his keys on the table by the door.
"I know," she says back, just as simply.
"Any particular reason why you were staring at the door?"
"No," she says, shaking her head. He sits next to her on the couch, facing her, and raises an eyebrow. She blushes and buries her head in her hands. After a minute, she looks back at him.
"Welcome home, Jess," she whispers softly.
"No," he protests, leaning to kiss her. "Welcome home, Rory."
When they separate again, he picks her up. She squeals.
"Put me down!"
He holds her in that clichéd way, the way grooms carry their brides over thresholds.
He ignores her protests and carries her to their bedroom, where he lowers her gently to the bed.
No one is taking me down…
'Cept you, my love.
