A/U: This is going to drive me crazy if I don't move on from this chapter, so there you go. Don't forget to review!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to come home," Rory spoke calmly from her spot on the couch when the doors opened and Jess entered the apartment. It was 3.30 in the morning and she could already hear the birds singing outside the window.

Jess stopped with an expression of a deer caught in the headlights. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," she said with a tight, angry smile, then bit back viciously, "waiting for another round of wild hot love with Matthew." She shifted to sit more comfortably against the pillows to empathise the sarcasm of her words, getting even more frustrated at Jess's sardonic eyebrow raise. "He's been puking his guts out for the last three hours," she admitted sharply. "After getting totally, cruelly turned down by Holly. While you were doing what? You were putting some pathetic little self-destructive show. Well, let me tell you, if it was for me, you really shouldn't have bothered. Unless I'm wrong of course, and you've just met the love of your life last night, in which case, good for you, I'll bugger off now."

"Shit, Rory," Jess rolled his eyes, his arms drooping in frustration.

"Shit what, Jess?"

"I didn't even spend any time with her."

"I don't care," she said flatly and got up. "I'm staying in the spare room for the night, because I'm too exhausted to move, and I also don't care if you mind or not. Matt said it's okay. Now you stay up with him. Ask him if he wants some more tea," she finished, then left him standing there and disappeared into the bedroom.

She threw herself on the bed and groaned into the pillow.

She woke up relatively early and snuck out to the bathroom, careful not to wake either of the boys. Matthew – out of concern for him; Jess – out of the remnants of anger, fear of his reaction and sheer embarrassment about her outburst. Having brought herself to a state that could be deemed presentable, she went into the kitchen and contemplated making a pot of coffee but in the end settled for a glass of water. She spent some time blankly staring at Jess's door before snoring from the other room brought her back to reality.

Walking on her tiptoes, she opened the door and peeked into Matthew's bedroom. He was sound asleep, sprawled across the bed, with the covers partly on the floor. She grabbed a pen and a piece of paper and wrote him a note, telling him to call her when he woke up so they would talk about the inventory. She left it on his desk, together with a glass of water which he was sure to need.

Then she quietly slipped out of the apartment and went home.

Matt's call came around noon. She was fresh out of the shower, drinking coffee and reading the paper.

It turned out he wasn't feeling all that bad, and if she could still come today so they would get cracking on the inventory, and he could properly apologise for last night, it would be awesome.

"I'll be there around two, then."

"Great."

"Do you want me to pick up some lunch on my way?"

"No, no. We have food here. And I owe you enough as it is. I'll make us something to eat."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. See you later, Rory."

"Yeah, I'll see you soon," she replied and proceeded to get lost in research for an article, trying to ignore the sudden nervousness she felt at the thought of going back to Truncheon.

Matthew didn't waste any time before the profuse apologies began. "I am so, so sorry," he started as soon as he opened the door for her.

"Oh, don't worry about it," she smiled with all the understanding she could muster.

"That was a very lousy fake-date."

"As long as your real ones don't turn out like that."

"If only there were real ones," he muttered. "So you're not mad at me?"

"No," she shook her head. "Was a little, last night, but you're forgiven because of the circumstances. And speaking of, how are you?"

"Ah. It's not worth talking about. In fact, I'm not even going to think about it. What I'm interested in right now is how many copies of Lullaby we sold and how many Naked Lunches we have left. I've never been so excited about inventory."

"I can use it, too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Definitely."

"Awesome. Let's try to figure out this mess, then," Matthew sighed.

Soon they were both busy with piles of books and various lists, each in their own corner, Patti Smith singing in the background.

Almost an hour passed in such comfortable, efficient atmosphere, Matt working in the far corner of the bookshop; Rory near the entrance.

And then the door to the shop opened and Rory heard it well, but she didn't look up. She could feel his gaze burning her back, until she was sure her face was red. She just carried on with her work, waiting to see what Jess was going to do.

"You know, you don't have to do this."

She shrugged, briefly looked up, then focused on her list. "I really don't mind."

"Being near books and all that," he said, with – what she noted with satisfaction – was clearly uneasiness.

"Yeah."

"Going alright?"

"Yeah."

Jess paused, exhaling in frustration. "Look, Rory, can we talk?"

"We are."

"Alone, preferably. And if you could drop the barking, that'd be nice too," he told her, looking her straight in the eye, then took a step back and said, louder this time. "I'm gonna make some coffee. Matt, you want some?"

"Please!" came a muffled shout from the corner, and Jess retreated up the stairs.

Rory looked after him for a few seconds, trying to work up the nerve, then said to Matthew, "I'll be right back," and marched up to the apartment.

She put on the most indifferent expression she was capable of, even though her heartbeat curiously accelerated. She almost decided to start exercising, because that must have been from walking up the stairs. "I'm here, I'll do my best not to bark, what do you want?" she asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, watching as Jess put coffee into the coffee maker. His swift movements were strangely mesmerizing and she had to remind herself that staring was rude, and staring with fascination at people one was mad at was just beyond wrong.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asked, as if echoing her thoughts.

"I'm not mad at you. But you're a jerk, and I'm treating you like one," she answered sternly.

"Fine. What did I do that was so wrong?"

And here Rory got stunned into silence, because while she could think of plenty of offensive, unsettling things he did, none of them could really be deemed wrong, unless she would tell him how personal it was, which would mean talking about feelings that were better left unacknowledged.

Jess looked down, but she could still see a hint of smile on his lips.

"Well, you admitted before that biting my head off is entertaining, so I guess I owe you a confession, too." Rory's eyebrows rose in surprise and anticipation. "I kind of enjoy pissing you off, which, I suppose, does make me a jerk. But Rory, as your favourite whiner would say," his expression turned into one of mock-seriousness as he quoted, "I'm not sorry for the things I've done."

"Ugh!" she exclaimed, instantly making him grin. "You are totally impossible to talk to!"

"Why, did you expect to discuss the meaning of life?"

"I was actually hoping for the divine beauty of the firmament," she shot back. "Stop mocking my music."

"I can't help it, it's begging for it."

"I could mock the stuff you listen to, too," she said with a challenging grin.

"No you couldn't, there's nothing mockable about my music collection."

"I don't believe you."

"See for yourself," he pointed to a shelf in the corner of the living room.

Rory shot him one more smug smile before walking over to the shelf, hesitantly admitting to herself that this was fun. She started rummaging. "Why do you keep your CDs here anyway?"

"I don't know, they just landed there from the beginning. No space in my room, I guess. So? Thinking of ways in how you could mock The Ramones? Because I'm telling you, Gilmore, if you do that, you're nuts."

She grunted, not stopping browsing. They were silent for a few moments; the noises of the coffee machine filling the space. "Ha!" Rory cried eventually. "Here it is," she beamed, taking a CD out and waving it at him, returning to the kitchen. "You listen to Coldplay, mister, and don't even try telling me that it's not mockable!"

"It's Matthew's," Jess protested grimly, looking at her pointedly.

"Uh-huh. Do you hum Fix You under your breath? Because that I'd pay to hear."

"Funny."

"I've so got you cornered," she said happily. "Really, what would Joe Strummer think if he knew that on Jess Mariano's shelf London Calling stands next to X&Y?" she wondered aloud. "Maybe I should keep looking. I might find Snow Patrol. And from there, you know, a straight road to that girl from the British X-Factor. Ooh, Leona, her name was."

"You know, I've never seen you enjoying yourself so much," Jess grumbled.

"Well, now I fully comprehend how much fun it must be for you, constantly mocking and teasing me. Being you must be a blast. Except for the listening to Coldplay part," she giggled.

"They're an alternative band," he spoke weakly.

"In your dreams, my friend. You know, at least I'm not ashamed of my music taste."

"Well, you should be. Morrissey whines."

"With passion."

"How can whining be passionate?"

"Morrissey manages."

Jess shook his head. "It's all the same chord changes, in the minor key, mostly."

"It expresses feelings!"

"No, it evokes feelings."

"That too," she agreed.

"Of tediousness and despair, Rory."

"It's called melancholy, Jess," she replied, pointedly emphasising his name. "Don't tell me you never listen to melancholy."

"I do, it's called The Cure," he exclaimed, fighting a smile.

"... Or Coldplay."

"I got it when I was a kid, get over it."

"Now you're just lying because this was released only four years ago," she motioned to the CD on the kitchen counter.

"Well, and you know when it was released," Jess smirked.

"Only because my best friend was pulling out her hair in sheer terror. And let me tell you, she could recite the encyclopaedia of rock from A to Z to you, and Coldplay would not be there. Unlike Morrissey."

"Hey, stop, okay, I'm not defending Coldplay here. Just attacking The Smiths, because people attribute them with this genius that they so obviously lack."

"They obviously lack? You're obviously deaf!"

"Please. There is nothing there."

"You know what, fine," Rory huffed. "The music doesn't please your very sophisticated taste. What about the lyrics? Come on, admit it. It's poetry. It gets to you."

"It really doesn't. Maybe it would if it wasn't for Morrissey's lamenting, but I doubt that too."

"He's a genius."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"... And for a moment there we were having such a civilised argument," Jess remarked.

"We were, but it's impossible because you're so stubborn that discussing this with you really defeats the purpose," Rory responded grumpily.

"Yes, let's agree to disagree," he drawled mockingly. "You love the guy, even though it's completely ridiculous, and I couldn't care less, because nothing he writes has any effect on me whatsoever," he said, giving her one more challenging look. It ticked her off.

"How can it not?" Rory cried, losing control over her body and stamping her feet like a little girl. She immediately blushed in embarrassment. Jess chuckled. "I mean, that means you haven't listened properly," she continued, calming down. "There's so much depth in his lyrics. And it's not all depressing, some of it is humorous and tongue in-cheek, and the music goes with it. It works the other way round, too. When the melody is gloomy, it's not gloomy without a reason. The lyrics match. And if you gave him a chance, you'd see that he really restores his integrity in that way, same with The Smiths. Besides, he touches on so many different themes in his songs, it's not just about politics, or about the social climate, or about loneliness or love or... anything, it's just so wonderfully complex, you can find a lyric for every occasion. Like you did a moment ago," she talked on, her blush not disappearing from her cheeks for a second. "They just really have a way of getting into your life, and they become such a constant. And don't look at me like that, there's so many people who know what they're talking about and they love Morrissey and Smiths too, because there's something so, so special about them, about the lyrics and how they capture feelings and put them forward so simply and yet pass-"

And then suddenly she found that she couldn't talk any more because something was literally preventing her from forming comprehensible sounds. Her head spun violently, and by the time it hit her with full force that Jess's lips were on hers she didn't get to respond because he was already pulling back, with a sullen expression and a sigh escaping him.

"I, uh... what was that?" Rory asked dumbly.

"A mistake, apparently," he answered irritably, taking a step back and looking away. "Look, I get the message now. None of your treatment of me is an act, I'll piss off, I promise."

He took another step back, and at once, it appeared to Rory that something was slipping away, and even though she managed to fool herself for some time now, actually, she didn't want this chance to pass her by. Shaking her head, trying to catch his eye, she whispered "Jess," and then she lounged forward, cupping his face in both hands and re-attaching her lips to his. It didn't take him long to react; first his hands found the small of her back, then he took a few steps forward, so that soon she was pushed against the counter, his arms on both of her sides, securely holding her in place. Not that she had any thoughts of escaping; in fact, all thoughts escaped her for once.

It was fierce, it was full of want, and it seemed to instantly awaken a gazillion of butterflies in her stomach. A soft moan escaped her at the feeling, and Jess attacked her lips with even more fervour, bringing one hand to her hair, tilting her head and resting the other on her back. Her own body responded straight away, she pushed even closer against him and her hand plunged into his thick hair, pulling on it softly when he bit on her lower lip. She responded by running her tongue against his mouth, and only after a long moment she started returning to reality, suddenly self-conscious about being so passionate.

"Rory," Jess uttered hoarsely, making her knees threaten to give in. His right hand travelled to her hip, his nose brushed against hers. "You know I'm not me-"

"Guys, seriously," came Matthew's voice from the hallway. "What's taking you so long?"

When the door to the apartment slammed open, Jess was standing with his back against the counter leaning back on his hands, his eyes fixed on the floor, while Rory was pretending to drink from an empty cup, her knuckles white from holding it so tightly.