A/N: This is a fic I wrote after posting a meme on Tumblr. You can find it here: post/614139612246441984/logan-to-rory-jess-ksfd89-i-made-it-better

Shout out to pizzabookbuying for the original post that inspired both the meme and the fic. Also, Ksfd89, I love you :) I hope you guys enjoy it.

"Come on," Rory groans when she glances at her watch telling her that the notebook she had been waiting on for the past hour was very, very late. Her leg taps our her frustration to the Ramones as she grabs her phone and calls her mom for a fourth time. She swears when there's no response.

She knows she's being impatient, even a little ridiculous waiting on this couch. Her next class doesn't even start for a few hours, and the notebook wasn't even one she needed immediately. Also, she knows Lorelai can easily get caught up in something, her brain easily scattered. Still though, she's aggravated because she's hungry and deprived of coffee and she really needed something in her stomach, given the way it's grumbling, and if she left and her mom came, she'd probably have to wait until next weekend to get it, and she couldn't wait that long.

She scowls and takes another peek at the time. 12:46. She scans her phone, looking for any incoming messages she may have missed, but finds nothing. She sighs as her stomach grumbles again, louder this time.

Fine. She stands and stretches before swiping her keys off the coffee table and heading for the apartment door. If Lorelai comes when she's not here, she'll probably give her a call. She can meet up with her then. She turns the handle and opens the door before jumping back at the guy with his hand raised to knock. Her eyes widen further when she realizes who it is.

"Jess."

He looks at her and then the door before lowering his arm. "Hey," he says, casual.

She's still dreaming. She has to be. Cause there is no way Jess is at her (and Logan's) door, dressed in her favorite jean jacket and hair relaxed around his face, free of gel. There's just no way. Especially not after the last time they had seen each other, not when she had stomped all over his feelings in her ill-conceived plot for revenge at his own company's open house.

There's movement in front of her, and she realizes he's ducked his head to stare at her, trying to get her attention.

"I—" she lets out, mind completely blank. She blinks to refocus. "Sorry. That wasn't…" She trails off. He looks good,she thinks in slight annoyance.

He smirks at her scrunched up nose. "I feel like we've had this conversation before."

"What are you doing here?"

He holds up her missing notebook. "Luke got caught up with your mom for some disaster at the inn. Something about Sookie in the kitchen and a fire. I told him I could drop this off on my way back to Philly."

"You were in Stars Hollow?"

He nods. "Helping Liz get ready for Doula."

She tilts her head with a puzzled smile. "Shouldn't it be the other way around?"

He grins at her confusion "Doula's not the midwife," he supplies

"Oh," she says dumbly, until she realizes what that means. "Oh!" she exclaims, a giggle itching at the back of her throat. Only Liz would think to name a kid Doula.

Jess nods. "You can laugh. It's ridiculous."

"No!" she rebuts, immediately knowing that's a lie. "I mean —sort of. It's kind of pretty," she tries.

Jess shot her a pointed look. "Rory."

"Well…" she gestured with her hands.

He shook his head in amusement. "Not even here and already she's gonna have to deal with people making fun of her name. At least it makes me feel so much better about mine."

"I've always liked your name. I mean it' short, concise, with a little edge to it. I think it suits you."

He shrugs."I've grown into it." He lifts up the notebook. "What do you want to do with this?"

"I'll take it." She grabs it, stuffs it in her purse, and there's an awkward pause, the thin veil of camaraderie wisping away in the silence.

He breaks it. "I should probably head out."

"Yeah. Thanks Jess." She watches as he gives her a nod and turns. She frowns when he doesn't reach out like he normally would, one last touch of connection before they're parted. Her chest aches at the loss, because why would he reach out, especially after last time when she…

Her hand moves automatically and grasps the arm of his jacket as he steps out of the doorway. He turns at the contact, stares at her hand on his arm before slowly dragging his gaze to her face.

She blinks at the question in his eyes. "I'm sorry," she says softly, removing her hand.

He tilts his head in confusion.

She swallows before clarifying, "For last time."

The uncertainty slips from his face, leaving his gaze pensive.

"I wanted to see you. I did. I just…" she grapples for words. "With Logan things were just… and then your invitation came, and I…" her thoughts are swirling, looking for a reason, an appropriate excuse she could give. However, she'd have to think of her actions for more than a few seconds at a time to properly analyze them, and even now, she still couldn't accomplish it. Her shoulders wilt, defeated in her apology.

Jess is gracious though and cracks a sad smile. "Haven't we already had this conversation?"

She lets out a weak pathetic sound, meant to be a chuckle. "Yeah, I guess we have."

They're quiet a few seconds. She looks away and he fidgets, his feet tapping, ready to move. She opens her mouth, as if to stop him. "We just never got a chance to properly catch up," she admits.

He purses his lips and stares at her, as if trying to gauge something, read something as he always does. She shrinks back slightly from the inspection.

"You hungry?" he offers.

"I— yeah, actually," surprised by the olive branch. "I was on my way out to grab something when you came."

"Know a place?"

She bites her lip and looks away.

He laughs incredulously. "You live here."

"You know I live on take out," she shoots back. "Dining in is a different experience."

He shakes his head and smirks. "Well, where were you planning on going?"

She freezes. "Uh…"

He rolls his eyes. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Fine. I'll steer us towards the college district, and you'll—"

"Find us something funky."

They look at each other and smile softly. She breaks eye contact first and gestures behind her. "Come in. I'll just grab my jacket."

He steps over the threshold as she turns. "Casa Rory."

"Yup."

"Still temporary?" he asks as his eyes scan the walls and furniture in the living room.

She nods. "I guess you could say that. Graduation is right around the corner."

His lips quirk up. "Doogie still hasn't graduated?"

She rolls her eyes. "Ha-ha."

His gaze lingers on her face before turning and stopping towards the kitchen. "Tired of Christiane, already? Trying to be Mary Sherman Morgan? "

"What?"

He points to something over her shoulder.

She looks and sees the rocket still out on the counter. She had forgotten to put it away. "Oh, no. That was a gift…" she hesitates, not wanting to cause any more tension. At his uplifted eyebrow, she mumbles, "From Logan." She waits to hear his reaction, dreads to see a trace of anger or hurt on his face. She takes a peek under her bangs and is surprised.

Jess is nodding and pinching his lips, the way he does when he's trying not to laugh.

She frowns. "What?"

"Nothing." His lips twitch.

"No, go on and say it. You're practically about to bust a gut. You know how much I hate cleaning a floor."

His smirk widens, and he looks back at the rocket on the counter. "It's just… he still seems very obsessed with length." A chuckle breaks past his lips.

She's confused for a minute, until she remembers their conversation in the bar in Hartford. So what are we talking here? Short novel? Kafka length or longer? Dos Pasos? Tolstoy or longer? Robert Musil? Proust? I'm not throwing you with these names, am I?

She picks up the silver cylinder, notes the length and weight in her hand. Okay, she thinks. Maybe Jess has a point.But she knows Logan has a penchant for extravagant gifts. She absently thinks of the Birkin purse that still holds her computer cords.

"Careful messing with that…" she hears Jess behind her. "You don't want it to go off prematurely."

She turns to him, question ready in her mouth, and then she gets it. Really gets it. She blushes. Hard. Cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "I – That's not — He didn't—" She stumbles for words.

She looks back at the rocket and almost drops it onto the floor, fingers burning from the innuendo. Jess' laughter is full fledged now, thanks to her reaction; he always did love getting a rise out of her. She would savor the sound, full and joyful, rare in relation to Jess, but her embarrassment is quickly turning into irritation. She knows Logan didn't mean it like that, but now all of a sudden, the gift that had seemed so romantic was like a prop in a cheesy 90s porno. When you see this, think of me. And now she wants to gag. Great.

She lets the metal cylinder slide from her hand and back into the wrapping before turning to Jess, face scrunched up in a scowl.

"It's not funny," she snaps, her tone sharp. "He didn't mean it like that. It was a gift, more romantic than anything you ever gave me."

That shuts him up. His face goes blank, emotionless, and then his eyes turn downcast towards the floor. The sudden silence is eerie, jarring, and she's reminded that once again she's made things horrible and awkward. She's again responsible for that look on his face. The guilt nibbles on her chest.

"Wait," she tries, her voice softer. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah you did," he mutters, his shoulders hunched, like he's folding himself inward, defensive.

Panic creeps at the edges of her nerves because they were doing good, he's been doing good, and seeing his posture reminds her of a wounded animal. She remembers the last time she viewed him in that stance was upstairs at Kyle's party, moments before she saw their relationship crumble to ash right in front of her.

However, unlike then, he exhales and relaxes his shoulders a little."But it's fine. I can admit I was crap as a boyfriend." She blinks in surprise as he continues. "Guess that's what happens when you grow up not knowing what a relationship is supposed to look like."

She's reminded that out of all her boyfriends, he's the one that grew up most like her. Unlike Dean or Logan, he didn't have his dad around (though Logan would probably view that as a good thing). And unlike her, he didn't have much of a mother growing up either, Liz too interested in drugs, alcohol, and boyfriends than to care for her son. She got the good mom.

She thinks of his little sister, about to enter the world with everything they had both wanted growing up, and her heart breaks for him, for the fact that Liz couldn't get it together for him. How he must have felt like he was not enough…

His sigh interrupts her train of thoughts. "I never apologized, did I?"

She's jerked by his admission. Knows it's true, but she can't force out a reply.

He straightens his back and looks her in the eye, the same look as the night of the Firefly Festival those years ago. For a second, she imagines another I love you and her cells shudder (in what? anticipation? fear?) at the thought. Instead, "I'm sorry," he says sober. Sincere.

It's enough to make the back of her throat burn, the wells of her eyes itch, the hastily healed scars of her heart sting. She looks away from his gaze that thrums her to her core.

"I never meant to—"

She cuts him off. "I know." She can't hear anymore, can't step back into the memories of when she thought Jess was it, when she couldn't imagine anything better than his words in her margins, his smile reserved for her, his sarcasm that matched her wit, his body and lips pressed against hers on soft cushions and metal gas pumps.

She clears her throat, trying to erase the awkwardness that's fallen over them, that always surrounds them now after their relationship imploded. She glances at him, but his head's down, brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

"Maybe," he starts, with a wave from his hand. "Maybe we should—"

"Get going!" she interjects, noticing his eyes widen slightly in surprise. She can't blame him. The last time he said those words, she let Logan treat him like crap and let Jess walk off without so much as a goodbye. "You're right. Let me just…" She fumbles with the box, the wrapping, the rocket itself, and carrying everything awkwardly in her arms, shuffles her way into her room.

She throws the box on the bed. It bounces slightly from the force, the rocket doing its best to stand before falling over, limp. She stifles the cackle that wants to push its way out of her mouth. Stupid innuendo.

She sighs and grabs the rocket, moving to put it on her bookcase when her elbow catches on a novel resting on the edges of the shelf. It falls on the floor and when her eyes see the title, her breath catches in her throat.

The Subsect. Written by Jess Mariano.

Instantly, her insides are ice, moving like glaciers in the Atlantic. Her mind recalls their conversation just now, her impassioned defense of Logan's gift: It's more romantic than anything you've ever given me.

His book stares at her, mocks her, as she stands over it dumbly, tongue too thick to swallow properly. She hadn't thought it romantic when he came last year, when he presented this to her. Hadn't thought of it in the same context as the rocket because she and Jess weren't in a relationship, hadn't been in one in years. She thought of it as a friend showing another friend what he had accomplished, what he had done.

But now…

I couldn't have done it without you. Trying for nonchalance with the shrug, but sober, sincere when he said it. She knew that, had felt his admission touch a part of her that had needed to hear those words. His question to catch up and her eagerness to respond. He hadn't known about Logan. He had thought she was single, like he had when she had come to Truncheon.

Suddenly she is bitter at Logan for interrupting them that night, ruining their chance at reconnection, at a chance to start over. Maybe if they had a chance to talk, she wouldn't have had to deal with the cheating fiasco. Maybe she wouldn't have… Her eyes widen at the implication.

She pushes the thoughts out of her mind and rushes to pick up the slim novel from the floor. However, once it's in her hand, she pauses, her mind firing off comparisons as she holds one gift in each hand. In her left, a book that symbolizes a connection, a shared love of interests, a fulfilled belief in one another, made from hard work. In her right, a long and cold silver piece of metal, a symbol of strength in long distance, easily bought and paid for.

I know you. I know you better than anyone. This isn't you.

What does a stroke feel like again? There's an anchor in her chest that pulls and pulls, submerging her under the weighty memories of ninety dollar picnic lunches and tobacco scented embraces in leather jackets. You know we're supposed to be together.

Her hands tremble. She chants in her mind I love Logan. I'm in love with Logan.

A creeping sense of déjà vu climbs over her, and she shakes her head fervently before hastily putting the book and rocket on the shelf.

She grabs her jacket off her chair and strides out of the room as Jess' voice in her mind whispers haven't we already had this conversation?