And the dark was opening wide, do or die / Under a mask of a million ruling eyes.

Familiar, Agnes Obel

March 2016

The last time he was here he waited in the shadows, like he had something to hide, whispered words that didn't need secrecy. And the time before that he looked like… he knows what it looked like, what it would've looked like even without the shiner. There was a strange kind of relief in being marked actually, like he had nothing to lose, even when he walked in the intimidating door. That turned out to be untrue, if course, there's always something to lose. But it's not about that. It's the place, everything it stands for, everything it is, and him; he's the wrong puzzle piece, a piece from a whole different puzzle, or better yet, a whole different pass-time. Probably cards, he's always liked cards.

But it can't be helped. It's been in his calendar since new year's, it's a necessity, a rite of passage, and it certainly beats the alternative… he's thinking that a lot lately. As for Emily; his memory of her is in no way as intimidating as the house, but the way Rory acts, the way she and Lorelai talk about her, is.

He weighs awkwardly from one foot to the other in the hallway, unsure how to handle Emily's chatty housekeeper, maid? Geez. Rory is driving here herself as she's staying in Hartford for the night, doing some alumnum- alumnae- dammit- alumnical thing at her old High School tomorrow, and she's running late. Nightmare. Lorelai pushes to his side. Nudges against him with her shoulder. Grabs the coat hanging over his arm and hands it to the relentlessly smiling woman.

"How're you doing, Jess?"

"Okay. A bit nervous. My last run in with Emily Gilmore wasn't exactly a hit."

"An honest man." She acknowledges. "I'll let you in on a little secret; no one's last meeting with Emily was a hit."

Emily enters the hallway and smiles, rather coldly, at them both.

"Lorelai. Mr. Mariano."

"Mrs. Gilmore, thanks for having me."

"Mom." Lorelai says.

"Rory called, says she's going to be late, to get started without her."

Shit.

"Alright." Lorelai responds, smiling. He sneaks glances at her as they walk into the living-room. That smiling thing is a neat trick, if he hadn't been on the receiving end of it so many times he might not even had noticed how it's just a bit too firm, hung from her ears, like a pair of glasses. But she makes it look relaxed, natural, and he's jealous. The best he's managed, even through the years of actually representing Truncheon at different functions, is to not look right out hostile.

"Wine, Lorelai?"

"Please."

"What'll you have, Mr. Mariano?"

"It's Jess, and club soda, thank you."

"I can get you a beer, if you prefer."

"No, it's just; I haven't decided how far I'm gonna drive tonight. It's possible I'll drive back to Philadelphia, and it's better if I don't drink if that's the case."

"Drive to Philadelphia? You'll be on the road all night!"

"I like driving."

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"I heard you had quite the troublesome history with cars, an accident years ago."

"That's true. More than one actually." He admits and swallows the sting in his chest. "I think that's why I like driving to be honest. Something about taking back control."

It feels like a slightly risky path to take, honesty, as far as it's possible, and he has to remind himself that this is supposed to be a foundation of something, not a temporary obstacle.

"So, what is it that makes up your mind in the end, whether to drive or not?" Emily asks. He smiles, relieved. Good question.

"Different things. How much energy I have, how much of it needs letting. A certain feeling." He naturally leaves out that he's inclined to stay up on nights he doesn't share with Rory. He's gotten bad at sleeping alone. If he's unlucky he has nightmares, they're fairegular and the bad ones wakes him up on the verge of crying. He doesn't of course. No use. But if he's alone it can take him hours to get back to sleep. If she's there she'll sling her body across his tying him back down to sleep, or they'll have sex. Either way it helps.

"No way for you to know in advance?" Emily asks.

"Usually not."

"That's unpractical." She sighs. "I don't suppose you know how to make a Gimlet?"

"Only in theory."

Emily cocks her head to the side and regards him for a beat.

"My late husband could make one I liked. I could never repeat it myself so I'm constantly looking for someone who can get it right."

"I'm happy to give it a try."

She shrugs.

"Go ahead, how bad can it be?"

"My thoughts exactly." He stands up and makes his way to the drink-cart. "Do you want the vodka- or gin-kind?"

"Gin."

The drink is easy enough to make, they kept a cheat sheet laying around Truncheon for years for entertaining writers and customers, and he does remember everything he reads, so he wasn't kidding about "in theory"-part, but he picks sort of a rough whiskey glass for serving it which makes her prim her lips when he hands it to her. She pours him his club soda and Lorelai her wine, hands them their glasses and takes a seat in the couch opposing them. Takes a sip. She has a better poker face than he has, and that's saying something. He doesn't ask though.

"So, we've met before." She says to him, with a clear edge to her voice.

"Yes. Uhm, sorry for leaving so abruptly."

"Oh, that's alright." She smiles, that same chilly kind from the hallway. "I just hope that's a habit you've since given up."

"It is."

"Good. Because that's no way to conduct a relationship. Leaving, when things get a little tough."

"Mom." Comes lowly from Lorelai.

"No, it's not." He resists pushing out his chin. "Took me a while to learn though."

"Not everyone can be fast learners. As long as you get there I suppose it's alright though..." Her tone is velvety, and although he's something of an expert on hostility, this kind is not his forte. "It seems it'd be hard, building trust on such behavior, in any context. Tell me; did you attend college?"

"Mother." This time Lorelai's tone is more melodic, containing a warning. He decides to play it safe, diffusing any rising conflict.

"No. I didn't even finish High School." Lorelai glances at him. "I got my GED later, and took a couple of distance courses in business. The bare necessity for my work."

"Really?" Emily seems to consider this. "So, you and my granddaughter seems an unlikely match then, as she usually goes above and beyond-"

He smiles at this observation. It's meant as a jab, he's not an idiot, but she's not technically wrong. On the surface he and Rory have never been an obvious fit.

"So how about therapy last Tuesday, huh mom?" Lorelai interrupts. He and Emily turn to stare at her. "That Claudia." Lorelai feigns a chuckle and shakes her head.

"Lorelai!" Emily says sharply. "We have company."

"Really? 'Cause I thought we had a prisoner what with the third degree and torture."

"I hardly think-"

"Lorelai, I don't mind-" He starts. She turns to him.

"You don't mind because you were expecting the Gulag. Which is admirable, semper paratus and all that, but just not something you should have to expect from a dinner-party. And what goes for you should go for us, right?" She turns back to her mother.

"Lorelai. You heard the man. He doesn't mind a few hard questions. I'd expect he's eager to prove his worth. But that makes no difference to you, does it? Talking over everyone, especially the men in your life is what you do after all."

"I know how it looks." He says, a bit loud, to derail this ancient fight of theirs. "But few things look the way they really are."

Lorelai's head turns to him, genuine little smirk on her lips. And Emily's chin drops slightly, and then she seems to drop the entire thing, looks a bit tired he thinks.

The housekeeper enters and announces dinner with lively gestures. Lorelai's on her feet instantly, pulling Jess along. Shows him a seat on the long side of the dinner table, she herself sits opposite him and Emily takes the seat at the short end.

The first course is toast on green salad with some sort of yellow sauce, and what looks like corn flakes, but might be mushrooms on top. He realizes there'll be no way of knowing until he tries it and is about to pick up his silver-ware when the doorbell chimes. Moments later Rory appears, shooting wide-eyed glances at both her mother and him.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! I got held up at the DMV."

"As you do." Lorelai says.

Rory squeezes her shoulder while passing her, kisses her grandmother's cheek, then moves over to him, mouthing "sorry" again as she approaches. He stands up, smiles tightly in response and she leans in to peck him on the lips, before sitting down next to him.

After that the mood lightens significantly. He listens to her chatting with her grandmother and mother with ease, creating a bridge between the two older women that all three of them seem to be comfortable with. He smiles at this, her super-power. They've started on the main course - some kind of ground beef quenelles – before he has to endure the spotlight again.

"The girls tell me you're in publishing?"

"That's right."

"And was that what you aimed for?"

"I didn't really have an aim, I got into it by writing."

Emily seems genuinely appalled by this for a second before covering it up. Sort of.

"An artist? Goodness. Well, I'm glad that's not all you do."

"Grandma." Rory warns, in a comically similar tone to her mother's earlier.

"No, it's okay." He says, taking her hand under the table. "Just writing wouldn't have worked for me, too many ups and downs. I need routines to adhere to, if I wanna function like I should. Having a regular job helps me do that."

Emily smiles at him, still small, but definitely more appreciative. And after that their interactions seem to shift from hearing to an interview exploring a possible allyship. She pokes and prods him through the topics, and he works to express the most conservative versions of his opinions, not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. It's apparently the most favored strategy for this kind of situation, but it's still a tad embarrassing listening to himself, and not optimal doing this next to Rory either, who knows his genuine, uncensored takes on stuff. He can see her smirk in the corner of his eyes when his words come out too generic.

Dessert is a fromage of sorts, good, but with a taste he can't place. The topic turns to their apartment and Rory, who's carrying the conversation, talks about all the boxes of books they keep in storage and about making space for them.

"Well, I did some decluttering a while back-" Emily starts, and Lorelai interrupts, amused.

"Oh my god, yes! You should have seen her, sorting out some of her best stuff!"

Emily stares at her without a trace of a smile on her face.

"Not just my things. Things from the entire house."

Lorelai's eyes widen.

"My stuff?"

"Well, I cleared things from all rooms, so probably some of yours. Your old things, might I add, you haven't lived here since you were a teenager in case I need to remind you." Emily turns back to Jess and Rory. "Anyway, I had too much, and very little seemed to make me happy. But I might have gotten a little carried away. Luckily Lorelai stopped me in time, of course by then I'd already gotten rid of quite a few items."

"My stuff?" Lorelai goes desperately.

"Not all your stuff, Lorelai, just some of it. It was all according to the advice of this crazy writer." She squints at Jess. "You don't write self-help-books, do you?"

Rory slaps a hand over her mouth and Jess struggles to stay serious.

"No, I do not."

"Good."

"On the other hand," he goes on, "the only thing I hoard is books, other than that fewer things is the way to go, if you ask me." There's a sharp shove against the small of his leg. Lorelai is kicking him. He stares at her, mouth twitching, and she glares back. Then she turns her attention back to Emily.

"You sorted out my stuff?"

"I said some of your things." Emily rolls her eyes. "I swear it's like I'm not speaking English."

Lorelai gets up and walks towards the stairs, Emily follows, and Jess seizes the moment.

"That's my cue."

Emily stops at the base of the staircase, and turns toward him.

"It was nice to meet you, Jess. And the Gimlet was no worse than mine."

He smiles. Counts it as a win.

"But I think I'll make my own from now on." She finishes.

"Sounds like a solid plan."

Emily returns the smile.

"Rory, will you see your friend out?"

"Yes, grandma."

She grabs his hand while they walk into the hallway, and picks his coat from the hall-stand.

"Thanks for doing this."

"Don't thank me, it's a given." He responds as he's putting it on. She frowns.

"You won't even see your own mother if you can help it."

"Well, you like your grandmother."

She gives him a look, and purses those lips of hers.

"Fine." He sighs. "Don't compare our families."

She opens her mouth to speak, but he leans in and kisses her. There's a little grunt of protest before she returns the kiss heatedly. She throws her arms around his shoulders and grabs his collar, popping it as she pulls back. He smiles at her.

"You were saying something."

She smiles back, a tad goofily.

"See you back home, Jess."

"Goodbye, Rory."

With that he walks out to his car. He turns and looks at the house before getting in. Nope, the instinct to toss pebbles at the window before ringing the doorbell is still there.

•••

She watches him drive off, and then heads upstairs to steer off any possible catastrophe. To her surprise it's silent. She walks to her mother's old room. Her old room. She shudders at the thought of that time in her life. Of course, one of the last times she was there before moving out, Jess was there with her, and that makes her smile as she enters the room. Lorelai is on the bed, and looks up, teasing smile spreading on her face.

"'Oh mama! My boyfriend's so dreamy!'" She squeaks in some unjust bimbo-parody. Rory rolls her eyes.

"Okay, you're mixing genres; historical romance or fifties pastiche, pick one, you can't have it both ways. And have I ever said anything like that?"

"It's all in the very telling silence."

Rory shakes her head and looks around.

"Where's grandma?"

"She couldn't remember if she'd given away my old bureau or not, so she went to check the attic. Can you believe it?"

"It's this house. It can really close in on a person." Rory sits down next to her.

"Don't we all know it..." Lorelai turns to look at her, reaches to stroke a strand of hair behind her ear. "Are you happy, kid?"

"Isn't it totally weird that you have to ask me?" She says. "But yeah. I'm writing some stuff just for me lately and that's nice. And did I mention that cutting down on traveling a bit is kind of great?" Her heartbeat increases as she has to talk about it, residue from their fight in September. "And personally, yes I am. Kind of surprised that it doesn't feel like that big a deal. I mean when I think of it, it seems... epic, but it feels, obvious, like-"

"Like it was meant to be."

Rory exhales with a smile.

"Yeah, exactly." She hesitates, the words vibrate in her throat and she's been afraid, and at the same time longed to share it with Lorelai. "You know he's loved me for years? Since we were kids? I never thought I was the type to inspire that kind of devotion."

Lorelai drops her shin, incredulous expression on her face, then she smiles.

"Of course you're that type. With those eyes! And that sweet disposition! Not to mention that you come from a long line of sirens. And I'm pretty sure my great-great grandmother was an actual Disney-princess." Lorelai pauses, then looks straight at her. "Or maybe it's equally dependent on what type he is. And what kind of love it is. I hear the real kind is supposed to last forever."

"Like you and Luke."

The shade drawing over her mother's expressive face isn't lost on her, and it feels like a chill.

"Actually, me and Luke have had some trouble lately."

"What? Why? How?"

"After dad died."

Rory sighs and squeezes her eyes shut. Of course.

"When me and mom argued... She said that I robbed Luke of his dreams. That I hadn't even asked him what he wanted, but just gone on like I always do. And she was right. I didn't ask. Figured we knew each other without having to, but here's the deal: Sometimes I forget that that I have to say things out loud to people I love." Lorelai takes her hand. "You too, you know? We were synced for so long-"

"I know." Rory swallows to rid herself of the ache in her throat.

"And then we weren't anymore. So stupid, when we needed each other the most too."

"I know."

"And it happened before, and back then I promised myself that I wouldn't-" Lorelai's breath almost sounds like a sob. "That we wouldn't be so careless again, and then, just look at us go."

"It's okay, mom. It happens."

"For what it's worth: I am happy for you, kid. That you get to feel that way. And I am grateful that Jess is part of helping you with that. I've been in a bad way, still sort of am, but I'm through blaming that on him, have been for a while. And I'm sorry you had to wait for me to say that."

"Mom-"

"It's time I found a new scapegoat, or possibly give up on the practice all together."

"Mom. What about Luke?"

"I was this close to consider a surrogate parent to have another kid-"

"Mom!" Her voice is slightly shrill.

"Luckily Paris talked me off that one before I made too big a fool of myself."

"She never told me."

"Good woman, that Paris, but I don't think she meant to. It was just, her way of approaching it that sort of had me running for the door."

Rory smiles a little.

"But to be honest I'd sort of gotten there on my own before that. I mean, I didn't really ask Luke before I started doing that either so... I think I'm just terrible all around."

"Mom! You told me just a few months ago that listening to your parents was trouble, a guaranteed mess. You taking advise from grandma has the success-rate of taking advise from Kirk; probably not inherently bad, but if you don't have the same prerequisites, which practically no one has, then they're kind of useless. It's like Jay Gatsby planning a kegger, or-"

"Well he was Great, and to be fair, it probably wouldn't have been a terrible kegger-"

"Fine, don't listen to your kids either!"

"Oh my god!" Lorelai squeals. "Imagine that story in a college comedy version!"

Rory has to laugh, because that honestly sounds hilariously disturbing. Silence falls between them for a few seconds before Lorelai speaks again.

"So, nature's good for clearing your head, huh?" Lorelai goes after a while. Rory chuckles.

"Not sure I really cleared my head by going there, not sure it was the nature. but... it had some nice fall out." She looks at her mother who seems to be considering this seriously.

The next morning, she and her grandmother are enjoying the breakfast to the soothing sound of the pages of the paper turning.

"He's much improved." Emily allows at one point.

"I know." Rory smiles back.

She gets back to Philadelphia around noon the next day. As she enters the apartment she hears classical music from the living room. She hangs off her coat and walks down the hallway. When she nears the room she also hears the clickety sounds of punched keys. When he edits he can listen to anything, he can have someone yelling over distorted guitars and still be completely engrossed, serene. When he has to formulate longer texts, usually in the form of feedback to authors, feedback, rejection- and acceptance letters, drafts for a few stories, summaries, he usually prefers instrumental, although she's never heard him play classical. She tries her best to sneak, bends her knees and steps on the front pads of her feet, even though she knows he most likely heard her closing the door.

"Nice music." She remarks when walking in the room, that also contains their work stations; her secretaire and his worn, rather ugly desk.

"Glad you like it." His cheek tightens in a smile when she leans over his shoulder and presses a kiss to the side of his face.

"Did Day make another CD for you?" She teases.

"Hey, I can have layers all on my own."

"What are you writing?" She peeks at the screen.

"Mind your own business."

"This is fiction!"

He sticks back a hand and pokes her in the tummy.

"Step away from the screen, and tell me about Chilton."

"Fine, but you have to talk to me about this later!"

"Maybe."

She sighs, annoyed that she's going to have to drag whatever this is out of him. She decides to oblige him however.

"It was fine. Fun to be back, actually. And my talk went well, the students seemed to appreciate it. Paris scared her group and had an existential crisis in the bathroom."

Jess snorts.

"And I had coffee with Headmaster Charleston. He thought I should get my masters. Start teaching. Can you believe it?"

"Sure." He says, still typing. "Why not?"

"Oh, come on!"

He stops writing and spins the chair around, facing her.

"Why is that so weird? You love being a student. Going back to school wouldn't be a problem for you." He turns back to the screen, but continues talking. "Wouldn't be too farfetched either to assume you might make a great teacher."

She's genuinely stunned at his words.

"How are you a supporter of this?"

"I'm a supporter of any suggestion that might shake you out of this clinch you got yourself in, where this is all there is forever and ever amen." He mumbles in a tirade that sounds too fluent not to have been considered before.

"Did I ask you to help me?" She asks, sharper in tone than she intends to be. He sighs, but turns around again. Gets out of the chair and leans on the desk.

"No." He admits. "Not with words anyway." He pauses then looks at her with warm eyes. "But, y'know, I read somewhere that anticipating needs is really useful in a relationship."

She smiles involuntarily.

"Needs, huh?" She walks up to him. "Now, you're just flirting."

"It is the most efficient diversion."

"But you of all people though..."

"We are discussing suitable options for you at the moment, not me. But if you wanna switch, sure; Things I'd rather do than go back to school; a list by Jess Mariano."

"Oh boy."

"I would rather... attend past life-therapy with Liz. I would rather walk into Luke's with a vaporizer, sporting a full beard and a man-bun, and I would rather... be spelunking."

"Holy cow, you don't shut up these days." She kisses him. He tastes like coffee. "Wait. Have you even had breakfast?"

He shrugs. She growls.

"You are beyond impossible! We're going for food."

The day is pretty. It's a take away day. But her puzzlement from before turns to light irritation. She can even feel her lower lip gradually moving further out until her face is locked in a pout. They're making their way down the sidewalk heading for a small park a couple blocks from their apartment. His arm, slung across her shoulder, squeezes her slightly.

"What?"

"For as long as we've been together, I've never seen you write fiction. You're always busy with the publishing house, and today I come home and you're writing something, that I assume you don't have to write. Something for you. And you're acting all secretive about it."

"Rory-"

"No, it's okay. I get why you'd need to keep it to yourself."

He frowns at her

"So...?"

"So, it's not just the writing it's..." She stops and stares at the sky, taps her foot, thinking, before speaking again. "I'm an open book. And you're a closed one. Mostly I feel like I don't even have to tell you stuff 'cause you'll just know 'em anyway, and, you don't need to be genius to know that that's the mother of misunderstandings. Talking is a good thing. About anything."

She looks at him. He has an expression she recognizes; face turned toward the ground, but eyes on her, lips pressed together, waiting until she's done. He would never interrupt her while wearing this expression, she knows that. He'll wait until all cards are on the table. She takes a deep breath. "I'll go first." She swallows, feels momentarily stupid for driving this, but pushes forward anyhow. "Did you know, I really just saw my dad like once a year up until I was, about seven?"

He relaxes somewhat, face softening.

"Then what?"

"Then... it was more random. Sometimes he'd show up twice in six months, sometimes less than once a year."

"And was that better or worse?"

"I don't know. But I know that before that I hadn't really thought about him as my dad. Just this polite stranger who'd show up with gifts occasionally. Then something just clicked, and he was my dad, but I always wanted him around more, so, I guess, worse."

He steps closer to her, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her closer, chewing on his lower lip, eyes dancing over her face, with a hesitant look. Then he takes a breath, and speaks.

"Well, then I was better off. Fathers are like smartphones - if you've never had one there's no apparent use for 'em."

She winces as her contradictory feelings twist her insides, manages a little chuckle.

"Really? Nothing apparent? You know they can be a weapon or a tool..."

"And neither one is very cool."

This time she actually laughs, and leans against him in half a hug.

"And what about you? Tell me about Jimmy."

"The only thing he ever offered me was a couch for a few weeks. I've slept in cars since then... And you'd think that'd put the couch in better light but it really just made him look worse."

He falls quiet and she lets it rest for a few moments.

"Do you think we're doomed?"

He looks at her sharply.

"I mean as parents. If we-" Woah, What the heck is she asking? "Would we be useless?"

His eyes are wary and there's a distinct pause before he speaks.

"Not you. You have your mom. And I... I guess I'd make a great uncle."

She looks at him, suddenly wishing she had thought to watch where their discussion was going. This wasn't what she had in mind, and she isn't sure she's ready to have this particular conversation, to hear his answer. Wants desperately to go back to just pouting, to find a bench sit on with him, to drink her coffee, eat her food. As usual he sees this in her face, or something adjacent, because he tilts his head to the side and speaks again.

"I'd be a hypocrite if I was a fatalist on this, right? If my parents didn't have control over their choices I should probably cut them some slack."

Her exhale is a sigh of relief.

"You might consider doing that anyway."

"Might. Consider. Some. Don't hold your breath."

"You have a choice."

"You have your will."