Chapter Thirty-Six

"Hey." Rory emerges sheepishly from her room, clad in cloud printed pajama pants and another one of his t-shirts.

"Food's here," he gestures to the array of Chinese take away in front of him.

"Good," she gives him a half smile. "I'm starving."

To his surprise, instead of sitting herself next to him, she plops herself into sideways his lap, reaching for a plate.

"I'm not going to have any shirts left if you keep taking them." He tugs gently at the t-shirt she's wearing.

"They're really soft and comfy to sleep in," she explains, shoveling rice onto her plate. "And they smell like you."

He stabs a piece of garlic chicken, amused. "What do I smell like?"

"Soap." She swallows. "And cigarettes."

"You hate it when I smoke," he points out.

"Only because it's bad for you. It doesn't smell bad to me though. It just smells like you."

He takes a whiff of her hair. "I don't understand how you always smell like coffee. Are they making coffee scented shampoo or something?"

"I wish they did!" She exclaims excitedly, reaching for an eggroll. "Jess…" she lets out haltingly. "I should've told you about Logan. And I knew that. I knew it the whole time and I hated keeping it from you. I just didn't know how to tell you I went to Staten Island."

"Why'd you go?" He sets his fork down carefully.

"I just…I needed to know. Paris and I traced something illegal to Logan instead of to Mitchum and I was so…mad at him. I really thought when he and Gwen got married he would turn himself around, be a better person or something...I don't know. Instead he got wrapped up in this. I just had this burning desire to know what the hell he was up to and I impulsively drove out there and confronted him about it and…the whole thing was stupid. I never should've gone."

Jess swallows an unwelcome stab of pity for the guy. The burden of Rory's disappointment is a terrible thing to bear.

"I don't want to see him again," she continues. "But for whatever reason, if I do, I'll tell you, okay?"

"Okay."

She settles against him, holding her plate up to munch on her egg roll. "If you're wanting to know if I still love him, I don't."

"I didn't ask," he says gruffly.

"But you wanted to," she answers quietly.

"Guilty."

She puts her plate down, resting her hands on his shoulders so she can look at him. "I love you and I want to make this work. So if there's something I have to do to make this—"

He cuts her off with an abrupt kiss. "Just tell me things. If we fight, we fight."

She bites her lip. "We used to fight all the time."

"Yeah because we were seventeen. Have you talked to a seventeen year old lately? They're morons."

"Not all of them."

He arches an eyebrow.

She smiles playfully. "Okay we may have qualified in the moronic category occasionally."

He gives her waist an affectionate squeeze. "Me more so than you. But you had your moments."

"I did." She thinks back on her attempted friendship with Dean, wanting to laugh at her naivety. "Oh, something good happened today," she exclaims, wiggling eagerly. "I wanted to tell you."

"What's that?"

She bites back a smile. "The New York Times called, they want me to interview for that internship I applied for."

"Rory, that's amazing," he beams.

"Yeah, I don't know if I'll get it, but getting to interview there is really exciting."

"You're going to get it," he assures her.

"You're a little biased don't you think?"

"I work for a publishing company. I know good writing when I see it." He dips her slightly, causing her to squeal as he leans over to kiss her.

Paris cracks her apartment door open warily; afraid to either hear screaming or loud make-up sex, instead, all she's met with is utter silence. Jess is sitting in the dim light of kitchen table, eating Chinese food one handed while Rory sleeps soundly in his lap, her head on his shoulder.

"Hey," he tells Paris. "Saved you some food if you want it."

She shuts the door behind her as quietly as possible.

"Thanks," she says softly.

"You don't have to be quiet." Jess moves his shoulder a bit for effect but Rory doesn't even shift in her sleep. "She passed out mid-sentence trying to convince me to read Rimbaud."

Paris dishes herself a plate and sits in the empty seat across from him. "You call yourself a writer and you haven't read Arthur Rimbaud?"

"So I heard."

"I mean he influenced some of the greats, including your precious Beat poets."

"I know, I know."

"Not to mention Nabokov," she waves her fork for effect. "I mean no offense to the Bard, but Nabokov is one of the greatest writers of all time."

"He's good. But one of the greatest of all time? C'mon."

"Oh and who would you pick, Kerouac?" She says disdainfully.

"God no. Faulkner is definitely up there. And Chekhov. And Marquez."

Paris rolls her eyes. "Because obviously only men are decent writers."

"Okay point made," he concedes. "Virginia Woolf is definitely in there, maybe Austen, definitely Toni Morrison."

"Not a single Bronte?" She interrogates.

He considers this. "Anne but not Charlotte or Emily."

"Agreed." Paris dips her eggroll into the hot and sour sauce. "What about Ayn Rand?"

"Oh yeah I love Ayn Rand. She's not a nut job at all," he says sarcastically, looking at Rory, who remains blissfully asleep. "I should get her to bed." He shifts her slightly and stands up, trying to avoid hitting her head on the chair.

"I'll get her door for you," Paris offers.

"Thanks," he tells her as she opens it. He lays Rory gently on the bed and looks up, noticing Paris is still standing there. "Did you need something?"

She hesitates for a second, opening her mouth and then closing it. "No." She finally says. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies quizzically, shutting the door behind her.

Rory rolls over in her sleep, expecting to find an empty bed. She pulls back, surprised as she half lands on Jess.

"Good morning to you too," he grumbles sleepily. He kisses the inside of her elbow and moves her arm off his face.

Rory shifts so she's lying comfortably on his chest, propping her chin on her folded hands. "I thought you had a meeting this morning."

"I did. I now owe Leo a favor."

She frowns. "What kind of favor?"

"Knowing Leo he'll save it for something awful like performing in his place next time the Central High School poetry club asks him to come or taking out his weird cousin again."

Rory narrows her eyes teasingly. "You can tell him if he makes you take out his weird cousin he'll have me to contend with."

"Gonna show him your withering stare?"

"For that I'm going to surpass withering. I'm thinking full on contemptuous."

"Poor Leo." He runs his hands down her sides and rests them on her lower back. "So speaking of cousins, next weekend you have April right?"

"Yeah. I finally got Anna to agree to drop her off on Saturday so that she can personally inspect the apartment for pornography or swastikas or whatever it is she thinks is so objectionable about my lifestyle and then Luke will pick her up Sunday morning by ten. She was very explicit about how I'm not allowed to drive her anywhere or let her in the vicinity of drugs and alcohol or let her have any caffeine."

"Strict woman."

"You have no idea," she shudders. "She gave me a long lecture about how I can't have any guys on the premises while April is here, period."

"But I'm her cousin!" He protests.

"Apparently the fact you have a penis negates the fact that you're her cousin."

"Luke has a penis."

"Ewww!" She reaches for her pillow and swats him with it. "Why would you say that? That's a pillow talk violation right there."

"We have pillow talk violations?"

"We do now!"

He tugs the pillow out of her hands and tosses it aside. "I'm just saying, he's allowed to come inside the apartment but I'm not allowed to be around even though you're my girlfriend and I'm also related?"

"Take it up with Anna. No one's even told her we're dating."

"Why?"

"I guess they think it'll freak her out and she won't let April hang out around us so we've just made a sort of unspoken agreement not to tell her."

"Luke really needs to nail down a custody agreement. This is getting ridiculous."

"I agree but you know how Luke feels about lawyers."

Jess shifts, making a mental note to call his uncle. "So I was thinking…since you have April next weekend and I'm apparently not allowed on the premises and then you have mid-terms the week after and I'm going to be smack in the middle of all of the melee surrounding Regan's book for the foreseeable future—that I'd take today off and head back to Philly early tomorrow morning. I know you have class—but I figured since I probably won't see you till Thanksgiving…"

Her eyes light up with joy. "You can do that?"

"Certain compromises can be struck."

She props herself on her elbows to give him a sloppy kiss. "Come to class with me," she pleads.

"Rory…"

"Why not? No one will mind. I only have two classes today and one is in a big lecture hall." She widens her eyes playfully. "Please? Since I won't see you for almost a month?"

"Fine," he agrees. "But I'm picking where we eat tonight."

She laughs. "You really hated the Calhoun College salute to Puerto Rico, didn't you?"

"I've had actual Puerto Rican food. What they served in the dining hall doesn't even resemble food and yet somehow, you managed to force down seconds."

"I was hungry."

He kisses the tip of her nose affectionately.

She smiles, nuzzling his neck with her nose. "Thank you for taking an extra day off."

"Wish I could take more. I've got a whole week for Thanksgiving though."

"Good."

She kisses her way down his bare chest, admiring the way his contours shift under her touch. His hands snake up her shirt, the calluses on his fingers against her skin make her shiver as he pauses at the softness of her waist before moving up her back. She stops at the trail of hair just below his bellybutton, lifting herself up so he can tug her shirt off and over her head.

"C'mere," he lets out softly, winding his hands gently into her hair.

She plants a last kiss over his hip and lifts her head with reverent eyes, meeting his almost identical gaze.

She sits up, straddling him, and pulls him with her so they are locked in a vertical embrace. His lips move down her neck, over her breasts and she moves against him, tugging her hands through his hair and over his chest. She nuzzles her cheek against his stubbled one until he moves, allowing her access to his mouth. She breathes her apology into their kiss and he responds eagerly, his lips parting as he grants her absolution.

This is forgiveness. This is benediction.

A/N: Ok that was probably the raciest thing I've ever written and I probably won't ever go more explicit than that, I hope no one minded. Sorry for the short chapter but this is really just a transition before we skip ahead to Thanksgiving which should be several chapters and be all kinds of fun. I've literally been wanting to write it for ages!

Thanks to everyone who has read/reviewed/followed!