A/N:

I don't own the characters, I just play with them . No copyright infringement intended.


Mood Music: Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own, U2


08. Look In The Mirror

Frank was right - the motel is pretty great.

Jess showers for over an hour; he just lets water run over him and carry the time away. He thinks of nothing, his head blissfully empty and his mind at peace. When he steps out of the shower, he stands over the sink and stares at his reflection in the mirror for a long time. He's not sure what he is expecting to find, but no great revelations come to him – he just notices that he's grown thinner. It's like all the flesh on his body has somehow gone into muscle and there is now this thin, wiry creature staring back at him. Everything else is the same – the face, the scars, the tattoo. He goes back into the room and collapses on the bed, breathing in the smell of fresh sheets and enjoying the softness of the mattress, appreciating all the little, everyday comforts that he hasn't had in a long time. This doesn't last very long, because there are more important things to do – he collects his clothes from the floor and carries them to the sink, and spends the next hour washing them, then hangs them in the shower and over the chairs in the room to dry.

After settling on the bed, he reaches for the notebook on the nightstand; he turns it over in his hands a few times but his heart is not in it, so he puts it back and reaches for the book next to it instead. There's only two chapters left until he's done with it, and for a moment he can't believe how quickly he goes through them. He removes the postcard that serves as a page marker and starts to read; as usual, the world around him disappears immediately and there's just the new world that lives in the book. An hour passes in oblivion to everything; it is only when he reaches the end that he registers the thunderstorm that rages outside and he thinks of Frank with gratitude. It would be a horrible night to go through without a roof over his head.

As he pulls the covers over himself and turns off the light, the thoughts of tomorrow slowly creep into his head. He promised to call Luke; maybe not in so many words, but he promised it nonetheless just by being in this bed now and he knows that he'll do it – he just has no idea what to say once he does. He imagines different scenarios of the conversation, but none seem right, and after tossing and turning for an hour, he just pushes the thoughts out of his head and decides to just deal with it when the time comes. For a short moment, he's relieved to get it out of his mind, but minds like to play tricks, and the minute thoughts of Luke disappear, Rory's face takes center stage and he knows there's no way of pushing those thoughts away until they fade on their own so he just embraces the yearning in his heart that always comes with them, and hugs the pillow closer.

It is Saturday and they are in Luke's apartment, watching a movie. It's Out of Africa, and she picked it because it is a movie she loves; he hasn't seen it before and she wants to share it with him. She knows it by heart and so she spends the better part of the next few hours watching him watch it. She studies his face, its shapes and shadows; his eyes are dark and there's concentration in them; his lips are parted slightly and she immediately thinks of kissing. He's sitting with his legs stretched out on the coffee table in front of him, his right arm propped against his forehead and his left resting on her shoulder, where he makes little absent-minded circles with his fingers. He has no idea she's staring; he never notices anything when he's concentrating. She looks back at the television and sees the movie is almost over; she slides down on the sofa and stretches out, resting her head in his lap, and watches the last few scenes – it's the ones she loves the most. As the final shot of the lions in the grass plain fades to black and the ending credits start to roll, she turns on her back and looks up at him."Well?"

His eyes settle on her face. "It's actually pretty good." He smiles. "But the book is better."

She gapes at him. "You read the book?"

He frowns for a moment and closes his eyes as he concentrates, leaning his head back on the sofa; then he slowly recites: "If I know a song of Africa, of the giraffe and the African new moon lying on her back, of the plows in the fields and the sweaty faces of the coffee pickers, does Africa know a song of me? Will the air over the plain quiver with a color that I have had on, or the children invent a game in which my name is, or the full moon throw a shadow over the gravel of the drive that was like me, or will the eagles of the Ngong Hills look out for me?" He looks back at her.

"You read the book.", she declares and for a moment it chills her that this passage he knows by heart is the one she loves most.

"Yeah, a long time ago." He smiles and starts playing with her hair.

"You should have told me; I wouldn't have picked it if I'd known."

He frowns. "Why not? It's still a good movie."

"I know," she sighs and reaches for the remote. "But they can never make them as good as the books." She turns off the tv and looks at him again. "Do you still have it? The book?"

He nods his head and smiles, looking around. "Probably. It should be around here somewhere, I keep the ones I like. However.." He looks back at her. "… if it's the love story in the movie that you're hooked on, you might be disappointed."

She looks surprised. "That's not in the book?" She frowns. "I thought it was based on a true story."

"It's an autobiography, and it's there, but nowhere near as promounced as in the movie. There's just hints." He smiles. "No grandeur of this scale", he nods towards the TV.

She looks away from him. "So you don't think it really happened that way, like in a movie?"

"Bits and pieces of it, maybe." He ruffles her hair and smirks. "Are you disappointed?"

"Maybe a little," she admits.

He laughs, and she looks up; he's shaking his head in disbelief and she frowns at him. "Oh come on, Rory, none of these great love stories are really true, either on film or on paper. They're just glorified versions of what someone wants to believe love is, be it a writer or a screen-writer who actually writes the thing, or the lonely old lady who reads trashy romance novels all day long."

She feels stung by the words and dejected by the tone. "Wow, you're bitter."

He frowns. "I'm not bitter, I'm realistic."

She looks away from him and crosses her arms on her chest. "Ok, but it's a bitter reality that you choose to see."

He rolls his eyes. "Come on, wake up. The only reason why this particular relationship", he points at the tv, "appears to be such a great love story to you is because the guy ends up dead – that part is actually true, he ends up dead in the book as well – but if he hadn't died, there would be no great love story. It would just be a story of two people in a beautiful country, who were together for a while and then went their separate ways."

She sits up and stares at him; there's an exasperated look on his face, like he's trying to explain something painfully obvious to her and she's not getting it. She doesn't think it's obvious at all.

"Why?" she asks calmly as she looks at him.

He's confused. "Why what?"

"Why would they go their separate ways? Why do you assume they wouldn't stay together?"

He laughs and looks at the floor, then points at the tv. "Did you even watch this movie?" She gives him an annoyed look. "Trust me, they wouldn't stay together, because this guy ultimately likes to be alone and do his own thing. After being domesticated for a while, he'd remember that and he'd want to leave. And he would have left, eventually."

"So you're saying that he didn't really love her?", she asks.

He looks at her like she's completely missed the point. "No, that's not what I'm saying. They loved each-other, but they applied the emotion in different ways – for him, it was just a part of who he was and he didn't have any expectations of her aside from her being herself, while she actually expected him to change who he is –which is ridiculous in itself because it would make him give up things that, on some level, probably made her love him in the first place!" He shakes his head, leans back and closes his eyes. "It always happens in relationships - eventually, one person wants to change the other, and there's no love in that."

She stands up and walks around the room, thinking; somehow she feels that this discussion has outgrown the movie that inspired it and moved into territory that was much closer to home. There was a determination in his tone in that last sentence that sounded so final it's unsettling. She returns to the sofa and stands in front of him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Do you think I'm trying to change you?"

He opens his eyes and for a moment she sees fear, but it vanishes quickly and is replaced with a firm stare.

"I wasn't talking about you and me."

She stares right back. "Well, that was a pretty wide generalization you made at the end there, and you sounded very sure of it, so on some level you must think it applies to everyone."

"You're reading too much into this," he says as he gets up from the sofa and walks into the kitchen.

She follows. "Really?"

He takes a soda out of the fridge and faces her. "Yes, really. It's not that big of a deal."

She leans on the counter opposite him. "Okay, fine – if it's not such a big deal, then why don't you just answer me?"

He looks away and devotes himself to the soda can in his hands. She knows the answer's not coming, so she switches gears.

"You've changed me", she says and looks him square in the eye. He stops fiddling with the can and searches her face for a moment.

"Not intentionally," he finally mumbles and sits on the counter.

She ignores the comment, walks over and stands in front of him. "I feel I should thank you for that, because I like the new me better – she gets smarter every day and she's learned things about herself that she didn't know were there before." She steps closer so she's standing right in front of him now, and she puts her hands on the counter, on either side of his legs. "You see, this is what I think happens when you share yourself with someone – you learn things and it's the things you learn that change you. It doesn't make you lose anything, it makes you grow."

He stares at her face; it's just inches away and although there's still resistance inside him, it is quickly melting away because she's so close and as usual, this robs him of a great deal of logic and reason. In a moment, her lips come up and meet his, and there's sweet abandon that wipes everything else from his mind and the focus moves elsewhere, to the way she smells and the softness of her skin as his hands come up to her face. As it always does, the kiss soon becomes more intense; his breath catches in his throat as he feels her hands slide up his legs and for a moment, he forgets about the kiss and just sits there, enjoying this new sensation. When she reaches his waist, she hooks her fingers under his belt and he opens his eyes to look at her. Their eyes meet and for a moment they just stare at each other, and he gently strokes the sides of her face with his thumbs, his hands tangled in her hair. She smiles and her eyes close as he starts planting small kisses along her cheek, but doesn't move to her lips – instead, he tilts her head a little and moves down to her neck. He's never kissed her there before, and the gentle wet traces he leaves there now send tingles down her spine and make her knees go weak. Instinctively, she clings to him harder and pulls at his belt, sliding him closer - she hesitates a moment, but then her hands move up under his shirt and she runs her palms up his back; the second she does, everything she's been feeling multiplies and then multiplies again and she marvels at how soft his skin is and how she can feel every muscle under it shift and change as he moves. She suddenly realizes that touching him like this does something to him, because his breathing changes and when he kisses her again, it's a very different kiss; it's demanding and firm, hectic and hungry and it wakes something in her that she's not sure she's ready to face, but at the same time, doesn't want to turn away from. She knows that she should withdraw her hands, but they somehow have their own agenda and continue their slow exploration of his skin, shaping circles on his back, each new one making him crazier than the last. It's such an innocent touch in a grand scheme of things that he can't believe the enormous effect it has on him and the sheer speed with which is spreads all over his body. Girls have touched him before, in places that are much more sensitive than the one she's exploring now, but there had never been such heat behind it, and he hates that little part of his brain that is screaming at him to stop this now, before it spirals out of control and he does something that will scare her. The idea of scaring her brings some sense into him and he slowly brings the kiss to an end and moves away from her slightly. She gives him a strange look but pulls away also, and folds her hands on her chest.

"Luke's downstairs," he whispers and she nods her head.

"Yeah, I know", she whispers back and smiles slightly, but the look she gives him is mysterious and challenging, and it stays with him long after she walks back into the living room.

He's torn from the dream by a loud horn that sounds outside the window; it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the sunlight, and then another one to remember where he is. Soon enough, he manages to wrap his mind around reality, but his body is still very much in the dream so he steps into the shower again and waits for the cold water to wash the heat away, amazed how perfectly his mind can carry his memories over into dreams.

An hour later, he walks across the parking lot with coffee in hand, and watches the post office get closer with each step. He still has no plan how to tackle this phone call he now has to make, and he doubts he will be able to come up with one, no matter how many scenarios he tosses around his head. As he stops in front of the door, he realizes it's one of those things that he'll just have to do and see how they turn out. He goes inside, tosses the empty cup in the trash can by the door, walks to an empty booth and dials the number.

"Yeah?", comes Luke's voice; the phone shakes in Jess's hand and his mouth dries. He suddenly realizes this is much harder than he thought it was going to be, because something tugs at his heart and there's a lump in his throat. He swallows and tries to get a grip.

"Anyone there?", comes Luke's voice again and there's a hint of impatience in it. Jess leans his forehead against the phone, suddenly scared that Luke will hang up and knowing he won't be able to dial the number again if he does.

"Yeah…" He clears his throat. "Yeah, it's me."

There's a beat of silence on the other end. "Jess?"

He nods, then feels stupid; Luke can't see him. "Yeah, it's me."

"Are you okay?" The question comes fast and sounds urgent.

"Yeah, fine."

"Okay, good." He can hear the relief in Luke's voice and suddenly the guilt hits hard for not calling sooner.

"Sorry," he says. "I should have called before. It's just…" He scrambles to find the right words, and he suddenly remembers the phrase he heard the day before and it fits perfectly. "It just took some time to pull my head out of my ass."

There's another silence and he can feel Luke grin even before the sound comes over the wire. "Wow, I've got to write that one down."

Jess grins as well. "Be my guest, although I can't take credit for it. Just had it thrown my way yesterday."

"Smart man, whoever he is," says Luke.

"Yeah," Jess nods and there's another silence. "So, how are you?"

"Good… you know, the usual. Nothing much really changes around here."

"Yeah, I remember." He closes his eyes and pictures Luke standing by the counter, phone held to his ear by his shoulder as he pours a coffee.

"And you, how are you?"

He's not sure how to answer that question; he doesn't want to lie, but he doesn't want Luke to worry either.

"Okay." He finally says. "I've been better, but I've also been worse, so I'm okay."

He can hear Luke moving around, there's a sound of a door closing, and voices in the background disappear.

"Where are you, Jess?"

He doesn't want to answer that, so he says nothing and just waits for Luke to say something else, knowing that he doesn't really expect an answer either.

"Are you coming home?"

The question hangs in the air and at first he suspects he misunderstood the words, but somehow he knows he hadn't. He grips the receiver tighter and closes his eyes as the word home echoes in his head.

"I didn't know I had that option," he says quietly.

There's a beat of silence on Luke's end, and his voice comes slowly. "Well, now you know."

Jess nods. "Yeah… now I know." His throat threatens to close again, so he clears it quickly. "Listen, I have to go."

There's a sigh on the other end. "Yeah, sure." A short pause follows. "Take care of yourself, Jess."

He nods. "I will."

Just as he gets ready to hang up, Luke's voice comes once more. "And Jess…"

"Yeah?"

"Call if you need anything." Jess can hear the urgency in his voice again, and again hates himself for putting it there. "Or, you know… just call."

He grips the phone tighter. "Yeah, okay… Thanks, Luke", he says quietly and hangs up the phone quickly. He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, then leans back against the glass and stares at the phone for a long time. His head is spinning and the conversation that just took place seems so unreal that for a moment he wonders if it actually happened. He slowly walks out of the booth and to the counter where a busy girl charges him for the call; he almost walks away before he remembers the book he finished yesterday. He finds an envelope and puts it inside, writes down the address and returns to the girl at the counter. He quickly hands it to her; then he spots the postcard display and he quickly chooses one. When the girl returns his change, he nearly runs out of the building.