A/N: A few things. First off, this isn't how I originally planned to have this end. However, it was getting late and I was running out of ideas and I wanted to post something. This is what I did instead of my English assignment. Also. There's this Jeff Buckley song called Everybody Here Wants You and part of this one verse always makes me think of Rory and Jess: "Such a thing of wonder in this crowd/ I'm a stranger in this town/ You're free with me/ And our eyes locked in outcast love.." And..yes.Just thoughts. Anyway. On with the show.

This is where he told her to meet him. A café situated on a less frequented street corner. He isn't there. She immediately thinks that he had gotten there much earlier and decided to leave while he still had the chance. He is always running. She sits down at a table near the door. This way it will be easier to get up and go should the situation arise. She is always running. They are both always running and she knows this time will be no different.

But, he is walking towards her, down the street, he sees her before he even gets to the café. He doesn't smile. His face doesn't change. Stoic, like always. He comes in and sits down across from her. She looks at him for a few seconds, looking for changes. Looking for signs that he has gotten older, matured, changed for the better. There is nothing. He has remained the same. His hair is the same, though maybe a bit longer. He is clean shaven. One thing is different, his leather jacket has been replaced by a denim jacket. It makes him seem happier, somehow. He doesn't look happier.

He is doing the same to her, examining her facial features. Her hair is curled and shorter. And bits of it are falling down into her eyes. She seems older. She holds her head higher. She sits straighter. She crosses her legs beneath the table. But, her face retains its innocence from years before when she was untouched by the world. There is still a slight flush in her cheeks when his eyes meet hers. Speaking of which, if it is possible, they are even bluer than he remembered.

They are silent for a good five minutes before he speaks. "Coffee?" And then when she gives him a pointed look, "Right. Of course." He gets up and orders, bringing the cups back to their table. She takes a large gulp. "You're going to get a stomach ulcer from drinking that stuff black."

Her voice cold. "I've been drinking it this way for years and so far, my stomach is fine."

"That's because you have a stomach of steel," he says with a slight smile. His first genuine smile in ages.

She doesn't smile. She sits with her eyes fixated on her coffee. "So. What was it you had to say to me? Why did you so desperately need to see me?"

"Okay. No pleasantries are to be exchanged. Got it." She glares at him. "First let me ask you, why have you been so angry with me these past years?"

She lets out a breath that she must have been holding for quite some time. She is so tired of answering the same questions. "It's simple. You ran away. You didn't say goodbye either of the two times you ran. I didn't even know where you were. You let me down. You come back and try to tell me that you love me, that you've changed, that you want me to come with you."

He is nodding. These are all things he already knows. He somehow doubts that these are all of the reasons she is upset. "I know all of those things are pretty much unforgivable. It's just…You don't understand the reasons for why I left."

"And what might these elusive reasons be?"

And he speaks softer this time, doubt and insecurity suddenly taking him over. "I left for you." He can tell that she isn't buying it and he begins to speak louder. "Because I knew the things I was doing were hurting you. Because the things I was going to do would hurt you. Because I wasn't going to graduate from high school and you were going off to an ivy league school. Because I had done nothing but screw up your entire life. Because I alienated you from your own mother. Because I could never be accepted by your world."

She says nothing, just looks at him. She is trying to determine whether or not to take these reasons at face value, whether or not he is being true, whether or not she should accept these. She is deciding whether or not he deserves to be forgiven, even the slightest bit. She whispers, "You still could've said goodbye. You could've told me these things."

"No, I couldn't have. You would've talked me out of it. You would've convinced me that we could make it work. I would have stayed."

"You could've stayed."

"No."

She leans back in her seat and for the first time since he came in, she looks him in the eyes. "I don't know."

"You don't know what?"

"What this means. I don't know if what you told me makes any difference. It doesn't change the fact that you ran away. It doesn't change the fact that you came back said that you loved me and then ran away again-"

He cuts her off, putting a hand up. "Can we stop saying that I 'ran away'? That's not what I did at all. There was no secretive plan. I didn't tie my things up in a handkerchief and put it on a stick. I didn't just run off without a plan."

"But, you were running."

He feels defeated, resting his head in his hands. "Yes, I was." He looks up at her and she is staring at him intently. "You're not ever going to forgive me for that are you?"

She considers the idea for a moment, turning it over in her mind. She shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

And he nods, a feeling of contentment coming to him, crashing over him like a wave. "Fine."