Bzzzzt.
Bzzzzt.
Bzzzzt.
Bzzzzt.
Bzzzzt.
A single, olive skinned hand came from beneath the dark grey sheets to miss the buzzing object on the bedside table once, before making contact with the lit screen on second try. The light disappeared beneath the sheets, making the small room dark once more, save the silvery light of the night outside, as their finger found the little phone icon at the bottom of the screen by muscle memory. A sleepy, rasping voice replaced the buzzing of the phone. "Mariano."
The other end was quiet, save some sniffling, as though the caller were crying. "Hello?" Jess tried again, a little more awake this time, cracking his eyes open and throwing back the sheets. Listening carefully for a second, he deduced that it wasn't Liz. It woudn't have been the first time he got a weepy relapse phone call from his mother, but to her credit, there hadn't been one since she married TJ some four years ago, thankfully, for Doula's sake.
He listened carefully for another few moments, before pulling the phone from his ear and glancing at the unknown number splashed across the screen of his phone. The area code was 410. If memory served him from a small number of business dealings with the neighbouring state, that was a Maryland code. Baltimore, probably. He knew nobody in Baltimore. Jess' finger hovered over the end call icon, before hesitating. He knew that sound, and that made him uneasy. He pressed the phone to his ear again, listening hard. "Uh … is there someone there?" he asked, his voice soft, knowing instinctively that whoever they were, anger was not what they needed.
She sniffed again, and he knew. He knew who was crying down the phone to him at 2:12 A.M.
"Rory?" he asked, his voice breaking in surprise. He pulled himself up in his bed, his sheets sliding down his bare torso, his hand immediately tangling nervously in his dark hair. The sobbing intensified at the sound of her name, and Jess' heart clenched, petrified. "Rory, are you okay? What's happened?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but was extremely unsuccessful. His mind leapt to Luke. To April. To Liz. Doula. Even Lorelai. And, of course, Rory herself. His stomach clenched. "Ror'?" he pressed when she still didn't answer, his voice verging on desperate.
"Jess," she croaked, sniffling. "I'm sorry, uh … I – Jess, I …"
"Take a breath," he intoned. His heart clenched again. He heard the deep, unsteady, broken breath she took, and the watery exhale, too. "Are you alright?"
"No, I'm … I'm not."
Jess tugged at his hair, worried. "Is it … is everyone in Stars Hollow okay?" he asked, awkwardly avoiding asking about Luke directly.
This seemed to sober her hysteria. "Oh, Jess. I'm so sorry. Everyone is fine. I'm, God, I'm so sorry. I'm such a …"
"Rory, tell me what's wrong," he told her firmly, still worried. This was the first time they'd spoken in over two years – since the Open House. And where that wasn't exactly a resounding success – Jess' chest still felt empty at the thought of it – Jess still cared for Rory. He was worried for her. He did not like how frightened she sounded. He did not like to hear her sobbing, as she was, again.
"I'm so sorry for calling, Jess. I just … when my life was messed up last time, you … but it's stupid. You don't deserve ... I'm so sorry." She was rambling, and her sorries were unnecessary. Jess sighed, raking his hand through his hair again.
"Tell me," he insisted.
He could hear Rory hesitate on the other end of the line. Several moments passed, but Jess did not press her again. Eventually, she spoke. "I'm an idiot, basically."
"Rory," he chastised, but she objected.
"No, no. I really, really am, Jess. I screwed up big time."
"Tell me," he repeated, kindly.
"I went on a date with my tour manager for the campaign." She was silent for a moment.
Jess fell silent, too, mocking himself for thinking that she had a real problem. She'd been right. He really didn't deserve this. But just as soon as he thought this, he was proven wrong.
"H-he … after, he …" Rory dissolved again, and Jess sat up straighter at this, listening hard, his gaze unblinkingly set on the blank wall across from him. "He tried to …"
"Did he hurt you?" Jess asked, terrified again, his voice dangerous. Furious. "Did he …?"
Jess' hand, not holding the phone, clenched hard. Screwing up his eyes, he was suddenly praying for the first time in his life, and probably the last time.
'Please, oh God, please … Please, Rory is the only thing in the world that makes sense to me. The only thing that's pure and unquestionable. The only constant thing. Please, don't let her be broken. Please don't hurt her. Please, oh God, please, please ...'
"N-no, just … his fingers bruised my arm a little. And my knuckles hurt. I punched him really hard." She drew a shuddering breath as Jess' heart eased a fraction. "I can't get back on that bus, Jess."
"Don't," Jess said, as if it were that easy.
"But … my job."
"Quit."
"Jess ..."
"Rory, if he tried anything with you that you didn't want, don't get back on that bus." Rory drew another breath.
"I'm scared to leave my room," she admitted, quietly. Jess could hear the fear in her voice. He stood up from his bed, making his way over to the mess that was his desk, scrabbling for a pen in the silver light amongst empty coffee cups and empty cigarette packs and empty transcripts and too-full books.
"Baltimore, right?"
"Y-yeah," she replied, not understanding.
"Tell me the address," he ordered. Jess' mind had gone blank, not really thinking about what sort of Pandora's box or can of worms he was opening, but even with his lack of thought, he knew no matter the trouble his actions may cause, he was doing it anyway. He was going to make sure she was okay. He was going to see that she was okay for himself. If there were anything that he had learned on his time here on earth, it was this – never believe anything unless you see it with your own damn eyes, and even then, be skeptical of your vision.
"N-"
"Rory, don't," he cut across her, matter-of-fact. Commanding. "The address."
-break-
Jess was speeding. He'd already run a camera, he knew, but he was all beyond caring. All that mattered was that he saw that Rory was okay. He was blaring The Vandals, trying to block out his angry, terrified thoughts, but as they had as a teen, his efforts failed. Then, it had been more anger. Now, it was more terror.
He had smoked a whole pack of twenty cigarettes, uncaring of the smell that was settling in the fabric of the seats of his car. He hadn't smoked in a year, but it was either nicotine or liquor, and he didn't much fancy crashing and killing himself on his way to Maryland. He had a purpose to get there. Otherwise, the way he was feeling, perhaps it would have been a risk he would have taken.
Dirty, beautiful cigarettes would have to do.
He had never heard Rory scared, before. Her safe haven of the Hollow had always protected her when he had known her. He had never been so thankful that Rory hadn't grown up in New York with him. She was cushioned from the world, living dangerously only through literature and music and movies. From a young age, Jess had been scared and hardened, and scared and hardened, until all that was left was hard. Yet, here he was, speeding down the I-95, towards the one person who frightened him beyond anything and anyone.
Pulling into the parking lot of the three star hotel address Rory had given him. He cut out the engine of his newly smoke-smelling Chevy Equinox, grabbing his phone from the passenger seat and rushing up to the lit entrance of the hotel.
The concierge stopped him, and he garbled some story about his 'cousin' in room 117. The concierge, a tall, blonde guy in his late twenties, with sharp features and a mistrusting face fixed Jess with a disbelieving stare.
"117? What's her name?" he asked, boredly, picking up the phone and clicking at his computer.
"Rory Gilmore." Jess was losing his patience with this guy. He couldn't be more resentful of having to do his job for ten seconds.
"Nope," the concierge said smugly, checking the screen, putting the phone down.
"Look, buddy," Jess sniped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "She was in trouble tonight. I just want to make sure she's okay. Phone room 117. Tell her Jess is at the front desk and some jackass won't let him through."
The concierge glared some more, eventually picking up the phone again, and dialling. After a moment, he said in his politest tone, "Miss Gilmore? Yes, I'm sorry to trouble you so early in the morning, Miss Gilmore, but a gentleman by the name of Jess … Oh. Oh, of course. My apologies, Miss Gilmore. Certainly." The concierge carefully put the receiver down.
"Thanks so much," Jess spat sarcastically, pushing away from the desk and starting towards the elevator.
Reaching the first floor, Jess hurried along the row of rooms, finally reaching 117. 3.47 A.M. He knocked, heard a glass break, some swearing, then silence. Knocking again, Jess stepped closer to the door. "Rory, it's me – Jess."
The door cracked open, before opening just enough for Jess to slip through.
She looked terrible – truly, completely terrible. Her hair, the longest he'd ever seen it, was a curled mess, some ruffled and some squashed. Her eyes were shot, reddish-yellow making the ice blue look even more artificial than normal, surrounded by traces and tracks of black whatever, mixing with melted foundation making her whole face look grey. She had changed from her date clothes, he expected, considering she was now wearing baby blue pyjamas.
She was shaking.
The worst part about her, though, was her expression. Jess hoped he'd never, ever have to see that look on her face again. He felt sick. She looked at the floor, and Jess watched as two fat tear drops swelled in her eyes and fell straight to her feet. Jess was immobilised, his purpose – forgotten. He stared, disbelieving that this person, shivering before him could possibly be his Rory. He stared, looking at this woman standing in for his Rory. He stared, as she hugged herself, then sweeping a palm across both of her cheeks, catching a few tears and smearing her mascara further. She hugged herself again, trying to look up at him. As she did, catching his open stare with chagrin and shame, Jess enervated, awoken by azure blue.
He surged forward, agonised. Or, to be more truthful, half agonised, half elated that she was in front of him. Two years, in fact, six, and still nothing had changed in that respect. Jess' heart kicked back into life as, finally, Rory was crying into his chest, his arms protecting her from whatever and whoever she was scared of. She whimpered into his leather jacket. "Jess," she intoned, croaking.
Jess said nothing, closing his eyes and holding her closer. She smelled like vodka and some expensive brand of perfume (Jess could care less what kind). Not like she had as a teenager at all. In fact, Jess had never known her to drink once when he'd known her. And she certainly never wore this perfume. She used to smell like books, and clean cotton and fresh air. He missed that suddenly. He missed her at seventeen. Unhurt and not crying (okay, if he was around, sure, some crying) and protected in her Stars Hollow bubble.
He pretended to be that bubble, now, as he held her.
She stopped crying slowly and brokenly, letting bursts take her over for seconds at a time, before fully coming to a stop. But still, he held her tight, his nose in her hair, fingers splayed across her back. She felt freezing and hot against him. He was still undecided which she was – although probably freezing considering her attire. She drew back a little, hiccoughing still, slightly.
He didn't really know what to say. He watched her as she wiped at the damp patch of his leather jacket, and the sweater beneath, avoiding his gaze. "You came," she said eventually, her tone bashful and surprised, still staring at his chest.
"Of course I did," he replied, confused by her surprise. Why wouldn't he come, after hearing what happened? After hearing the tone of her voice, or hearing her crying? Did she think he was totally heartless? Or … worse, did she really not what him here?
She looked up at him, her eyes wide, unblinking. Jess flinched a little at the exposure of her stare, unused to it after so long. After seeing him do this, she looked down again. "Do you want a drink?" she asked, half-turning away and looking across the room at the bottle of vodka on her night stand, and the smashed glass on the wooden floor, vodka dampening the plush violet rug. She felt the need to explain herself, looking back at his questioning eyes, as she took a shuddering breath. "I got a fright when you knocked. I thought, maybe ..." She didn't need to complete her sentence for Jess to know exactly what she thought, maybe. "So … drink?"
Jess shook his head. "I, uh … I drove here."
"You aren't staying?" she asked, then looked like she were berating herself fiercely, inside. "Sorry, I just …That was stupid."
Jess' brow furrowed, concerned. "Rory … if you want me to stay, I'm here," he told her seriously, before throwing caution to the wind and saying, "It's me, Ror'. You don't have to be so jumpy. You don't have to explain yourself. You know me. You can trust me. I'm just here to look out for you."
Rory's expression softened and reached out to smooth his leather jacket lapel against his chest. "Yeah … it is you." Her impassive eyes watched him for a few more seconds, which felt like lifetimes to Jess, until she smiled.
He exhaled a breath, without knowing how long it had been in his thorax, at the sight, finally a little glimmer of the young girl he had met in her bedroom, amongst her beautiful books which they shared a love of, an age ago. "And it's you, too," he replied, a lopsided smile, earnest and open, and completely unalike from his usual smirk. Rory watched him for a moment, her own smile widening. He looked away first. He crossed the room, avoiding the shattered glass and picking up the bottle from her night stand. It was half-empty. He looked at her with an eyebrow raised.
She crossed her arms across her chest defensively. "I thought you said I didn't have to explain myself?" Jess laughed a little, looking at the bottle with a little too much interest to be normal behaviour. She clearly didn't like his lack of response, because she said, "I've only had two drinks out of it. It's been in my suitcase for almost six months."
He smirked over at her, putting the bottle down. "I didn't ask," he told her. And he hadn't. He hadn't even wondered. He understood, and that's what made him thoughtful.
"You looked accusatory," she replied, watching as he crouched, carefully gathering the shards of broken tumbler on the floor. "Jess, you don't have to -"
"I don't want you to cut yourself," he responded, quietly. He felt the mood shift in the room, again, and looked behind him, the broken glass still in his hand. Rory was looking at herself in the ornate mirror on the other wall, trying to scrub at her cheeks to remove the black lines, her eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. Standing up, he placed the glass carefully in the waste paper basket next to the door, before entering the small en-suite and fetching a warm, damp flannel from next to the sink. He appeared beside her, holding the cloth out to her, and she took it gratefully.
"Thanks. Sorry, I must be totally disgusting looking right now."
Jess looked at her, her cheeks now a cerise pink under the patchy grey, and shook his head, a small smile tugging the one side of his mouth that worked. "Sad, yes. Scared, more so. But never anything other than ethereal, Gilmore." Rory blushed deeply, and he smiled at this. He'd always loved when she blushed.
She took to her task again, this time helped by the cloth, the white going grey with every swipe. He stood a little behind her, watching as Rory Gilmore appeared. She was avoiding his gaze in the mirror, and he was fine with that.
Noting that she was still shivering, he shrugged off his leather jacket and placed it around her narrow shoulders, his hands lingering on her upper arms a little too long, thoughtful, avoiding her gaze in the mirror this time.
But he did watch as she drew the jacket around her a little more tightly and inhale a little, letting a small sound of satisfaction escape her, and he felt an insistent, and what he thought, long dead, tug somewhere deep in his stomach.
-break-
I've had this idea in my head for a little while now and have been avoiding writing it down because I wasn't too sure how it would turn out, and whether I could possibly get down on paper (electronic paper, whatever) what was in my head, because it felt so perfect for these two characters. I finally convinced myself to start writing, and where I'm not completely happy – I'm not sure about Rory and her reaction to it all, but I feel like she'd cry because she wouldn't know how to deal with it, never been exposed to especially pushy men, before – I'm not completely unhappy either.
Grown up Jess is always an interesting subject. I love progressing him. I feel that he'd get more and more like Luke with age, trying to look after a select few people fiercely. But still with a harder edge.
Anyway, I'm rambling. I have no idea as of yet how this is going to end. I'm almost certain Jess won't meet the guy, because he wouldn't even try to control his temper, faced with that. I'll figure it out.
Please review with your thoughts. I always love to hear them.
Eutony x