The Weaving of a Tapestry
Author: Ara May
Disclaimer: I still own nothing or else the later seasons would be more about Jess and less about Rory.
A/N: Some sort of inspiration struck and it just kept coming and coming. I probably should have broken this up into chapters as vignettes, but it's all here and it's done and I like it better this way, so voilà!
Summary: Jess and Rory on the eve of Luke and Lorelai's wedding. It should have been a beautiful tapestry, but instead of something akin to La Tapisserie de Bayeux, the Fates gave up almost as soon as they began. Post-Series. Literati. One-Shot.
The mind is like a richly woven tapestry
in which the colors are distilled
from the experiences of the senses,
and the design drawn from the convolutions of the intellect.
- Carson McCullers
I
There's a bond that unites them. Unexplainable, but noticeable. Any observer would notice with ease: A simple glance from him would be returned in silence with a rising blush and eyes darting back and forth on her part. They're tempted to reach his own orbs, though afraid at the same time. He watches her actions amused. "Hey, cousin," he greets as he approaches.
He sits down in the chair previously occupied by her mother who just left in a panic about her bachelorette party going awry. Rory's been busy on the campaign trail for months, so Sookie was put in charge of the planning. "Jess, don't call me that. It's creepy." She rolls her eyes but a smile is playing at her lips.
He notices that she looks tired. Not the kind of tired from lack of sleep and definitely not from any efforts to keep coffee at bay. No, there are creases under her eyes that have come permanently from stress. So, he asks her, "Working hard?"
She answers immediately, "I think I've changed my mind. This whole traveling reporter thing...not all it's cracked up to be. Believe me."
He simply shrugs, "I s'pose there's a difference between a smelly bus traveling the country and the CNN jet. Keep at it, Ror. I know this is what you want."
There's a familiarity between them and an outsider would not have known the pain each had caused the other. This is the first conversation they've had in a while that hasn't erupted into argument. Though, it was only ten in the morning, there was still time for that. "No, you did the smart thing. Publishing. I should have gone into publishing."
He shrugs again. "It wouldn't suit you." The twinkle she sees in his eyes lets her know that this is a lie, that he actually thinks she'd fit into the publishing world quite nicely. The crooked grin that shows up a moment later tells her he knows that she knows that he's lying to her and he has no qualms about it. Nor is he trying to hide it.
She smiles despite herself, "Thanks, Jess." He deserves thanks, because here she is debating her lifelong career choice and he's telling her that it'll all be worth it in the end, albeit in so few words. For a brief lapse of time she lets herself imagine a different life where she and Jess work together at Truncheon. In her mind they both look happy—happier than either of them have been in the longest time. She lets the image fade. What-ifs are no way to lead a life.
He tries to refrain from scoffing at her gratitude, but he does anyway. "Everyone is where they're supposed to be." He's not sure if he means career-wise or something less metaphorically with the two of them sitting in the empty diner (save for Kirk who's sitting at the counter preoccupied with his toast and Luke who's doing inventory in the storeroom) two days before his uncle and her mother are supposed to wed.
"So, how's Truncheon anyway?" She's genuinely curious because his life has been such a mystery since he left Stars Hollow. It was a mystery before then too, but back then she found it so enchanting she didn't even think to ask him about it. It was an element of his appeal that was almost like a game. He'd reveal as little as possible and she'd be left to string together the pieces to weave a story. More specifically, the story of his life, the one where she and him had once upon a time come together. It should have been a beautiful tapestry, but instead of something akin to La Tapisserie de Bayeux, the Fates gave up almost as soon as they began.
The pride she sees encroach his features as Truncheon is mentioned is lovely, but she doesn't comment on it, just smiles as he begins to tell her about his place of work. "We're featuring this new artist this month. More modern crap. Matthew's in love with it, and the artist for that matter," he chuckles revealing that this must be some private joke. "Modern art, though. Not my thing."
She forces out a laugh for whatever reason she doesn't know. What she does know, is that he'll be able to see right through its falsehood, "Something we have in common." She doesn't mention that there are other things, because right now, that would be delving in too far. Conversations that only skim the surface are ideal. Arguments about the past are getting stale between them and it's not a path either wants to trek down.
He changes the topic to the upcoming wedding because it's easy, "Do you have your speech ready?"
A genuine smile arrives, "Everything I write sounds so cheesy. I'm thinking about just winging it. Live in the moment."
He arches an eyebrow, "Rory Gilmore, improvising? I never thought I'd see the day."
"June 3rd, mark your calendar!"
"It's a little ironic that you're planning your spontaneity. Don't you think?"
"I've become very ironic in my old age," she notes dryly. "How about yours? I'm sure you'll be doing the same. Planning a speech doesn't seem like the Jess Mariano I know."
"Well, actually..." He stands up so he can fish the paperback out of his back pocket. It's a tattered copy of Ham on Rye, she notices. He picks out a piece of paper that had been wedged in between the pages. He unfolds it and a block of type fills the page. More impressively, blue pen ink is scribbled over the paper's contents, crossing out whole sentences and adding new ones with arrows pointing to his slanted handwriting in the margins. He hands her the page and she sees that there's more of his handwriting on the back.
Her eyes scan what he has written quickly, absorbing every word he has carefully chosen. She's more interested in the changes he's made though. She thinks of Michel de Montaigne as even his changes are once more revised with more scribbles. She recites from memory, "I take it as it is at the instant I consider it; I do not paint its being, I paint its passage; not a passing from one age to another, or, as the people say, from seven to seven years, but from day to day, from minute to minute..."
He recognizes the passage immediately, "The man had a point." He lets out a real laugh as he nervously watches her read the rest.
She looks up at him only after she's finished reading the page's entirety. Her eyes are wide. "How am I supposed to even come close to this?"
"Don't tell me you actually liked it. I still have to change the whole thing." He sweeps his hand in the air as he says this.
"You're not changing a word," she demands sternly. "This is perfect."
"Oh yeah?" His smirk is in full force, too gentle to be considered cocky.
"Luke's lucky to have you as his best man. Unfair for me that you're a writer and I'll never be able to outdo that." She gestures to the piece of paper that is now back in his possession.
He shakes his head at her, "You're a writer, too."
She shrugs. "I don't get to write like that. So eloquently, I mean. I swear a child could do my job: Obama victor in Iowa caucus. STOP. Obama close to clinching the nom—"
She continues to micmic a telegraph before he interrupts, "Please, I've seen your articles. You're far more eloquent than that."
"It'd be nice to write about something else for a change," she states simply. "I've been doing this for over a year now." She ignores any comments she wants to make about him reading her articles. Another path that's too sacred to venture down.
"He gets elected and you won't have to anymore," he grins wickedly.
"I'm also going to be out of a job."
"You'll have options though."
"Yeah, I guess." She starts to rub the pad of her thumb around the rim of her coffee mug. It's still half-full as she's been quite distracted today. By now, she'd normally be on her third refill.
A beat passes as Jess thinks of something else to say. Finally, he asks, "How's Logan?" The carefully crafted bubble is broken all of a sudden. Pierced with a venom that's thick with bitterness he has no right to feel. He says his name because he knows it and he won't pretend he doesn't. If he really wanted to make the poison stick he'd use one of the preferred vulgarities he reserves just for that particular blonde. That's not what he was going for here, it was more of a desperate wonder of his that needed to be discovered.
She knows he's not trying to hurt her with that question but the change in reverie stings and the smile that was gracing her features throughout their conversation in the diner fades into oblivion. She answers his question systematically, "I wouldn't know." She fights the urge to tell him that she has to leave, she's not going to lie to him, and she's tired of running away from every problem. If he really wants to know, she'll tell him. There's nothing to hide anymore.
Jess and Rory have shared emails since that fateful day at Truncheon two years ago. They started with a heartfelt apology from Rory a few days after the occurrence, followed by forgiveness from Jess, and turned into occasional updates about random things going on in one another's lives. He's aware that she wouldn't write to him about Logan on principal, so the absence of his name in any correspondence wasn't surprising. What was surprising to Jess was the despair he heard in his own voice as he blurted out the one thing he promised himself he wouldn't ask in coming back to Stars Hollow. He knows its too late to retreat to safer ground now, so he cautiously continues, "I don't mean to pry...sorry."
"No, it's okay," she assures him. She can't remember a time when she's heard that word come out of his mouth and she knows that he didn't mean to create the ripples in the still pond they were treading on. It was something that just happened and she can't be angry about it. She thinks that maybe she wouldn't have been anyway. "He proposed right before I graduated."
She watches as his eyes scurry toward her left hand that's set casually on the table's surface. It's naked, void of any flashy jewels. "I take it you said no."
"It's not what I wanted at the time."
"If he had waited?" He's still so curious and it kills him to know how invested in this girl's life he's been since the day he met her six years ago.
She doesn't want to hurt him, though she knows if she lies to him he'd read right through it so she answers with complete honesty, "I might have had a different answer for him." Her mind drifts once again to a life in California with Logan, avocado tree and all. She shakes her head to physically remove the thought from her head. She reminds herself, no what-ifs. She adds, "But he couldn't wait and that was that."
Jess understands that timing is everything and nods his head in reply. The subject can be dropped now. He knows that's all she'll say about it. "Your mom ready for her bachelorette party?" The smirk is back on his visage.
She smiles again, relieved that particular conversation is over, "She keeps telling me she's too old for one."
"Your mom? She's like the ageless wonder," he chuckles.
"Hopefully I inherited some good genes..." she laughs. "Luke ready for his bachelor party?"
"Oh yeah, I'm sure him and Jackson and TJ are going to have a rousing old time."
She raises a brow, "You're not going?"
"Nah, I'm actually babysitting Doula while TJ's out with Luke and Liz is out with you guys."
Her laugh is real now and she grips the edge of the table before she gains her composure, "Sorry, I can't imagine you babysitting!" She's grinning now and it might be the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.
"I'll tell you a secret," he's being mysterious again and she's being drawn into whatever it is he's saying.
"What?"
"Actually not the first time I'll have babysat the little squirt." His expression is pure bliss as he talks about his half-sister and her smile grows wider.
"Now this I'll have to see."
He rolls his eyes, "Well, if you're not too plastered tonight and slip away, feel free to swing by Liz's and you can."
"You are aware that's an offer I can't refuse?"
He smiles at her as a few patrons enter the diner. Luke's still somewhere in the back, "I promised Luke I'd help out today." He starts to stand up, "I'll be back to refill your coffee."
"Thanks,"she reaches for a book from her messenger bag. She was going to read it outside in the gazebo, but she knew the moment that Jess approached her, she'd be spending her afternoon in the diner.
II
Jess finally gets Doula to sleep around ten-thirty. He read her a few of the picture books Liz had bought before she finally dozed off in his arms and he set Doula in her bed. Nearly twenty minutes later, he's sitting in his mother's living room, laying against the arm of the sofa with his feet crossed at the ankles. The Bukowski he had earlier is held in one of his hands, though he's not reading it. He's using it as a writing surface as he continues to edit his best man's speech. Something about it doesn't seem right. His other hand holds his pen, the end of which he's chewing on.
He hears a scuffle on the porch but ignores it, trying to concentrate fully. Another noise and it sounds like someone's fallen outside the thump is so loud. He sets his things down on the coffee table and tiptoes to the front door in an attempt not to make too much noise for fear that Doula will wake up. Though, if he doesn't find the source of the noise outside, he knows it will be loud enough to disturb her sleep anyway. As he peeks through the curtain that covers the window by the door, he hears someone talking on the ground. Then he hears laughter as the silhouetted lump he can make out on the ground starts rolling on the filthy wood. "Jeez..." he mutters to himself before opening the door.
"Stupid shoes," he recognizes Rory's voice as she's reaching awkwardly to remove the heels strapped to her feet while she's still glued to the ground. He leans in the doorjamb and watches her successfully remove the pair after a few tries. That's when she sees him, "How long have you been there?" Her voice is higher pitched than normal, and he can't help but find that amusing.
He shrugs, "Just a minute or so."
She sits up and sits crisscrossed. Her heels now several feet away from her as she gains her bearings. Her dress is inching up her thigh and it takes a concentrated effort for him to resist looking. She's obviously intoxicated and he doesn't want to come off as a pervert. Her face is so red that he wouldn't be able to tell if she was blushing from the embarrassment of the situation. After a moment of quick assessment, he notes that she doesn't seem at all perturbed. "I think I drank too much." She's staring at the ground.
His smirk grows, "You think?"
She looks up at him, her eyes glowing from the light escaping the house. "Am I too plastered to see you babysit? I was only going to have one..." she hiccups, "but then Mom insisted on a round of shots. And then another...and then...another." She brings both arms toward her heart as she babbles on, "And who am I to turn down the future Mrs. Luke Danes?" Her voice is growing louder with every syllable.
"I just got her to bed, but if you keep it up, she might wake up soon," he's saying it in jest, but there's a seriousness to his tone that Rory recognizes at once.
She cups a hand against her mouth before releasing it almost immediately and speaking in a loud whisper, "Sorry, I'm being really loud, aren't I?" Another hiccup.
He doesn't answer her question and stretches out an arm, "Here, I'll help you inside."
She reaches out for him and he drags her to her feet. She's standing much better without her shoes. He thinks about collecting them off the porch, but realizes quickly that his attention needs to be focused on getting her into the house. He throws one of her arms around his shoulder and wraps one of his around her waist to guide her into the house. He manages to kick the door closed as he wobbles with her toward the couch he was occupying only a few minutes before. In a quick movement he plops her down as gracefully as possible. Her dress has ridden up even more and it takes nearly all of his energy to keep his eyes away. He does them both a favor and fixes it for her. He's sure he sees her blush now as she gives him an appreciative smile, "Thanks, Jess."
"I'm gonna go get you some water."
"You don't have to take care of me..." Her sentence trails off before she begins again, "I can just go back to my house."
He's strict in his reply as he stalks toward the kitchen, "You're staying." He's back with her only a few moments later. He sits on the edge of the coffee table rather than directly next to her. This way he's sitting directly across from her as he tells her to sit up straight before handing her the glass of water. She spills it a little as she takes it from him so he decides it's best to help her hold it while she takes a few gulps. After the glass is empty he sets the glass down. "Your mom partying hard, I take it?"
She smiles triumphantly, "Mom's a champ. She makes me look like a lightweight." The face he gives tells her that he doesn't think that she holds her liquor well at all. Even in her current state she notices, "Hey now, don't mock! I was a champ back when...well, back when I dropped out." There's a hint of regret in her voice at the end of her statement.
He waves it off, "So what if you rebelled a little late? You got it together in the end." His tone is kind and she's grateful.
"We never did though, huh?"
He's caught by surprise by her statement and he chokes out, "What?"
She starts giggling uncontrollably and he figures Doula must be in a deep sleep because she hasn't made a peep despite Rory's not-so-elegant entrance into the home. He decides she'll probably be out for the night. Just as Jess begins to think that Rory has already forgotten what she said, she clarifies when she's able to control her laughter, "You and me. We never figured it out."
He shrugs sadly, "Maybe we're not supposed to."
Her face is suddenly serious and he knows she's coherent enough to remember this conversation in the morning, "I think it's stupid."
He doesn't know how to reply to that and he has to remember that whatever kind of relationship they have here is fragile and the smallest crack can destroy the new foundation they've been building. He takes a deep breath and sighs, "So, what'd you guys do tonight? Stripper?"
Her features are aloof again as she retells the events of the night. "...so we ended up in Woodbridge and they're probably still there."
"And you just left?" he laughed, "What did you tell your mom?"
"I told her that you were taking care of Doula and that it was something I just had to see!"
"I doubt she was okay with that. I honestly didn't think you'd come."
Her hair a mess, she tucks a strand behind her ear, "Well, she wasn't thrilled, but after I agreed to take two more shots with her before my cab came, she was more okay with it."
He strokes his chin and smiles at her, "Sounds fair enough." At that moment her stomach growls and he's quick to his feet, "I'll get you something to eat. Maybe some bread to help absorb whatever it is you've injected into yourself."
She frowns, "I bet you didn't think I was the one you were going to be babysitting tonight."
"No biggie," he's back with a loaf of bread and he hands her a slice. She starts to munch on it casually.
"What did Luke have planned for the night?"
"I believe he was insisting on staying in the diner. Though I can't imagine those three have much to talk about. I'm sure they decided they'd have to go to a bar eventually."
Her eyes are closed now and her head tilts back against the sofa, "He's good for her. He's always been good for us, too."
Jess is nodding even though she can't see, "He was always strangely attached to you and your mom, even when there was nothing going on between them."
"Well, yeah. But that's not what I meant. I meant us, you and me. He's the father figure we never had. For both of us."
He rakes a hand through his hair, "Yeah, I guess that's true."
"I heard you met your dad. Stayed with him in California." Both statements are delivered as if they are questions.
He knows she wants to know more about the reason he left, maybe now is as good a time as any. But really, what is there to say? "I didn't find what I was looking for." He rubs his neck, "It took me a while to know I already had it all. I still needed to leave though. I need you to understand that."
She opens her eyes again and looks directly at him, "You could have at least said goodbye. I deserved that much. Even when you came back, you left again without saying it again and again."
His features are sad, "You did deserve it."
"Why didn't you?" She's not accusing him of anything. Too much time has passed. She's just curious and the alcohol in her system is daring her to ask all the questions that have been floating around in her mind.
He doesn't have to think about it for long before he calmly states with complete honesty, "The first time I left without saying it, you came looking for me. I hoped if I didn't say goodbye you would come looking for me again..."
Rory almost looks like she's about to cry, "I didn't know you wanted me to."
The conversation is getting uncomfortable for both of them again. They had allowed their unspoken rule to be broken, but the circumstances are weird and she's drunk. She yawns and he takes it as a sign, "Why don't you lay down and get some sleep for a little? Until Liz and T.J. get back? I'll walk you home then."
She stifles another yawn, "That's okay. I can just go home now." She tries to stand up but her head is still light and her legs still feel weak. She's immediately back on the couch and he's still sitting on the coffee table watching her with amusement.
"A couple hours sleep might do you good."
"You're probably right." She's curled into a ball taking up only half the couch. "That looks uncomfortable though, I can share." She extends one of her legs and taps the other half of the couch with her foot before returning to her previous position. "Night, night." Her eyes are shut, her breathing has slowed, and he's actually convinced she's already sleeping.
He takes her advice and moves to the opposite side of the couch. The cushions are much more comfortable than the hard coffee table, though he takes every precaution to not make any contact with her form. He reaches for his book and increasingly worn speech. He reads through it again and something still seems to be missing.
He ventures a glance at Rory and then back at his speech. "Huh." He crosses out a few more sentences and crams some more writing into the margins.
III
It's sometime after two in the morning when T.J. and Liz arrive. They get there at the same time and quickly wave to Jess when they enter. They ask about Doula and Jess tells them she's been sleeping for hours. Neither his mother nor his step-father say a word about Rory who's still sound asleep as they quickly dart off toward their bedroom. Jess decides he needs to get out of there fast.
He packs up his things in his messenger bag and drapes it over his shoulder before he shakes Rory awake. He speaks in a whisper, "Ror, ready to go home?"
Her eyes flutter open and she stifles a yawn, "What time is it?"
"Pretty late. You feeling better?"
"Mhmm," she rubs her eyes as if to wipe away to sleep. When she sits up her head is pounding lightly. Though its clear she hasn't slept off her inebriation in totality, when she stands she is much more comfortable on her feet. She examines her surroundings looking for something. "Where are my shoes?"
"They're still outside where you took them off...I can go get them—"
She interrupts him, "No, that's alright, I can grab them on the way out. Thanks though."
When they step outside, the temperature barely changes. It's fairly warm outside with summer nearing, despite the early morning. Rory grabs her pumps off the porch where she left them but decides not to put them back on. Jess is about to object, but it's probably safer that she goes barefoot so she's not stumbling around in four-inch heels. Even still, he's sure to watch the ground carefully to make sure she doesn't step on any rocks or whatever else might cross their path.
"It's so good to be home, don't you think?"
In the question she infers what he's never said aloud: that Stars Hollow is his home even if he'll never admit it. "It's not so bad at this hour. Nobody's awake," he sounds so serious as he says it, it causes Rory to laugh.
"We're awake, aren't we?" she runs off in a direction that doesn't lead to her house. After only a few strides, she turns around and is walking backwards so that she's facing him. He can barely make out the details of her face but he knows if this was occurring in the daylight, the whole scene would look silly. Rory Gilmore in yesterday's dress walking barefoot through the streets of Stars Hollow with her makeup smeared, her hair matted down and her shoes dangling from her fingers. The picture is only made more complete by Jess Mariano following close behind. Maybe it's better that this is happening under the cover of darkness. There's something special about what's going on right now and Jess is sure he'll want to keep it private. He's sure it looks like something not-so-innocent has happened and he's glad there's not witnesses to ruin the moment with their accusing eyes.
"House is this way," he gestures. "Where are you going?" His voice echoes as they're entering the vicinity of the deserted town square.
"Gotta seize the day, Mariano!" Again, she's running and he's no longer worrying about any pebbles getting stuck under her bare feet.
He's chasing after her and he repeats his earlier question as he shouts, "Rory, where are you going?"
He's a few feet away from her as she bursts into a fit of laughter and collapses in the small park across from Luke's next to Miss Patty's.
The grass is cool against her legs and she thinks it feels nice. She doesn't know what came over her. She was sleeping only a few minutes earlier and ready to get into her own bed. The moonlight was doing something to her. She wants to blame it on being tipsy, but really, it has nothing to do with that. She watches as Jess' stride slows and he gingerly steps toward her. She knows he's going to ask what the hell that just was, but she also knows she has no answer. She wishes she did, but she doesn't. Maybe she can plead insanity.
When he's close enough, he doesn't say a word. He simply takes a seat next to her. She looks at him curiously, he looks straight back. The staring contest is short-lived as he looks down at his knees and asks, "Are you okay, Rory?"
She doesn't answer him for a prolonged amount of time before he finally decides to look up. She's hiding her face in a curtain of hair and he casually moves the strands away, tucking them behind her ears. He's not happy with what he finds: tears are rolling down her face. She looks at him like she's ashamed that she's crying, that he read her as easily as the books they once shared. "I'm sorry," she whimpers out before the tears start streaming down faster.
He removes his messenger bag from his shoulder and sets it off to his side. "C'mere," he says simply and before either of them can think about how quickly it happens, Jess is suddenly cradling Rory in his arms trying to console her. "Shhh...it's okay. It's okay," he whispers in her ear until he can no longer hear the sobs anymore. Until he can't hear anything anymore...
There's a crowd gathered around them when Jess realizes he must have fallen asleep. As he opens his eyes, he sees his arm is draped over Rory protectively. He sits up slowly so as not to disturb her and scans the group hoping to find a sympathetic face. He spots Lorelai (it seems shes prepared nicely to avoid a bad hangover) and does his best to give her a look that says everything that he can't find his voice to say: She's not okay. Nothing happened between us. It probably wouldn't be great if she wakes up to find the entire town watching her. He thinks somebody must have been looking out for him for once when he sees Lorelai nod in understanding and watches as she manages to turn the flock away. He mouths his gratitude and knows he should now wake Rory up.
He gently shakes her shoulder and she wakes pretty easily. He decides it must have something to do with the quick realization that she's outside. "Morning," he greets. She has remnants of mascara all over her face and her eyes are puffy from crying.
"We fell asleep. So all that did happen."
"Oh, you mean you running away from me and deciding this was the perfect spot to, well..."
"Have a minor freak out?"
He shrugs his shoulders not knowing if she should confirm this. The honesty thing has been working well for them in the last day so he goes for it, "Yeah."
"Great," she stands up and sticks her shoes back on her feet. "They were all surrounding us when you woke up, weren't they?" She narrows her eyes, suspicious of the lack of townsfolk around them.
He smiles at her, "You should get home. Get some real sleep. We have the wedding rehearsal and dinner today, remember."
"You're right. I guess I'll see you later then." She doesn't mutter anything else as she walks away from him, afraid that if she does, she'll mention that wrapped in his arms, sleeping outside two feet from an anthill on hard dirt, it wasn't all that bad. That it was still one of the best sleeps she's had in a long time and 'real sleep' wasn't all that necessary.
IV
At the end of the rehearsal dinner, the members of the wedding party are joined by an assortment of the town's festive characters. There was Gypsy and Andrew, Babette and Miss Patty, Kirk and Lulu, and even Al ventured to show up. Together with Richard and Emily and Jackson and Sookie, the group involved was sure to be quite eclectic.
Jess sips on a bottle of beer as she approaches. Rory waves awkwardly as she is within feet of him, "Hey." They haven't spoken since early that morning and now, on the grounds of the Dragonfly, there's a tension that hasn't been there since they both arrived in town for the wedding. Rory knows she should explain her little freak out, but Jess isn't one to force her into any diatribes. Instead he nods in greeting and takes another sip of his beer. "Isn't that your third one?" She gestures toward his beverage. She doesn't know what else to say at this moment so that was the best she could do.
He removes the bottle from his lips and smirks, "Looking out for me?"
She forces out a laugh, "Well, I don't want you getting out of control. I don't know what I'd do if you started crying uncontrollably for no apparent reason." She's looking at the ground when she says the last part, her tone is unsure.
"Wanna talk about it?" he asks casually, not pressuring her into anything.
When she looks back up at him, her eyes are pleading. "Please." And before she knows it, he's guiding her around the inn to the front of the building. She takes a seat on one of the wooden chairs as he leans against the deck's railing. He stays quiet and just waits. "I..." she starts. Another moment passes, "I think I hate my job."
"Is that all? Tell me something I don't know." he looks amused.
She glares at him. "You're acting like it's not a big deal!" She rests her face in the palm of her hands.
"That's because it's not. There are a billion other jobs out there."
She places her hands back in her lap and looks up at him. With her sitting and him standing, he's towering over her but she doesn't find it all intimidating. He's here to help her and she knows she'll always be there to help him. There's no question about it and she knows in her heart that it will always work both ways, even if one hates the other for whatever new reason that might arise. Their individual types of stubborn will only go so far before the white flag is waved and nothing else matters. What should be complicated becomes simple again. She wonders if maybe that's what they're here for, maybe their paths crossed because they compliment one another so nicely and each is the support the other needs. She shakes her head, that would require her to believe in some sort of fate, and that's far too irrational for her, "I've been working for this kinda job forever though."
"It's only for a few more months. You can stick it out." He moves to sit on a chair adjacent to hers.
"What if journalism isn't for me?"
He gives her a sad look, "Didn't you already have this crisis before you dropped out of Yale?"
Her mouth twists, "That's why I haven't talked about it with my mom. I'm afraid of what she'll say."
He places a hand on her knee. The touch is gentle. "I think you'll figure it out."
She nods because she doesn't know what else to say and she knows it would be asking too much if she tried to get Jess to solve her problems for her. She wonders when he became the stable one which leads her to ask, "Do you think you'll be staying in Philadelphia forever?"
He shrugs, "I don't know about forever. But I'm happy there."
She smiles, "You seemed it." Nothing has been solved, but saying what's been bothering her aloud does something to relieve her. "Your friends seemed nice. It's weird to think you have friends."
"I've had friends before," he says. He's not irritated at her at all and instead finds it kind of funny that she said that.
"The Jess I knew was kind of a loner," she teases.
"You were my friend," he chuckles.
"More like personal stalker for awhile there."
He rakes his hand over his chin as if he was trying to erase his grin. "It did the trick."
"Oh yeah? And what was that?" she's laughing.
"Letting you see the light and lose the deadweight." He's of course referring to Dean but he's not going to be so bold as to say his name, they both know who he's talking about anyway. He knows the little triangle between the two of them and Dean is far more complicated than the issues he had with Logan. With Dean, Jess' insecurities were plentiful. At a time so long ago, Rory was Jess' for the taking, all he had to do was say the word.
He watches as a flash of regret crosses her features. She continues to smile though so he's not sure if it relates to what he just said. She's fiddling with her fingers and all her attention is focused on that action when that smile loses its upward curve. "All that work and I just let the deadweight come back." It comes out in a whisper, a secret she doesn't want him to know but feels inclined to tell him anyway. She feels like she owes him that much but she doesn't even know why.
He knows what she's saying and he feels a pang somewhere close to his heart, "You and Dean...?" He says his name now because clarity has become a necessity.
She chooses her words carefully, "I wish I could explain what I was thinking..."
"You don't owe me an explanation."
She sighs, "It was just one big mistake that kept snowballing."
He makes an effort to comfort her, "It's been awhile. You shouldn't stress yourself out about it anymore."
"Yeah, I guess so."
He wants to give her a hug that tells her everything is going to be okay but he refrains. Instead, he thinks he'll say the word and give her another option. He takes a deep breath, "So...come November you think you're going to move back here? To Stars Hollow?"
She looks him straight in the eye, "It's nice to visit, but I can't make a career here."
He nods, "You know, Philly is wonderful in the fall." A second later he adds, " All seasons, actually."
She grins as she knows he's implying something greater than either dares to think about, "I'll keep it in mind."
Jess thinks that maybe he'll have to improvise that best man's speech after all.
Perhaps their tapestry wasn't abandoned but just too complex to weave in one sitting. Perhaps it will just take more time.
FIN.