Wine in October...

Jess tossed his papers down on Liz and TJ's coffee table and checked the date on his wristwatch. He knew the guys at Truncheon hoped he'd return soon.

Business was good and Truncheon was happily hectic. Even still, the guys had seen that change in Jess, the one where he stopped being content to simply edit the work of others and longed instead to write his own story. His friends were encouraging and occasionally selfless. It didn't hurt, however, that they believed Jess had another Subsect-caliber piece inside him, one that could become another flagship for their beloved printing house. That was why Jess could afford to spend so much of the autumn in his hometown.

His book was coming along, more lengthy and daring than its predecessor, but it wasn't Subsect-caliber yet.

Jess rubbed his eyes and lay back on the couch, the cushions collecting the aching muscles of his neck and shoulders. Once Jess had attained such a marvellous state of comfort, of course came the knock at the door.

Jess groaned. He practically rolled off the couch like a log in his disgruntledness, so averse to being off of the couch and onto his feet that he delayed the eventuality of sitting and standing as long as he possibly could.

His demeanour changed completely, however, when he found Rory Gilmore on the front steps. He felt her presence like a zap of static on a doorknob as he blinked his bleary eyes. She'd never visited him at Liz and TJ's. He hadn't even known she knew the address.

"Hey," he said with a small, puzzled smile.

"Jess!" she cried, a dazzling look of utter elation on her face. He laughed as she unexpectedly sprang into his arms for a quick hug.

"Hi," he said then, having extricated himself, "You're happier than the last time I saw you."

"Jess," she swooned and laughed at herself, "I have been so busy and so, so happy. I had to tell you all about it." She pulled a bottle of wine out of her messenger bag and tapped on it with a free finger. "I have you to thank. This is to celebrate! Oh," she added more reservedly, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Yeah," he encouraged with a laugh, stepping back, and she entered the oddly furnished room.

"What are we celebrating?" he asked as she followed him deeper into the home. His new mission for glassware brought them both into the kitchen.

"I've finally done something that feels right. It feels like fire in my chest!" she ranted. "Fire or electricity! I can't decide. I haven't felt so alive or with such purpose since I was a kid. You!" She pointed. "Your idea! It's brought me back to life!"

Jess laughed self-deprecatingly. "Well that's me: Dr. Frankenstein, at your service. I'm glad you're so happy but… Doula's asleep down the hall. I'm babysitting. Could you…?"

The volume of her voice dropped immediately. "Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's OK. I don't think we woke her." He pulled a couple of mismatching wine glasses from the cabinet and gestured to the living room. "Shall we?"

"Let's," she enthused, following him back into the living room and observing it for the first time. "There are a lot of couches in here."

He wryly agreed. "What can I say? It's Liz and TJ. How about this one?" He led her to the blue couch between the window and the lone coffee table. This couch was overstuffed and suede and he'd long-since decided it was the most comfortable of all the many couches littering Liz and TJ's eclectic home.

"It's perfect!" she enthused mildly. She placed her messenger bag at her feet and they sat down at opposite ends, turned towards one another, each with a bent leg tucked underneath themselves.

"I brought it Jess," she said as she poured some wine into each glass.

"Brought it?"

"The first two chapters." She passed a wine glass to him which he accepted graciously.

"So you have been writing then."

She picked up her own wine glass and then promptly ignored it, instead she just held it thoughtfully and took a deep satisfying breath. "Yes!" she swooned again. Then, without taking a single sip of wine, she placed the glass back on the coffee table.

She pulled a stack of papers, not unlike Jess's own, out of her messenger bag. "I wanted to show you." She held the pages under his nose and then hugged them to her chest. "Of course I can't let you read it. Not yet. I think my mom should read it first. A lot of it has to do with her, and all I've learned from her, both good and bad. But, I just like holding it." She shimmied a little bit, still hugging the stack of papers tightly. "And I wanted to show you. There's a lot more work to do but I'm just so proud of what I've done so far."

"Can I see?"

"Just the cover page," she said severely.

He nodded seriously but smirked in amusement. She gingerly held the pages towards him. To honour the reverent nature of the exchange, he also placed his untasted wine on the coffee table before accepting the pages from her.

True to his promise, he didn't open the pages, only rotated the stack until the title faced him. The stack was quite thick, maybe forty or fifty pages he guessed, and apparently printed off of a computer. If the text were an average point size, that would make the contents of those first two chapters fairly lengthy already. Jess was impressed; she'd been busy indeed. "The Gilmore Girls," he read with reverence, proud of her accomplishment. Despite himself, he slipped into editor mode, "You should drop the The."

"What?"

"Never mind. Just an occupational hazard. Tell me more."

"Well… I started thinking about it right after the last time we spoke. You put a bee in my bonnet, Jess. I just couldn't stop thinking about it. And then, about a week later, I already had an outline for five chapters! Of course I didn't start actually writing until about a week ago. I, uh, had a bit of a... setback," she began somewhat sadly but then continued with new conviction, "But, even with the setback, I couldn't put it out of my mind."

She proceeded to tell him, in dramatic stage-whispers, about the week she'd spent in deep introspection in her grandfather's darkened study—with crystal clear visions and new perspectives coming to her, both of life in her mother's home and that in her own—and the two chapters that had poured out of her, the seven more she'd plotted since. She didn't give him details of the contents, reiterating once again (to his amusement) that her mother should be the first to read it.

Her voice became soft with introspection. "In writing this book… I…" she began slowly, "I did a lot of thinking. I thought about things I've pushed aside for many years. People have said it time and again but only just this past week have I truly taken it to heart and applied it to my life. It's true: You can pack all that emotional stuff away—the memories of the good times, the hardships and turmoil—but it turns out when you pack it, you still just end up carrying the figurative boxes, lugging them from one metaphorical apartment to another.

"If you ever want to keep new stuff and move on with your life, eventually you have to just open up an old box of memories and see what's in there. Really look at it. Evaluate it.

"Sure, you dust a few things off and keep them but, turns out, after enough time passes, you realize half of the stuff in there you can just let go of. Throw it out; recycle it; give it away." She digressed, "Not that anybody wants to receive a metaphorical box of old emotional crap but you get what I'm saying."

She leaned against the back of the couch, drooping dramatically sideways like a rag doll while still maintaining eye contact. "The catharsis, Jess! It's like this big heavy weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I realized even the good memories can weigh you down if you don't downsize the boxes once in awhile!"

She summarized enthusiastically, "Jess, I've spent the last three weeks emptying a bunch of boxes and I've never felt so light!"

Jess's breath came fast and furious, as though he were the one who'd just spoken a mile a minute. But he'd sat silently, smiling and following right along with her every word and taking each one to heart. He had some boxes if his own, he knew. And though, in recent years, he'd done his own fair share of emotional downsizing, he knew he still had some work to do. He could take great inspiration from this fiery creature enthusing not five feet from him. He was amazed by her transformation from the stressed, shell of herself he'd seen a couple short months ago, into this mariposa of life.

He placed her manuscript on the table next to his own and reached for their glasses still sitting virtually untouched. "Well this is cause for celebration then."

He handed her a glass and they toasted lightly to new beginnings, she with her new project and awakening, and he with his. The wine was dry, the way Jess liked it, and he smiled. To his surprise, after her single sip of wine, she placed the glass on the table again and turned to him with an intense, no-nonsense expression.

"I wanna write about you," she said softly, a sheepish question in her eyes, nervousness in her voice. "I'll change the names. Don't worry about that. But I have to write about you. You're so important to my story." She stopped there, pausing to chew on her lip. Jess knew she was asking for his permission.

He gave pause. Into his void of speech, she volunteered a long stream of consciousness, "You brought something out in me. I'd never felt such intense love and desire until I met you. To be honest, it scared the hell out of me sometimes.

"If I had've been smart, I would've emptied the box of emotional Dean crap I was lugging around way back then and really committed to us, to you and me. But I wasn't particularly smart about it and I didn't realize then that I was ready to let go of the past with him and jump into the future with you. He was just so safe though. So, so safe. He played the part so well.

"And you never played the part," she said warmly. "You were more than that. You were always yourself, exactly who you needed to be, and I never realized that that was better than any role you could have ever played, because it was real."

Jess was genuinely touched but more than a little bit embarrassed. "Rory you don't have to say all this…"

"I want to Jess. I never said it. I never told you. Not when we were dating, or at the firelight festival or at Yale. Not when we kissed that night at Truncheon and I let you believe that Logan was the only one I loved. I loved you deeply. A part of me has always loved you, Jess. That part of me always will. You deserve to know that. I want you to know that. Our relationship was important to me, so incredibly important. I don't know if you ever knew that but I'm telling you now."

She'd gradually leaned forward to punctuate her sentiment but then seemed to snap out of her trance. "I'm sorry I'm so introspective tonight. Like I said, I've been taking a good long look at myself lately. I've pored over the stuff in my Jess box, obviously. Not my actual, physical Jess box but my emotional one."

She leaned back against the couch again, as though satisfied at long last, and added conversationally, "You know, I've avoided you sometimes, ever since Philadelphia. Sometimes I'd have plans to come home to Stars Hollow but then I'd find out you were here and I'd go somewhere else instead. I just didn't know how to be around you with so much left unsaid and so much baggage between us. I was afraid to tackle it and instead I just took the familiar, safe, easy path, even though ultimately I knew it would lead to a dead end. Even though I missed you in my life, I was never sure how to make that work when I was just so bogged down by the metaphorical weight of your box and all of our unfinished business.

"Can I write about you?" she prodded softly.

Jess became aware of the pounding of his heart when he heard it in his ears. He placed his wine glass on the table to avoid spilling its contents on his favourite couch. He blinked several times. "I can't wait to read it," he acceded.

She sprang forward, placing her hands on his ankle, deep within his personal space. "Oh thank you, Jess! The story wouldn't be complete without you in it."

Jess looked down at her hands then up to her eyes, finding them equally surprised as his own must have been. The moment hit him suddenly but was slow once he became mired in it, lengthy enough to leave him light-headed and confused. He swallowed. She bit her lip. Suddenly, a thousand volts passed between them.

It had been years since he'd felt any spark between them. He hadn't even known he still could feel a spark for Rory. Jess blinked in confusion.

Rory leaned back slowly; her hands trailed off of his leg and onto the couch cushion.

Not thinking about anything except this moment, Jess reached for her hand and, with curiosity for the potency of her touch, took it gently in his own. He traced the lines of her fingers; his thumb followed the curve of her fingernail. His gaze left her fingers to find her eyes, that brilliant blue. Though silent, his gaze was a question that he asked her, asked himself also. Did you feel that?

She answered for the both of them. She slid forward on the couch then, a shifting of couch cushions and equilibria, and then they were kissing, a gentle caress of delight and wonder. His one arm slipped around her waist while his other took residence in the soft, warm hair at the nape of her neck. Rory leaned forward until she'd draped herself against his chest and guided his torso down against the armrest.

Her soft lips nuzzled deeper until she'd taken his lip between them, a gentle suckle that roused him. Her tongue led the way and he followed happily.

After a moment, she murmured against his skin, apologetic, "I didn't come here to do this." She lifted away slightly. "I know how it looks, with the wine and everything, but it wasn't a plan."

He looked into her eyes, amazed by that particular light shining upon him that he'd never thought he'd see again. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear so he could see the light better.

"It's OK," he said lightly.

She took a deep breath, her features poignant with thought. "No strings? Just unfinished business?"

His eyes flashed with new knowledge of what this moment could be, what she seemed to be suggesting. "Are you with anyone?" he had to ask. It had happened before.

"What?" she murmured, "No... I'm not with anyone, no. Are you?"

"No."

She swallowed hard. "Do you want to… be with me tonight?" Her subtle shrug was sweet and bashful but her gaze was very intense.

Once again she'd zapped him, a delight and amazement arcing straight to his heart. He stared at her a moment before realizing she was still waiting for his response and he needed to answer her. He caught his breath finally but, before he could speak, she'd mumbled humbly, "I have… protection."

He smiled softly then, as a thought occurred to him, and he couldn't help but tease under his breath, "It's beginning to sound more and more like a plan."

She blushed but it was a happy glow, perhaps amused by how her own actions sounded. Something like a laugh followed it. "It wasn't," she breathed softly, "I promise. It's just... life… has taught me, it's a responsible thing to have."

"In case of moments like this one," he questioned, the question being more in the raise of his eyebrow than in the inflexion of his voice.

"Exactly." She looked at him expectantly, waiting still for his verdict. Seconds passed. He studied her face.

His answer, though truthful, surprised him, "Yes."

A wondrous smile coloured her features. She nodded and came back into his arms, pressing her beautiful weight against his body and her mouth back to his.

After a dazzling, heart-pounding moment he murmured, "Let's go to the spare bedroom."

"Yes," she breathed, nodding against his cheek and going in for one more kiss before stepping onto the floor and pulling him with her. They stumbled slightly down a hallway (a journey briefly interrupted by her quick return dash to retrieve her manuscript and messenger bag), leaving a forgotten bottle and two full wine glasses behind.

In the spare bedroom where he'd led, he turned on a small lamp and closed the door behind them. She dropped her papers by the lamp and kissed him against the door until he was senseless. Then she turned to lead him further into the room but stopped suddenly in his path when she saw what the room contained.

"There's a couch in here also," she said in surprise. She shifted a bit to the left and then uttered another epiphany, "There are two!"

He chuckled. "You're very astute." He nuzzled her neck until she turned into his arms. She laughed warmly as his mouth resumed its play beneath the lobe of her ear.

"But why?"

He shrugged happily, running his hands down her upper arms and pulling her close again. "It's Liz and TJ," was the best explanation he could offer. His lips were best put to uses other than summarizing the quirkiness of his mother.

Rory tilted her head to allow him access to her neck and with a firm hand behind his head, guided his lips against herself. "We could have just stayed where we were," she teased. He felt the hum of her voice box on his lips.

"Ah but these couches can't be seen from the front door," he murmured against her soft, sweetly scented neck.

"Oh… yes, privacy… even better..." She rotated their bodies and guided him closer to a couch, observing it. "Do they fold out?"

"No," he said simply, still savouring her jawline, familiar yet otherworldly, on a journey towards her waiting mouth which kissed him with fervour once he found it.

Between kisses she managed, "We could push them together, front-to-front. We'll have more room."

He stopped kissing her to mirror her smile brightly and gaze into her beautiful blue, shining eyes.

"More room, huh?" he asked, reading her thoroughly.

"To manoeuvre," she explained innocently but he raised an eyebrow until a slight blush coloured her pretty cheeks. It amazed him to witness it: a suggestive comment could still make her blush, even if the comment was her own.

He bit his lip to hide his smile and then regarded the couches more closely. Though mismatched, the couches were the same height.

"Huh. You know… when you're right, you're right," he agreed. Then he nodded suggestively. "We're gonna need the space."