Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of it's characters, and the basic idea (or at least the ending) I think I found from an Angel episode.
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It was so quite that he felt as if the silence was ringing in his ears. It was one of those days where he missed her unbearably. It was one of those days that as he looked around his shabby apartment in the heart of New York City, it was no longer a wall, a floor, a kitchen, a table, and a chair. Instead, all that mattered was that she had never read leaning against that wall, her feet had never graced that floor, she had never touched that coffee maker, she had never tripped over that chair, she had never spit out coffee on to that table in laughter, and she had never draped herself on this couch. He thought of this and touched the couch with sympathy, pitying it for never meeting the only person in the world worth living for. He pitied it for having to live with the only one who would let her go. He sighed heavily, and shut his eyes tight. It was one of those times where he hated himself so much that he wanted to physically beat himself back into the past. One of those times where he could feel angry tears burning in his eyes, threatening to ruin his bad boy façade. Times like these, memories of their past ran through his head like an old black and white film, and he physically cringed as he forced himself to watch his every mistake. He thought of their most recent encounter, in front of her Yale dorm room where he tried to whisk her off with him, tried to pull her away from her life, her mom, her school, and her dreams. The problem in their past was that he had never tried he enough. Instead, he coasted through his life, waiting for things to happen to him instead of making them happen. It happened at Stars Hollow High and he became a high school drop out. It happened with Luke and he was kicked out. It happened with Rory. Jess banged his fist against the hard edge of the couch. She had initiated their first kiss, she asked about their future in bravery, and she tried to keep him with her. He just coasted along, and when the wind blew towards California, he was blown along with it in the whirlwind, away from her. He was stuck in such a daze that he did not even consider what he was missing. If only he had tried harder, tried harder in school, tried harder to stay, tried harder to be honest, to talk, to feel-it would be different. He wished he had tried harder to speak, to tell her that she was the only wonder of the world. He left himself only with regrets. Now it was too late to try, too late to talk-she made that clear with the infamous two letter, one syllable word. When she said it to him, in that voice that sounded of heartbreak, he could feel the pain being transferred from her to him. When she said it to him, she cursed the word, so that he could never say "no" again. Sometimes, lost in a hopeful world, he imagined she would grow nostalgic and finally believe he was reformed. He imagined she would show up at his doorstep after fetching his address from Luke, that fantasy the only reason why he was so eager to inform his Uncle of every move. Sometimes he imagined fate would do it for him. He would see her in a bookstore, the cold rain outside bringing them together for warmth. They would go to coffee, to his place, and stay there for days, forever, and finish with a Notebook ending. He would admit to her that he read The Notebook, but liked the movie better. He would admit to her that he saw the movie, and he would let her make him watch it again.
"What is the point?" he said angrily to the empty room, the room without Rory. "It is over. Whatever."
Wherever, whatever.
Jess felt Rory's voice float through his mind unwillingly. He hit the couch once more, wishing it really would hurt unbearably causing the pain inside his chest to fade into the background. But the couch was soft and his chest continued to burn. It was time for the last resort-a friend that lived in his refrigerator. He pushed himself up, ready to get wasted, forget her for a night, and wake up the next day. But there was a knock at the door. He froze. He was not sure why, but a tingle went up his spine and his heart started to beat faster. The knock sounded again, three hollow raps against his apartment door. He moved quickly, not thinking about who it was so he would not jinx his highest hopes. His hand shook as he swung open the door.
"Hi."
There she was. She had rounded out more so her blue cotton shirt fit her perfectly, which could only be a healthy improvement from the stick she had been through her freshman year of college. Her hair was feathery, light and mature looking, rather than the straight and almost bland brown he was used to. Her skin was as beautiful as he remembered-porcelain and perfect. However, her eyes were different. Though still blue, they seemed to hold something more-a knowing sadness.
"Hi, Rory," He said the words surprisingly calmly, as if he did not really feel as if all his nerves were going to explode.
"Can I come in?" she breathed out, flashing him a small smile. Again, Jess felt as if her face looked sad. He nodded and stepped back to let her pass over the threshold. She walked in almost daintily. He felt like crying as he watched her finally walk across the floor, one arm holding the other behind her back, surveying the room. "So this is your place?"
"Yup," Jess shut the door quickly and jogged after her, as if he was afraid that if she did not stay close to him she would disappear. He watched her move around his small apartment that seemed to look shabbier in her grace. Was this a dream? Had he fallen asleep as he pined on his couch? He pinched himself but his nerves were numb from the shock of her presence. He was left with one other way to find out, one other solution.
"Rory . . ." he said the name tentatively. She turned around, a calm look on her face. "Why are you here?" he let it out bluntly. Although she did not seem surprised by the inquiry, she did not answer for a moment, but walk some more, touch some more. When she had made her way back to his expectant body, looked at his arms hanging hopefully at his sides, she spoke.
"This is going to soon cheesy. But, I was thinking about it, and if I died, not seeing you again would be my regret." She used her voice that was soft with sincerity, where her eyes flickered down and up, nervous of his possible reaction to her confession.
Jess stood awkwardly as he did the night on the bridge when she admitted to wanting to be with him. Once again, against his will, the fear of being vulnerable shocked his entire body. When a moment passed without his response, his feet and arms still frozen, she became embarrassed and started mumbling, trying to make her way out of his apartment, her head hung low.
"Or not, its okay, I'm sorry to bother you, you are probably busy with a job or something, or maybe you are writing I hope you're writing.."
He grabbed her arm and she stilled at his touch.
"Stay," he said softly and genuinely. She looked up at his small smile, her pale face reflecting innocence and beauty. He kissed the top of her fore head and saw her close her eyes in the warmth of their touch. Guilt wracked his body-he should not be allowed to touch her, to kiss her, to have her come to him. He backed away in fear.
"I don't deserve you, Rory," he said in his no-one-understands-me voice. Despite him backing off, besides the excuses, she smiled.
"Oh, I know. But I want you, and I'm spoiled," she said through her grin. This time she made her way towards him and kissed him softly, her hands on his shoulders. Jess hands barely touched her side, afraid to break her, to break the fragile heaven. "I know you love me, too, so that's a good start." She kissed him again, not hard or lustful, but in affection.
"So you are just using me?" He smiled as the moment passed, as the expectation was over, as the climax receded.
"Basically."
She laid another docile kiss on his hopeful lips.
"I have some writing I want you to see."
At his words, her eyes lit up, the lurking sadness gone.
"Oh my God, Jess, really?"
"Do you want to see it?" he smiled in spite of himself.
"Please!" She practically squealed the last word. He took her hand and led her to his bedside table where notebooks lay upon notebooks lying upon notebooks.
"Well, good thing I don't have anything to do for a few days," she said, her eyes wide at what lay before her.
"Not all of them, there's just one I want you to see, the green one-"
"No!" She hit his arm and here eyes were intense, still sparkling, "I want to read them all."
His secret smile found its way upon his face once more.
"Crazy woman."
"Make me coffee," she said simply and kissed him on the cheek.
He watched her bend down and try to gather up all of his writings. As she attempted to toss them on the bed, he watched about ten slide to the ground. He chuckled as she bent down again, so determined to pick them all up. When she was finally settled under the sheets, notebooks lying about her, three on her lap, she looked up at him expectantly.
"Go!" She waved her hand towards the kitchen.
"Cruel woman," he relayed the past in words. She ignored him however, and opened up the first notebook. He moved towards the kitchen, humming Guns Of Brixton in his content. Inexpressible was his joy to bring out two mugs, knowing one was intended for Lorelai Gilmore the Third. As he moved around the kitchen, he kept looking over his shoulder, as if afraid she would disappear. But she stayed sitting there, flipping through notebook after notebook, an intense look of concentration upon her face. He almost spilled the coffee as he hurried to her side. He held a coffee up to her and got in himself. She moved her body without looking up from his scribbled words, situating herself so her back leaned against him and he could rest his chin on the top of her head. Hours passed, and no words were need. She simply read his heart, and he played with her hair, sometimes placing feather kisses on her neck. He did not need anything more; he had never needed sex with Rory. Just talking with her was enough, touching her was heaven, kissing her--it was pure ecstasy.
It darkened outside without their notice, and soon Jess saw her eyes start to droop, then shut, then flip open again, then repeat.
"You can sleep here," he whispered in his ear, "I can go on the couch." But as he started to rise she pushed his chest down.
"No, stay." The word he hoped he could define reached his ears, and he was overjoyed to finally fulfill its requirements.
"Okay." He kissed her ear. She pushed the notebooks back onto the floor, and turned herself towards him, her eyes once again displaying innocence and the sadness.
"I wanted you to be my first, I really did."
"Rory, I never was trying to make you do that, I just-" he hurried to explain his rash 17-year-old actions. She silenced him with a kiss, and soon the past was erased. He felt almost as if he was not living anymore, it could not be possible to experience something as amazing as this.
Afterwards, he lay with his arm around her naked shoulder, her head resting on his chest. He fell into the most peaceful sleep he had ever slept in his years of living, dreaming of Rory, of weddings and coffee shops.
The next morning, he woke up, and moved his head to kiss her forehead again. But she was not there. The sheets were moved as if she had left, and all of her clothes were gone. He could not believe it. He got up and looked all around for a note, writing in dust, or a sign that she had been kidnapped. What had he done wrong? Had she suddenly remembered what a screw up he was? He cursed herself for not waking up as she moved away from him, for not stopping her, or going after her. He felt empty, emptier then yesterday, or ever before. He had lost her again.
He headed towards the refrigerator for an early morning escape when he noticed that his answering machine was blinking. In hopes that it was Rory with an explanation, he pressed the round, black button.
"Jess, its Luke." Jess's Uncle's voice was hallow as if all the spirit had been ripped out of him.
"I'm sorry I did not call you earlier, I just-" a pause. "A couple of days ago, Rory died in a car accident. I know how much she meant you and-" another pause, "I was hoping you'd come to the funeral. I mean I know she can't..see you there..but, who knows, maybe she can, and she'd probably want you to be there. It's Saturday. You can stay with me . . . I'm sorry." The phone clicked.
"What the fuck?" he voiced his honest emotion. He was crazy, he had to be crazy. But, strangely, as the moment went on, as the message continued to relay in his head, it did not seem like blasphemy. It was them, Rory and Jess, it was inevitable.