1 The Luckiest

By columbiachica (kat2005)

Author's Note: Title is taken from Ben Fold's Five song of the same name. I noticed that there weren't a lot of R/J future fics out there. (After reading this, I think people will say, "Thank God."). This is a very, very short one part fic, written in one strangely inspired sitting.

Disclaimer: These characters are the property of Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB.

A buzzer went off in the kitchen. Jess Mariano almost didn't hear it from the living room, where he was busily typing on his antique manual typewriter. With a frown and a backward glance at his desk, tucked in a corner of the room, Jess strode into the kitchen and picked a spoon from the utensil drawer. Using it, he dipped into the kettle on the stove and surfaced with a spaghetti noodle. It was tender, cooked just right, so Jess shut off the stove and stuck the sauce in the microwave. Careful not to give himself a steam burn, Jess siphoned the water out with a colander.

The microwave beeped, and Jess put a finger in the sauce. Licking his forefinger, he discerned that it was hot enough; so balancing the spaghetti bowl and the sauce dish, he wobbled to the table and set them down haphazardly. The cabinets were a little disorganized, but Jess scrounged up two plates and cutlery.

He let the food set on the table and returned to his desk. Just as he was regaining his train of thought, the front door opened and closed, a woosh followed by a click. Her heels echoed through the sparsely-furnished room, clanking on the unpolished wood floor. Bending down, she kissed his forehead, trying not to interfere with his work, and went to the bedroom to change out of the torturous clothing. A sigh rushed past her lips as she exchanged the binding outfit for sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

In the kitchen, she started digging into the dinner. As was custom, she piled a plate for him and put it on the corner of his desk. Then, she sat on the couch, feet propped on the old, scarred table, and watched TV while she ate. Rolling her shoulders, she let the stress of the day flood off of her and pool at her feet.

Fifteen minutes later, hands were massaging her shoulders. "Tough day?"

"Well, it was better than some. Like the day I almost got ran over by a bus."


She surrendered to the strong touch on her shoulders and let her head loll. "Mmm," she moaned.

"Feel good?"

"Mmm." She couldn't muster another word from her extensive vocabulary, and Jess smiled. Opening her eyes, she saw that smirk. "Oh, you just love having me melted into a little puddle of goo at your feet, don't you?"

"More than you'll ever know."

"Sit with me," she requested, patting the empty seat next to her.

"What's on?"

"Ab Fab."

"Never mind," Jess said, pretending to get up. Playfully, Rory held him down, tackling him into the couch. Her balance didn't hold out, though, and she succeeded in falling gracelessly on top of him. Jess laughed at her.

"Well, at least I've got you pinned," Rory said smugly.

Without warning, Jess grabbed her waist and flipped her under him, reversing their positions on the couch. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," Rory replied weakly. Jess leaned down and kissed her, helping her to a sitting pose without breaking contact. Rory gradually backed him up until he was flush against the arm of the couch. "I've got you pinned," she said triumphantly.

"Remember how much trouble those words got you into last time?" Jess asked, nuzzling her neck.

"No," Rory answered as Jess swept her hair back. "No hickeys."


"Not today. I plan to wear my hair up tomorrow."

A muffled laugh came from her neck, and Jess reluctantly moved away. "You're already planning how to wear your hair?"

"Well, yeah. I look older when it's up."

"No you don't."

Rory glared. "I'm not going to wear a ponytail."

"Why do you need to look older? I thought women liked looking younger."

"I have an interview tomorrow," Rory said proudly, standing and gathering their plates. Jess followed, clearing the table.


"The New York Times."



"That's great." Jess scooped the leftover spaghetti into a glass dish and put it in the fridge. "What position?"


"General? Like Dudley Do-Right or something? No, no. You're going to be on M*A*S*H?"

"Oh, ha. No, like general news. Kind of a bottom-of-the-totem-pole job."

"Huh." Jess wiped the portion of the table they could see with a damp rag. "And so you're wearing your hair up, and I can't give you a hickey. I don't like these people."

Rory rolled her eyes and giggled. "I tell you what. I will come home tomorrow after the interview, and you can try and set the world record for largest hickey. If you're lucky, they'll publish you in Guinness."

"How about Random House?"

"What?" Rory asked, thrown by the seriousness of the question.

"I got an offer. For my novel."



"No!" Rory cried again.


"I don't believe it!"

"Nice to see all the faith you have in me."

"You made a rhyme," Rory noted affectionately. "I'm so happy for you."

"Be happy for yourself too. We can finally upgrade coffeemakers."

"Wow, this must be a big offer," Rory joked. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. He tasted like spaghetti sauce, spearmint gum, and…her. "Congratulations."


"Wait. If you got an offer, what's all that pecking?"

"My acceptance letter."

"Oh. Not going too well, then, huh?"

"No, not especially."

"Well, it will come to you," Rory reasoned and dried the final dish. "Is this offer enough to buy us a dishwasher?"


"A good dishwasher?"

"How much does a good dishwasher cost?"

"One hundred thousand dollars?"

Jess grinned at her tactic. "Now, this wouldn't be a ploy to find out how much I'm worth, now would it?"

"Oh, no."

"Yeah, it's enough for a good dishwasher."

Rory squealed and jumped. Jess grabbed her arm and pulled her to him, searing her with his kiss. He slowly backed her up against the counter, hands on her hips. Keeping her pressed there, Jess kissed her again and again, egged on by her moans of pleasure.

Drawing back, he looked into her eyes. "I've got you pinned."