A/N: This will be a collection of the conversations mentioned in Flickering Lights and Whispered Words; the story I put up a few weeks ago. It's not necessary to read that story first, but it might make more sense if you do. I don't own Gilmore Girls. Thanks for reading!
She knew something was wrong the second he walked in the door. It was hard to tell exactly what Jess was feeling, but she knew him well enough to know that something was wrong. Very wrong.
"Jess?" It came out as a question, as she stood up from her chair and slowly approached him.
He gave her a short nod, moving quickly to their bedroom.
"Jess, what's wrong?"
He didn't answer.
"Um…" She shifted awkwardly in the doorway. "We have tacos for dinner."
"Great." His voice held a twinge of sarcasm.
Biting her lip and looking towards the kitchen, she added "Just let me know when you want me to make them."
"Now's fine."
She pondered the situation while heating up the meat. She had never been good at cooking, though married life had shoved her into situations she never thought she'd be in. Cooking wasn't something she particularly enjoyed, but at least her food was edible now.
After setting the table, she went to find Jess. He was sitting in a chair by the bed, but instead of reading like usual, he was simply staring at the floor, arms on his knees and head in between.
She went to him slowly. "Tacos are ready."
He stood up, hardly looking at her, and walked to the kitchen.
They ate in silence, her too nervous too nervous to eat, as she watched him glare silently at the window. Her feeble attempts at conversation were quickly rebuffed.
Finally, she let her fork drop to her plate. "What's going on?"
"Nothing."
She could feel her frustration starting to rise. "Don't give me that."
He didn't reply.
"Jess! Why can't you just talk? I don't know what's going on, but it can't be worse than you sitting here in silence like a guard at Buckingham Palace!
Shaking his head, he said, "Just let it go, Rory."
"No, I'm not letting this go. We're married now; we're supposed to talk to each other. That's what married people do."
He stood up from his chair and left the room.
She followed him, steadfast in her resolve to make him open up. "If something's wrong, just tell me. We can try to fix it."
That was when he turned on her. "Rory, why can't you just leave it alone? You can't ever let things go. Do you know how frustrating that is?"
"You can't blame me for wanting to know what's going on!" She sputtered.
"And you can't blame me for not wanting to talk."
"Despite what you seem to think, not everything concerns you, okay?"
Rory stopped short. She looked at his eyes; the detached structures that showed no pain. With every word, the impact stung harder than she had ever thought possible. She loved him. Hated to see him like this. Hated that he pushed her away at times like these. Why couldn't he see that? Instead, more words were hurled and she could feel tears falling swiftly down her face. And his eyes were dry. Frozen, steady, and revealing nothing. Her chest tightened as he turned away from her.
Maybe he had the right idea, she thought. Maybe, if she could just shut him out, she wouldn't have to deal with this horrible feeling that had engulfed her. She forced herself to straighten, hating the way tears still slipped past her eyelids. She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone.
The hours crept by slowly as she tried to drown her thoughts into her book world. Yet all she could think about was Jess. Jess, and the pain clearly lurking behind his eyes. Jess, and her frustration. Jess, and the hollowness that was invading her more with every passing moment.
She refused to dignify their fight by sleeping on the couch, so she crept into their room. Apparently he had the same idea. She hesitated for a moment, then continued to her dresser.
In the bathroom, she stared into the mirror, taking in her puffy eyes and trying to calm her breathing.
The night was long, with both of them turning restlessly, all while keeping as much distance between them as possible. She was almost relieved when morning came.
He didn't speak a word to her in passing. She managed to choke down half a bowl of cereal, the sugary flakes sticking to her throat. He had to talk to her eventually. They were together now, in every sense of the word. Except in the communication department. She thought bitterly, standing up and beginning to rinse out her bowl.
Most of all, she just wanted him back. She was almost willing to overlook his stubbornness, at least for a the time being, just to see his familiar smirk or feel his arms around her again. The thought brought another swarm of tears to the backs of her eyes.
Why couldn't he just open up? Didn't he trust her? Why -
Something grabbed her from behind so quickly she almost screamed. But the touch was gentle, and before she could react, a familiar pair of lips were pressed to hers.
Jess. It was her only thought as he pulled her closer.
"I'm sorry." And then he was gone, leaving her to wonder if she had just imagined the words.
The morning incident wasn't something easily brushed off. It followed her around, drifting in and out of her mind throughout the day. Question marks seeped into her writing, put hesitation into her step, and thoroughly occupied her thoughts.
Finally, she gave up on the idea of ever completely understanding Jess. He had forgiven her, she had forgiven him, and that was enough.
The next two days passed without incident, though she still tread lightly around him. He was still restless, then agitated, then thoughtful. But as much as words crowded around her tongue, she swallowed them down.
The storm came Thursday night. The sound of it was enough to make her look up from the pages of her book. She dismissed it and looked back down, but the lights flickered and finally plunged the house into darkness just seconds later. She stood up and tried to feel her way into the next room.
"Ow!" Her toe made contact with something hard.
"Rory?" The voice echoed from the other end of the house. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. I just hit my toe on this stupid coffee table."
"Do we have any candles?"
"No. But now would be a good time to own them. Remind me to pick some up this week."
"Actually, scratch that." He called back. "I'm not so sure I trust you with candles. Remember what happened the last time you tried to use a lighter?"
She saw a dark form approaching her. "Right. Never again."
Her foot stepped on something, provoking a soft grunt. "Was that your foot?"
"Yes it was."
She grimaced, forgetting the current state of the light. "Sorry."
Arms wrapped around her shoulders and she leaned into them. Things had been so tense the last few days. She had missed this, more than she knew.
He gently steered them towards the sofa, keeping clear of her blundering feet. Once they were seated, the darkness of the room seemed to envelope all words. She listened to the wind whistling a haunting melody outside, just happy to be near him.
She was sinking more and more into the plump cushions when she noticed his fingers tapping. Seconds later, he sighed deeply. Minutes passed. He ran a hand through his hair once, twice. Continued tapping an abstract rhythm with his fingers. Straightening, she braced herself. This was it.
When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. "I sent my manuscript to a publisher a couple months ago."
She bit her lip.
"I got the rejection letter Tuesday."
Sadness and anger welled up inside her, muffling her words. Her hand found his in the dark and gripped it.
When he spoke again, his voice was strained. "They said it was disconnected. Flat in places."
She scrambled for words, though in the back of her mind, she knew it wouldn't do any good. At a time like this, words never did. She could just make out his outline and watched him shake his head slowly. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to comfort him.
He spoke before she had the chance. "Don't say anything…" It was barely audible, but seemed to echo against the shadowy walls. There was a vulnerability to his voice, as if one wrong word would only add to his distress.
She stopped, mouth still ajar. She knew he could do this, no matter how many rejection letters he received. He had come so far from the boy she once knew. He was mature, determined, and still incredibly smart. And he had supported her in ways that no one else had ever been able to. Shouldn't she be doing the same for him?
A blurry face, accompanied by clear words filled her head.
"He just doesn't think I have what it takes to be a journalist."
"I knew this would happen. I didn't want you to take that internship."
And suddenly, she understood. Logan's words after Mitchum Huntzberger's critique had been well-meaning, but were nearly the undoing of her.
But she wasn't Logan. And they were married, for goodness's sake! Shouldn't she, of all people, be the one who knew the right words to say? She though back to their fight only days before, grimacing as she remembered the way she had pushed him.
She looked over at him again, realization hitting her. Maybe he didn't trust her to know the right words - maybe he didn't know them himself - but his barriers were let down enough now to let her know what had gone wrong. Maybe his method wasn't the best way to cope, but it was his, and nothing she said or did could change that right now.
She wrapped her arms around him, listening to his heartbeat, at first rapid, then gradually slowing down. He placed his hand over hers and gave it a brief squeeze, his touch communicating more than he could ever verbally express.
She didn't know how long they sat in the dark, but the next thing she knew, she was waking up in her bed. A feeling of peace enveloped her. Then she looked to the side.
He was gone.
Swallowing hard, she sat up. Something must have gone wrong. Had she said the wrong things the night before? Or rather, should she have said more? He had seemed to be content with the absence of words, and she'd thought everything between them was alright. The emptiness beside her told a different story. She listened for a noise in the house, but only a dreadful silence filled her ears. She walked out of the room, opening her mouth to call his name.
And then she saw him at his desk. He was slumped in the middle, his laptop to one side and papers strewn everywhere. She smiled to herself and went to the kitchen to make coffee.
He stepped into the room fifteen minutes later, rubbing his neck. He didn't mention the night before; not with words. But his hand brushed softly across her back as he passed her and the smile he gave her upon sitting down was telling enough.
"Movie tonight?" He asked.
"Sounds great." She smiled back, and that was the end of the matter.
A/N: One of the things that really bothered me about Logan's reaction to Mitchum's criticism was the fact that he never denied it. He never told her that she could ultimately do it. And then there was Rory and Jess shared - an encouraging, yet still honest support of each other. Bah. I digress. Things are a little hectic right now, but I'll try to have the next chapter of this (and Fragments...) up ASAP. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!