A/N: Songs for this chapter: "Guess I'm Falling for You"- Michael Buble, "Run to Me"- Clay Aiken, "Bridge over Troubled Water"- Leanne Rhymes

I'm sorry for some of the outdated and poor music taste, but sometimes certain songs just strike a chord and inspire me. If being inspired by a Clay Aiken song is a sin, I'm going to Hell.

Chapter Eleven

The first pebble-sized drops of an evening shower pattered against the window as Lizzie entered Starbucks and took her place in line. There was no way she was going to make it through this evening without caffeine and lots of it. She was just digging her wallet from her purse when a voice called her name from across the crowded shop, and she looked up to see Rory striding toward her.

"Are you stalking me, Mr. Peterson?" asked Lizzie, arching an eyebrow in mock surprise. Rory laughed.

"If you don't mind me saying so, you make it terribly easy. You might want to vary your hangouts if you're trying not to leave a trail. Actually, I'm glad I ran into you. I've been meaning to give you a call," he said as he slipped into line behind her. "How did everything go on Saturday?"

"It was a complete disaster. Thanks for asking," answered Lizzie. Rory smiled.

"Awe come on. I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"Believe me; it was bad."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lizzie hesitated. Rory studied her expression for a moment before stepping out of line, and as if drawn by a magnetic force, Lizzie followed suit. "Come on," he cajoled. "There's a great little café down the road. My treat." His smile was so warm, so inviting. When he laid his hand over Lizzie's, a shock of heat traveled through her blood; she could see its reflection in his blue eyes.

"Okay, thanks," she agreed. "Would you just mind waiting a moment? I need to make a quick call." Rory nodded.

"Of course. If you're going to stand the other guy up, at least have the decency to call," Rory said with a wink. "I like that in a woman."

"Trust me, I'd rather be with you," Lizzie called over her shoulder as she moved toward the door.

She stepped outside the coffee shop and dug her cell phone from her purse. Ignoring the guilt that stabbed at her insides, she dialed. When the voicemail picked up, she checked to see that Rory was out of earshot before leaving her message.

"James, it's Liz. Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I'm not going to be able to make it. I’m really sorry. Call me if, you know, there's a change. Bye."

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Two and a half hours later, Lizzie was standing in the center of Rory's living room, turning on her heal as she took in the framed photographs that lined the walls.

"Rory, these are incredible. You took all of them?" Rory nodded. Lizzie moved forward to examine a stunning view of the Eifel Tower rising majestically against the backdrop of a night sky. "Where was this one taken?" she asked, gesturing toward a picture of a sunrise so bright it looked as if it had been painted with watercolors.

"I took that one from the deck of a cruise ship when I was on vacation with my family. I was only about seventeen. I think that was around the time I started taking photography seriously as a hobby. Actually most of the foreign landscapes you see were taken then." He laughed wryly. "You think I could afford to go to Paris now on my salary?" Lizzie continued to circle the room as Rory turned to add a pinch of food to an aquarium that housed two tropical fish.

"What are their names?" she asked casually.

Rory's lips twitched. "You'll laugh if I tell you."

"Try me," she insisted.

"Moby and Dick." Lizzie smiled.

"How original. Which one is which?" Rory shrugged.

"I'm not sure any more. They're probably still not over their identity crisis. Now I just call them 'fish', but that's only made it worse because they've lost their sense of individuality." Lizzie laughed in spite of herself.

"I know I promised I wouldn't," she said apologetically, "and believe me I've got no right to." Rory perched on the arm of the couch.

"Don't tell me you've got pets named after literary characters too."

"Oh, it's worse than that. I named my cat after Colin Firth."

"How fangirlish of you," commented Rory. Lizzie blushed.

"I got him a few weeks after James and I broke up because I was feeling lonely. I was watching a lot of Bridget Jones, and I used to watch the fight scene between Mark Darcy and Daniel Cleaver and imagine Daniel as James."

"And Colin Firth as self of course," added Rory.

"Of course. That's what makes fantasy superior to reality. You get to decide how the story ends. Maybe that's part of the reason I enjoy writing so much."

"That's also what makes it fiction," Rory pointed out. "If we had that much control over our lives, if we knew how things were going to end, I wonder if we'd ever want to finish the story."

"Oh come on," Lizzie challenged. "Haven't you ever wanted to rewrite an ending?"

"Of course I have," murmured Rory. Lizzie followed his gaze to another framed photograph that sat on an end-table. Staring into the camera was a young woman about Lizzie's age, her shoulder-length blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, her green eyes dancing with mischievous laughter.

"Kayley?" Lizzie asked softly. Rory nodded.

"I put away most of the pictures or gave them to her family. That's one of the only ones I can still bear to look at. It's like," he paused. "It's like she's watching me." Lizzie studied the photograph, noticing as she did the way Kayley's gaze seemed to lock on hers. Shivering slightly from the effect of that penetrating, lifelike stare, Lizzie turned her attention back to Rory.

"Can I ask what happened?" she said hesitantly. Rory winced as her words gently teased away the protective covering on the wound; then with a deep breath he began:

"It happened only two weeks after we got engaged. We were out with some friends and…God, it was so senseless!" he said through clenched teeth. Without warning he rose from the couch and began pacing, clenching his fists in an effort to keep a firm hold on the tidal-wave of anger rising inside his chest. "I don't even remember why we took separate cars. I was following her home to make sure she got there safely and," he swallowed. "It happened so quickly. I don't even think I saw it. I just heard this sound like glass exploding, and when I looked it was over. Drunk driver. The guy responsible is paralyzed. Everyone called it poetic justice. Damn poetic justice. Poetic justice won't bring her back." He dropped back down onto the couch, lowering his head into his hands. "I keep asking myself how things might've happened differently; what if we'd been together? What if it'd been me instead of her?" Lizzie reached out and rested a hand on Rory's knee.

"I don't think Kayley would've wanted that."

"She didn't want to die either," Rory said bitterly. "All I've heard people say for the last nine months is that she wouldn't have wanted me to stop living." He gave a mirthless laugh. "You try living without a reason. It's just existing. Maybe I wasn't in that car, but I might as well have been."

"That's not true," Lizzie said with conviction, remembering the current of electricity that had made her blood ripple the first time she'd gazed into Rory's eyes. "I know you felt like Kayley was your life and that you died with her, but there's a part of you that still wants to live, and I think suppressing that part of yourself would be more of a disrespect to her memory than living in mourning."

"It just doesn't seem fair, you know? To live when she can't any more." Lizzie smiled.

"Maybe she can. I don't know if what people say about those we love still being with us after they're gone is true or if it's just something that makes coping with the loss easier, but if it's true, and Kayley's spirit is a part of you, if you're still living, maybe she lives through you." Rory nodded, his gaze still resting on Kayley's picture. Lizzie turned to study it again too.

"She was pretty," Lizzie said, somewhat grudgingly she thought as she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the small mirror above the sofa.

"So are you," Rory replied automatically. "I-I mean, well…" He fell silent, staring at Lizzie for any sign of reaction. Taken aback, Lizzie glanced away, but her lips began to twitch, and the giggle she'd been fighting to suppress escaped. The low rumble in Rory's chest as his laughter joined hers sent a delicious shiver through her.

"Thanks, Liz," Rory said when he'd found his voice. Lizzie smiled.

"Any time," she murmured. Rory lifted an arm to draw her into a hug, and she leaned her head against his chest. She slid her own arms around him, feeling the muscles in his back unraveling beneath her hands. She was just beginning to wonder if she'd gone too far when Rory's mouth found hers and closed the remaining distance between them. Lizzie began to feel herself slipping effortlessly yet uncontrollably over the edge of her reserve. Drawing her arms up around Rory's neck, she deepened the kiss, pressing her body into the curve of his arm. With tantalizing slowness, he slid his hands down her back, kneading her shoulders with his fingers. After several more moments, Rory pulled back, a grin spreading across his face as he gazed down at her. Playfully Lizzie laid a hand on his chest, drumming her fingers on the space over his heart. Rory arched an eyebrow.

"Just checking," murmured Lizzie, leaning in to kiss him again.