A/N: Hey guys, I know, I know, I shouldn't be starting something new when I still owe you a final chapter of my other literati fic. It is coming, I promise. I just need to reformat the entire story on the site because it's a mess. But soon! Anyway, this is a series of moments between my two favourite book geeks. There's a lot of fics where years later, Jess admits what happened with the swan, etc, but I want to chart their relationship and the little things he gives away. The next part will be about Rory's bracelet. Hope you like!

Friday

xx

Here's One on Telling the Truth

They're sitting by the lake, because, hey, it's their place. A place where Luke isn't watching their every move and rustling in and out, and Lorelai isn't trying to make awkward conversation when really she hates him. They can just be quiet, together, apart. Whatever, wherever.

He's already sprinting through 'Twelve', new novel, young writer, and it fills him with this weird kind of warmth, something like hope. Inspiration, maybe. She's struggling through Bukowski at his request. Every few moments though, she gets distracted and looks over at him. She sighs again.

'What?' he doesn't look up from the page, but his lip quirks.

'Nothing.'

'Okay,' he shrugs, and carries on. She sighs again and he says nothing this time.

'Why can you read so much faster than I can?' She's frustrated, jealous even. He almost feels proud.

He rolls his eyes and lowers the book slightly, 'I can't really answer that, can I? Magic powers? Voodoo?'

'It's just annoying. You finish twice as many books as I do, in half the time.' She sits up straight and puts down the book, bunching her hands in her pockets.

'Oh jeez,' He realises it's truth time. He hasn't had many relationships that get to this point. But it's that 'opening up' crap that Luke's always banging on about. Saying something true. And he knows, with the few times he's lied already to protect her, to keep her thinking good things about him, maybe he should give her a few truths. He puts down the book, noting the number, folding the page, turning to face her, cross-legged.

'I didn't have books at home. Didn't have a library card. But city libraries are open late, and I used to just go there in my spare time. I knew I'd have to finish whatever book I started. Needing to know the end is a powerful incentive.'

She went to say something but instead settled for squeezing his hand in some sort of lame show of solidarity. Better not to say anything that means anything.

'I need to know the end,' she whispered.

'No you don't, you enjoy the journey, savour it. It's why you can stand all that flowery prose and description, and I just want it to get to the good stuff.'

She's suddenly worried it's one of those moments where you think you're talking about one thing, but actually you're talking about another.

'Are...are you still waiting to get to the good stuff now?' She's timid and stupid and why can't she ever just ask what she wants to ask. Jess, do you want to have sex with me? What's so difficult about those words?

'What?' His fingers flick over the cover of the book, wanting to escape into that world again, conquer it, own it.

'With us?' She doesn't look at him.

'I...' Say the right thing for once, Mariano. Don't be cool about this, just say something that means something. 'This is the good stuff, isn't it? This, right here, you and me.' He quickly goes on, making his voice light and teasing, 'Just sitting on a bridge, when the light's going and we can't read. Making fun of Luke and making your Mum hate me. That's good stuff, right there.'

She knows she's been diverted, but he was kind and honest. Made her feel less worried.

'You know that wasn't what I was talking about Jess.'

'Huh, well then you're going to have to stop talking in code.' That smirk.

She rolls her eyes, somewhat comforted when he picks up his book again.

'You know, if you're talking about what I think you're talking about, then "good stuff" isn't going to be a good enough euphemism.' His eyes don't stray from the page.

She picks up her book. 'I'm not a slow reader,' she says defiantly.

'I know. And now I can take books home, so I'm in no rush to get to the end. In fact, I like to re-read them over and and over again.'

'And steal them from other people,' she grins.

'It's not stealing if the person you stole it from was to stupid to understand it,' he responds. For the briefest moment his eyes meet hers, and she quite likes this 'say one thing, mean another' language, when you're both talking about the same thing.

'Well, you definitely understand...it,' she nods, and hesitantly leans back on the dock, resting her head on his knee.

Sometimes, Jess Mariano can tell the truth. As long as he doesn't actually have to say it.