Author's Note: This is ACTUAL GARBAGE, and all Sea's fault. I don't own any of it. Title is a Stone Roses song.

The gravel crunched under their feet as they walked from the hotel back to the car, shivering slightly in the cool June air.

"I liked it," Rory said, arms wrapped round herself to keep out the cold, "The speeches were nice, the food was nice – although their choice for first dance was terrible."

"Matthew has never been famed for having particularly good taste in music," Jess said, "Are you cold?"

"What? No, no, I'm-"

"Rory, you're shivering."

"Yeah, it's – it's what, like, midnight? I'm-"

With a slightly supressed sigh, Jess began to shrug off his jacket.

"What? No, I am not taking your jacket, we are not clichés, Jess-"

"Take the jacket, Gilmore."

"But I'm-"

He raised an eyebrow, arm outstretched. She smiled the funny half smile that was reserved especially for him, and took it.

"Thanks."

"Just don't spill anything on it. It's my one good jacket, and I need it for a meeting with my publisher next week."

Rory sighed dreamily, mocking him. "God, you're so romantic."

"You said it, not me. What were you saying about the first dance again?"

Rory groaned. "It was so….so cliché, so…like, everyone has that song. Freaking first time I ever saw your face. It doesn't mean anything! I have been to at least five weddings where that is their song. Or it's the one that plays as she's walking down the aisle! It's a joke!"

"Well," he draped an arm around her shoulder, "what'll we have when we get married?"

"Guns of Brixton," she said without thinking (the words were running through her head, when we get married when we get married when we get married), "Or that Elastica song that was playing when we got back together."

He was surprised that he wasn't kicking himself, he was suprised that he wasn't turning around and running as fast as he could away from her. When we get married. "Neither of those songs are very romantic, Rory."

"But they mean something to us," she said triumphantly, snaking her arm round his waist (in the darkness, it was impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began), "Why, what do you want?"

"I'll Be Your Mirror, Velvet Underground," he answered promptly. She laughed.

"Pale Blue Eyes, though."

"Mostly you just make me mad – c'mon Gilmore, that can't be the start of our lives together!"

"Well it's not, is it? It's like….we've been together so long, even if it was a little…" she made a vague hand gesture to indicate the years they were apart, "so when we get married, it won't be the start or end of anything. It'll just be – middle, won't it?"

"Now you're the romantic."

He liked that though. There was no start or end to them, just middle.

"Although," she continued, a laugh in her voice, "We can't get married until you ask me."

"Do I have to ask your father's permission first? Because you know, I wouldn't get it. And besides – I thought you didn't believe in all that tradition crap? Why don't you ask me to marry you?"

They paused, their car just a few steps away. "I'll ask you if you ask me. Deal?"

"Rory Gilmore," he said, "Wait, you're not expecting me to get down on one knee or anything are you? Because I can't rip these pants. They're my good pants."

"Jess!"

"Alright, alright – Rory Gilmore. Rory. Will you, y'know, marry me?"

"Jess," she took his hand and they walked to the car, "I would love to. And will you, y'know, marry me?"

He shrugged, teasing her. "Yeah, alright."

"That's settled then."

"I should have a ring or…"

"We can pick one up tomorrow," she opened the car door, "Do you want to drive?"

"Nah, I'm beat, and you're the more sober of the two of us."

"Some of us," Rory said, "actually have jobs that require us to be awake before nine."

"And some of us," he replied, slamming the car door shut, "are Pulitzer Prize winners."

"Show off."

"Workaholic."

"That is no way to speak to your future wife!"

"You started it!"

She laughed again.

"I should call my mom," she said conversationally, and he nodded.

"This is the kind of thing your mother likes to know."

"Yeah…I can do it tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow."

"Technically today."

"Smart ass."

"You always say the sweetest things to me, Rory Gilmore."

"You love me," she cooed, and he laughed, because he did.

"Yeah, I do."

They lapsed into silence, and drove on into the velvet night.

"Hey, it's me."

"I don't know anyone of that name," Lorelai said, balancing the phone between her chin and her shoulder, "Me who?"

"Me, your daughter."

"Oh, that me. Hey kid, what's up?"

Rory glanced down the hallway to where Jess sat on his cell phone, presumably talking to Luke.

"I think Jess and I are getting married."

"You think? You either are or you aren't, sweetie. Did he ask you? Ooh, did you ask him?"

"We kinda…asked each other?"

"That doesn't even make any sense."

"Well, it was…it was weird," Rory said. On the other end of the line, her mother thought for a moment.

"Good weird, or bad weird?"

"Good weird," Rory said, "Like, really good weird. We'd just been to his friend's wedding – our friend, actually, I guess, what's mine is his, what's his is mine and stuff, and we'd had a great day and we were just talking, you know, about first dances and stuff, and suddenly we were talking about our first dance – we still haven't agreed on one by the way-"

"Just no Black Sabbath."

"Black Sabbath don't even do any love songs, Mom – anyway, we were just talking about it like it was a given, y'know? It was a given that we were going to get married? And I don't know, I guess I wanted to check if he was serious about it, so I said well you have to ask me, and then he did."

"Did he get down on one knee?"

"No, we were on gravel."

"Well he couldn't have been that serious if he was not willing to risk injury or pant ripping for you."

"Mom."

"Rory."

"I'm marrying Jess."

"Yes, we have already established this."

"No, I mean like – you're not mad or anything?"

"Rory, he won a Pulitzer Prize."

"He broke my wrist! And my heart! You're not mad?"

"Why, d'you want me to be? Because I think I could if I tried."

"No, I'm just…it's weird. You liking Jess."

"I don't like Jess," amended Lorelai, "I just…stand him."

"I don't think 'stand him' is a real phrase, Mom."

"You're the Yale graduate. So, aside from the whole engagement thing – have you told the grandparents yet? God, you gotta let me do it. I want to see their faces when they realise you're marrying a high school drop out! So, aside from that, what's new in Rory-town?"

"Luke's, Luke speaking."

"Hey, man, it's Jess. You busy?"

Luke looked around. The only person in the entire diner was his son, who was eating a donut and swinging his small, chubby legs back and forth.

"Nah. How are you, is Rory okay?"

"Yeah, uh – yeah, she's great, we're getting married." A pause. "I think."

"You think?"

"We haven't set a date or anything."

"Wait, so – when did this happen?"

"Yesterday. Well, technically this morning. After Matthew's wedding."

"Wow. Wow, okay, so did you ask her, did you get down on one knee, what happened?"

Luke could barely contain his glee, and it made Jess smile.

"We were just talking, and it just…kind of happened."

"It just happened," Luke repeated, "Wow. Are you happy? You're happy, right, how could you not be? It's Rory. It's you and Rory. Wow."

"You've been spending too much time with Lorelai," Jess laughed, "you're a regular ray of sunshine."

"Don't mock – you'll be next."

"I look forward to it. Well, now you know," he could hear Rory in the kitchen, laughing on the phone with her mother, "As always, Uncle Luke, it's been a pleasure. Give my regards to the kid."

"Jess."

"Luke."

"Are you happy?"

There was another shriek of laughter from down the hall.

"Yeah, Uncle Luke. I'm happy."