Disclaimer: I don't own any of this
Author's Notes: This story is a Lit pairing, and personally, I don't know how long it will be, or how well it will turn out, but feedback is always great.
PLEASE NOTE: I occasionally throw lyrics from songs in the story, time and time again, because I like the way it can sometimes tie everything in. To cut down on confusion, lyrics will always be in bold and italic. Flashbacks and direct thoughts are usually in just italics, along with titles and other random words that are emphasized. Just thought I'd tell you about the lyrics so you don't read and go, what the hell is this?
Fate's Fingers
by ordinarywords
Chapter 1
Rory Gilmore hurried along bustling streets, chatter surrounding her ears. Her chestnut hair was flying in the wind behind her, her tailored jacket flapping harshly in the breeze. The icy wind whipped past her, harshly stinging her cheeks and tinting them a frostbitten pink. Struggling to keep warm, she rubbed her hands together forcefully. The movement did nothing to eradicate the chill, for her hands were too cold and her fingers were already numbing. Noticing a small coffee shop across the street, she suddenly moved with more purpose.
Crossing the street as soon as traffic permitted, she neared the shop and smiled contentedly as she entered, coffee beans and cocoa flooding her senses. She stood for a moment, taking in the atmosphere, a sense of contentment fighting its way into her stomach as her eyes flicked over the shop. The floors were shining, polished mahogany, and they were purposely littered with glass, high-topped, round tables. Richly upholstered chairs clustered around the tables, and the glass counters were lined with gleaming jars of beans and filled with various scones, muffins, and pastries. The shop was dimly lit and inviting, with couches in each corner.
Filled with wide-eyed wonder, she absently stumbled over to the counter, her head turned in every direction to take in the appearance of a shop she was sure she would be spending time in. It had in inviting charm that was difficult to come by in the hustle of city life. Perhaps Rory was so caught up in her mental inventory that she didn't notice the counter boy. She simply ordered her cappuccino and grasped the mug with both hands, holding heat in her fingers and heading over to a table by the window.
The counter boy, however, recognized Rory. His dark eyes fell upon her and many of his co-workers noticed, but did not comment on, the way he observed her with something unusually pleasant that no one had ever seen him possess. His eyes followed her until she finished her cappuccino and left, taking her bundle of papers and her untouched naiveté with her.
*
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Rory was rushed with school for the next few days. NYU ended up being her school of choice, and she had been there for several years now, majoring in journalism. It left her busy, but satisfied with the promise of dream fulfillment. She was, however, paying the price by sacrificing personal time. So when the night twinkled bright with contentment and soft snow fell in the city, only lightly dusting the streets, and she finished her paperwork early, she used the time wisely-she headed out for a coffee.
A familiar scent greeted her at the door as she peeled off her coat. Heading for a table in the serving section, she looked around, taking the familiarity of the shop, and breathing in deeply every few steps. Seating herself at a table, she reached into her bag and opened a magazine, reading a page she had marked a few days earlier until the server came over. She had been reading the same column for a month now, ever since the new author had made himself a space on the last page. Rory was furrowed with concentration, and didn't look up until someone beside her table cleared their throat loudly.
It was the counter boy, and this time, Rory recognized him. For a moment, she just sat there, her mouth rounded and her blue eyes questioning if it really was him standing there. A familiar pair of hauntingly dark eyes stared back at her, full of surprise, pain, and amusement all at once. It had been years for both of them.
"Jess?" Rory's voice penetrated the quietus they had created, her whisper hushed, her eyes crazy burning.
"Well, if it isn't...the one and only Rory Gilmore," he remarked, a lazy smile creeping it's way from his lips to his eyes, his voice quiet as hers had been. "How've you been?" His voice dripped with warmth and sincerity. "It's been a while."
Rory just stared. It had been a while. It had been several years since the last goodbye. After his girlfriend, their relationship never had been the same, especially because she hadn't brought herself to let Dean go. And by the time she had, it was too late. She had learned the hard way that sometimes the moment really does pass you by. And this felt like her undeserved second chance.
"Yeah, it has." Her voice also held the same intimate quality, one that can only be found between old friends. "I've been good. You?" she questioned him shakily.
Jess ignored her small inquiry. He didn't want to answer because he didn't want to say he's been lonely as hell. That would only provoke a feeling of resentment, both because he hadn't had her in the past, and because she's been haunting his dreams once every few weeks since the last time he'd walked on the same shaky ground next to her. "What happened to Harvard?" he asked, not pressing, but inquiring because he cared all the same.
"I ended up at NYU. I'm majoring in journalism. I'm on scholarship, so it's easier for mom. Besides, I've always wanted to live in the city."
"You don't seem like the urban type. Then again, after Stars Hollow, few people are." he remarked, smiling slightly.
"I needed to get out."
Her words held untold stories about the past that Jess understood, for some reason unknown, without asking. He nodded with understanding.
"The whole 'Leave it to Beaver' thing gets old after a while."
"I think it got old for you after the first five minutes."
"It was old from the minute I got there." He smirked, remembering the moment he'd first stepped onto Stars Hollow ground. He used to think it was hell. Now, he would give anything to go back, and return to the small world where everything was easy, and Rory was at arm's length.
"So," he continued, "Read any good Hemingway lately?"
"Never."
"I figured as much."
"You figured, huh?"
"You're too predictable, Gilmore. And to demonstrate that, I know, for example, that you're in dire need of a coffee right now."
"I'm not predictable, you know me too well."
"And that may not be too much better. Vanilla cappuccino?"
"Stalk much?" Rory teased.
"Only in my spare time."
Jess's dark eyes glittered as he glanced at her one last time before going to get two cappuccinos-one for her, and one for himself. It was nearly closing time, and there weren't usually many customers to begin with, so at this time of night, the shop was nearly empty. Except for her.
*
*
"I should have known better than to expect Mr. Badass to quit."
"What can I say? It's one of my worse addictions."
"Among the other addictions to books and music? I'd say that smoking is definitely the worst."
"Rory, I'm disappointed in you. You've forgotten about our friend Hemingway."
She rolled her eyes in response. "You've got a point there. Hemingway could definitely fight smoking for that bottom spot. When did you start smoking, anyway?"
Jess shrugged and finished off his cigarette. They both watched the smoke curl like his smile into the stillness of the air in the coffee shop, and then he stole another glance into her blue eyes before looking down into his empty coffee mug.
Rory watched him, trying not to smile. It'd been years, but, it hadn't really. It felt the same to her. He was still the same. Except wiser, maybe. Or perhaps it was something else, an invisible something that had changed his persona in the slightest way that she would never be able to put her finger on. But nonetheless, the effect he had on her was still the same. Being with him made her want to fight in all fiery-heated, blood boiling, smart-ass ways. He made her want to break the mold, be something out of the ordinary. Be spontaneous, give in to something she was craving rather than feeding the desires of ordinary life.
He picked up their empty cups, set them on the counter, and came back slowly towards the table. He felt disconnected, uncharacteristically happy. He didn't want her to go, but the moonlight urged him to tell her goodnight.
"It's late. Past your bedtime."
She checked her watch, pleading it not to tell her what she already knew. "But not yours?"
"Some of us walk on the wild side occasionally and go to bed after 11."
"Hey, I'll have you know I went to bed at 12:30 last night. Memento was on."
"Well, well, well. Rory Gilmore in touch with her bad girl side. Maybe one day I'll be able to corrupt you into staying up past 1."
"Crazier things have been known to happen." She paused for a second, not wanting to let this time go, even though she knew she could probably see him whenever her school schedule and his work schedule permitted.
"Thanks for the coffee."
"It's what I get paid for," he replied. But he knew that's not really what she was trying to say.
"So, I'll see you..."
"Yup. See you." He smiled a rare smile, his lip curled upward, his eyes flaming bright with something she rarely ever saw there. And she left the shop, glancing back one last time before she closed the door for good and hailed a cab. Jess watched her to be sure she caught a cab without trouble, and then he locked the door and began to pick up muffin papers and empty coffee creamers, mop up spilled cream and sugar, and line up the jars until everything was spotless. He grabbed his pen and paper from underneath the counter, and sat at an empty table for a few minutes. And then he began to write.
The smile never left his face.
*
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Line on your face
don't bother me
Down in my chair when you dance over me
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again
Late in the night when I'm all alone
And I look at the clock and I know you're not home
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again
I could almost go there
Just to watch you be seen
I could almost go there
Just to live in a dream
But no I won't go for any of those reasons
To not touch your skin is not why I sing
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again
I could almost go there....
No I won't go to share you with them
But oh even though I know where you've been
I can't help myself
I've got to see you again
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