Story Title: Never Enough

Chapter Title: Honey Don't Think

Summary: Lit set in present time. Jess never made his season six appearance, but Rory found her way to his book anyhow. Crossover GG/VM.

Jess leaned forward, his elbows landing midway across the table and clasped his hands together. He covered his mouth with his hands and looked at her. He seemed to be evaluating her question instead of formulating a response.

"Rory."

"I'm in love with someone else," she blurted out, afraid he'd touch her and make her forget.

He nodded. "Is that who you just called?"

She shook her head. "He's … out of town."

"So are you."

She nodded. "It's complicated."

"Meaning he doesn't know you're here?"

"Meaning… we're engaged."

He leaned back against the booth. "Damn it, Rory."

"What?"

He let out a laugh. "Why are you even here?"

"I," she stammered. This was the part she was afraid of, the part where he'd want answers from her in return. The part where he would evade answering things he didn't want to deal with by confusing her. "I read your book."

"It's called fiction."

"Jess," she balled her fingers up in fists in her lap. "Is that all you have to say?"

He finished the last of the drink in his glass and slid out his side of the booth and into hers. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. She turned her chin down demurely as he leaned in to whisper in her ear.

"Does it matter?"

She closed her eyes. It was a simple question, but it didn't make it any easier to answer.

"Come on, Rory. Does it matter?"

"Yes," she admitted, as if he were ripping it from her throat.

She didn't push him away like she knew she should; telling herself that she was simply waiting for him to continue. It'd been too many years since she'd been that close to him. She could smell his aftershave, which seemed to have not changed while they'd been apart.

He pulled back slowly, his face remaining close to hers. A fraction of an inch would have turned the moment into flashes of heat and passion. "We should set some ground rules."

"Ground rules?" she frowned.

"We only meet here. In public. Never in your hotel room or at my place. I can't make you tell him, but I am not going to let you do this your way because I get the feeling you don't have a plan. If you're looking to end things with him," he shook his head. "That's one thing. But I'm not going to be your excuse."

"That's not what this is about."

He shrugged. "Like I said. Ground rules."

"Fine. We can meet here."

"How long are you staying?"

She shrugged. "Not long. How long can you stay today?"

He checked his watch. "I've stayed too long already. I have an appointment."

"A date?"

He paused. "An appointment. You okay getting home?"

She reached out and touched his arm as he got up to leave. "When can we meet again?"

"Ah," he ran a hand through his hair. "Tomorrow for breakfast?"

She nodded. "We'll meet here, ready to talk."

"If all goes well, you can be on a plane back to your fiancé tomorrow night."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, jolting her into agreeing. "Right."

They were both on their feet, though she felt unstable enough to put her hands on the edge of the table and lean forward slightly. A waitress came by with a loaded tray, making the normally narrow aisle way impassable. He moved his hands to her hips and leaned in to her, allowing room for the third and much more mobile woman to pass by them, leaving in her wake a very charged pair. She'd felt as if raw tension passed from his hands through her clothing, making the bones of her hips ache for him. She wasn't sure what might happen if they ever made love, but she was sure it would be a life event. Maybe not something they'd be allowed to come to think of as commonplace, but something that ripped their lives open in a way they'd cherish for all time.

She cocked her head to the side, to see if he were suffering the same effects, but he didn't show it if he was. He merely straightened up and threw down more than enough money to cover both of their orders, nodding to her quickly before pulling his jacket lapel up a little and walking out onto the streets of Neptune. Rory looked around the diner, wondering how she was going to fill the hours between now and breakfast without going crazy.

XXXX

Veronica was not amused.

Clearly she wasn't getting rid of Logan with any 'save you the trouble and time' song and dance. She'd offered to take care of the angle she needed to work with Cliff alone, letting him get back to his busy life of playboying at the mansion or whatever it is he preferred to do in his alone time—things she reminded herself she didn't have any interest in whatsoever—and she'd let him know if anything turned up.

He only reminded her that he was her ride and asked when to turn.

She hated helpful men. Not only was he sticking around just to make her even more fidgety than she already was thanks to their little encounter in her bedroom closet, but now she might have to figure him into the story she'd have to feed Cliff. She supposed somewhere in his heart he believed he was doing the right thing by tagging along and lending some sort of support, if only moral.

But when had he ever let his heart or morality be his guide?

Cliff stepped out of the interrogation room and closed the door soundly shut behind him, holding the knob tightly in his fist as his arm bent across his back.

"Hey, Ronnie—I'm a little busy. Can we scratch each other later?"

"Aww, Cliff, baby, don't be that way," she smiled coyly, causing Logan to look at her in a brief moment of surprise. "You know you're always happy to play my games."

"I'm sure it'll be a slap and tickle fest to play a pre-op transgendered hooker on the phone for you, I have a big hush-hush case in there, and I'm gonna have to do a lot of damage control. Some people aren't aware that public office and underage girls don't mix."

She raised an eyebrow. "Anything I can do to help? A little alluring action, perhaps? Getting it caught on tape usually helps with the convincing part of it."

"Not sure your boyfriend's too keen on the idea," Cliff nodded to Logan. "Give me a call later, you have my card."

"Please. You know I have you on speed dial," she tapped his shoulder lightly with an open palm. "But honestly, it's just one tiny favor. A mere question. Between you and me."

"And your boyfriend."

"And, him," she glanced begrudgingly at Logan.

Cliff sighed. "Fine, but make it quick. If I time this hallway jaunt right, I can make him think I've been getting pressure to crack him."

"That's my boy. I'm interested in any cases you might have covered for a Priscilla Banks. She wasn't into the money, and she was heavy into the trouble. Probably about five years or so back?"

"Rings a bell. I see a long line of juvenile delinquents," he rubbed his mouth with his hand. "I'll give it a look and get back to you. And specific details you're looking for?"

"Just details, past police reports."

"Confidential information?"

"I just offered myself up to be underage meat for your lecherous political figure," she reminded. "I won't go into all the actual favors you do owe me on," she pressed none-too-lightly.

"Riiight," he cleared his throat and glanced at Logan once more. "I should get back in there. I'll be in touch."

She smiled and nodded as he slipped back in the door, careful not to show the other inhabitant of the room. She turned to face Logan, who was now leaning against the wall and watching her intently.

"What?"

"I knew you had your slippery little friends," he half laughed, "I just had no idea how much you enjoyed their company."

"Cliff and I go way back. And if there's one person that can tell us the dirty details of what she was accused of, he's our man. I just hope my hunch is right, and he was her lawyer."

"You know what I don't understand?" he posed seriously.

"How many licks it actually takes to get the center of a Tootsie Roll Pop?"

He turned on his heel to fall in step beside her.

"What? You look like a guy that goes for the crunch," she held up her hands in defense.

"If the guy is a political official in trouble, why isn't his crack legal staff on it, covering it up?"

"Maybe that would draw too much attention his way," she offered. "He could be paying Cliff under the table, going low key to keep it in a smaller court," she shrugged. "But it's Neptune. We'll find out about it in the end."

"Yes, the dirty laundry and dead bodies always find their way into the public eye," he waxed sarcastic.

"Or in view of a private eye," she added, tapping him with her elbow. "Can I please go back to my car now?" she whined for effect.

"Tired of my company already?"

She looked up at him, hating that at times she just couldn't cut through the sarcasm to find the sincerity. His shell was so polished that even when he wanted to reach out, his hand always hit the spotless glass.

"I just really have to study for my Trig exam. Today was our review, so I really can't afford to skimp any more."

He nodded. "Thanks for helping me follow this. I just need answers, you know?"

"I know. And I'll try to help you get as many as I can," she promised.

He didn't say anything, and she was more than relieved. Some guys would make a cheesy comment about how she could help him in a much more sophomoric, or perhaps pornographic, way—or he could have really cut into her with a comment on the muddy nature of their sudden kissing fit from earlier. She knew it was a bad idea, to go back into that place with him. Too much had happened to them—together and separately—for them to ever have a happy, normal relationship.

Most days she wondered if happy and normal were ever in the cards for her. Twisted and painful looked good when it came along with his lips against hers. She was going to have to be much more careful.

Much, much more careful.

XXXX

Bite the bullet. Stare down the barrel.

Why were all the euphemisms for putting off the inevitable gun related? Maybe because she felt like she was on the unfriendly end of a firing line, and even worse, she deserved every last shot.

Her cell phone was about to become such a lethal weapon, the moment she dialed the number. She didn't have the words she would say in mind; she knew there weren't 'right' words, or words that would make this easier for her to say or him to hear.

Rory dialed Logan's number and simply waited.

"Hey, where are you?"

She closed her eyes. "Logan, hi. Did you get in okay?"

"All except for the not being able to find you part. I called your mom and got the machine. I figured maybe you two were out and lost track of time."

"Not exactly."

"What's up, Ace?"

"I sort of took a trip."

"A trip?"

"Yeah. I figured I'd get away, clear my head a little. All this wedding stuff is about to start, in full swing," she hated the strain of the lies on her bones, "and you were gone on business, so I figured it'd be my last chance."

"We could have gone away after I got back," he offered.

"I know—and that's sweet. I just wanted some me time."

"Me time?"

"You know. A chance to think and read and watch really cheesy chick flicks and eat hordes of food," she listed off tons of things she was not partaking in.

"You do those things here."

"I know, but here I can do them without feeling stupid for letting you see my face slathered in chocolate ice cream."

"So, where's here?"

Damn him and his attention to detail. He always listened when she talked, she gave him that. Most guys registered the fact you're speaking, paying only enough attention to keep them out of trouble, or from agreeing to wallpaper the bedroom with big pink flowers.

"California."

There. She'd said it. The worst was surely over.

"That's a big trip to have me time."

"It is. My dad is always talking about his days out here, how he came out here to get away from his parents and clear his head. I hoped it ran in the family."

"Do I need to come out there?"

He sounded concerned, as well as he should. She hated that she was about to lie to him, telling him she was fine, that everything was going to be fine. She didn't know that, and she didn't know what she would end up doing to him. She told the nagging little voice that of course she would go back and plan the wedding and marry this man. That was the plan, and that's what she was going to do. But the nagging little voice reminded her that her situation had changed to needing ground rules and going to meet Jess for breakfast. And butterflies fluttered madly in her stomach at the thought of seeing him sitting there over a cup of coffee waiting for her.

"No," she assured him. "I'm fine. I didn't expect to be here this long, I really thought I'd be home before you, and I really didn't want to freak you out. I've just really enjoyed the few days out here, and when I got to the airport, my flight was full and so they offered free miles to anyone willing to bump their flight."

There was silence for a beat. "So, you'll be home tomorrow?"

"As long as they're room on the flight," she answered immediately.

"I can send a plane, Rory," he sounded tired, relieved, and stressed all at once.

"I'll be home soon."

"Okay," he wasn't going to argue with her. He hated arguing with her. "I just, I miss you and I expected to see you."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"You're really okay?"

"I'm good."

"Okay. It's late here. I have an early meeting, to go over the Toronto stuff."

"Get some sleep. I'll let you know when I'm on my way home."

"I love you."

She hesitated, feeling the full brunt of what she was doing with her indecision. "I love you too."

He hung up, and she hated herself. She did love him, and that what was making this all so hard. She loved Logan, but she'd learned to love him while still being in love with someone else.

She looked at the clock, reading three hours earlier than her body felt that it was, and fell against the mattress only to find sleep much easier than her conscience should have allowed her to.

XXXX

Veronica was hoping for an evening alone. It wasn't unheard of in the Mars home, for her father to be working late, leaving a note and dinner up to her. Once upon a time, her mother would have been making dinner in the kitchen, a beacon for both her and her father to drop whatever they were doing and make an appearance around the family dinner table. It seemed like such a long time ago.

Her father was standing behind the open counter, his back to her as he sloshed something around in a pan restaurant style. Most days this would be a welcome sign, someone to come home to and go over the events of the day while chowing down whatever delicacy her father surprised her with. But today wasn't the 'share with Daddy' kind of day, and no matter what he was frying up, it couldn't beat time alone with her thoughts.

"Ah, the daughter arrives," he smiled as he turned around. She walked around next to him so he could kiss her temple. "What's shaking?"

"This and that," she shrugged. "What's cooking?"

"Just a little something for your dining pleasure," he revealed the contents of his stir-fry pan.

"Looks ambitious."

"I do have some skills, thank you."

"Crazy, mad skills."

"So, learn anything interesting today?"

She blinked, taken off guard by his question. Specifically, she'd learned too many new things; things that didn't quite seem to make sense together yet, no matter how much evidence she currently had that they were interlinking puzzle pieces. And some things, like the fact that her lips seemed magnetically linked to her ex-boyfriend's, well, some things were best undiscovered.

"Earth to Veronica," he waved a potholder in front of her face..

"Sorry. Nothing special. We had a sub in history that played Back to the Future, reasoning it covered 1950s politics and the Oedipal complex to boot."

"And you'll go directly from there to Stamford," he sniffed proudly.

"From your lips to God's ears," she pressed her palms together as if in prayer.

"So, you up for a little board game action tonight? I thought we'd go crazy and play Monopoly. It's been a long time since you wiped the floor with your old man."

She made a face, tsking as she did so. "Normally, you'd be so on," she wrinkled her eyes as she declined. "But I have a huge test to study for and a school that thinks Michael J. Fox really went back in time and got hit on by his mom and disappeared."

He gave her a look of disappointment. "We could just win 'til someone buys Boardwalk. It's all pretty much down hill from there anyhow."

"Can I take a rain check?"

"You're gonna start the teenagery thing where you ask to eat in your room and get dropped off four blocks from the mall, aren't you?"

"I do have to be a teenager sometimes," she smiled sadly. "It's state law."

"Fine," he handed her a plate and watched her as she loaded it up and took it and her book bag into her room. Once she slipped her plate onto her desk, she opened her search engine and tried Priscilla Banks through it, picking at the chicken and vegetables in front of her and trying desperately to stop feeling his lips against hers whenever her mind wandered.