A/N: Thanks to everyone for the kind words and encouragement! Sorry it took so long for this update, I've been away. Without further ado, here is the next installment…

Whisky in November…

Jess slid down deep into the corner of Liz and TJ's blue couch and read over the computer printout of his most recent writing. Smiling, and nearly buzzing with pride, he made some final notes in the margins. He didn't know why he always edited on a print copy when he could more easily make his changes directly in the computer file. All he knew was there was just something so tangibly perfect about seeing his words in print—about jotting notes in his own margins—especially once the book neared the finished product. He always did it this way.

The doorbell rang but, benevolently, it had waited until he was done with his task.

He gathered the pages neatly and tossed them lightly onto the scuffed table. He went to greet the person at the door with a gracious smile completely incongruent with his normally cool demeanour.

Seeing Rory Gilmore on the front step only served to broaden his smile. Had she finished more chapters also? He leaned slightly on the open door and thought how marvellous it was they were both on such a roll.

"Hey there!" he drawled. "How many chapters this time?" He stepped aside and welcomed her in.

"Oh. Jess," she said. She seemed surprised to see him, as if she hadn't expected him open his mother's door. "I haven't had much time for writing lately. My head's been completely foggy."

Jess blinked at her, his spirits taking a nosedive as soon as he noticed the expression on her face. She looked stressed, clearly not flying on the same natural high that he currently was.

His disappointment must have been evident because she seemed compelled to add, "My book is still just the sum total of the first three chapters. My mom still has them. I'll show you as soon as I get them back—if my mom is OK with that—I wanna show you."

"Oh. OK." He nodded, still somewhat taken aback.

"I brought whisky," she said, pulling a bottle of Scotch out of her bag which he regarded with a raised eyebrow. That wasn't a particularly celebratory drink, he noted, considering her circumstances when they'd last shared some and the dark clouds in her eyes now.

"Sounds good," he said warily, heading for the kitchen cabinet. "Your mom got you pretty busy with the wedding plans?"

"Yeah. Very busy. It's good though. She and Luke have been so happy." Rory smiled at last, but it was a tiny smile.

He pulled two mismatched lowball glasses out of the cabinet.

"Just one glass," she interrupted. "I won't have any."

This evening's situation was eerily reminiscent of the night they'd shared about a month prior. The elements were similar but, whereas the first time she'd been exuberant with joy, this time around seemed to lack any shred of happiness on Rory's part.

They'd spoken a few times since that night—briefly when Rory had finished her third chapter, but mostly after Luke and Lorelai had announced their wedding via email—and, like that night, she'd seemed so happy, a stark contrast to their meeting last summer. The light in her eyes had flashed most brilliantly with relief and excitement the day she'd given her mother her chapters and Lorelai had agreed to read them.

But, to look at her now, she looked a little like she'd relapsed.

"Have you hit a snag with your book?" he said with sympathy. Jess knew how much of a drain writer's block could be. Or perhaps this was the ultimate block that she had feared—from an outside source. "Is Lorelai dead-set against your finishing it?"

"Well, I still don't know if I have her blessing. But I'm not here to talk about the book, Jess."

He took a deep breath, trying to squelch the worry rising within but finding it a losing battle. He made a light fist and tapped the side of her upper arm with it. "What's going on?"

"Let's sit down. I've got some news." She smiled meekly, took the single glass from him, and the bottle, and led the way to the blue couch.

He sat down beside her, turned towards her. "You have news," he prodded when she still hadn't spoken.

"How about a drink?" she asked, placing the glass on the table and making a move to open the bottle of Scotch whisky.

"No thanks," he said.

"Okay." She bit her lip and, after spending a moment looking so completely lost it worried Jess to no small degree, she placed the bottle on the table as well.

Frustration got the better of him. "Out with it, Gilmore!"

"OK, OK." She smiled meekly then licked her lips. "Well… Jess… Maybe… You might be a father."

Jess blinked, momentarily confused and blindsided by her words. He hadn't expected that and yet—given the way she was now looking at him, given all the clues she'd offered tonight that were so obvious to him now that he knew how to interpret them, given the fact of their dalliance one month prior and her coming to him now with severity in her eyes—it suddenly made perfect sense. He wondered why he hadn't figured it out immediately. "You're pregnant," he whispered.

"Yes."

Jess sat back against the couch, staring blindly at his incomplete manuscript and feeling the comfort of the cushion behind him, remembering a time when all he needed was a manuscript to complete and the comfort of a cushion.

Then semantics caught up with him. He regarded her closely. "Wait. You said I might be a father? You might not be…?"

She shook her head sadly and glanced down briefly. "No," she said slowly. "I am. It's just…"

He nodded as another realization hit him. "I might not be the father."

"Yeah. There was another man, almost two weeks before… you and I…"

"You said you were single," he mumbled, not intending to be accusatory, just trying to understand.

"I was. I am. But… It was recent that he and I had broken things off."

"Oh."

"I've been to the doctor. I had an appointment today. She said there are some safe, prenatal paternity tests that can be done but it's still too early for that. In any case…"

Rory kept speaking, explaining what would happen next, he supposed. But Jess couldn't focus on anything except her eyes. That startling blue that had emitted such light over the past few weeks, until now. He gulped.

Now it seemed the light had been snuffed out. She looked tired and drawn, and her words told him why. His pulse ran quickly and he lost himself in sadness for the dullness in her eyes.

"You're pregnant," he rumbled, reiterating uselessly.

Rory looked at him with surprise, perhaps because he hadn't been following the conversation. "Yeah." As an afterthought she added, "Hey, could you not mention it to Luke yet? I don't want to tell my mom and Luke until after the wedding. It's their day. I don't want to trouble them with this."

Jess ran his fingers through his hair then placed his hands on the blue cushions on either side of his body. In distress, he replied listlessly, "Sure."

"Jess?" She placed her hand on his.

"What?" he asked, surprised.

"You want that drink now?" she was treating him with kid gloves, her eyes filled with pity.

"No."

"Oh, okay." She nodded thoughtfully then gestured to the bottle. She enthused gently, "Well it's yours. You can save it for celebrating, when it turns out you're off the hook!"

"No." He squeezed out a bitter laugh. "I wouldn't celebrate that."

"You wouldn't?"

"I don't know." He really didn't.

Suddenly all he could think about was that sweet but intriguing girl he'd once known, a bookish girl who would rather eat supper with her mother's friends than sneak out her bedroom window. She'd once worn a big, white ball gown with an incongruous jean jacket, to eat a greasy, late-night burger in a diner. That night, with her sportive wit, she'd clearly been amused from afar as Jess had teased his uncle, but her eyes had gone demure each time he'd caught her gaze. He'd never intended to put that girl on a pedestal but, many years later, he'd come to realize that was exactly what he'd done.

Now Jess recalled his surprise and delight when he'd gotten those first inklings that that good, sweet girl liked him back. The "picnic" lunch they'd shared at Larson's Pond had stretched long beyond polite resignation and had dabbled in flirtation. That beautiful blush had crept up to her ears as her tongue had stumbled over whether or not he'd like-liked her.

Jess thought back to a moment—during the spring when she'd once been his girlfriend—when he'd found her in the park beneath the lush new leaves of a tree, deeply intent on her book and smiling blissfully as her story unfolded. When he'd made his presence known, she'd looked up and her brightening smile had gone straight to his heart.

This was the girl he'd loved. So strong had his love been, that he'd felt for many years afterward that no one could ever love her like that teenaged boy had. A part of him still roiled at the idea that someone else might.

"Damn, Rory." He struggled to finish his thoughts, struggled to agree with his heart. "I hope it's mine." As soon as he said it, his heart rate tripled. Was that really true? What?

"What?" She laughed nervously and looked at him as though he were deranged. He began to feel as though he was. "You do?"

He took a deep breath quickly, feeling a tinge of hyperventilation.

"Jess, you don't mean that."

He sighed, trying to slow his breathing. "Look… I know we don't have that kind of relationship anymore. That ship sailed a long time ago. This is not some play for your affections. It's just—it would be so weird. The idea of you raising a child with someone else… despite everything, despite all the time passing, it still…" He rolled his eyes. "…breaks my heart a little," he mumbled.

She tried to interrupt then but his forceful words forged on, "I know that's not fair. You have always had every right to move on. And I've moved on, I promise you!"

She was looking at him incredulously, leaving him to wonder why he suddenly felt so possessive of a child and a life he wasn't even sure would be his own—and that he'd never imagined he'd ever be ready for anyway. He shook his head. "I know. It's stupid and selfish. It's just weird to think of you in such a… permanent relationship with someone else."

"Jess," came her sympathetic voice, accompanied by a pat on the knee. "There is no relationship. I won't be raising the child with him and I have no expectations of you either. My grandmother gave me a large sum of money from the sale of her house and I have an inheritance from my grandfather. I'm set. The baby is set. It's okay, Jess. Either way, you don't have to worry. I'm doing this alone." She began to outline the details of her plan.

A chill ran through him as she described how she planned to raise the child alone, as her mother had done. Through the buzz in his ears, he thought he heard something about a bucket and a hardware store which made no sense to him, given the context. She sat only a foot away from him but her voice was tinny, as though drifting over to him from a great distance, so profound was his disconnect from the conversation.

Some time later he realized she'd stopped speaking. She only sat, eying him with quiet concern.

"How can you be so calm about this?" he argued.

"You think I'm calm? My emotions are all over the place. One moment I'm crying and the next I'm excited and—and… jumping up and down like a madwoman. I've been tap-dancing like you wouldn't believe." She shook her head. "Mood swings, maybe… I suppose."

"Tap dancing?"

She nodded. "I tap dance now."

"I don't believe it." He shook his head.

"I know. It seems so out of character."

"No I mean, I don't believe what I'm hearing! You're seriously sitting there telling me you want to do this all by yourself?"

"Jess, it's not a slight. Please don't be offended. It's just, we've been living such separate lives. I don't want you to give up your life in Philadelphia—your wonderful, wonderful life in Philadelphia!—just like I don't want to give up my own."

There was a loaded moment where all he could do was stare at her. A tension in his jaw reminded him he was grinding his teeth. Where he made his life was his decision to make, not hers. With resolve, however, he reminded himself that they both had that choice.

Finally, he took a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly, quietly, "If I'm not the father then I guess I have no say. What you do is your business. But if I am the father, there's no way in hell I'll let you do it all by yourself." As a roller coaster might, his voice gradually rose until his words rolled out of control, "It's not gonna be like that. I've lived that life. I was that child! We were both that child!"

"Oh Jess," she said sadly.

"Look, I get that it adds a whole new level of complexity to whatever our relationship is. I'm just saying, I would want to be involved."

"Jess, you don't know what you're saying. Don't make promises you can't keep. You're in shock. We'll talk later, okay?"

"Rory," he pleaded, feeling simultaneously that a child had been thrust upon him and then abruptly ripped away.

But she nodded, patted his knee again and asserted once more, "We'll talk later."

She spoke with such assuredness, as though she'd worked it all out, in stark contrast to the flurry of confusion that made up his being. He supposed, though, she'd had some time to digest the news. Perhaps he was in shock because, as his forehead dropped down into the palms of his hands, he let her stand up and show herself out of the house without putting up any fight. She was gone before he even realized it.