Rating: T for some cursing.

Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB/CW.

"No," she said. "I guess even he doesn't deserve that."

She folded her arms and sighed. Thumped her back against the wall beside the door.

Rubbing the back of his head absently, he moved to sit on the desk-edge that faced her, gripping where his hands fell.

"It is over though," she said, meeting his eye as he looked up on hearing her voice. "I'm done."

Another wordless nod from him sent her craning back to talk to the ceiling. "I don't know why I - -Why did I?"

"I, uh, -"

"Fine, he was charming and smart, I guess. Exciting, maybe. But -"

"This -"

"- -But he's mean and childish and - -And unreliable. Or at least I can't trust him. Which is just - -I can't even ..." She broke off and shook her head, but then burst out, "And God! He's so self-pitying."

He was uncomfortable. More so when she turned her attention on him now. But he couldn't seem to cut her off.

"Seriously -" he tried.

"To hear him talk, you'd think he's getting fitted for valenki any day now. Like his life's somehow a gulag. I think it's really how he feels, you know? He's that deluded. I know people who'd kill - - commit actual homicide - - for the opportunities he has. Oh, and the ones he throws away, too. Can't forget those."

He was curious despite himself and raised an eyebrow. "A gulag?"

"Yep. Forced labor, forced life. Got to do what daddy says." Arms still folded, her shoulders climbed up round her ears. Dropped. "No. Actually, he's got to whine about it and then do it. Except the Hamlet act is officially worn out."

"I don't -"

"You've got to pity the poor heir apparent, though, haven't you? With no options? Because his name doesn't just open any damn door he wanted. And he can't tell Mitchum to go to hell because then what would he bitch about? I swear, the daddy issues are just - -Ugh."

"Right," he said with a hint of a rueful smile. "How are yours these days?"

She affected a weary kind of earnestness, replying with shrug, "Pretty bad, probably." Shuttled back the jibe in the same spirit, "Yours?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Same."

"But it doesn't define me," she said, truly earnest now. "I won't let it. I pushed the self-destruct button, and you know what? I got so bored of it. You were right: it wasn't me. And when I saw it I was mortified, and I pulled myself together. So thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, sidelong and screwing his mouth up as he scratched a temple.

"But -"

"I mean it. You, uh ..." He caught part of his lower lip in his teeth. "You need to talk to your mom, maybe? Or to Lane, or ... whoever. Just ..."

Whitened knuckles unwhitening as he looked at them.

"Not you," she said.

"Not me." Chin still low on his chest. Lifted eyes.

Her mouth pressed into a flat smile. "Sorry."

"S'okay." Shrugged it off and cocked his head to one side to add wryly, "Not that I don't love hearing you bad-mouth the rich kids like we used to, but I just -"

"I know," she broke in. "Have I always been this insensitive? Maybe I have, I don't -"

"That's not it. It's ..." Deepening lines in the struggle. The corner of the room got a hard look.

"What?"

Waiting, she saw the breath. Heard it sighed out. Eyes dragged back to hers.

"No one likes getting all their flaws reflected back at them, Rory, you know? Ever think you got a type, maybe?"

"But," she looked puzzled, pausing. "You mean unreliable? Look at this place, Jess. You grew up. It's amazing. And you -"

He interrupted her with a look like he was straining to remember something. "Thought I had a nice sideline in self-pitying on and off there too. Don't forget that."

"You're exaggerating."

"Says the woman who coined the word 'cobainy' in my honor. You can't just take that away from me now. I was proud of that."

Grinning, she retorted, "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you. That would be cruel. Clearly. But," growing more serious, she looked around them before fixing on him, "Jess, look what you've done. You had nothing. No one. You left everything behind, and you did this."

The frown came back as he listened, his narrowed eyes turning aside. Ducking slightly as he looked towards the back of the room. "The leaving stuff behind kind of accounts for the having nothing and no one though, you know?"

A second's glance back at her before her own eyes dropped.

"Oh," she said. "Yeah." Quiet now after her effusiveness. "But - -Well, you still did this. You dragged yourself up and pulled yourself together, and you did this."

Meeting his eye. Seeing them mirthful as he said flatly, "On my own."

"On your own," she echoed, a smile changed to a firm pursed mouth that matched the firm nod.

He nodded along too, eyebrows climbing. "Single-handed, right? Nothing to do with those guys you met earlier." He shook his head. "They'll love hearing you say that."

"Fine, but you know what I mean. And your book! Come on, Jess, that's pretty single-handed. It could only be you."

She beamed to see his shy downward look. A snigger, still shaking his head. Then he saw her and rolled his eyes, scraping a thumbnail over a middle-finger callous.

"Still pretty mean though," he said looking back up at her. "In the interests of full disclosure."

"I don't doubt it," she brazened back. "I don't think you've changed -"

"Huh. Compliments're just flying 'round tonight."

She seemed to ignore him. "You grew up. I grew up. And I'm sick of ..."

Her sigh. His eyes on her as she pulled a stray thread from her sleeve.

"- -Being with someone who won't," she ended, half to herself as what she unpicked came free. Nothing unravelled as it dropped unseen.

Studying where the pattern had been altered almost indiscernibly for the loss of the light thread, she said, "He's arrested development made flesh, and I'm done with it," before turning to him. "Right now? He's jumping off a cliff in Costa Rica."

The force of suppression left its trace, but she had been too absorbed to notice, and now it was overlaid by something else. Still not inured, curiosity needled him again.

"Uh, why?"

"Acting out," she said matter-of-factly. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with skydiving or whatever. It looks cool. And terrifying. But I'd like to think I'm not a chicken and I'll do it before I die maybe. Maybe right before, like, splat. But I know I probably won't - -Skydive, I mean. Not die. I'm going to die, I know that. But I'm going to try really hard not to. Except for the being-in-a-warzone thing, anyway - -What was I -?"

"Something about Costa Rica." It sounded tired in the wake of her burst of rambling energy.

"Right, yes. So, there's nothing wrong with thrill-seeking, really. I'm okay with that. I like that, even. Occasionally. Personally, I'm a rollercoaster person - -But you probably ..."

The look she saw on him said he did.

Remember.

"But it's not even real Life and Death Brigade stuff any more," she continued. Fast to skip over the pause, eyes darting to peer at the chaos in the artwork hung behind him. "Those things were crazy, but at least they were well-planned. And this? This is just irresponsible and stupid and - -And attention-seeking."

"I don't want to know," he said, wearily folding his arms and looking vaguely disgusted, "what this thing is, do I."

It wasn't a question.

"The Life and Death Brigade? It's just a secret ... Yale," she floundered, hearing it sound ridiculous, "... thing."

Blank-faced, head cocking pointedly, he dropped, "Man, clichéd much?"

"Yeah, but it was fun at first -"

"Wait, you -?"

"Don't judge me," she cut in, tilting up her chin to approximate queenly defiance. "I did it for a story. And all I did was jump off a scaffold in a ball gown."

Her grin broke the mask.

"Well now I'm intrigued, I gotta admit," he said, unfolding his arms to grip the table-edge once more. Leaning forward conspiratorially he asked, "Did you die? Am I talking to myself here? I've gone nuts, I knew it. Day was fucking surreal." A dismissive hand swiped it away.

"I didn't die: I had a harness. And it was pretty fun," she said squarely.

"Yeah, guess I'll allow it."

"You allow things to happen in the past, oh Great and Powerful Oz?"

"I do. Control space and time, too. Mainly Saturdays."

"Well, of course."

She smiled but the phone was still in her hand. Heavy.

"But I'm through with all of that now," she affirmed, not knowing why she needed to say it. To draw a line under it.

There. Between them.

"What, fun?"

"No, stupid stunts and wasting my life drinking and partying and ... just all of it. I told you I'm trying to graduate in my year and make up time, right?"

"Right. Ms. Conscientious."

"So I'm working my ass off and he's ... he's there and goofing off and being - -It's so irritating, you know? But it's not that. It's worse than that, I ... I'm wasting all this energy just -"

She stopped with a sudden wide-eyed look.

"Oh God, I think I'm hating him."

Jess bit the inside of his cheek as she pulled a palm slowly across her forehead.

"But I can't help it," she said with a shrug. "I just - -I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I don't want to feel like this. It's - -I feel awful. So that's it. I'm through."

"I should have done it before," she continued quickly. Pacing now. Shaking her head. "It's distracting. And I don't need distraction. I need focus and - -Yes, focus. And if I can trust myself and that's it, then that's enough. So I'm through."

"Very Plath," glibly covered his confusion.

Ache of set teeth unset. Of being drawn in by inches.

She looked at him then, coming out of her abstraction. "More daddy issues."

"Yeah. But you're ..." His fingers spiked up at the desk-edge. "Focused, though. Right?"

"I am," she nodded out firmly. "I shouldn't have let it - -I should have made it stick the first time. I had everything together, and I did it by myself. I would have been fine on my own - -Well, with Paris. But I was back on track and then -"

She pinched the bridge of her nose, screwing her eyes shut. "I'm such an idiot."

He rolled his eyes at this, offering in a low, still weary voice, "You're not an idiot."

She bit down behind her lips, and he sent a hand out towards where, outside, the street darkened.

"Look," he said, "all that stuff you talked about today, I don't know. Sounded like you had it all figured out now, so ..."

"Yeah, I do. I did. But I did then too, so I just wish ..." She sighed. "We broke up. Before now, I mean."

And she held out the phone towards him, wiggling it in the air as if by way of illustration. She wasn't making much sense, but he watched her intent on cramming it back into her pocket as she started to speak again.

"In fact, right after you left the pub that night. I was mortified," she added, catching his eye. "Like I said. About wasting my life and the way he treated you and ... just everything you said."

A broad smile lit her up as she sped though a narration of the night's events. "And I just let rip at him for being an ass and a godawful snob and of course he wouldn't apologise and started the whole 'woe is me' bit instead - -So I called him on it. I finally called him on it, and let me tell you he hated it. And that was it. I moved out of my grandparents and in with Paris -"

"Jeez, that's drastic."

"Drastic was necessary. You saw for yourself."

"Yeah, but ... Paris-scale drastic? I mean, that's some mea culpa, right there."

"Well, it was that or self-flagellation. And I'm not all that into that."

Her look of suppressed amusement elicited one from him.

"Huh."

"And fine, there were steps in-between but, yes, I settled on drastic. Or actually, it settled on me, but - -Anyway, I should have just broken it off then."

"I thought you said -"

"Nope. Not on my end."

"Okay," he nodded acceptingly. Still confused. Still frowning. Waiting.

"He, um," she paused and her eyes dropped to the toes of her shoes. But she bit her thumb and looked up, saying firmly, "He cheated."

His eyes widened and he was open-mouthed for a split second before biting down on his lower lip and pulling it into his mouth.

They were both surprised when she smiled to add, "Except, not technically, apparently. And I can't even look at him. But what's great is, now, I know I pretty much never have to again."

Her smile brightened and left him bemused and silent, unconscious of the pained look that biting his mouth gave him.

"Yep," she resumed. "A whole Friends episode I can never have on in the background again. Because it's not something you actually watch anymore, you know? It's just ... there. Or arc, I guess. A story arc."

Her levity, the digressive pedantry, made him uneasy, though it formed an equally uneasy smile in one corner of his mouth. Head still bowed a fraction, he looked up at her curiously.

Seeing this and smiling more herself, she said, "The One with all the Bridesmaids. Am I laughing? I want to laugh."

"Nope. But -" He straightened and pulled his shoulder-blades together to stretch. He was frowning again when he asked, "You're serious? You're not actually serious."

"All the bridesmaids. All the sister's bridesmaids. Hell, maybe even a groomsman snuck in there and he was too busy to notice. Not that it happened at the wedding, but ..." She shrugged and broke off with something like a silent laugh.

"Rory, that's -" His jaw clenched as he shook his head. "What a shit-heel."

She did finally laugh at this.

His thunderous look cleared up too, watching her scrub at her face and push herself off the wall.

"Ugh," she said as she dropped heavily into the chair to his left. "God, it's good to laugh."

"Well, good."

Head hanging, she rubbed her temples and said to the floor, "I never should have taken him back. It's been bugging me so much, I just - -It made me sick. Actually put me off my food." Looking up at him, she said, "Can you believe that?"

He smirked. "If I say no, are you gonna kick me? 'Cause my shins are in your range, I think."

She swung a leg weakly and concluded, "Nope, too far. Well, it did. And my work, and my reading, and just," she paused again, exhaling. "But this was great. Being here and ... and venting - -God I'm sorry I vented to you, Jess. I'm so sorry."

Shrugging, he said, "Looks like I can take it after all."

"Sorry though."

"Yeah, I'll live."

"Good."

Her smile, small with contrition still, drew a fractured reflection out of the smirk until he turned to look back into the room.

Wreckage of strewn books and souring wine. Thinking. His shoulders rose and rolled in a contained stretch before he turned to her again.

"So, look. You want another drink or something?"

"I haven't had one yet. I drove."

"Ah," he drew out. "You need to get back?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not really."

"No?"

Shrugging, she said, "I should be at the paper in the afternoon, but I don't have class."

"Then," he tilted his chin up in a half-nod, "have something. If you want. Crash here, maybe. You look like you need it."

"So, you don't technically want me to fuck off anymore?"

"Nah, you're good for now," he replied, matching her mock-serious look and adding, "We could, you know, talk or whatever. If you want."

"Okay, yeah. We should. Catch up more."

"Yeah, that too. You're not beat?"

"No, I'm not. I should be though, shouldn't I?"

"I don't think there's a rule," he said offhand. "Uh, we don't technically have a guest bed, but we do have a couch. It's not bad."

"I could get a room though, maybe?" Uncertainty stretched the pause. "Somewhere."

He got up at this, standing straight as if affronted and needling her, "Quit waving your trust fund in my face, Rory, jeez. Unless the accommodation here's so far below your standards?"

She choked back a laugh to say, "Yeah, one thing? I technically don't get my trust fund 'til I'm twenty five."

"Right, right," he said, nodding, his hands in his pockets. "Guess I better get on that 'being your friend' thing then."

"That's nice, Jess. When did you become a hanger-on, anyway?"

"Hey, I hang where I can, what can I say?"

"And my appartment door," she backtracked to correct him with another detail, "- -If Paris'll have me back -"

"You are a masochist," he interjected, but she made a face and carried on.

"My door there has a dozen locks because there's a shady non-musical group who congregate at the bottom of my stairs."

"Huh. Sounds nice," he said blandly, wandering into the centre of the room towards the desk cluttered with the day's leftover alcohol. "So, drink?"

She pushed herself up out of the chair and stretched her hands above her head, lacing her fingers together as she said, "Anything. Whatever," and followed him.

He gestured at bottles which were no longer condensating on the wood but instead stood in shallow puddles slowly merging. "Beer? Wine? Narrowing's good."

"What do you have most of?"

He reached out, saying, "Beer it is," his hand hovering as he tried to pick two cooler-looking bottles. "Wait though," he said, turning to point at her and looking amused. "You're jonesing by now, right?"

"I'm that predictable?"

"If I say yes -"

She cut him off, a little sheepish as she added, "And, if I'm honest, I'm starving."

"Of course." His irony was not so much in the trace of a smirk as in the unquestioning acceptance of what she said. It made her smile. "So, you want to go out, or should I order in?"

"Shouldn't you be at a bar? I heard something about a bar."

Thoughtful, as if he tipped his head to search a corner of his mind, he replied, "Thursday? Gotta 'y' in it, so yeah. Probably."

She rolled her eyes, persisting, "Should you? I don't want -"

"Rory, they get drunk without me about as quickly as when I'm there. Cast-iron science. It's no big deal."

"But ... your open house. It was great. Don't you want to celebrate?"

"Yeah, streamers make me nervous. Balloons, too. Seriously, we're there pretty often. And the schmoozing'll have transitioned into the unprofessional 'I love you, man' stuff," he paused and conspicuously checked his watch, "about forty minutes ago."

"And you are nothing if not the consummate professional."

"Exactly. So, drink that," he said, handing her a beer, "and I'll brew coffee. And you: get on deciding what you want to eat. Unless you have something against drinking warm beer and hot coffee on an empty stomach?"

"As long as it's not empty for long."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Self-preservation?"

"Pretty much. So. Coming up?" He jerked his head in the direction of the stairs.

"If that's where the coffee is."

He straightened and flicked his wrist to sketch a tiny arc. After you.

She smiled as she passed him and started up the stairs, not seeing him stop on the first step and look up as she ascended. His fingers tight on the banister's newel post.

A/N: Thanks for reading. The final two parts are finished, (read: proofing, freaking out, proofing ...) so more in a couple of days if there's any interest.