Okay. Whoo-ee. Got a lot to say here, so bear with me, please. First things first. Standard warnings.

New readers: this is the fifth story in a series. My "The Girl I Like..." series (TGIL) is all of 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU in Rob's POV. This is the rewrite of Missing You, which means that there were four prequels (and a one-shot), one each for the first four books. If you know the series well, you can just start reading here, but I would advise going back to the beginning and reading from there. It'll be a lot more fun for you/make more sense with some repeating jokes/etc. The first one is called The Girl I Like Was Struck By Lightning.

Next: Yes, this title is breaking my normal format, but I think it's appropriate, seeing as MY was originally written both at a later point than and in a different tone than the rest. Thank you for all the people who participated in the voting for this title, and special thanks for x Aazeen x at MCBC, who came up with it in the first place.

Now that that's all taken care of, a couple notes to all the people who have been waiting so long for this story: Hey, guys, I am SO sorry. I have a veritable ton of excuses, ranging from lost internet/broken computer to being sick/having no free time; but the bottom line is that I made you wait forever, and I've VERY sorry. Trust me. So sorry. I'm trying not to make this A/N too long, or I'd elaborate more, but feel free to make voodoo dolls of me. Only... not, 'cause I really don't want to break a leg.

Enjoy!

Hi.

How's it going?

Long time no see.

Hey, I need a favor…

Jess, I'm madly in love with you and I swear I never cheated on you, please, please, please come back to me?

Okay, I admit, I should have known that there was no way I'd be able to plan what to say ahead of time. But I tried. I ran through a million things in my head, tried to picture all the different scenarios (most involved a slammed door), all the things that I could and couldn't do. I just didn't know, though. How could I? Until I saw her again – really saw her, in person, as opposed to in photos – I wouldn't be able to predict my own reaction, let alone hers.

And yet, somehow, in every single one of my imagined scenes, I hadn't pictured this.

The room the door opened onto was full and loud, with a TV blaring, two guys shouting at it, and some girl way in the background saying something in a loud voice. I mean, it was a pretty nice room, but you could easily tell that it was currently just too full.

And in the front, standing holding the door, was Jess.

Jess. I hadn't seen her (in person) in about a year, not since she'd broken up with me. Which didn't really count as seeing her. Really, it had been two years since we'd even really spoken, so I honestly didn't know what to expect.

But Jess still looked the same, sort of. I mean, she still had the same short hair, the same face, even the same clothes – and she looked just as good as ever in them. I mean, she was hot. From her hair, shorter than mine, like always, to her sneakered feet. Yeah. I noticed she was wearing sneakers. That's because Jess managed to make them look hot. She just did. I could go on, but, you know, I'm just not gonna start. Any more than I already have, anyway – but I could still tell that she'd changed. The changes were invisible, but I was all too aware of them, seeing as if they had never occurred, I wouldn't have spent this past year very unhappy. Very.

Now, I'm not gonna say that I'd rather Jess had never gone out and helped with the war – after all, she saved a lot of lives, and I'm not that selfish – and preferred that she stay home with me and never let that invisible change occur. Really. I'm not.

I will, however, freely state that Cyrus Krantz, the FBI agent who got her into the whole mess? Yeah, I hate his weaselly black guts.

"Jess," I said, addressing the owner of that name for the first time in far too long, "is this a bad time?"

She stared at me, shocked. I guess I can't really blame her. I would be shocked, too, if some girlfriend from a year or two ago just randomly showed up at my door, after I'd moved out of state, and asked if it was a bad time to talk.

God, Rob, you were thinking about this for hours, and you blurted out, "Is this a bad time?" Idiot.

In the background, one of the guys yelled, "Ask him if he can break a fifty," without looking over, apparently thinking I was some sort of delivery-boy. I wondered who the two guys were. I couldn't see their faces since the couch faced away from the door, and could only hear their voices.

Please let them not be boyfriends. Please no.

"Make sure he remembered the hot-pepper flakes. They forgot last time," the girl's voice called, and I remembered that the previously termed Bitch, also known as Jess's best friend Ruth, was living with her. I'd learned this from Doug, who for some reason, had actually believed me when I'd told him about the circumstances of the reason for the break-up.

See, there's this girl. Woman. Whatever. She has this car that frequently breaks down (just bad handling, it's not like it isn't a perfectly good car), so she's coming in relatively often, and, well, she's not Mensa material, is all I'll say. She's also very excitable, blonde, and has really big… you know. Boobs. It's kinda awkward for all of us mechanics who have girlfriends or wives or whatever, because whenever someone successfully fixes her Mercedes, Nancy gets very excited and kisses them (although, sometimes she doesn't – generally when it's one of the older or more homely guys). Of course, since she's pretty, a lot of the single guys really like to be the ones to fix her car.

Unfortunately, that day it was my job, and I'd just finished, and she had jumped forward and kissed me. That must have been what Jess saw. I mean, I didn't even know she was there. At the garage, or in town. I only found out when I stopped by at the comic shop to buy a Spider-Man and chat with Doug for a bit. But, she can't have been there long, or else she would have seen me push Nancy away.

"Nancy," I'd said, "We talked about this. I have a girlfriend." And we had talked about it, last time I'd fixed her car.

"Sorry," she said, smiling. "I just get so excited!"

I really wasn't that mad. I mean, Nancy might have seemed bad, but she was really actually a pretty sweet girl. Just flaky, dumb, and sort of slutty.

But nice.

Anyway, when I visited Jess's house later that afternoon, I was obviously pretty excited. I'd had some big plans for that evening, really big ones that I don't specifically want to get into right now. But Jess hadn't reacted the way I expected.

Yeah, to say I was surprised when Jess told me to get the hell off her property (I could practically see a rifle held threateningly in her hands) – well, that's probably the definition of understatement.

I mean, the Jess I knew, would never believe I'd cheated on her, right? Okay, yeah, she could be a little insecure at times, but come on, I'd always thought it was obvious how I felt about her – even if I never did work up the guts to admit I loved her before she left.

I don't know; maybe if I had, then Jess – even after-the-war/losing-her-powers Jess – would have had a little more faith in me. Wouldn't have given up so easily. Maybe, if I'd already told her, I have been smart enough to do more than just get mad and tell her how different she'd gotten; how damaged. Maybe, if she'd known I loved her – was in love with her – I would've followed her, and not let her run away.

But she'd never known, I guess, and I never did follow her. I waited, yeah – sometimes it feels as if that's all I've been doing for the past two years, waiting – but I still let her leave and try to work through everything – fix herself – on her own.

Who knows? Maybe it's better that I did. I never held much stock in 'maybes' or 'if-onlys' anyway. I mean, sure, the Jess standing in front of me didn't look exactly happy, but, much as I might hate to admit it, that was probably a direct result of my (unexpected) presence at her door.

God, she probably hated me now.

"This is a bad time," I said, seizing onto The Bitch and the two mysterious guys (they were NOT boyfriends, they were NOT boyfriends, if they were boyfriends I was gonna have to punch somebody) as convenient excuses. "You've got company. I can come back later."

Of course I didn't want to leave completely, but maybe if I went away for the moment, at least… Called ahead next time, arranged something, I dunno. I was beginning to regret not warning her ahead of time that I was coming. But I'd suspected – and had it confirmed by Doug – that if Jess had had any clue I was coming, she would have been long gone by the time I arrived.

And I guess I could have sent her an email or something. But I felt like this was something I had to do face-to-face. Plus, I just wanted to see her, face-to-face.

Jess just continued staring at me, shock and a couple other expressions I really wished I could interpret, on her face. She didn't say a word in response; I wasn't sure she'd even heard what I said.

But one of the male voices did again, shoving past Jess waving a fifty-dollar-bill, and revealing himself to be (much to my relief, because Jess would never touch the guy) Skip Abramowitz.

"Hey, can you break this?" he asked. Then I guess he noticed I held no pizza, and wasn't wearing a uniform. Ever slow on the uptake (I don't really know that. I'm just inferring it from him a) wanting to go out with Jess so continuously, not getting that she never liked him; the weekend after my dinner with the Mastrianis, and Jess's and my following 'break-up' – though it wasn't, not really – he actually asked her out again, and b) being The Bitch's brother – and such an annoying brother that even she was horrified by the idea of him going out with Jess) Skip frowned. "Hey, where's the 'za?"

Finally, he looked at my face, and seemed to actually recognize me. Sort of. "Hey," he said slowly, and Christ, couldn't he start a sentence with another word? There were plenty of options! "I know you."

Before he could continue, or I could respond, The Bitch walked up, holding a pile of plates. "Did you remember the hot-pepper – " she stopped mid-sentence, staring at me in shock.

Okay, she definitely recognized me.

"Oh," she kind of gasped, "It's… it's…"

"Rob," I helped her out, sneaking a glance at Jess, who still hadn't moved – not even when the two Abramowitzes squeezed into the tiny entryway with her. Just continued to stare.

"Right," The Bitch glanced at Jess in much the same way, only looking more worried. "Rob. From back home."

Yeah. That's me. Rob, from back home.

"You remember Rob, Skip," The Bitch went on, sounding – well, actually sounding a lot less bitchy than she used to. In fact, she really just sounded worried – about Jess, I guess. Maybe she didn't really deserve that nickname anymore. Maybe I should just start calling her Ruth.

I don't know, though, that's a pretty big step…

"How could I forget?" Skip asked, flatly. Now he remembered me properly: as Jess's old boyfriend. He glared at me.

Okay, maybe I was willing to at least consider being nice (or, civil, anyway) to his sister, even in my head, but Skip was still – and always would be – at the top of my 'to mock and forever dislike' list. No matter what.

"Right." The B–Ruth (see, I can do it if I really try) sounded uncomfortable, confused, nervous, and worried now. I guess I couldn't blame her. "Well. Do you, um… do you want to come in, Rob?"

Okay, now I just felt sorry for her.

"What's the holdup?" I heard the voice of the other guy, who turned out to be Jess's older brother Mike, from what I could see of his face peering over everyone's shoulders.

Thank god, no boyfriends! Thank you!

"You guys need change or something?" he asked.

"It's not the pizza guy," Skip told him without taking his eyes off me, "It's Rob Wilkins."

"Who?" Mike sounded beyond shocked. "Here?"

This was getting ridiculous. And Jess still hadn't said a word, or even moved. I was getting kind of fed up.

"Look," I said, ignoring everyone else and speaking to Jess. "If this is a bad time, Jess, I can come back – "

All eyes turned to Jess, who blushed a little under our collective gazes, but still didn't break her mute silence. A long, awkward pause followed.

Until, amazingly enough, Ruth (no, not The Bitch; Ruth) broke it – and took my side.

"We'll just go out and let you two have some time alone together," she said, beginning to put down her stack of plates on a tiny hall table.

Which was nice of her, and all, but I kind of wanted to leave, for the night at least, by this point. And I was still getting the very distinct impression from Jess (and Mike and Skip too) that I wasn't very welcome. Actually, Ruth probably didn't want me here either, but she was making an effort for Jess's sake despite her dislike of me – a first in all the time I'd known her. The friendship had seemed to be all give and no take from Jess's side, that I'd seen, which had been yet another contributing factor in me calling her The Bitch.

"Go out?" Skip asked, sounding very affronted. "What about the pizza we ordered?"

Hearing that, even though I normally wouldn't pay attention to a word out of the guy's mouth, sealed the deal for me, and I shook my head. "You know what?" I said, turning, "I'll come back later."

I began to walk away, feeling more than a little disappointed (even though, in all honesty, I'd feared worse than dead silence, Skip aside) and still reeling from seeing Jess myself, though I obviously didn't show it as much as she did. Or hate the experience as much, for that matter.

But then, as I walked away, I heard it. For the first time in a year – and for the first time in two years, not yelling at me.

Her voice.

"Wait," Jess said, and I froze, pivoting my head around to look back at her. Now that she seemed to have gotten over her shock and/or horror at me resurfacing from her past, I had no idea what Jess would say. Especially when you factored in our rapt audience.

"Let me grab my keys," were her chosen words, "We can talk while we grab something to eat somewhere."

My heart – corny as I am (pain-)fully aware it sounds – seized up a moment before thumping faster than before.

After a brief halt at the little table, in which she seemed to be arguing with her brother, Jess returned, pulling on a coat and tucking her keys into a pocket as she walked. She passed the Abramowitz kids in the hallway, saying goodbye to Ruth quickly, before joining me in the hallway.

She didn't, I noted with pleasure, even acknowledge Skip's presence. Not even when she stepped on his foot in the limited space.

Well, not until he called after her. "I thought we were having pizza!" Idiot.

But Jess still seemed to care what Skip thought of her exactly as much as she had two years ago; that is, not at all. "Save me a slice," she told him, drawing even with me.

And just like that, we turned and headed down the stairs together.

Mission… accomplished?

The Latest Anonymous Review Responses for Other TGIL:

...Was Struck By Lightning:

--Bluebottle: Thanks! As you can see, I've finally made it there, and sure hope it'll be enjoyable!

--young: Glad to hear it. :) And YES! I totally agree, it bugged me so much I had to write my own! ;)

...Is My Sanctuary:

--starbox: Wow, thanks! I'm very flattered, even if I've never read the story in question. :)

--sasfas: I'm curious. Was that just a test or did a real review get lost in there somewhere?

--young: Hey, thanks! As you can see, the answer is yes. I'm very excited/nervous about this one. We'll see how it goes, I guess. Thank you for reviewing. :)