A/N: Okay, you're really gonna hate me for this one. Just warning you. Please leave me nice reviews anyway! Or screaming hateful reviews because "HOW DARE I LEAVE IT LIKE THAT!" and "WHAT THE FLIBBITY IS GOING ON?" It's all good. Please let me know what you think though. And, hopefully something that will give me a little more insight into your thought process than "What the flibbity is going on?"

Jess really didn't spend much time in Truncheon anymore. Either of them. They'd expanded with the original branch in Philly and another in Hartford, which, initially, Jess was supposed to run. It was as likely a spot as any, and would allow him to be a little closer to family. Not too close, mind you, because Jess Mariano required a buffer between himself and his mother every bit as much as Lorelai Gilmore ever needed with hers…actually more so…sometimes. Okay, so actually, he hadn't needed one that desperately for a long time. Once upon a time, New York to Stars Hollow was barely enough. Later, he required the entire country…yeah. But…life had other plans with that one. These days, the barrier was a little more for TJ. He didn't usually have a desire to kill Liz. The same could not be said for his "step-father." Shudder.

Anyway, Jess didn't really end up running the Hartford store so much as using it as his office, bouncing back and forth between there and Stars Hollow. He was writing more than he was running things. It worked out to be more profitable that way. And, much as he hated to admit it, Stars Hollow was an excellent source of inspiration. Unexpectedly enough, Doula in particular wound up sparking a lot of his ideas. He'd bounce things off her, and her unique perspective would lend a flavor that he couldn't get anywhere else. Who'd have thought?

It was good to stick fairly close to Luke, too. And, he'd even admit it. He'd even take whole days sometimes and work at the diner. Not exactly for old times' sake. More when he knew his uncle could use the help, or when he could really use the company. Much as he lived in his books, and much as he was happy to live on his own, as opposed to with roommates, etc., though he'd never say it out loud, it got lonesome. And, though Luke probably talked less than anybody Jess knew, he made far better company.

The fact that the first time he'd been there with his uncle was under heavy coercion, and every time since, he'd come voluntarily (with the exception of the incident involving his car…and, technically, his mom's wedding), he considered one of the little jokes life likes to play. Much of what Jess wrote ended up being about life's little jokes.

On this particular day, though, Jess wasn't in Stars Hollow. Nor was he in Hartford. The original Truncheon was due for a large-scale inventory, and Chris and Matthew had submerged a distress radiobeacon…okay, so it was a phone call.

In any event, this particular day found Jess Mariano in Philadelphia. Except for Matt and Chris, nobody in particular knew that he was in Philadelphia. That was one of the things Jess liked about living alone. Not that he had a tendency to keep people apprised of his whereabouts anyway, but living alone meant that nobody had the right to get mad at him for not letting them know where he was going to be. And, today, it was good to be in Philadelphia.

Strange.

All growing up, he felt as if he'd never had a home. Now. Now, when he lived by himself, rapidly becoming a stodgy old bachelor/hermit, with his books and his music and his writing, and his propensity for holing himself up in his books and his music and his writing… He actually felt like he had several homes. He was at home when he was here in Philadelphia, particularly here in Trunceheon Books. He was at home in Hartford, in his house. Jess Mariano had a house. Owned. A house. He shook his head. He felt at home in Luke's Diner, as well as in the apartment above it. He felt at home in Luke and Lorelai's house, oddly enough. And, he felt at home on the streets of New York…some of them, anyway. On the subways and in the parks. On a lot of the roofs. There were even a couple of spots back in California that he could have thought about as home, if he stretched his imagination a little bit.

These were the things that Jess was thinking about as he went about the mindless work of inventorying Truncheon's stock. Matt and Chris bickered about this and that, turned the music up, turned the music down, changed the records half a dozen times. Jess listened, kept his eyes on the books, and smiled.

Then, the corded business line rang. Chris picked up the handset, glanced at it and called out to Jess. Nobody'd be calling me here. Chris tipped his head upward and tossed him the phone, underhand. He caught it, with a strange frown, glanced momentarily at the caller ID, Huh! and tapped a button on the phone before putting it to his ear.

"Hey, Luke!" he answered brightly. "I know. My cell's busted. Gettin' it fixed and for some bizarre reason they couldn't get me a loaner till - Sorry! Sheesh!" he exclaimed as if he'd just gotten bawled out, though there was hardly time for that to have happened, unless they were talking over each other. In another half-second Jess stopped, stock still, as if the world had suddenly gone into slow motion. "What?" Chris and Matthew froze, watching him. It was almost impossible not to.

"Don't leave me hanging like that! Why?" His eyes closed for a moment, as if repressing something. When they opened, he began to shake his head back and forth in angry, silent denial…refusal…something he clearly could not accept. The next second, he bashed his fist down onto the counter with such force it was a wonder his fingers weren't broken, and a sharp expletive burst from his lips. Matt and Chris jumped simultaneously at the abrupt simultaneous sound, and exchanged weird glances.

He didn't just call his uncle that, did he?

Uh, no. That was somebody else, and just for the record, somebody whose shoes I wouldn't be in for a very LARGE sum of money right now!

The three former roommates had transformed ocular communication into an art form. They could convey, literally, anything.

Ten to one it's about her, somehow.

Are you kidding? That'd just be a waste of a dollar.

You think I'm just talking a ten-spot?

No matter what the amount, I'm not a sucker!

Jess' tone went from the previous shouting snarl, to something unnervingly quiet with the very next sentence. "When she got there, did she…? Was she…?" Unnervingly quiet, and painfully worried.

See, told you!

You told ME? I was the one that - never mind, you never listen anyway.

Jess breathed a sigh of relief and nodded at the phone for a second before his expression changed to that of black fury, and an astounding string of savagely angry foul language erupted from him. To the point that his co-workers each took a step backward and were quite relieved there were no customers milling about. He resumed his attack on the innocent desk, this time nearly breaking his foot…repeatedly. "Do NOT tell me that!"

Whoa.

"Of course! What do you think! In fact, if you don't, I will!…That's right!…Oh, I can only imagine! Oh, yeah…"

Dude! Nouns! Preferably proper ones. Verbs! Dying here!

At this point, Jess got maddeningly quiet, just listening for a long time, nodding occasionally, adding the incidental mm-hm…yeah, or yup…huh-uh, and every once in awhile, a deep sigh usually accompanied by a pained look and an exhausted shake of the head. After some time, they observed that there was actually silence on both ends of the line - not whispers, not exchanged grunts, but actual silence, as if both men were completely at a loss. After several long seconds of this, Jess breathed a short sigh and croaked, "Luke…what can I do?" Whatever the answer was made him bow his head, then lift it and nod, as if he recognized the answer as a natural one. Finally, just, "Okay." Another silence. "Yeah. I will." And he hung up the phone.

No matter how much the other two men were dying to know what life-altering events had just taken place, they knew better than to ask at this point. And, they quickly busied themselves, so they had an excuse to look elsewhere while they watched him in their peripheral vision. He looked like he'd been shot through. No…not quite that bad. Punched in the gut? No…worse. Something…something with a lot of pain. He smeared the heel of his hand near the outer corner of his eye, brought his fist to his mouth a couple of times, silently resumed his work, stretched his hand with a grimace…limped.

A/N: *cringe* let the fireworks begin…