Title: Day 2
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: Gilmore Girls (end of season 2)
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jess pining for Rory
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I wish they were mine. I definitely don’t get paid for this.
Summary: After the car accident, Jess is back in New York and Rory is emailing him
Notes: Written during my 12 Ficlets in 12 Days in 2017-18 project project for symphonyflute

Jess lay in bed, looking over at the laptop on the small table that doubled as a desk. He’d thought that a nap would help him ignore it, but the second he woke up, he’d remembered what was waiting for him. He knew he had to reply to Rory’s email. If he left it unanswered, she’d start to worry about him. And if that happened, she might suddenly show up here in the city with the intention of dragging him back to Stars Hollow with her, and that was precisely what he didn’t want to happen. So he was going to have to answer it. He just didn’t know what he could possibly say.

He closed his eyes, hoping maybe he could drift back off to sleep. But no such luck. “ihh-Hptshhhh!” Jess pressed a couple fingers to his nose and groaned. That morning, he had come down the worst cold he’d ever had, and he had barely been keeping it in check. Actually, no, the cold was definitely winning now, kicking his ass six ways from Sunday. There was absolutely no way he could go back to Stars Hollow in this condition, and not just because he didn’t feel well enough to get out of bed.

His nose was just so stuffed up and ticklish. And his head and ears both throbbed from sinus pressure. He hadn’t been able to eat anything but popsicles and ice cream all day, his throat was so red and raw; swallowing was just too painful. And he was tired. So damn tired. Tired of coughing and tired of sneezing and tired of being tired. He’d been sleeping all day and he was still tired, though he woke up feeling just as bad as when he’d gone to sleep.

He couldn’t email Rory back. She’d be able to tell from his writing that something was wrong. A normal person wouldn’t be able to tell but Rory… she was too smart and she knew him too well.

Because it wasn’t just the fact that he was feeling sick and sneezy today; there was more to it than that. He’d left Stars Hollow because no one had wanted him around. He’d ruined everything, like he always did, and the whole town had ganged up on him. But he didn’t need them; he didn’t need anyone. He had to prove it to them, to Luke, and especially to Rory, that he could thrive on his own.

“ih-PTSchhhhh!” And this didn’t feel much like thriving. This felt like sneezing, and a lot of it.

Trying to ignore the laptop entirely, he grabbed a book from the cinderblocks that were standing in for a nightstand, rolled over on his side with his back to the table, and tried to read. He’d rather be out of the apartment. He’d rather be on a bench in Washington Square. He’d rather be anywhere but here. Hopefully, the book would transport him far, far away. Books were usually pretty good at doing that.

Not two pages into his book, he felt like sneezing again. This was ridiculous. If he was ever going to get this tickle out of his nose and stop sneezing, he was going to have to blow his nose. Problem was, he hadn’t planned on coming down with a cold, and tissues weren’t exactly on the list of essentials when he’d last gone to the little corner bodega to buy groceries. In fact, neither had been Aspirin or Nyquil or even Halls cough drops. Now he wished he had all that stuff and more. He kind of wished he were back at Luke’s, with Luke’s fully stocked medicine cabinet and spare boxes of tissues just waiting in the hall closet.

But he couldn’t admit it to anybody, certainly not to Rory.

So he pulled toilet paper off the roll he’d brought to bed with him, winding it around his hand. Then he pressed the whole thing to his face and blew hard, trying to clear his nose out. All he got for his efforts was a sore nose and a soggy mess. His nose still tickled.

Frustrated, he tried lying on his other side. But he couldn’t concentrate on the book this way. His gaze kept shifting to the laptop. His mind kept wandering to the email. Finally, he put the book down and, pulling the blanket off the bed with him, he went over to his computer. He laid the blanket over his lap and stared at the laptop screen for a full minute before finally giving up and clicking on her email.

Jess,

I know you’re not going to like what I have to say. But I implore you to keep reading for my sake. Because I also know I’m the only one who can ask this.

It’s Luke’s birthday in two days, and you’ve got to come back for it.

Jess almost stopped reading. He almost closed the laptop and went back to bed with the blanket over his head. Almost.

I know you think everyone here hates you, but it’s not true. It’s not. I don’t hate you. Luke doesn’t hate you. And Luke deserves to have family here for his birthday.  

Please consider it. For me?

For her? For Rory? She had no idea how much he’d do for her. He’d never in a million years say so, though. Partly because she’d never believe him anyway. And partly because his throat was so sore at the moment he couldn’t say much of anything. “h’KTchh! Ihushhh!” He pulled his long sleeve down over the back of his hand and swiped at his nose.

Just think about it. Luke deserves it after all he’s been through. This is your way of making it up to him. You don’t have to bring anything—no presents, no food, no decorations. All you have to do is show up. Even you can do that much.

And then came the part of the email he’d been hoping for. He had liked the bit where she’d written that she hadn’t hated him. He knew that already, though; she wouldn’t have cut school and visited him in New York if she’d hated him. But during the last moments they’d spent together, he’d dared to be vulnerable with him. And she’d dared to be honest with him. And that had given him hope. Here was that finally paying off.

Plus, I want you to come because I don’t want our goodbye to be goodbye.

Just come, all right?

Rory

As far as communications with Rory went, he was counting this as a good one. Maybe even a great one. Rory Gilmore knew how to get to him.

“Hihshooo! Sniff! Sniff!” Problem was, she couldn’t see him like this. Not with a runny nose and flushed cheeks and chapped skin. He couldn’t even talk to her, not with his throat like this, and talking was really the only thing he had going for him. He didn’t have Dean’s looks or his goodness or his normal, easy lifestyle. He couldn’t be the sort of boyfriend he knew she wanted. But he could talk to her about books and philosophy and music and all sorts of stuff Dean didn’t know about. “hih… hih-YEHShhhhhhh! Uh… d’no…” He unrolled another wad of toilet paper and blew his nose.

Then he stared at the reply button. He couldn’t write back, not in this state. But if he didn’t, she was going to send another email. Or she would call. Or, worse yet, she would show up on his doorstep here in New York. That would be horrible.

And wonderful.

He wanted to test this out. He wanted to maintain radio silence and lure her here so he could see her. But he also didn’t want her to see him looking sick.

So he reached forward and tapped the reply button. His response was quick and clear:

Sorry. I can’t.

There was no way to misunderstand that. And, sure, she’d probably be mad at him now, but he had started it with ‘Sorry’ hadn’t he? It was the best he could do.

Her reply came a lot faster than he’d been expecting. He was about to sign off and collapse back into bed, but the little ding alerting him to new email could be heard over the sound of his nose blowing. And he blinked at the screen until the tears cleared from his eyes and he saw Rory’s name in the sender field. He couldn’t not click.

As it turned out, she didn’t seem to be mad at him. And, uncharacteristically, her response was just as short as his.

What’s wrong? Are you all right?

He groaned, a rock on one side of him and a hard place on the other side, the two squeezing him right in the middle. If he told her what was wrong, she’d think he was incompetent and incapable of taking care of himself. If he didn’t, she’d get worried and come to New York to see for himself. Either way, she was going to find out. He typed back:

Think I’ve got a Morton’s fork.

And he hit send. He knew she was online now. And he knew she would respond. So he grabbed the toilet paper roll from his bed along with his other blanket, wrapping that one around his upper body. He kept his eyes on the email application, waiting for her reply. But his nose started tickling again and he just couldn’t hold it back. “Hihh-IHSchhhhh! Huh huhh huhhh-IHSHhhhhhhh!” By the time he was done wiping at his nose and relaxing back under the blankets, her reply was there.

Just make it easy on yourself and tell me.

He sighed. He didn’t know how best to explain without sounding like a whiney little baby, which was the last thing he wanted. But if he didn’t sound miserable enough, she’d probably insist he come. Of course, if he sounded too miserable, she might get on another bus and come to him, concerned. There really was no way to win at this point.

After a minute of thinking, Jess finally closed his eyes and typed out:

O jsbr s nsf vp;f.

He opened his eyes and groaned, realizing he’d been off in his typing. Really, he would have preferred old fashioned pen and paper or even a telephone call, but neither one would work in this situation. It was email or nothing. So he tried again.

I have a bad cold.

Hitting send before he could stop himself made a flutter of nerves rise up inside him. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have told her. There was no way to take it back, though. And, at least, he hadn’t lied to her. She had to give him credit for that. Assuming she believed him. Oh shit, what if she didn’t believe him? He should have complained more. He should have told her about his runny nose and the really sensitive spot at the back of his throat that hurt every time he swallowed. He should have told him about the fatigue and pulsing in his head. But he couldn’t bring himself to give her such unattractive mental images of him.

He checked his email, waiting for her reply, but it didn’t come immediately.

“ihhh-HIHTChhh! HRschhhh!”

It didn’t come in five minutes.

“ihhh… ihhh-HIHSTChhhh!”

It didn’t even come in ten.

“Hehhh-hehPTCHhhhhhhh!”

In fact, it was almost twenty minutes later when his email finally dinged with the alert. By then, he’d pulled his legs up onto the chair with him and buried his face in one of the blankets, eyes closed. They were sleepy and blurry and took a few seconds to focus when he opened them again. He reached out from his warm cocoon of blankets and clicked on the email.

1 tablespoon butter
1 ½ cups egg noodles
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped celery
1 cup sliced carrots
½ teaspoon dried basil
½ teaspoon dried oregano
4 cans chicken broth
1 can vegetable broth
½ pound chopped cooked chicken breast

He scanned the rest of the email, which involved a whole list of all-too-familiar instructions for how to make Luke’s chicken noodle soup. It wasn’t the most complicated recipe; Jess had even made it a couple times while working at the diner. But he wasn’t sure what was in the fridge and probably didn’t have the energy to make it in any case.

Then he noticed a paragraph at the very end that had blended right into the recipe.

Or just wait a few hours. Luke’s taking the next bus out of Stars Hollow. He says he’d do anything to get out of being the center of attention at his birthday celebration and that you’d probably mess up his recipe anyway.

She’d signed the email with just her name, again, so he knew that was the end of it. But he still reread the ending again and again, hoping that he might have missed the part where she was coming down to NYC as well.

Cautiously, he typed his reply:

Just Luke? Was the bus ride down so bad last time?

There was a bit of a wait until her next email.

We both know why I can’t come to New York again. Besides, I know you wouldn’t want me seeing you all sick and needy. Gotta maintain your image of mystery and toughness, don’t you?

I look forward to seeing you when you’re feeling better, though. Sending you good thoughts for a speedy recovery.

Rory

It wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted to hear, but it was a start. He’d have to deal with apologizing to Luke somehow—Luke, who had called him half a dozen times and hadn’t gotten a single call back from Jess. But maybe Luke would go easy on him; he was sick, after all.  And Luke really couldn’t hate him so much if he was coming all the way down here to make soup.

Gathering up his blankets and tucking the toilet paper roll under his arm, Jess shuffled back to bed. He collapsed upon it, hearing the familiar creaks and groans of the frame and springs. His bed at Luke’s place had been a lot more comfortable. And, for the first time since he’d been sent away, Jess looked forward to going back to Stars Hollow.

“hehhhh-hehh-IHPTShhhhh!”

One day. When he felt a whole lot better.