Rating: PG I guess,
Disclaimer: I still don't own it.
Pairing: Literati. I'm sorry, is there anyone else?
Dedication: To my daddy. I love you and I'll miss you forever.
Summary: Jess dies, leaving Rory broken.
Reviews: Very much appreciated.
A/N: Ok, this is so not how I pictured this fic going. It wasn't supposed to be as angst filled as this. Angst really isn't my thing. I had actually thought up this whole fic on Saturday but I couldn't write it down because I was in a truck on my way to Colorado. The fic I thought of in my head turned out a lot differently than this one and was much longer. But of course I forget it all except the first line. Oh well. I'm not to sure about this fic. Big surprise coming from me, huh? I got the inspiration for this fic after hearing Rascal Flat's 'Skin' in the car and thinking about my dad who died of cancer two years ago. I usually don't read fics where one of the characters have cancer or dies. I'm more of a fluff fan myself, and usually those fics are chock full of angst. Of course I do read some though and I usually love them. Once again, I'm not to sure about this fic; especially the last couple of paragraphs. Feel free to tell me if it's melodramatic, tedious, repetitive, or just plain bad. And if you like it you could tell me that too. Also, Rory and Jess are in their mid-to-late twenties in this. Let's just say that Jess returned shortly after he went to California. Basically season 4 and up is irrelevent for this story. Well on with the fic.
I hope you enjoy!
You wake up to the sound of his vomiting in the bathroom. It's like this every morning; has been for the past two months. He hasn't been going in for treatments for a while now; they were time-consuming and fruitless. He's been through two surgeries and has spent countless hours getting chemotherapy done, and yet nothing has worked. You know the time is coming soon; you know he can't hold on much longer. You and he have been preparing for months: making all the arrangements, updating his will, making sure everything is in check before he leaves. You have been preparing for months and it has been killing you.
You are a very logical person, always have been, and you know that he does not have very much time left. But for some reason, it still hasn't quite become reality just yet. You see him everyday: suffering, hurting, literally deteriorating before your eyes, but for some unexplainable reason it still hasn't registered in your heart that he is truly dying. Maybe it's because you feel as though if he were to die so would you. He has been a part of you for so long and if he were to die it would be like a part of you has died also. How can you live if a piece of you is dead?
If you were unselfish you would be glad that his time is coming. That way he will no longer have to suffer endlessly, constantly in pain, worrying every minute of every day. But you are selfish and instead of praying for his suffering to end, you pray for him to live just one more day. One more day for you to spend by his side, one more day to tell him you love him, one more day for your world not to be shattered.
When he dies, you too will die a little inside. A part of your heart will whither away and it will never be able to be brought back to life. He is your soul mate and without him you will feel as though your world has slipped away. He is the light in your darkness and without him your world will be bleak and gray.
You wake up to the sound of your name. It's the face of your pale husband you see when you first open your eyes. The moment you see him your heart stops; you realize that it's time. He is dying and you can no longer pretend that someday he'll get better. You try to tell yourself that this isn't happening, but one look into his sad, brown eyes tells you otherwise.
"I love you," he tells you with gut-wrenching finality.
"No, you can't die. Not yet. We were supposed to grow old together, raise our family. Together," you say to him, tears pouring down your face. It's not his time.
"I'm sorry, but it hurts too much. I can't do it anymore," he says, also crying. He doesn't want to leave you two yet. He never wants to leave you.
"I love you," you whisper to him, finally accepting fate. The man you love is dying and there is nothing you can do about it.
You crawl into his arms, knowing this will be the last time he holds you. You lay your head over his heart and listen to it beating slowly as you feel his chest move up and down with his labored breathes. Then you here him whisper 'I love you' one last time and you know that he is gone. Forever. You feel your heart shatter.
It has been six months since your husband's death and you no longer live in the same town. You had to leave, everything there reminded you of him. So you moved to your hometown, but once you got there you realized that everything there reminded you of him also. Did you forget that this is where you two had met? Where you first realized that you loved him, the place where you shared you first kiss. Did you forget that this is the same town where you got engaged and then married? Did you forget that this is where you wanted to raise your children with him?
It has been six months and you still feel as though your world has ended. You are no longer living, you are existing. You stand still while everything in front of you is constantly changing. But that is ok, for change is what killed your soul. Your husband died and the light left your life. You are no longer the girl everyone loved. No more 'Princess Rory', no more 'ask and ye shall receive', no more 'I aim to please'. You are the shell of a girl who was once so full of life everybody couldn't help but love you. But now, the light in you has gone out and you are left empty and alone.
People have tried to help: your mother, Luke, your grandparents, everyone in this godforsaken town; but none of them understand. You have sunken so low into an endless pool of depression and you cannot be saved. It is helpless and you wish that they would just give up. You don't want their help for you are perfectly content staying as you are. All you feel is pain, constant and never letting up. And you revel in it, for at least it is something. It's no longer the complete numbness you used to feel.
They tell you that one day it will get better; the pain will lessen and you can eventually move on. Move on to what? Another man? Another life? Something other than the constant heartache that his death has left you? How can you move on to something different when all you can think about is him? His eyes, his face, his hair, his smell. He is a permanent part of your thoughts, of your dreams, of you. His image haunts you; at work, in your dreams, in the picture frame on your wall.
It has been eight months since your husband's death and you are finally starting to live again. You are living for her. You are living for the beautiful baby girl you hold in your arms. You hold her every day and she is a constant reminder of him. The curl of her hair, the way her bottom lip isn't quite right, the olive tone of her skin. Everything about her reminds you of him and sometimes it kills you. Sometimes you can't even stand to look at her it hurts so much. Other days you crave her face just so you can see a bit of him again. You know that she is the only thing that keeps you living. If it weren't for her you would have died the same day he did. You made a promise to him the day you found out you were pregnant; the same day he died. You were going to love and cherish this child with everything in you.
The light is finally back in your life again. You are no longer a shell of the person you used to be. The pain will always be there, constantly in your soul, but that shouldn't keep you from living. You will love him forever, miss him always, but just because his life is over doesn't mean yours needs to be also. He wanted you and your child to have the best life possible and you believe you owe it to him, because he's the one that gave you that wonderful little girl. He may no longer be on this earth but that doesn't mean that he isn't constantly with you.
You just need to live again.
A/N2: Watcha think?