To Include:
- Future fic
- an arguement between Rory and Jess
- ends with some gesture that makes their relationship even stronger/better.
Not to Include:
- No other characters
- the arguement cannot started by something said by an outside character
Rating: G-PG13   


Title - ego cupivit, ego cupit

-

Instead of letting her imagination concoct numerous possibilities of the future, ample scenarios of everything that could go right and everything that could go wrong, Rory thought about herself. She thought about the girl she used to be: the one who was happy pleasing everyone else, and the girl she was now: the one who was happy pleasing herself. She thought about what she had wanted before Chilton, after, before Yale, after. Her wants had so much to do with her life and what to do with it, but so little to do with herself.

The difference between what she wanted for her life and for herself barely existed, but she needed the separation. What she wanted for her life she could get and would get. What she wanted for herself… she didn't have to have, might not get, but still wanted.

Rory graduated from Yale one month ago and worked fulltime as a papergirl for a news station, also sometimes acting a receptionist when the phones rang with potential stories, most of which were good filler when there were few headlines. She worked part time at a small, corner bookshop so that she made enough money to maintain an apartment, buy groceries and still have a little bit left to put into a bank account. That would be the money she used to pay off the loan her grandparents had given her.

Her fallout with Logan scantly changed her. Her greatest changes came from her time with him, and for that she thanked him, but now wished to have nothing more to do with him. The pain of their split came immediately, squeezing her heart mercilessly, but she accepted it in days. The pain dulled quickly, the lust also snuffed out, but it ultimately did her good. She held no ill will toward him. She couldn't change who he was.

Their breakup made her realize that there was an old want still whispering to her, and the realization made that whisper louder and put it more frequently in her thoughts. It was an old longing, she knew it, and F. Scott Fitzgerald told her that it was useless to try and reclaim the past, but it wasn't the past she wanted. She wasn't sure what she hoped for; she didn't expect anything, really, because she wouldn't let herself think about what she was doing.

The list maker refused to make a list about why this lack of plan was such a bad, bad idea. She knew what everyone else would think of this excursion. She knew that the con column would have taken up an entire pack of notebook paper. The pro column would have had only one item under it, but it outweighed everything she could have possibly listed under the negative: she wanted this. That's all that mattered.

She parked her car a couple blocks from where she intended to go, as the streets of New York were cluttered and it was the only available parking spot. Rory dug into her pocket for the address, double checking it, keeping it out so that she wouldn't forget the apartment number. Any thoughts beyond that, though, she wouldn't let herself follow up on. She pushed it all away so that - as she entered the elevator, standing rigidly, inert - her mind couldn't even absorb her surroundings, so that when she knocked on the door there was no hesitation, so that when the door opened she felt no embarrassment, no uncertainty, only indifference.

His eyes expressed surprise - widened- but then he met her impassiveness with ease, with a relaxed stance. His arms folded over his chest; he lowered his head and peered at her that way, guarding himself with feigned nonchalance.

“Hey, Jess,” she said warmly.

“Rory.”

“I came to see you,” she announced, her voice sounding flighty. She wasn't thinking; if she thought, she'd get uncomfortable.

“Well, there's a first. Need me to do a little spin so you can get the full effect?”

He sounded sarcastic, but she didn't mind.

“No, that's quite all right.”

“So what do you want?”

There were so many answers to give, all subtle and harmless, half-truths or partly honest. They didn't appeal to her, though.

“I-” she faltered, almost giving into her suppressed desire to give up, but that's not what she wanted, “-wanted to see if we could be friends again.”

“Nope.”

He said it too flippantly, too readily - it equaled insincerity. Suddenly Rory understood him so much better. It was easier not to change. It was easier to run.

Jess tried to close the door on her.

Rory stuck her foot in the way and squeezed her body into the doorway. In retrospect, it would have been so much easier to walk away, but today she felt particularly stubborn.

She dropped her forced control, dropped the woodenness, and revealed her frantic desperation both to Jess and herself. But she felt no embarrassment, only a great need to make him see that it was just as easy to accept this change as to not.

“You said you changed. Well I have too. And I don't care about anything that's gone on between us in the past. I don't care what you did, and I don't care what I did-” Rory didn't know what else to add. She wanted to rant, wanted to elaborate on how the past just wasn't important anymore - she'd accepted it, gotten over it - and wanted to keep talking because she sounded determined and stubborn and falsely angry and she liked it. But she didn't know what else to say, so she stared at Jess and waited for him.

He opened the door back up.

“You don't care that I treated you like dirt?” he began casually. “Or that I never talked to you? Or that I went to California without telling you? Or that I came back and said 'I love you' and ran again? Or that I came back again and did a good impression of Holden Caulfield?”

“No, I don't,” Rory said, standing up a little straighter.

“You pulled me in every direction!” he yelled suddenly. “I didn't know what to do with you. I never had to talk or care and then you tried to make me and I couldn't. I thought it was progress to call when I said I would or actually come over and watch movies and eat crap and not say anything to your mom when she acted like I was a terrorist holding you hostage and demanding ransom! But you didn't even acknowledge that. I didn't want you to expect anything from me and you couldn't understand why I couldn't give you what you expected!”

“Wow,” she breathed in mild surprise, “you've really thought about that.”

“Yes I have,” he admitted in a more normal tone, unashamed.

“Well, I don't expect anything now.”

Jess breathed in, chest rising, and audibly exhauled.

“And I've changed.” He stepped back, holding the door open for her. “So you want to be friends?”

Rory stepped in.

“Yes I do.”

“So do I.”

-End-

-

Author's Note - Arguments are really, really hard for me to write, especially between Rory and Jess. Oy. But voila!

Oh, the title is Latin. Translation: I wanted, I want.