Summary: She's an idiot, she knows. And yet she continues to sit here, waiting for him, wondering what the hell she's getting herself into. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Leave me alone! Grumbles

A/N: Yes, I'm writing this. What can I say, I'm a fiction whore. It's been done so many times. I don't particularly care, though, because in my opinion she should've stood in front of his car and forced him to stop, turn off the engine, go to the bridge with her, and figure everything out. Post 413: enjoy.


Her jacket snags on the hinge for a moment as she slides down the worn-out wood of the door. The cement resembles ice when she finally reaches the floor and she shivers, pulling her knees to her chest and wiping frantically at the tears streaming down her cheeks. After a moment she straightens her legs out again, leaning back against the door.

She still doesn't know what she's doing.

Her thighs are beginning to burn from the cold and she's sure she's getting hypothermia from sitting in the stairwell. Why there is no heater, she doesn't know. She focuses her attention on making herself warm, trying (and failing) to forget where she is.

A hollow echo of footsteps fills the quietus and she freezes.

She didn't plan any of this out. For once in her life, she acted on an impulse and took off, driving to New York on a mission to find him. She doesn't know what to say when she sees him; doesn't know what he'll say back.

It scares the shit out of her: this vulnerability, this unwavering need for him.

She's glared at as a woman passes her, treading down the hall and disappearing behind one of the many identical doors. She lets out a breath and closes her eyes, banging her head back against the door.

She's an idiot, she knows. And yet she continues to sit here, waiting for him, wondering what the hell she's getting herself into.

The pocket of her jeans vibrates and she jumps, clutching her chest as she pulls out her cell phone.

Her mother.

A wave of guilt hits her and she feels like crying. Though how she can, she doesn't know: she's cried herself to sleep every night for the past two weeks. She cried when she asked Luke for his address; when she packed a bag and jumped into her car the next morning.

She cried when she knocked on the door and no one answered.

She puts her phone back in her pocket and sighs heavily, tracing the seams of her jeans.

Her eyes snap open and she sits up with a start, heart pounding. She doesn't remember falling asleep, but a glance at her watch promises her she did.

Four hours she's been sitting here.

Part of her is angry at him for leaving her there, for not knowing she would seek him out. Her more logical side scolds her for being so irrational. He assumed he'd never see her again; there was no way she'd try to find him. She doesn't love him. It isn't worth it.

And then her internal monologue begins a debate; the same debate that it's fought for the past year.

Because she does love him.

If she didn't, she wouldn't be sitting here in the freezing cold, waiting for him to come home so they could work everything out.

He is worth it.

That's something she has never had reason to question. The fights, the tears, the sleepless nights and forbidden thoughts: they're all worth it, if it means one last second with him.

She doesn't notice when he steps in front of her.

He stares down at her in utter disbelief. He must be hallucinating.


She looks up at him and her eyes widen, filling with tears (how, she does not know).

"Jess," she breathes, standing up. Her legs are jelly. Her heart is about to explode. Her head is going to twist off and fall down the stairs.

He can't find the words he wants to speak. He wants to ask what she's doing there; how she found him. But he can't trust his vocal chords if they're in any shape resembling his lungs. (Broken, spastic, and overworked.)

"I should have stopped you," she finds herself whispering. He stares at her and she blushes, looking at the ground. "I shouldn't have let you leave," she continues, "I shouldn't have pushed, I should have been better…"

He reaches past her to unlock his door and his breath catches in his throat when she leans forward and kisses him.

"It wasn't about you," he says quietly. His lips brush hers with every word and she nods, closing her eyes.

"But I could have been better."

He kisses her again. Salt water seeps into his mouth, coating his tongue as it blends into hers, and he reaches up to wipe her tears away.

"I love you," she says desperately when they part. They kiss again, clinging to each other as he backs her into his apartment, and she whispers the words over and over between lip-locks.

At some point they end up on his bed, intertwined and gasping for air. She shushes him when he tells her they can wait and moves against him slightly, watching in amusement as his eyes shut tightly and he groans. He kisses her again and she feels like she might be flying.


"Come back," she whispers. She's lying on his chest, still half swept up in the oblivion and he's holding her tighter than he ever did before. He sighs against the top of her head and intertwines their fingers.

"I can't," he returns softly. Rory shifts so that she's looking up at him and kisses his chin gently.

"Jess, please," she whispers against his skin. She leaves a trail of kisses along his jaw, biting gently at the skin of his earlobe.


"I want you with me."

Jess looks down at her and sighs again. "I don't…"

She kisses him lightly, shifting so that she's looking down at him, an elbow propping her up.

"Stay here," he requests. She looks down at the sheet and he reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear, nodding. "I can't go back there, Ror."

"Then move to New Haven."

"What would I do in New Haven?"

"Be with me," she says shyly. He closes his eyes tightly. He has her. She's in his arms after a year apart, begging him to come back to her; to them. It scares him shitless.

"Can we figure this out tomorrow?"

She smiles a little and nods, kissing him once more before lying back down.

The apology he'd murmured to her when they'd made love echoes in her mind and she smiles against his skin.

"Tomorrow," she agrees quietly. Maybe she's not a total idiot for coming here. (Though part of her has never really believed she is.) He's promising her tomorrow, and that's really all she can ask.