Previously on Gilmore Girls: Rory has stayed busy; Christopher apologised to her, and Logan ended things between them. Meanwhile Jess has stayed in Hartford and worked hard too, and now he's back in Stars Hollow to help Luke with his mystery project. But it doesn't change the fact that he and Rory haven't spoken since the Tarantino-party. Okay. So, maybe I've been a bit unfair in my tags, maybe there's nothing wrong with their intelligence, maybe the issue is with their hearts; Rory clearly suffers from some serious trust issues, and for good reason, Jess too, but like, with himself. Still, they're the heroes of this story because I believe in them, I have to believe they can fix this too.
April
Jess
Luke makes the extra bed and Jess falls asleep on Sunday night to the sound of his uncle snoring, the fridge buzzing, and the lack of city sounds. He feels raw lying there, not knowing what the week will bring but choosing to let Luke take the reins.
He sleeps better than he has in weeks, and wouldn't mind keeping that up, but whatever Luke has planned apparently demands getting up early. Luke forces him to have breakfast saying he'll need it, and then they make their way along all the old streets, named after fruit, behind the church. Jess is still working on the piece of toast he's brought when they reach a huge red brick building with a porch built in between thick white pillars, and he freezes mid-chew when he hears Taylor's voice.
"What the-?" Jess starts but Luke interrupts him.
"Keep your swearing to a minimum please."
"What for?" Jess spots Taylor up on the porch and swallows what's left in his mouth. "Luke, what's going on?"
Luke doesn't answer, but puts a hand on his shoulder ushering him into motion again.
"Morning, Taylor." He says, sounding like his voice is straightening its back.
Jess frowns at him, and Taylor too.
"What are you doing here?" The town selectman asks.
"I volunteered, remember?"
"I don't get the joke." Taylor says.
"Me neither." Jess adds.
Luke starts gesturing.
"There's no joke! I'm at your disposal, Taylor. And I brought back-up." He points at Jess who cowers beside him.
"Back-up, huh?" Taylor squints at him. "Sounds like you're expecting a fight."
"Taylor, no. I just figured the more the better."
Taylor turns his critical gaze on Jess, who struggles to not look outright hostile.
"I thought you specialised in demolition." Taylor says.
Jess actually laughs, it's a surprise.
"Not for a couple of years." He says.
Taylor looks back at Luke, leans his face in close, like he can see through him that way.
"What's your angle?" He says, but is interrupted by the arrival of his mobile office.
While Taylor gestures and yells for it to be put in its correct place Jess sticks his elbow in Luke's side and glares at him, but Luke just shakes his head.
Taylor calls for everyone to enter the house and Jess walks reluctantly behind his uncle. The other volunteers gather in the oversized hall and Jess spots Kirk, Gypsy, and recognises Kyle, one of Dean's friends. He looks away quickly but Kyle leans over and pokes his arm with his hook.
"Hey, I know you don't I?" He asks.
"We went to school together." Jess admits.
"Really?"
"I skipped a lot."
"Oh." Kyle says, then his mouth widens in a goofy grin. "Anyway, I thought I'd lend a hand."
Jess manages a startled smile.
"Good one." He leans over to Luke and hisses his name, but Luke just shushes him.
Meanwhile Kyle keeps glancing at Jess as if there's something he's missing.
"What the hell are you two doing here?" Gypsy asks with a suspicious glare.
"I can't keep answering this question." Luke mutters, and Jess goes into defensive mode.
"Right back at ya." He hisses at Gypsy, but the interaction is interrupted by Taylor.
"We're embarking on a wonderful adventure. Right here, we'll display Mr. Twickham's impressive collection of memorabilia-"
Jess processes this information while Taylor keeps talking, without getting any wiser. He only snaps out of his thoughts at the sound of Luke's voice.
"Sounds good."
Sounds good? What the heck is Luke doing? Taylor goes on.
"I took the liberty of doing up some fun shirts that we all can wear. Everyone, put one on."
Kirk starts handing out bright orange t-shirts. The volunteers put them on, and Luke is the quickest of the lot. Jess blinks, and puts on the horrifying shirt.
"Now, before we begin, I'd like us all to join hands." Taylor says stretching his open hands from his sides in a hunt for others.
Jess turns his head sharply to Luke with what he imagines must be a desperate expression, but Luke steadfastly ignores him and Jess feels the cold steel of Kyle's hook on his right hand and hears Gypsy mumble something about Taylor being a perv.
"Let's close our eyes and visualise our goal."
"Wow." Jess mouths, and tightens his hand around Luke's.
"Ouch." Luke growls through the corner of his mouth.
"You only have yourself to blame." Jess growls back.
The awkward circle doesn't last for long, but Taylor holds onto Luke so Jess makes his way into one of the corners, opens a box and starts unpacking without even registering the items he picks out. He tries to read the lips of Taylor and his uncle who remain uncomfortably close in the middle of the room, but he doesn't stand a chance, and can't hear the conversation over all the rustling newspaper. He abandons the box and steps closer to Luke, arriving just as Taylor tells him that he likes this new side of him. Taylor leaves and Luke examines his hand. Jess grabs his shirt and pulls him off to the side.
"You and I are having a conversation."
"I swear to god if one more person grabs me-" Luke starts.
"Why are you being Taylor's lap dog?"
"What are you talking about?" It's almost endearing how terrible a liar his uncle is.
"You wanna help out, sure, it's a little weird, but doing it and trying to stay on the Town Selectman's good side?" Jess squints at Luke. "What the heck is going on?"
"He's not just the Town Selectman, you know." Luke says, rubbing the hand Taylor held on to. "He's the head of the Historical Society too."
"So?" Jess objects. "He's also Chairman of the Town Beautification Committee, from what I hear a very vocal notary of the PTA even if he has no children, and Gavel-man at every town meeting- These are reasons to give him a hard time, to buy up buildings he'd otherwise acquire, to throw frying pans his direction, he already has Kirk for all his henchman-stuff-"
"In two months he'll decide what to do with this house." Luke interrupts.
Jess raises his eyebrows.
"You want the house." He states.
Luke shushes him again.
"Does Lorelai know about this?" Jess asks.
"Nah."
"You think maybe she should?"
"Don't you tell her anything!" Luke hisses and Jess raises his hands in surrender. "And I'm not like you. I don't do words."
Jess scoffs. His uncle doesn't do words, but thinks he does. He shakes his head with a disbelieving smile. His uncle is trying to acquire a house from his nemesis in absolute secrecy. It's a dumb move to not tell Lorelai. It's a dumb, dumb move. And of course Jess has his back.
"Stop smiling like that." Luke mutters.
"Never." Jess responds and gets back to work.
Through the next few days he's a model volunteer, he does whatever Luke asks of him and holds back every snarky response or sarcastic salute at Taylor's nonsense, and he even feels okay about it. He's pretty sure that this uncharacteristic chipperness is the sole reason Kyle never places him as the object of his pal Dean's hatred.
All in all, he's doing so much better than in Hartford. He tries to not think about it though, what it means. That Hartford will still be there, waiting, when he's done here. That he's much happier under his uncle's roof, where he wakes up to some grander albeit idiotic purpose.
On Thursday they're eating dinner up in Luke's tiny kitchen, some advanced fish dish tasting strongly of cilantro.
"So, you feel like telling me what you and Rory fought about?" Luke says.
Jess stops chewing, swallows his food, and sighs.
"Do I really have to?"
"I guess not." Luke says. "Assuming you don't mind me jumping to my own conclusions."
"I'm thinking they'll be fairly accurate." Jess allows.
Luke taps his fingers on the table's surface apparently in search of words.
"You know, you deserve to be happy." He finally says. "Same as anyone else, just because you don't have their money-"
Jess interrupts him.
"It's not about money, Luke. Not to me." It's about being worthy, but he doesn't say that, it's too much.
Luke seems to catch on anyway, because he gives him a small smile before resuming his meal. They eat in silence for a minute.
"Are you okay?" Luke asks.
"Like, in general or-?"
"Jess."
He swallows, and answers.
"I'm a bit stressed out."
"Why is that?"
"I have things to do in Hartford, I gotta get a new roommate for one thing."
"Right." Luke takes another bite of food but keeps speaking while chewing. "The one who went to Philadelphia- didn't he want you to go with?"
Jess forces a laugh that feels like biting into a piece of lemon.
"Yeah, he thought I could handle a business in addition to myself."
"And you could," Luke immediately goes, "I've seen you around the diner, you'd have no problems doing that for yourself. It was some publishing business, right? Good fit for you and your book habit."
Jess feels like he's losing his balance, and grimaces, hopefully managing a dismissive expression.
"I barely write."
There's a pause that seems to go on forever while his careless words sink in, both with him and Luke, who smiles.
"You write?"
"I thought I did words?" Jess says, defensively.
Luke's smile widens, while Jess sighs.
"But what the heck am I gonna do with that?"
"That thing in Philly is apparently an option." Luke says, redirecting his attention to his meal.
Jess grunts and shakes his head, taking a big bite of food, to finish the conversation.
It's not that he doesn't want to confide in his uncle, who might have a point about him 'doing words', as he put it, it's just that he's better at writing them down. He does keep notebooks, goes through them actually, but speaking any of what he puts in there? He tries sometimes, and it's almost always painful - except with Rory, or, no, still painful, just not in a bad way.
Luke's the only grown man Jess has ever loved, but Luke doesn't do ambiguity very well, especially not when it comes to his nephew; He gets defensive, or protective, or assertive in the worst way, demands something happen, something change. He's a doer, so Jess became a doer too, so that they could communicate in a comfortable way. And now, here they are, helping out with the least legitimate museum Jess has ever come across, doing something, even if it's dumb.
Then it's Friday and the opening of the Wickham Museum is one day away. By now he's gotten so used to hearing Luke drone on in agreement with Taylor that he immediately pays attention when his uncle objects to Taylor's take on the Washington letter from 1944. Taylor seems to take it in his stride, and disappears through the front door, but then, seconds later, Kyle walks into the room.
"Hey Jess."
"Yeah?"
"Taylor wants to see you in his office."
Jess trades an incredulous look with Luke on his way out. He knocks at the door of the module and Taylor invites him in.
"Ah, Jess. Sit down, won't you? I need you to liaise with your uncle for me. Please communicate that if he's going to disagree with me, I'd rather he didn't do it in front of the crew. That George Washington letter; I was humiliated."
"Okay." Jess says, feeling like a worm on a hook.
Taylor furrows his brow, and looks at Jess, expression split between insult and fear.
"You think I was humiliated?"
"No." Jess assures, shaking his head for emphasis and to hide the smile that threatens to break out across his lips.
"Good." Taylor sounds pleased. "It's probably safest for him not to disagree with me at all, don't you think?"
"I'll pass it on." Jess gets up, beyond relieved to get to end the conversation.
"Good. You know I can't recall why I used to have such a bad feeling about you."
"Thanks." Jess manages, impressed that he keeps his voice so calm.
Taylor's walkie-talkie beeps, and Kirk's voice crackles through it.
"The carpenter is here, Taylor."
"Copy that. Uh, tell Luke to liaise with him, would you?"
"Ten-four." Jess answers and turns his face away to not lose it.
When he steps out of Taylor crazy-hut he finds Luke struggling to break up a mannequin-fight between Kirk and Kyle.
"Taylor wanted to tell me to tell you that when you argue with him in front of other people it makes him sad."
Luke grunts in response.
"Please tell me we can kill him when we're done here."
"Sorry, no can do." Luke answers.
"Also he wanted you to deal with the carpenter." Jess gestures in the direction of the truck that's just pulled up, but freezes when he sees that it's Dean who's unloading it.
Luke is raising his hand in greeting, when Dean spots them and immediately shifts his expression to hostility. Shit. Jess exchanges a look with Luke, and realises that his uncle looks equally bothered by Dean's presence.
"What is his beef with you, anyway?" He asks.
"Long story," Luke grunts, "I never liked the guy, I may have had him in a headlock a few years back, but I thought he was over it- Wait, what's his beef with you?"
Jess just raises his eyebrows at him and he nods.
"Figures."
Jess scratches his head.
"So, that bit of liaising you're meant to conduct might be tricky."
"Yeah." Luke taps his foot. "I wonder who he hates the most?"
"That would be me."
"Sure about that?"
"Oh yeah." Jess immediately goes, but holds out his fist. "Rock paper scissors? Loser liases?"
"Please." Luke mutters, but holds out his fist anyway, and immediately loses. "Shoot." He sighs and heads for the truck.
Jess remains in his place and tries to be sneaky about watching Luke's interaction with Dean, but fails miserably when Kyle falls into him, half a mannequin still in his arms, landing on his side giggling hysterically. Jess straightens, mumbling cuss words and is about to reprimand Kyle, but Luke comes marching back looking absolutely fuming.
"You okay?"
"It's nothing." Luke mutters. "He's all set," he gestures at Dean before heading into the house.
Jess looks in the direction of Dean whose eyes are already on him while he smiles; A malignant, pleased smirk that makes Jess go cold. He turns back to Kyle offering to help him up. Kyle grabs his hand with the one he still has left and pulls himself to standing.
"Hey," he says, eyes darting between Jess and Dean by the truck, "I remember you now."
Kyle walks off with his half a mannequin, and Jess just stands his ground, keeping his expression even. He doesn't turn to see if Dean is looking at him, but heads into the house to look for Luke. He finds his uncle in a back room in the process of pulling off his horrible orange t-shirt without it sticking to his flannel shirt.
"What happened?"
Luke gestures dismissively.
"He was just being a little prick about me and Lorelai."
"Just?" Jess goes.
"He's a freaking kid, what does he know about life?" Luke finally gets his t-shirt off, in a jagged motion.
"Hey." Jess objects.
"Fine, what does a kid like that-" Luke points, "-know, period!" He tosses the t-shirt on the floor.
"Not a lot." Jess mumbles, picking up the garment.
"I mean, where does he get off-?" Luke sounds like he's about to go off on a rant, but stops, gesturing toward the floor. "I should get going, I have to pick up a cannonball in Mystic." He stomps out of the room.
Jess folds the shirt placing it on a chair. Great. This is just what Luke and Lorelai need, another bump in the road. No way he's leaving Luke on his own with that guy again. So, when Luke drives off with Taylor, Jess sticks around, finding things to do when he runs out. He does it coolly, deliberately, even when he catches Dean and Kyle muttering in a corner, heads together, he keeps working.
Then Luke gets back; It's late and he's obviously in a terrible mood, Taylor talking his ear off, and the ball rolling around in the back of the truck. Taylor recruits Dean to help carry the thing, but Jess hurries and bumps Luke out of the way.
And so, Jess and Dean wind up making their way toward the house carrying a hundred pound metal ball between them. Dean glares at Jess who stares right back. Then Dean pulls up a corner of his mouth.
"I hear you're pretty cosy with Rory. You guys must be, like, having an open relationship, with her going to college and all." His voice is soft and low so Taylor won't hear.
Jess chews on his lower lip and squints, like he's thinking real hard about something.
"I bet I could drop this with pretty solid precision." He looks at the cannonball between them and then at Dean's feet. "Are those steel-toed boots?"
Dean stops smiling.
"Mention her again and I guess we'll find out." Jess finishes.
"Where do you want it, Taylor?" Dean asks, in a slightly higher pitched voice than normal.
"On the lawn will be fine."
Dean looks back at Jess, who smiles, like he's playing chicken, and Dean drops the ball while stepping away from it at the same time, folding his long body around its curve. It looks ridiculous.
Jess and Luke walk back to the diner a while later and Jess clenches and unclenches his fists, too lost in thought, too distracted by his feelings catching up with him to notice that Luke is completely quiet, until they're getting ready for bed.
"What's up?"
"I'm having second thoughts about this." Luke mutters.
"What? Why?" Jess objects. "'Cause of the cannonball run? 'Cause of Dean? Don't let him get to you."
Luke sighs deeply but nods, with a tight smile on his lips, then goes to bed.
Jess lies awake though, wondering what sound a cannonball landing on a foot would make, with a familiar fire burning in his chest. The wheel is still spinning, slowing, where will it stop? Hartford might be waiting, might be worse than this, but it's the same thing wherever he goes. It's not about the place, it's about him, how he keeps himself locked inside, wound too tightly, just maintaining defenses. He'll piss someone off, someone will push him too far, he won't talk about it, he'll drop the fucking ball, he'll do time at Cheshire correctional, he'll get out, still locked up. He keeps his notebooks tucked away in shoeboxes when he's filled them, they never lay around. The only ones who know about them are Chris and Rory.
Rory.
Before he got to know her, her life seemed ridiculous. Sure, she looked like a princess in that debutante dress and it stirred something... worrying in him, but it wasn't real, just a getup for a costume party as far as he was concerned. Then when he knew her, fell for her, yearned for her, but the problem was always her asshole boyfriend, not the high society he vaguely registered she had a foot in. Even when he saw her that night she left for Europe it was more about where she was headed than who she was. And yeah, he detests Dean who thinks he owns her, still, and Logan who doesn't seem to see how extraordinary she is, to whom she's just another girl to not date. But they're not the problem.
It's a goddamned cop-out is what it is, he sees that now; He was freaked and refused to think about why. It was easier to be jealous, and blame the guys she was seeing. He didn't understand, but now, after everything that has happened, he does. He understands what it means, how overwhelming it is, how demanding. It embraces her regardless of her will and pulls, pushes, provides. He will never be part of it. He'll never dress right enough, behave well enough, or even make enough money to earn a place in it. It's a rival he'll never beat.
But he can make his own place in the world, do something brave that he can be proud of, that he won't have to dance in rings around or make up pretty titles for.
He's in love with Rory Gilmore, can't deny it anymore. And that means he has to start acting accordingly.
Rory
It's Friday Night Dinner again and Emily and Richard stay focused on exchanging pleasantries about the Inn with Lorelai a good bit into their meal, but then… Rory sees it coming too late. She has an awkward feeling and then finally pinpoints that Lorelai's personal life being so off limits means that they're more dependent on hers for entertainment. She's barely finished the thought when Emily speaks.
"So, Rory, how are things with your- with- what was his name again?" She turns to Richard for the information, like she has to, like it's not meant to be derogatory.
"Mariano, Jess Mariano, I believe." He smiles at Emily and winks at Rory, who has to swallow down the sting in her throat.
She considers lying, Lorelai would back her up either way, she knows that. But she's tired, all at once, can't bear to lie about him anymore, it feels too real.
"Actually," she starts weakly, "we're not-" she can't finish.
"You're not seeing him anymore?" Emily asks, almost a predatory note in her voice.
"No, I guess not." Rory manages.
There's a few seconds of silence, of peace and pain.
"Well, c'est la vie." Emily says.
Rory looks at her sharply, can't make out her grandmother's expression completely, it seems split between some grim austerity and cynicism. Lorelai glances at her while chewing, it seems casual, but Rory knows she's on edge.
"I suspect there will be plenty of other suitable candidates waiting when you're ready." Richard says, aiming to be reassuring, but it doesn't feel like that.
"Oh, absolutely." Emily says, without missing a beat. "For one thing, Logan Huntzberger and you seemed very friendly at our renewal, and he was such a big help that night." She doesn't specify how he helped, too dangerous.
Rory feels something twist in her throat and has to let it out. It's a laugh. A short, awful sounding thing that startles her, and probably the rest of the people around the table too judging from their faces. She stares at Emily for a moment while it hits her; Her grandmother will never let it go. Lorelai is right; This strategy of trying to appease her with compromises won't do any good. She has to finish this. She smiles.
"I'll handle my own love life, thank you."
Emily actually chuckles in response.
"And how has that worked out so far?"
"Not very well, I'll admit." Rory nods, biting the inside of her cheek. "But I've learned a few things lately."
"Oh? Like what?"
She shrugs, and calmly prepares a fork with the different elements of the meal.
"Some things about love." She looks at her grandmother. "Some things about you."
She takes the bite and chews while meeting Emily's eyes until she looks away. They finish the visit soon thereafter, the conversation isn't quite able to recover.
"You stayed pretty cool back there." Lorelai remarks in the car back to Stars Hollow.
"At last." Rory answers, picking at her sleeve. "So, what's the plan this weekend?"
"The Twickham museum opens tomorrow and we're going. What?" Lorelai asks when Rory grimaces.
"Nothing, I'm just, tired."
"That's because it's nighttime, also, when have you ever passed on an opportunity to make fun of any project of Taylor's?" Lorelai objects.
"It's fine, we'll go." Rory forces a smile.
"We have to! Luke has been working on this all week, I haven't seen him once in five days."
Rory raises her eyebrows.
"Luke is on the same project as Taylor?"
Lorelai smiles widely.
"I know! Isn't that reason enough to go?"
"I guess."
Lorelai stops smiling.
"Wow, now I'm worried."
Rory's instinct is to deflect, but she's too slow.
"Rory?"
"Me and Logan broke up." She says before taking time to think about it.
Lorelai's mouth falls open, like she's surprised,
"Oh, honey."
Rory scoffs.
"At least I think we did, I mean, it wasn't really overt, but does it have to be when you never really officially dated to begin with? So many questions."
Lorelai closes her mouth.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. No. I mean I'm okay with it, but I'm not okay. My life's a mess, mom." She sighs sharply. "I ruined everything." She shakes her head. "It worked out exactly as you said- don't you just hate being right all the time?-" She bites her lip. "-and the way Luke thought it would. We haven't spoken in over two weeks-"
"We?"
"Jess and me. The last time that happened..." She falls quiet, hasn't told anyone about how bad it was.
"Did you call him?"
"No." She answers despite knowing what's coming.
"But Rory-"
She interrupts her mother.
"We're not really equipped to handle what we are, I think."
"And what are you?"
Rory stares at her mother in mute frustration.
"Just- spilling over the edges."
Lorelai tilts her head to the side. Outside the car window the night keeps passing. Rory's almost lost in it when her mother speaks again.
"What did you learn?"
Rory's heart skips a beat from the familiar words.
"Huh?"
"About love, you told Emily you'd learned a few things about love lately, what?"
Rory tries to put together an answer. She's read so many books, and feels like she's learned so little.
"I guess I don't think it can be manhandled the way grandma seems to think."
Lorelai smiles.
"Nope."
But it can be corrupted, Rory thinks, worn out and minced down by the right amount of force, over time. Her life is what it is, it hasn't changed just because she told Emily to butt out of it. It may be an inhospitable environment for the kind of love she wants.
"I'm not sure I wanna need him like I do." She mumbles.
Lorelai's face changes, there's pity there, and guilt.
"I've encouraged you to put your trust in people who didn't deserve it before." She says. "I won't do that again." She stares intently at the wheel. "But you don't always get a choice in who you trust, or need."
Rory leans her head against the window.
"That sucks."
Lorelai shrugs.
"You could probably do worse in that respect. I mean, I know he has a different last name, but I'm starting to think he really is a Danes-guy, at least after what Luke tells me."
They pull up on their driveway.
"And I know all about your mess, mine's the same, remember? I know what it's like to feel like everything attached to you is just, a landslide. But you can't let it carry you off, you have to hold the line, dig your heels in." Lorelai smiles, a little inward smile, and it's clear what she's thinking, then she looks up at Rory again. "Listen, come with us to the Museum thing tomorrow, nothing like a little Stars Hollow insanity to clear things up."
Rory doesn't get a chance to answer because Paris and Kirk are waiting on the porch, the latter with a note attached to his jacket signed by the Maddis family. After an hour of logistics surrounding their surprise guests she just excuses herself and goes to bed.
Saturday comes and she wakes up in her old room, her old bed, and is instantly reminded of the lowkey absurdity of her life when the sound of weekend morning cartoons trickle in through her closed door and she realises that'll be Kirk and Paris watching TV in their pyjamas. She gets a text from Lane asking her to meet her at the museum and settles on going. She dresses in jeans and a black zip up shirt- an outfit that didn't make the Yale cut- and grimaces at herself in the mirror. Paris seems amused by the idea of the museum, and Kirk is volunteering, so they all wind up there when it opens right before lunch.
Luke is already there and eager to escort Lorelai and Sookie inside so they split up, Rory and Paris staying outside waiting for Lane. Paris can't stop obsessing over Doyle. Rory takes the phone off of her hands and tries to warn her about Miss Patty's punch, but it is to no avail when Lane shows up, looking glum, and also deems drinking alcohol the best strategy.
They sit at the table in the far corner of the Twickham garden. Rory sips the punch slowly having witnessed her mother getting too much too soon before, but neither Paris nor Lane possess the necessary experience or self preservation presently and really seem to be in a mood when it comes to taking reasonable advice from friends.
Lane tells her story, and a disbelieving laugh bursts out of Rory.
"Zack and Sophie? No way!" She says.
Lane glares at her.
"You don't know. He came on to your mom!"
"Everyone comes onto my mom!"
"You know," Paris starts. "You should go confront him right now."
"Oh good." Rory mutters under her breath.
"Or the music-lady," Paris goes on, "try to appeal to her sense of sisterhood, she's probably enough of a hippie to buy into that mumbo-jumbo."
"You should go confront a cup of coffee." Rory tries, but no one listens, and within fifteen minutes her friends are on their second cups of punch, while she's still working on her first.
"This is tasty." Paris goes.
"I'm thirsty, this punch makes you thirsty." Lane remarks. "But tell me about Doyle."
"That little weasel." Paris exclaims. "Hasn't called me in nearly two weeks."
"You should go talk to him." Lane says. "March right up to his face with your face and tell him this won't stand."
"Okay," Rory goes, "it's getting a little too crazy here, you're gonna have to cool it or I'm taking away the punch."
Both her friends dive toward their cups, clutching them defensively.
"You have no power here, Gilmore!" Paris bursts out. "You're in the same situation as we are."
"What are you talking about?" Rory whines.
"Yeah," Lane says, "what are you-" then she twitches in her seat and turns to Rory. "Is this about Jess?"
"Jess?" Paris goes. "I'm talking about Logan." She pierces Rory with a stare. "What happened to Huntzberger, huh?"
"What happened with Logan?" Lane asks.
"This is not about anything with anyone!" Rory protests and points at Paris. "You're just projecting your issues onto me but in reality they're nothing alike, and you-" she points at Lane, "-are too inexperienced to know what's what. Zach took his time getting together with you because you live together and play in the same band together, I'm sure if he decides to end it he'll do it in the same way and not sneak off with the music store owner-"
"But I don't sleep with him!" Lane objects. "What if he just gets that somewhere else?"
"Oh, please!" Paris says, suddenly knee deep in the interaction with Lane who listens intently. "Sex is no guarantee for anything, take it from someone who knows. It's really all about trust y'know? Where would you be without it?"
Trust. I don't feel like trusting you right now. But she did trust him enough to ask him to do this insane thing with her. She has no choice in the matter of trusting him, and the absence of him these last couple of weeks are at once very palpable.
"You'd be nowhere." Lane answers Paris's rhetorical question.
"We are nowhere." Paris establishes.
"And it's now." Lane mumbles into her cup.
"And what did you mean by Jess earlier?" Paris goes, attention back on Rory in an instant. "Have you been dabbling in two teams, bet on two horses-?"
"My god, Paris!" Rory groans. "If you insist on metaphors could you at least use functioning ones?"
"Don't try to deflect your way outta this."
"I'm not deflecting, I just don't feel like talking about it." Rory crosses her arms.
"You know a really good way of not having to talk is to drink." Lane smiles.
"Right!" Paris says. "Some days are for talking, some are for drinking."
Rory gives up and takes a real gulp out of her cup. She drinks quietly, sullenly, while listening to Paris's and Lane's insane theories feeling defeated for several reasons. It would be nice to be able to talk to her friends who tend to be more useful off Patty's punch, but a part of her feels fairly certain that talking about it won't help her at this point. So, she drinks instead. She even empties her cup before the second wave of insanity kicks in with her friends.
"That's it! I've had it!" Lane jumps up. "I'm getting to the bottom of this!"
"Spank his bottom!" Paris cheers.
"No!" Rory exclaims. "I thought we settled on just discussing bad strategies, not executing them!"
"Get with the program Gilmore! It's never just talking!"
"Or drinking!" Lane adds.
"Yeah. You gotta do. Consequences be damned!"
"Consequences?" Lane goes, voice distinctly lower.
"Days like these are days that shape your future, when you stop letting circumstances toss you around like a leaf on the wind and you become the wind!"
"Become the wind?"
"The gale, the storm, the tornado! Blow him away!"
"Paris, I don't know..." Lane starts. "Rory, what do you think? Really?"
"Why would you ask her?" Paris protests. "She'd soar around aimlessly the rest of her life if she could get away with it."
"Hey! I don't soar aimlessly, I have aim, I'm aimful."
Paris goes on arguing but Rory doesn't listen since her pocket starts vibrating. She pulls out her phone but that's not it, it's Paris's. She picks it out and squints at the screen. Paris is still ranting.
"Paris!" She says loudly. "You mentioned a tornado. How do you feel about an earthquake?"
Paris frowns at her, and she holds up the phone.
"Doyle!" She says triumphantly and tosses the phone to her angry friend who remarkably catches it despite her enhibriation, answers, and walks off.
Rory turns back to Lane. They look at each other for a second, then burst into laughter.
"Sorry." Lane says after a few moments. "I got the crazy gene from my mom, sometimes it gets the better of me."
"I can relate." Rory says.
"Can't believe I almost confronted my boyfriend on Miss Patty's punch!"
"It's a rite of passage better skipped," Rory says. "I'm proud of you."
Lane smiles, but it fades fast now.
"What should I do?" She mumbles.
Rory stifles a sigh and prepares another speech on how nothing has been proven and there's probably no need to do anything, but her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of upset voices. She and Lane look around but the noise is coming from the other side of the house.
"Should we-?" Rory starts without finishing.
She and Lane start moving toward the sound on instinct but then it gets quiet. Lane opens her mouth to speak but is stopped by a tall figure rounding the corner and walking in their direction.
Dean. Rory stops and holds out a hand to stop Lane too. He marches with big steps, his sleeve pulled over his hand and pressed against his nose. He's clearly angry, but Rory realises, after a few seconds more than it would have taken her under normal circumstances, that he's walking away from the ruckus, rather than toward them. Lane however, doesn't.
"Not another step!" She belts. "Our friend knows Krav Maga and will be back any second!"
"Screw you, Lane!" He answers, somewhat muffled. "And you too, for good measure." He says to Rory.
"Back at ya." Rory manages before curiosity gets the better of her. "What happened to you?"
"This?" Dean moves his hand revealing a bloody nose. "Your boyfriend did this!"
She blinks at him, breathless at once.
"Jess?"
"You admit it." He spits and has to cover his nose again.
Her mouth falls open, and she struggles to hold back a smile as it hits her, all of it. Become the wind. Hold the line. She takes an ill-advised step toward him, then looks up at his face, all sincerity.
"You were right." She says. "To be jealous." She takes a breath of relief as the words finally fall into some sequence that makes sense to her, that might change things for them. "Nothing happened, but I was in love with him." His eyes widen at her admission. "I didn't love you right. And you don't love Lindsey right."
He reacts just as one might expect, with a scowl, and an attempt to leave. She remains in her place but raises her voice and hurries her words so he won't miss it.
"How would she feel if she knew how much you hate me?"
He's already passed her but she knows he stops at her question. She glances over her shoulder at his frozen back until he starts moving again, slower this time, but away from them.
Moments pass and Lane exhales loudly.
"Wow!" She flaps a hand in front of her face. "That was intense."
"Yup."
"Jess did that to him?"
"I didn't even know he was in town." Rory breathes.
"For a week now." Lane says. "He's been helping out with the museum."
Rory frowns in disbelief, but Lane doesn't register it, her face is alive with the drama of the moment.
"And you," she says excitedly, "you finished him!" She gestures in Deans direction. "With your words! Fatality!"
A slightly desperate, short laugh bursts out of Rory.
"Good for you."
"Yes!" Rory agrees.
"Good for Jess." Lane purrs.
"Maybe not." Rory mumbles concerned at the thought.
"You finally said it, that you were in love with him." Lane says, a not so small hint of admiration in her voice, that forces Rory to smile.
"I did, didn't I?" She presses her palms to her cheek, they feel hot.
Lane smiles.
"Well, I was thinking I should go find Zach. What do you think?"
"I think you should," Rory nods, but grasps her friend's arm before she has a chance to start moving, "just not to confront him, but maybe Paris has a point about just doing something."
Lane's smile gets wider and she nods before leaning in and pecking Rory's cheek.
"Thank you." She turns and walks away.
Rory watches Lane as she turns the corner of the building. Then she gazes up at the tree tops moving lazily with the wind. The buds are in different stages of opening revealing shades of bright green. It's such a pretty day, funny how she didn't see it before.
"Rory!" Lorelai's voice.
Rory turns in the direction of the sound and sees Lorelai walking across the grass in her direction, Luke is behind her, with a small but sweet smile on his face. Rory meets her mother halfway.
"Hi!"
"Wow!" Lorelai says waving her hand in front of her face. "You've been drinking the punch? Have you learned nothing from my mistakes?"
"Peer pressure:" Rory sticks out her lower lip and Lorelai laughs.
Luke catches up with them and a thought strikes Rory.
"So," she starts tentatively, "did you just get back from the exhibition?"
"We walked right out from the diorama, my eyes are still getting used to the light. "Lorelai blinks theatrically. "And let me tell you it was one for the books, you have to see it."
"I'll be sure not to miss it."
"Yeah, the script was legendary, and you know Taylor's instructions said no lewd behavior but it was very dark in there and-"
"Okay thank you!" Rory laughs.
She glances at Luke but he just smiles, a little red, she thinks, but if he knew about what supposedly went down with Jess and Dean, he'd look very different. The fact that neither him or Lorelai knows yet is probably just wild luck. She has to find Jess.
"So," she says, making an effort to get them out of here. "Where are you headed now?"
"Back home," Lorelai smiles, "we figured going now was the only way to have some privacy, before Kirk comes back and while you're busy playing with your friends."
"Good!" Rory says, a bit too loudly, she clears her throat. "Actually Doyle called, so Paris is probably on her way back to Yale as we speak, and Lane went to hang out with Zach."
"Oh, so you'll just spend a few hours at the bookstore." Lorelai states, mischievous smile on her lips.
"Yeah. Or, you know, see that amazing Diorama."
"Excellent." Lorelai says, kissing her cheek. "Later!"
"Later." Rory responds and smiles at Luke as he passes her following her mother.
She looks at them as they walk away, reassured by them taking the back road to the house, the chances of them running into someone from the museum is minimal. As soon as they're out of sight she starts walking in the opposite direction, toward the front of the Twickham house. Miss Patty is surrounded by a crowd, all partaking in her words and her punch. Rory doesn't stop to listen though, too risky, instead she heads for the diner, it's where he would go.
That thing she once called his m-o hasn't been true for a while, even now when he has a better offer than working at the diner or Bookends, he still seems hell-bent on staying put. She knew it was about making amends to Luke, and liked that he was so serious about it, it said something about his character. But she's been worried too, that he was missing out by being so wrapped up in what he owed someone else. They've seen each other at least once a week since last summer, he always picks up when she calls, yet she never once considered that he might've stayed put for her.
She arrives at Luke's and it's closed, the sign turned out and a note taped to the glass telling people about the museum. But she knows where Luke keeps his spare key and waits until no one is around before reaching to grasp it from the top of the door and letting herself in. She locks the door behind her and places the key on the counter, then stands still for a moment listening until she hears a shuffle from upstairs. Her heartbeat picks up and she climbs the stairs. She stops outside the door to the apartment, and swallows.
Her life is what it is, an inhospitable mess unless she holds the line. Paris, unbelievably, is right; She'll soar aimlessly, unless she decides not to. Consequences will be damned.
Her heart pounds so hard she can barely hear herself knocking, but then Jess opens the door, and everything goes quiet. He's in a terrible orange t-shirt and black pants, hair in disarray, and a bruise across one cheekbone. She loses her train of thought and stares unabashed at it.
"What happened?" She asks despite already knowing.
His eyes, so far wide and light with anger, goes dark as he squints.
"What have you been drinking?"
She makes eye contact with a surprised exhale, she feels her mouth twitch at the haphazardly sewn together conversation.
"Miss Patty's punch." She shrugs.
"Yikes."
"But nevermind that now!" She pushes by him and into the apartment, stops, turns and crosses her arms with a firmness she doesn't quite possess at this particular per mille.
He tilts his head, obviously evaluating the state of her. Her eyes fall to his chest where a few stains, probably not tomato sauce, is clinging to the orange cloth. He follows her eyes and jaggedly pulls the shirt off himself revealing a white tank shirt underneath that rides up with the motion. He tosses the orange monstrosity into a corner and pulls down the tank with his other hand. She stares hypnotised, and forces the words out again to break the silence.
"What happened?"
"Dean happened. Fortunately I'm better in a tussle than him, with any luck I broke his nose."
She stares at his hand, it's red across the back. His fingers are moving, clenching and stretching.
"I met him." She says. "You might've."
He exhales, clearly annoyed.
"If you knew, then-?"
"Because I wanna hear you say it." She interrupts. "Why were you fighting?"
Jess apparently drops his indignation and sighs.
"I lost it." He mumbles. "He was talking shit about you, among other things. Telling him to fuck off didn't help, he had his buddy with him so I guess he felt safe-"
"He's always talking shit about me." She breathes, like it doesn't matter.
"He was goading me and I fell for it." He grumbles.
"Is this because I told you about what happened?" The words just slip out of her, she wouldn't have dared to be this direct under any other circumstances.
He blinks.
"I told you-"
"I know what you said."
There's a pause. Then he bites his lip, gnaws at it thinking.
"Maybe." He finally says.
The happiness is sharp, burning, she has to take a breath to bear it.
"He didn't hurt me, you know. It was consensual." She manages.
"I know."
"Still you hit him."
"I know."
"That doesn't make any sense."
"Just because it's not rational doesn't make it senseless."
"You might get in trouble."
He shakes his head.
"Taylor had to break up the fight, and Kyle being there meant I was scandalously outnumbered."
Rory smiles widely, wildly, what is with today today?
"Taylor?"
"He seemed very disappointed in his protegé. Something about not fighting honorably."
She laughs, a short, soundless breath, he smiles at her in response, and it feels like the floor is moving.
"How's your hand?"
He jerks at her words, raises his eyebrows, then shrugs.
"A bit achy, no worries."
She takes a step closer and reaches for his hand. He surrenders it and she inspects it closer; the knuckles are slightly swollen, a little red. She turns it over and presses her lips to his palm. His breath is audible and she looks back at his face, so close now. His lips are slightly parted and his eyes- he looks equal parts defensive and vulnerable, she decides.
"You're drunk." He says, halfway to a whisper.
She nods, matter of factly.
"A little, probably wouldn't have dared coming here otherwise." She holds onto his hand and strokes her cheek to its inside.
He swallows, and she feels strange, elevated, daring.
"You want me to go away?" She mumbles. "Say the word."
She lets go of his hand, but he keeps it where it is, his fingers moving in the hair behind her ear. She reaches and grips the bottom of his shirt between her fingers, focusing her eyes in a loose thread there.
"Do you?"
"No."
She smiles, just from that little word.
"Well, what do you want?"
She looks up at him and he's watching her intently.
"Rory." He whispers.
It's a plea, or an answer, but either way she can't stand his eyes for long, they're too dark, too sober, she lets her gaze drop to his mouth and then follows it with her lips. There's a gust of breath at his sudden exhale and she wraps her arms around him listening to the hissing sound of her blood trying to break out of her veins, like steam from a tea kettle. His hands both grasp the back of her neck and he opens his mouth to hers.
She's dizzy in an instant and she takes a new grip of his shirt at its back, clings onto it with her fists. But then there's the appeal of his warm skin so she lets go and puts her palms to his lower back, one hand follows his spine a bit up, and the other makes its way along the rim of his pants, fingers slipping inside. He makes a sound and tears his mouth from hers and she lets go of him, a bit startled.
He takes deep, quick breaths and looks at her and she holds back a smile when she reads him as aroused and concerned at the same time, seems an unlikely combination, but she really likes it. There it is again, that thing that doesn't feel like her, that daring thing. She doesn't know why she can isolate and feel it separately now, like a woken limb, but she does, and she might have to recognise it as a permanent part of her. She's done crazy things because of it, bad and good.
She takes a step backwards and meets his serious eyes with her own exhilarated gaze. Her hands only shake a little when she raises them to the zipper of her shirt. For a split second she's self-aware of the garment she wasn't even sure about to begin with and her simple cotton bra that's been through the washer a hundred times, and what panties did she choose again, now that she's on the subject? But she has no chance of latching onto it because she watches him look when she pulls it down and it's enough to make her weak at the knees; The way the feelings shift in his face, the hesitation becomes heated resolve. He steps up to her grasping the shoulders of her shirt and pulling it off her dropping it on the floor where they're standing. He kisses her again and she enthusiastically responds to it, pushing back into it to make it clear it's what she wants.
She puts her hands back under his shirt revelling in the sensation of his skin and the muscles moving under it. She pulls herself closer, folding her body after his determined curve. Now he helps, his hands grip her waist and move down into the back pockets of her jeans, bending his fingers into her and pressing her closer to him.
She has trouble keeping it together from sheer happiness, and all her longing, for him specifically, catches up with her, making its way into every heartbeat, her pulse a hard, rhythmic demand to let it out. Finally she cracks, a trembling moan making its way into their kiss. He pauses at her sound and puts the smallest of distance between them, his eyes darting between hers looking for something. She feels like she's floating, and has not the time or the discipline for his inspection, but drags her lips across his cheek to his jaw and below. She kisses his neck, right below his ear and a shiver runs through him clear enough for her to feel it, and he leans his head to the side to make more space for her. Encouraged she repeats the move and feels his sound before she hears it, a vibration rising through his throat.
It's too much. There's no way she can remain standing while kissing him like this. She starts nudging him in the direction of his bed. It's neatly made, he has explained it as a side effect of sharing a space with no doors with someone, a necessary step to ensure respect of the place and the person you share it with. The back of his legs are pushed into the edge of the bed and he bends them sitting down. Like flowing water his hands fall to the back of her thighs pulling them to him. She straddles him and he kisses her neck. Her weight closes all distance between them and the warmth and hardness of him seems enough to collapse reality, so she tangles her fingers into his hair in a desperate grip.
His hands abandon her back and move to her breasts, his thumbs moving over the in places threadbare cotton. Her breath hitches in her throat and she dares to let go of his hair to reach back and unhook the bra. She closes her eyes while she peels it off herself, concentrating on keeping her balance and what remains of her sanity. One of his hands moves up under her hair and the other closes around her bare breast, and she breathes again. She opens her eyes to look at him from behind her lashes. His eyes are veiled too, lost to the sensation of her, and he pushes her closer, rolls his hips against her and kisses her clavicle, his voice muffled against her skin.
There's a restlessness in his motions now and she feels it too, it's not enough, not after three years of wanting. He takes a few deep breaths against her chest as if he's fumbling for some emergency break. He obviously doesn't find it because he lets go of her breast to take a firmer grip of her waist and tip her and himself onto the bed. She winds up on her back and he on his side. He leans onto her kissing her and she wraps her arms around his waist pulling his shirt up. He reaches back and helps her pull it off. They've been swimming together, she's seen him bare chested before, but is acutely aware that it's a very different experience under these circumstances and she looks at him hungrily, unashamed.
He touches her breast again, and drags his hand downward, following it with his eyes. He reaches the button of her jeans and she feels a little snap as he opens it, then a slight vibration as he pulls down her zipper. She can't help but hold her breath, her heartbeat is like thunder in her ears. His hand is tight against her from the pressure of the garment and she feels it clearly as he makes his way down, and in between her legs. His hand is on top of her panties but she still twitches, gasps, when he reaches the right spot. There's a sound from him, she thinks a moan at first, but it's a word, words actually.
"No." He pulls his hand from her pants and grasps her hip instead, holds it firmly, to steady himself. "No, no, wait." It's just a mumble, but it's enough for her to go cold.
He shifts his body higher, and leans away from her. She forces herself to look at him, terrified, that's how it feels. His eyes are closed shut and he takes a deep breath, then opens them and locks his gaze with hers.
"I have to tell you something."
She swallows, manages a trembling smile.
"Now?"
"Yes." He whispers, completely serious.
She exhales, and hopes he can't hear the panic in it.
"What?"
There's a pause before he speaks, and it goes on forever.
"I love you." His voice is brittle.
There's a sudden, sharp sting in her chest and her vision goes blurry. She furiously blinks to be able to see.
"And I think I have to go to Philadelphia." He says.
She takes a breath and it feels like she hasn't for minutes. Then all of a sudden, hot tears are running down her temples, and she gasps for air.
"Rory?" He's afraid, she's never heard him sound like that.
She sniffles, and meets his eyes.
"You love me?" Her voice sounds strange, she's crying, how embarrassing.
He doesn't seem to think that though. The obvious relief and surprise on his face at her words, her reaction, is beautiful. His chest rises and falls quickly in a breath and he smiles, baffled, with trembling lips.
"Yes."
The euphoria of that small word forces a silent laugh, or maybe a sob, from her chest and she leans her head back, closing her eyes to bear it. He leans onto her again, strokes her hair, her temple, wipes a tear. She lets out a few wet breaths, swallows, then opens her eyes and looks at him. His face, it's so soft, his gaze caresses her, rolling from her forehead to her eyes, her mouth, her cheek and ear.
"Say it again." She whispers, starving.
He blinks, smiles.
"I love you." He says unsteadily.
Her chest quakes. She wraps her arms around his neck to hold on and he buries his face in the crook of her neck. She feels him shaking too. Maybe from laughter, maybe it's an actual earthquake. Then his mouth is on hers again, wet and hungry, and she laughs into it, mid-kissing, before the sensation of him takes over again.
She lifts her hips and inches out of her jeans and socks, wildly blushing. He leans to the side and watches her. She turns her face and meets his eyes before gathering the courage to push him over on his back. She drags a hand across his stomach on a pretty strong impulse, and tries to breath through the sensation he causes her with just his facial expression.
Her hands reach to unbutton his pants on their own accord and she finds herself surprised at it. She's never the one to initiate much of anything in this department. His hands close around hers and he looks at her, the urging right there. She unbuttons his pants under the cover of his hands and he pulls them off himself, pushing them over the edge of the bed.
She is suddenly aware of the sunlight streaming in through the window, it's the middle of the afternoon, how the rays fall on his skin, light up his eyes, and she realises he can see her too. It's real. Just a few minutes ago she was drunk, exempt, now he went and made it real. He lies back down on the bed in his underwear, and some strange kind of shyness overcomes her. Her skin prickles as she sits there, imagining Stars Hollow outside the window. Taylor bossing around Kirk somewhere, Dean tending to his nose, maybe comforted by Lindsey. Lane making out with Zach, maybe at the musicstore, her mother and Luke at the house, possibly in the same situation she is, sans the shyness, or the underwear. A quiet laugh escapes her at the thought and Jess looks at her with a quizzical smile. She just shakes her head, and revels in how beautiful he is.
Then she inches herself further up on the bed and lies back, feeling intensely vulnerable. Her pulse still beats hard, steadfastly between her legs, like a ticking clock. He watches her, and she swallows, reaching out her hand to him. He responds by moving closer to her, leaning on an elbow and dragging his hand up her tummy, over her breast, ending at her face. She thinks that they've changed places; He doesn't seem hesitant or concerned anymore, just calm and curious. She's nervous though, and turned on, the combination makes her feel explosive.
His hand strokes her cheek lightly, his thumb running over her lower lip. She shoots out her chin, half a start, an attempt. He leans in brushing his lips to hers. She puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him lightly to her, but he rolls back on his side stroking her face, expression apologetic.
"I don't have any protection." He says.
She's beyond relieved that's all it is, but intensely disappointed at the same time.
"I was not expecting this." He shakes his head looking at her, his fingers fiddling with her hair.
She swallows.
"I'm on the pill." She usually doesn't share that piece of information, because: "I normally come equipped with condoms too, but, they're in my bag back at the house."
His eyes narrow.
"Yeah, so-" She blushes, clears her throat. "We've never talked about stuff like this."
"Didn't have a reason to." He answers, and looks at her like she's a new place he's arrived at.
"So," her voice is thick but she forces it anyway, "I don't know, do you ever get tested, or-?"
"I don't have unprotected sex."
"Never?"
"Lately I don't have sex, period."
"Lately?"
He shakes his head.
"Let's not go there."
She sighs, relieved and nervous, again.
"So," he sighs, "this seems like just our luck, right?"
"Possibly." She says. "Or an opportunity to trust each other."
He tilts his head.
"I trust you. Not sure how I feel about Skip though."
She chuckles.
"He always said he was chronically paranoid."
"Shit."
She shrugs.
"I thought it was sweet, I mean, I'm the one walking around with twice the protection." She shakes her head. "I'm the paranoid one. Can't imagine why."
He leans in to kiss her and she feels like crying again. He breaks the kiss but keeps their heads together.
"But you trust me?"
"Yes, I do." She nods.
"Seems like we were maybe talking about something other than just sex right there."
"Maybe we were. And now when that's out of the way-" She kisses him as a way of finishing the sentence and before she knows it the fuse is lit again.
She opens her mouth and lets him in. She leans her body against his inviting him further. He doesn't roll onto her even if that is what she craves, the oblivion of simple weight. But even that is not that simple, it won't stop there, and she doesn't want it too. This is what she wanted back when she settled for something, someone else. And now she wants a chance to correct it, to make it up to herself if nothing else.
He bends his body, trying to keep kissing her while hooking his fingers into her panties and pulling them off. He doesn't succeed and has to let her lips go, but it's probably just as well seeing as she needs her full breathing capacity as he puts his hand directly on her. She can't help her body jerking at the touch and he straightens again, lifts himself onto one of her legs and shoulder. She reaches for the elastic band on his boxers and urges him to take them off, everything in her demands it. He obliges.
She's lost to lust, has no say in what she needs, and she needs this to happen, can't stop. She reaches down between them and touches him and he closes his eyes, breathing deeply, quickly a few times before seizing her mouth with his again so that they're already kissing deeply when his fingers enter her. She tightens her fist around him, sure she's about to lose it when he groans, covering her sound, which by the way transitions into laughter. It's a nervous response and she knows it, but he seems to too, and his lips tighten in a smile while he keeps kissing her, all the while breathing heavier and moving against her, and his fingers inside her.
He loves her, she remembers, and is at once so happy that she forgets any lingering embarrassment. She moans from the thought as well as the sensation of him and relaxes her legs allowing him better access.
For a while there's just that, this, them. Him and his touch, his mouth. He pushes her further than she's ever gone with anyone, just by letting him get so fricking close, see so much. She holds onto his shoulder like she's lost at sea when she comes, and makes sounds she can't even hear herself because of the roar in her ears. He watches her attentively seemingly registering every effect he has on her. But he's slow, too slow, and she starts showing her problem with his pacing by touching him more decisively, by writhing her body against his, then by making whining sounds. He just laughs at her, until she loses it and pushes his hand away.
"What?" He smiles.
"What what?" She hisses. "When are you gonna-?"
"Gonna what?" He teases.
"Jess!" She cries, completely shameless.
He stops smiling and bites his lip.
"Maybe I'm nervous."
"You don't seem nervous."
"Well, I've gotten pretty good at hiding that from you."
"What have you got to be nervous about?" She near whines.
He raises his eyebrows.
"Tons of stuff. I've been wanting this for a long time, that's one reason right there. Then there's the result of that, what if I last a whole minute? And then at least two more reasons that I'm not comfortable mentioning because quite frankly I'm not feeling too hot talking about this before we've even-"
"Then why are you procrastinating?" She croaks. "We're burning daylight here. What if Luke decides to come back? What if Taylor comes blasting through that door with a megaphone-"
"What?" He laughs.
"Don't look at me like that, you know anything can happen in this town, and what if that happens before you even, before we-?"
"What have you read this week?" He interrupts, looking intently at her.
"Hey!" She slaps his shoulder. "That's my trick."
"Come on." He urges.
"I've read nothing of interest, okay?" She groans.
He nods, solemnly.
"Okay, now ask me."
She squints at him.
"What have you learned?"
There's a slight pause before he answers, speaking slowly.
"Probably loads of stuff, but right now I'm drawing a complete blank, 'cause I think I'm about to learn what it's like to have sex with someone you love."
She gasps softly as his words hit, too close to home.
"How about that." She mumbles. "Me too."
His eyes widen, he obviously hadn't considered that. Then something shifts in his face, and quickly. He leans over, moves himself between her legs, and pushes himself into her. She stares up into his face, completely taken by the sudden haste, and the sensation of him on top of, inside her, and he stares right back at her, pleasure flickering across his serious face like a double exposed image. She exhales with a pretty specific note in her voice and he kisses her and starts moving, muffling his own sounds with her mouth. It's slow, exploratory, and she's torn between the urge to speed up, to rid herself of what little pesky control she's still in possession of and the thought that this is their first time, and they should get to know each other. His body trembles from the strain of keeping the pace and his eyes are closed. She looks at him and thinks that just seeing him like that, like this, is enough to tip her over the edge again. And then:
"Hey." She manages, and he stops moving. "Look at me."
He smiles, but keeps his eyes shut as he shakes his head.
"If I look at you I'll come in like a second."
She smiles so broadly it hurts her face.
"Really?"
A convulsion runs through his body at his laughter.
"Stop it."
She rolls her hips to his and he tries and fails to hold back a groan.
"Well, I don't care, because im planning on having loads of sex with you and I can't do that until we finish this first round." She moves again. "Now open your eyes."
He does, and starts moving again. She watches him take her in, listens to his jagged breaths, does the puzzle in her head as she knows he does in his; You wanted him, and thought you couldn't have him, and you shaped your thoughts and reality accordingly and now you get to, have to, dissolve that idea, and take in that it's mutual, this thing, and real. His fingers trail her lips, her neck, her breast and wind up between her legs rubbing her until she comes again. She whimpers and his body shakes from his own orgasm. He collapses on top of her, and it's so good, that weight, his scent, even the sweat on his skin, she has to blink away tears while kissing his neck.
They doze off for a while and when they wake up it's late afternoon. She fumbles for her phone and finds a text from Lorelai asking where she is. She responds honestly, she's at the diner with Jess and staying there, leaving no room for questions, even if they arrive in a series of intense beeps in the minutes following her sending her answer. By then Jess has pulled her, meeting exactly zero resistance, into a second round and the sounds are easy to ignore. But after that they're both forced to acknowledge that they're starving and he pulls his boxers and shirt back on and goes to raid Luke's fridge, and while he's busy she checks her messages:
'Glad you guys are making up.' 'Wait.' 'Ohmygod wait.' 'At the diner?' 'Are you making up at the diner or in the apartment above the diner? Please distinguish.' 'What do you mean 'with' Jess?' Rory swallows, once more unsure about what Lorelai's actual take would be on her getting together with Jess, but refuses to think about it right now. Instead she answers: "I love you, mom" and turns off her phone.
They eat sandwiches by the table, Rory has located one of her mother's robes and is wearing that, unwilling to get dressed again. She takes big bites, her body actually sobering up, hours after her mind, and chews with great concentration. She's done before Jess and watches him eat, while her head starts functioning again.
"Philadelphia." She just says, before she knows it.
He looks at her, startled, and swallows what he has in his mouth before shaking his head, looking so serious that she abandons any attempt to keep speaking.
"I can't have this conversation right now. I won't."
He gets up and walks around the table, drops to his knees in front of her chair and looks up at her. She looks back and notices it's hard to breathe, her gaze wanders his messy hair, his bruised cheek before meeting his eyes straightly. Her heart is too full, it hurts. He puts his hands to her bare feet and strokes them up her legs, reaches her thighs, her waist. He grips her around her lower back and pulls her off the chair into his lap, opens the robe.
An hour later they're back in bed. It's gotten dark outside, but it's still early. He's opened the window for air, and she can hear people move past the building on the sidewalk outside. She makes little sounds, hoarse and thirsty, but unable to get up. She turns on her side and inches her head onto his shoulder, stroking her hand down the side of his naked body. He intercepts it and lifts it, tangling their fingers together.
"You stayed for me." She says. "Right?" She looks at him and sees the confirmation in his face. "All this. Always working. Staying put despite there obviously being better things for you out there. It was for me."
"Luke was a factor too." He takes a deep breath. "But yeah."
"And I asked you to pretend to be my boyfriend because I really wanted you to be." The words are uncomfortable getting out, she's held onto them so convulsively.
He exhales, but it's getting too dark in the room to make out his expression.
"Well, I'm yours if you want me."
"I do." She says, simply.
She plays with his fingers for a few minutes, holds them up to hers, measuring them in the fading light.
"If you can stay for me you can go for me." She mumbles.
"That is nowhere near the same thing." He objects.
"Neither is the situation. You love me now." She answers lightly.
"I've always loved you."
She smiles, closes her eyes to ride the feeling of hearing him say it. She kisses him, and forgets.
Even later, she's lost track of time, but well past midnight, she's the best kind of sore from making love, leaning over the sink, naked, drinking from the tap. She stands like that for at least a couple of minutes, the water running into the metal sink and the light under the shelves buzzing. She straightens, wiping the water from her mouth with the back of her hand and blinks at him, still in the bed, head resting in his hand while he watches her.
"I think I have to be- do better." He says.
She turns off the light and makes her way back to him, while he keeps talking.
"Your grandmother didn't say it right out, but she made it clear-"
She interrupts.
"Jess, no! You can't do anything to try to please her."
"Look who's talking!" He laughs.
She climbs back into bed and nestles in tightly against him.
"I'm not doing this with her anymore." She mumbles against his neck. "No more blind dates, or set ups, or letting her auction me off to the highest bidder. It's done."
"Good for you."
She makes some space between them to make her point clear.
"So, if I, who's been groomed for this my entire life can say no more, then you-"
He grasps the sides of her face with both hands and she stops gesturing.
"I'm doing it for me, and you, not her." His eyes dart between hers. "But Rory, I'm glad you asked me to do this thing with you because it forced me to actually look at my life."
She burrows her hands into his hair.
"You think you have to be better. I think you deserve better."
He smiles.
"That's the same thing, I can't sit out any more chances."
She takes a deep breath and puts her forehead to his, closing her eyes.
"I guess you're not done being the good guy after all."
"No, I'm not."
The next time they wake up it's because of his alarm clock. He hits it to silence it and she rolls over and kisses his neck. He seizes her mouth with his and mumbles against it:
"Let's hit the shower."
Half an hour later they're back in bed after showering, wet and spent, waiting for time to run out, for it to reach the point when they absolutely have to get up, not before then will she move, she thinks.
"There'll probably be people hanging on the door today." He says after a few minutes.
"Shoot, you're right." She looks at him. "We have to get up."
They do. He's dressed within a minute and goes to brush his teeth. She inspects her shirt from yesterday critically, and heads for the closet in the hope of finding something of Lorelai's. She does, but she also finds something of Luke's and starts laughing to herself as she puts it on.
Jess comes out of the bathroom and stops in his tracks as he sees her; She's in her jeans, but then one of Luke's flannels, and one of his old caps. She holds out her hands.
"Ta-dah!"
"Oh, man!" He laughs.
"Come on!" She waves at him. "I'm ready to open for business."
He follows her, still laughing, down the stairs, where she stops, right inside the curtain. He walks into her, and immediately takes advantage of the situation, leaning her on the wall, kissing her, like they have nothing but time, like space is irrelevant. They might actually have been done for, if it hadn't been for Kirk's voice leaking in from the entrance where he's conversing with someone, likely Lorelai. Rory twists in Jess's grip.
"Stop touching me or I'm gonna lose it." She purrs.
"By the look of you you already have."
He stops moving his hands at least and she gains enough composure from that to straighten in her spot.
"What about us?" He asks in a fit of sobriety.
She takes a breath, and answers slowly, as bravely as she can.
"We'll make it work. I'll come visit. You'll come home."
"It won't be easy."
His eyes are shiny and she puts her hand to his cheek.
"And it won't be fake."
He tips his head forward with a helpless smile.
"It never was." He says.
She smiles too.
"You're going." She kisses him again. "But not today. Today you have to stay here with me, it's Sunday."