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Speak Up

Rory sat at her laptop at the kitchen counter doing a last minute proofread over her latest article when she heard a knock at the door. Puzzled, she looked down at the time at the bottom right of the screen — 2:01. Who the hell was outside her place at two am?!

She tiptoed to the door and looked through the peephole and almost dropped her mug of coffee to the floor at her feet.

She hurriedly opened it and an intoxicated-looking Jess Mariano stumbled through Rory's front door.

"Jess! What are you..."

Jess dragged his eyes up to her face. "Rory," he said as if he was surprised to see her, and then he leaned in (or more like flung himself inward) and attached his lips to hers before she could stop him. He tasted like alcohol.

Disgusted, Rory put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him back, stepping away from him. "Jess, you're drunk!"

Jess opened his mouth to protest, probably, but Rory cut him off. "Jess, did you drive here?!"

He shook his head a little too violently. "No, I... I took the bus."

Rory's eyes went wide. "You took the bus... all the way from Philadelphia?!"

"Yeah, I need... I needed to see you..." Jess attempted again to kiss her, which she managed to block this time.

She didn't know what happened to make Jess this way... She'd never seen him drunk like this... like, Logan drunk. Nor did she know why, whatever had happened, he felt like he had no one to go to except his ex-girlfriend almost a hundred miles away. But she could see that he obviously needed some comforting, and as much as it pained her, she would have to be the one to do it.

Rory put her arms around his shoulders and guided him to the sofa. She had him lay down and rest his head on a throw pillow and she covered him with an afghan. He protested, but she went into the adjacent room to brew him a mug of hot tea. She thought coffee would get the job done quicker in sobering him up, but she knew how much he detested the stuff. By the time she came back to him, the mug warm in her hands, he was sitting upright, clutching his head in his own.

She handed him the mug and took a careful seat atop the coffee table facing him. "Here. Drink this."

He scrunched up his nose like a little kid. "But I hate coffee."

"It's tea."

"Oh." He took a few reluctant sips, his nose still scrunched, and then looked up at Rory with a pout. "Why won't you kiss me, Ror?"

She wanted to laugh so badly and cry just as equally, but she somehow managed to keep it in. "Well, because you're drunk. And in a relationship."

He scoffed loudly. "Not anymore, I'm not."

Rory's heart dropped to her stomach and everything was uncomfortable because it wasn't uncomfortable at all. It was as if... of course Jess was here at her place. Where else would he be? She fought a smile. "But what about..."

"Caroline? Ha! That broad's history." He took a long gulp, finishing off the rest of the tea. "Did you know she... she..." He couldn't seem to get it out.

"She what, Jess?" Rory asked quietly, trying to help. "What did she do?"

"She loves me." He spit the 'L' word out like it was the nastiest thing he'd ever tasted. Rory felt her smile fade.

"Wait. She..." She shook her head. "I don't understand. You got wasted and took a two-hour bus ride to my apartment because your girlfriend... loves you?"

Jess slammed the empty mug down onto the coffee table next to Rory and stayed there, hands on his knees. He was super close and his breath reeked of liquor. "She's willing to give up everything — her life, her family, her career! All for me." He leaned back onto the sofa. "I don't understand it. The kind of love that makes you just... forget everything except that person. Or not forget, but more disregard it... put it on the back burner... act as though it doesn't matter... all for that one person. I. Just. Don't. Get. It."

Leave it to Jess Mariano to speak so fluently, even while plastered, Rory thought.

She understood his rant, though. She could say with all honesty that she'd loved three times in her life thus far. And not one of those times did she ever even remotely consider giving up her dreams for that person. Maybe that was the difference between her and all the people her age who were already settled down by now. She was just like her mom in that aspect, along with countless others.

And it was like Jess read her mind. "You were never that way," he said. "I loved you like crazy! And I... and sometimes I still do. But I respected you enough to let you go. Even though it was probably on the top of my list of hardest things I've ever had to do! I never wanted you to give up your career for me. You're much too talented for that."

Rory felt her cheeks flush when he said that he still loved her sometimes and then again when he called her talented, but she was quick to cool them with her hands. He was drunk; he didn't know what he was saying.

But, then again, people sometimes speak their deepest and truest thoughts when they're drunk and without filter.

She thought for a few moments before she spoke. She knew he'd most likely not remember any of this in the morning, but she somehow got the feeling that this would be the only time she'd get to really speak her mind to him for a long while, and she just couldn't pass up the opportunity.

"Maybe we're different," she finally said. "Maybe it's the norm for young couples to give everything to their relationships. But you and me... Maybe we're too much alike, you know? Both too stubborn, both too driven. Maybe that's why it's never worked out for us."

Jess leaned in again, slowly this time. "I wanted it to."

Rory nodded. Her eyes felt hot. But she would not cry. "Me, too."

They locked eyes for a too-long moment, and then Jess laid down inexplicably. "She wants me to marry her. Caroline." He closed his eyes.

Rory wished so badly that she'd heard a hint of detest in that sentence, but she hadn't. He was stating a fact, that was all. "She told you that?"

"No." He yawned. "I can just tell sometimes. I can see it on her face. She's willing to push everything else in her life aside to become Mrs. Jess Mariano. And she doesn't understand why I'm not willing to do the same for her."

Rory had a question then, one she didn't really want to know the answer to, but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. "Do you love her?"

Jess didn't answer, and Rory had begun to think he'd fallen asleep, and maybe that was for the best, maybe it was for the best that she'd never know his answer... And then...

"Not as much as I loved you," he said.

She was glad his eyes were closed so he wouldn't see the way she covered her face and her quivering lip and her watery eyes with her hands.

Rory sat there, perched atop the coffee table, until his breathing evened and his mouth dropped open slightly and he began softly snoring. She pulled the afghan tight around him and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, but stopped, hovering there above him. She watched as his nostrils flared with each quiet snore, watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath. She pushed a few strands of hair out of his face, traced his jawline, then his lips. Then she kissed him, pressing her lips to his ever so gently as not to wake him, though she doubted anything would at this point. And it was Jess, and it was her... but he was out cold. And he was involved with another. And it wasn't the same.

Fluttering her eyes open, Rory awoke to the scent of coffee wafting in from the kitchen. She sat up, disoriented, and took in her surroundings. She was in the chair beside the couch, which was empty save for an afghan. Her laptop was on the floor beside the chair. Her head was propped up between the head and the arm of the chair; her feet were curled up underneath her. She blinked once, twice, three times. She idly recalled moving her editing station to the chair to keep an eye on Jess after he—

Jess.

She turned her puzzled gaze up to the kitchen and to the source of the aroma. But he wasn't there.

She pulled herself up off the chair and all but ran to the coffeepot. And there, on the counter top, just as she'd expected, was a note scrawled in ink pen on a napkin.

I'm sorry for imposing on you last night. And I'm sorry for anything inappropriate I might've said while intoxicated... And for anything inappropriate we might've done while I was intoxicated. I was being childish — running to you when the one I really needed to talk to was angry with me for being angry with her. Thank you for letting me stay, however. Next time you're in Philly and need a place to crash, let me know. I owe you one.

Jess

P.S. Here's 5 bucks. You're out of tea.

Rory lifted the napkin and, sure enough, a folded five dollar bill lay on the counter beneath it. She smirked, shook her head, and pocketed the money.

She looked at the time above the oven. Nine am. She had no way of knowing how early he'd left; he could've easily set a timer on the coffee and slipped out.

She sighed and promised herself that she would call him later in the week to check up on him, and maybe to assure him that they hadn't done anything the night before. She never did.

Time seems to stand still as Rory runs. She tries to get away from it, but she just can't seem to run fast enough. And she can't find the exit. She runs down the hall, turns a corner, and down another. She's not the most graceful runner to begin with, but just add in a dress, heels, and humiliation... and of course she trips and falls on her ankle. Of. freaking. course.

She hobbles into the nearest room to her right, and it's the very room she'd been in, in reality, only moments ago, but what, in her mind, seems like days. Horrible, agonizing, humiliating days. She'd run in a circle.

Frustrated, she wrenches the shoe off of her sore foot and flings it across the room. And when the pathetic thud it produces against the wall makes her feel an ounce better, she flings the other one, too.

She sits down on the sofa against the near wall and leans her head back, slumps her shoulders. How could she have let this happen? But more importantly... what amount of trouble had she caused?

She sighs, rubbing circles into her temples with her fingers. She wants so desperately just to run... to run so far from this place that no one will remember her face, her name, her crime. But her ankle is throbbing. And no one is going to forget.

"Rory...? Rory!"

There's no way...

"Rory?!"

She hears the voice echoing through the halls outside the door, but she dares not believe...

"Rory!"

Surely he didn't leave the wedding... Surely he didn't leave Caroline... Surely he didn't... Surely...

The door handle spins.

Rory clenches her eyes shut as he walks in, hopeful that somehow if she can't see him, then he can't see her either.

"Rory, what the hell?!"

Rory doesn't open her eyes. She doesn't say anything. She uses all of her might to will herself to disappear. And when Jess, in turn, doesn't say anything for a few moments, she thinks maybe she'd succeeded.

"Dammit, Rory, look at me!"

No, she couldn't have possibly been so lucky.

"I don't want to." Apparently she's both unlucky and immature.

"Yeah, and apparently you're the queen of the whole damn world and you just get to do whatever the hell you want, don't you?!"

Rory literally flinches at that, but she doesn't protest. It's a low blow, but it's nothing short of the truth. She's a dictator. Selfish. Greedy. And she despises herself. And she's mentally prepared for the beating. She deserves it. So, she doesn't stop him; she continues to let the blows come. She's sure they will come.

"You can't just do this, Rory!" He rips the bowtie off his neck and throws it to the ground between them. "God! You come here, you wreck my wedding, you ruin my last and probably only chance of having a happy life and a steady, meaningful relationship... just because you want to?! And for what?! An adrenaline rush? Huh? A little attention? Was that it? Huh?! Answer me!"

She doesn't answer.

"What, was Miss Gilmore bored, all alone in her little apartment? Did she get all caught up on the DVR and needed some fresh entertainment? Or was she just lonely? 'Cause we all know she just can't survive without each and every person in her life bowing down to her to account for her every little need—"

"Enough, Jess!" She stands angrily. She was wrong; she isn't going to take this lashing. "I know what I did was wrong, okay? It was a mistake; I'm sorry; I'm human... But I did the mature thing! Or, maybe the immature thing, depending on your viewpoint, but I left, okay?! I stood, I came to my senses, and I left! I didn't force you to choose! I didn't force you to do anything! And what about you? You come here; you yell at me; you reprise your utter disdain for my very existence... But what about you? Huh?! I'm not the only one at fault here, Jess! You left your wedding! You chased after me! You walked out on your bride, Jess! And I didn't make you do that! I didn't make you do that! You did that on your own!"

Rory sucks in a deep and shaky breath as Jess gives her the most diverse look he's ever given her — full of astonishment, madness, insanity, regret, confusion, and fear... and all at once.

"Dammit, Jess!" she exclaims bitterly, but still she sinks down onto the sofa, her head in her hands, her ankle throbbing even worse now that she'd momentarily disregarded its well-being for a stance of firmness in her point of view.

Why does she let him get to her this way? He always brings out her rash side, her impulsive side, and she's not so sure if she likes it or not. But he's like gravity, constantly pulling her towards him and leaving her powerless to refuse him.

"And what..." She hears him speak, but she isn't looking at him, or the floor, or anything. She just stares absentmindedly at Jess's discarded bowtie. Had he even registered a word she'd said? He's going to continue to blame all this on her, isn't he?

He chuckles darkly. Yes, apparently he is.

"What gives you the right, yenno? To come here all lovely and smiling at me and to look breathtakingly beautiful and to have me watching my bride walk down the aisle looking the most perfect she has ever looked, and I can't even look her in the eye because I feel so guilty for wishing it was you!"

What? No...

"And why did I even invite you, anyway?" he asks now, but not to Rory, it seems, but to himself. "I guess I just... I guess I just wanted to see you one last time? To... I don't know... convince myself that I was making the right decision? Getting married... That we were over... Long over... That it could never possibly work out between the two of us... And then the vows start and I forget about you... I forget about you... And it's only Caroline... It's only her... And I love her, I do! And I wanna marry her. I want it to be me and her forever. For good. No more 'what if's, no more heartache, no more you... And then you... You..."

And as Jess speaks this monologue to the walls and floors and furnishings surrounding them, all the stitches Rory had used to mend her heart from the rips and tears he'd made and she'd made and they'd made together over the years, so many years, and they'd hurt each other, hurt each other, hurt each other, the stitches pop out one by one and she's bleeding, bleeding, bleeding...

But when she looks up, the pain she'd formerly heard in his voice was gone, and it's replaced by the fire in his eyes.

"You stood up. Rory... Why did you stand up?!"

She shakes her head slowly. Left, right, left. "I don't..."

He takes few quick steps toward her on the sofa, pointing at her. "Don't say you don't know! You do know; you do know! You know, because I know! And Caroline knows, and your mom knows, and Luke knows, and, dammit, everybody knows!"

Rory pulls her eyes away from his, feeling the heat burning behind her own and the tears stinging and, no, she won't cry... She won't cry... She will not cry...

And then he sees her tears and they break him like they always do, and he suddenly sinks to the floor. "I walked out of my wedding," he says quietly, and Rory hopes in vain that the worst is over.

She wants to ask why, why, why would he do that?! Why would he just jeopardize everything on a whim? But she doesn't want him to start yelling at her again about things she knows and they know and everyone knows... And hadn't she done the same exact thing? Jeopardized everything on a silly little whim? That wasn't like her. Like Lorelai, sure, but not like Rory. Rory is level-headed, Rory is even-tempered, Rory is bullet points and pro/con lists and plans and punctuality. Rory is not that girl.

But maybe she is. At least when a certain dark-eyed hoodlum is involved.

And then the dark-eyed hoodlum's head isn't in his hands anymore and he's looking up at her and suddenly she's the villain again. "Well, aren't you gonna say anything? Don't you even care? I walked out on my bride! I threw everything away... all that planning... all that money... Because of you!"

Rory's mouth drops open and her tears stop on command and she can't believe what she's hearing. The planning? The money? That's what he's worried about!? All his efforts going to waste? Not Caroline... not the love... not the commitment... but the inconvenience of it all? She could scoff at him, and she's glad when she doesn't.

"God, Jess, of course I care! I'm just trying to process, that's all... I mean..." She shakes her head at him again, insistent upon understanding. She wills her voice to be softer, sweeter. "Why? Why did you leave? You... you could be married right now, you should be married right now..."

"Why did you stand up?"

She locks eyes with him finally, and the pain is back, which is somehow so much worse than the anger. And she doesn't have an answer to give him. Nor does she suspect that he's actually even expecting one.

He sighs — a long, drawn out, 'giving up' kind of sigh. And, finally, the storm is over. "Exactly."

There's silence then between the two then, and Rory is finally able to think. What does any of this mean? Is she glad he'd left his wedding? Of course not. He's a right fool. But is she unhappy he'd left his wedding? The fluttering of her heartbeat begs to differ.

Does she still love him?

Had she ever really stopped?

"She reminded me of you, you know."

Rory looks up at Jess slowly, and that's all she does.

"On our first date, that bet of a date... That's why I asked her out a second time. She reminded me of you." He looks down at the floor, shakes his head, smirks. "I don't know if it was the laugh, or the eyes, or what... But she was a reader... and a writer. And she's ambitious — she wants to really do something with her life, really make a difference. And she's not as smart as you — no one's as smart as you — but she's creative. And when she starts talking about her work or her newest idea or the latest book she's read, she gets this fire behind her eyes... And that's something I've only ever seen one other time."

He looks up and makes eye contact with Rory, and she could almost whimper. She is pathetic.

"But then she wasn't like you, at all, yenno? I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. But when I would do something stupid, when I would screw up, we wouldn't fight, we wouldn't argue... We'd hardly even talk about it! And she wouldn't make me leave or sleep on the couch, or anything. She'd just nod and purse her lips and she'd get all pale, and then she'd go and cry alone in the bathroom, and when she came out we'd go to sleep together in our bed and we'd wake up the next morning and pretend it didn't even happen! Like that time I got drunk and took the bus to you and stayed the night there? She thought I slept with you, cheated on her, and I couldn't even tell her for sure that I didn't because I wasn't a hundred percent sure myself! And we didn't even hash it out — no name-calling, no lamp-throwing, no nothing! We just... went to bed!

"God, and she's so freaking predictable, every damn time! There was no passion, no spontaneity, no rush... And I thought, at first, that that was a good thing, stability, because you and I never had that, that comfort in knowing that whenever we came home from work in the evening that the other would still be there. And then I thought... I shouldn't even be comparing her to you! Because she was real, and she was here, and you weren't, Rory... You weren't."

Her heart sinks. He's right. She wasn't there. She could've been, but she'd chosen the easy way out. She'd left him. And that's when she realizes that she'd been the cause of not only the wrecking of the wedding, but also the wedding in itself! Because she knows, deep down inside, somehow, somewhere, she knows. That if she'd never left, if she'd stayed with him, it would've been them getting married here today. Or, not here, but some place else. Some place better. Her eyes start burning again.

She needs to say something. She needs to say something, quick, anything, before she starts crying again, or worse, he starts crying, which, judging by the look on his face, is an extreme possibility. "You never talk this much," is all her idiotic brain can come up with.

He makes a noise that's part sigh, part chuckle, part scoff, and then he agrees with her. "I never talk this much." He runs his fingers through his hair. His hand ends up on the back of his neck and he leaves it there. He sits cross-legged now, Indian-style on the blue carpet of the groom's room. Rory thinks of how small he looks, how childish, even despite the suit, how... broken.

"I could probably just waltz right on back in there, right now, and get on my knees and apologize, and she'd probably just forgive me! And marry me! And then we'd go to Utah—"

"Utah? What's in Utah?" she asks, trying to ignore the squeezing feeling in her gut when Jess realizes the possibility of him returning to Caroline.

"—and then we'd go to bed together and wake up in the morning married and pretend that none of this had ever happened! And then we'd go on for the rest of our lives, married, and never talk about it!" He's angry now; he slams a fist into the carpet. "Plateaus! That's what's in Utah."

"Plateaus," Rory says matter-of-factly, yet dubiously, somehow.

Jess waves his hand through the air, brushing the thought away. "There's lots of national parks in Utah. Canyons, junk like that. Caroline's into nature."

"Yet another thing we have in common." She makes a joke. How can she possibly be making a joke at a time like this? Well, she is her mother's daughter.

And then the air shifts entirely, and Jess's gaze turns from agitated to pensive to anxious. And she knows it's coming, she knows it, she knows it, and there's nothing she can do to stop it but will it not to come, not to come, please, please, please don't come...

"Do you love me?"

It comes.

She shakes her head swiftly. "Jess..."

His look is stern. "No, Rory. I need to know, I... I need to know I didn't wreck my wedding for nothing. And I especially need to know if I did."

She sighs — a heavy, confused sigh. "I don't know," she says meekly, pathetically.

"Rory..."

She reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ears. "I'm sorry, I'm... I'm no good under pressure."

"But that's not true!" He's on his knees now, almost eye-level with her, a mere five feet away. "You do your best when you're under pressure! Think about when you have a big article due. Your editor's expecting it to be great, you had to pull a ton of strings to get those interviews, your research is squeaky clean, your deadline's coming up and you've still got so much left to do... And somehow, you get it all done, and then some! And you're not just thinking about you and writing a good article, but you're thinking about your editor and trying to make it as error-free as possible so he'll have less work to do to revise your piece, you're thinking about the subjects of the article and representing them well enough that they'll be proud to have their name in the paper, in your paper, and you're thinking about how long the article needs to be to get the full point across, but not too long so that the layout editors have trouble fitting it next to the articles that it's supposed to fit next to. And you succeed in every aspect, all while under serious amounts of pressure!"

Rory finds herself grinning at Jess's accurate depiction of a regular work week for her. "You never talk this much," she says again.

He inches forward, closer to her. Her breath catches in her throat. She wishes it wouldn't do that.

He lifts his arms and places his hands on either side of her on the sofa. Her heart is pounding, and suddenly she feels nauseous. Is he wearing cologne? He is. And it is way too sweet. Not at all Jess-like. Why hadn't she noticed it before?

"How about I ask you a simpler question?" His voice is soft, careful.

She swallows and nods once.

"Do you want... to be with me?"

She opens her mouth to answer him, but he goes on. "And I don't mean, like... 'be with me', be with me... but really be with me. Like, us... together... and no one else. And no more giving up, no more wimping out. If something's wrong, we make it right. If something's not working, we fix it." He looks down at his arm, slides it over to touch the edge of her wrist. And when he looks up, the look on his face... She wants to kiss him. She almost does.

He smirks when she sucks in a quiet breath, inches forward, and parts her lips slightly, only to regain her composure and pull back as if it hadn't happened. "You and me," he says. "For good. How does that sound?"

She lets out her breath. "It's never worked before."

"It can this time, though. It will. It has to."

Her voice is quiet. "And if it doesn't?"

He wraps his fingers around her wrist and flips her hand over, tracing the lines of her palm with rough fingertips, calloused from gripping the spines of books and gripping the bodies of pencils and feverishly typing up words and sentences and novellas. She shivers and he smirks again. "Then at least we can say we gave it everything."

And the next time he looks up, his smirk is gone. Bravely, she pulls her hand from his and brings it up to his face. God, it had been so long since she'd touched him last. He closes his eyes and turns to press his lips into her palm.

"You love Caroline," she says.

"No," he answers and kisses her palm again. "I loved the parts of her that reminded me of you. I love... you."

He opens his eyes then, and she can feel him trembling slightly beneath her touch. So uncharacteristic. He's nervous again.

"I love you," he repeats, as if he didn't quite believe himself the first time. His brows pull together in confusion, as if this is brand new information that had just been made known to him. "I love you."

She watches him, wide-eyed, her heart in her throat, and he is so, so beautiful... She brings her free hand up to his other cheek and leans in slowly, cautiously, and touches her forehead to his. She closes her eyes and they stay that way for a few moments, foreheads touching, her hands on his face and his arms on the sofa at her sides, breathing the same air. He gets brave and slides his hands up her hips and rests them on her waist, his fingers taunting her, and her breaths get quicker.

She musters up the courage to speak. "Jess?" She opens her eyes, but his remain closed.

"Mmm?"

Another breath. "I wanna be with you."

And in one swift movement, his mouth is on hers and his grip on her waist is tight and he's standing and pulling her up with him and she wants to protest because of her ankle but he's warm and strong and he feels good and she doesn't care, she doesn't care, she doesn't care. Until he pulls her entirely to her feet and she winces and he feels it beneath his lips and he stops and she winces again because she doesn't want him to stop, not now, not ever, not for the rest of their lives.

The look on his face is so transparently worried that she almost laughs. "What? What's wrong? How could I have possibly screwed this up already? This is the part we're good at!"

And at that, she really does laugh. "It's my ankle. I kind of... tripped on the way here."

He looks down at her foot to try to hide his smirk. "You tripped?"

"Yeah, um... Me, running, heels... not a good mix."

"Well may I advise that next time you plan to object to a marriage and ruin the wedding that you wear sneakers."

He's kidding, she knows, but that doesn't mean she feels any less worse. "I'm so sorry," she breathes out and looks down sheepishly.

He cups her head in his hands, thumbs beneath her jaw, fingers spread out behind her head, into her hair, forcing her to look up at him. "I'm not," he murmurs, and her lips part yet again in expectation as he leans in...

And then he pulls back. "Why aren't you here with Gabriel?" he asks accusingly.

She forces a small smile of what she hopes is reassurance. "He reminded me too much of you," she says playfully, not wanting to start up another conversation. She'd made her decision, and now she just wants to kiss him. "I had to kick him out."

"Bad reminder of someone you didn't necessarily want to be reminded of?" His tone reeks of sarcasm, but she can see the hint of hurt behind his eyes, as she'd learned to see past the 'tough guy' exterior and through the mask of apathy long ago.

"Not at all," she says, running her thumb across his cheek. He's such a good kisser... He was always a good kisser... She just wants to kiss him! "It hurt too much that he was there, and you weren't."

He smiles at her for the second time that day, that heart-wrenching, knee-buckling, 'pretty boy' smile. "Oh, yeah?"

She smiles back. "Yeah."

"Huh."

And then, finally, he kisses her. And kisses her. And kisses her, and kisses her, and kisses her.

(And kisses her.)

And then the door flies open.

"Aww, jeez..."