She could breathe again. The trees littering the campus, the smell of books that seemed to stick to the bricks in the walls, and the coffee that kept these hard working students awake throughout their studies followed the population. It was like she was in heaven.

Actually, it was more like she had reset.

Which is why, mere moments after she had unpacked her bag – the red notebook that was decidedly not hers sat guiltily on her pillow, she had a sudden shiver through her body that forced her back away from the bed and into her desk chair.

God, she was so embarrassed.

She wouldn't be surprised if Jess never spoke to her again. She wouldn't be surprised if he hated her. There she was, belittling his illness, parading Dean in front of him, stealing his work from him – she was cruel.

And yet...

She dived back for the notepad, her heart skipping at the familiar handwriting carefully placed on each page, like he was respecting each word he envisioned. They were carefully chosen, even if the story jumbled together in one seemingly rambling mess. It was very Kerouac. It was very Joyce. It was very Jess.

She worshiped the story.

Bleak. Dark. But woven into it's very essence was a thread of light to get you through. Positive words and hopeful phrases. She could probably recite the entire tale to you in one impassioned monologue. It was a perfect example of whatever he was feeling, and since reading it she had the very pressing need to apologize for every sheltered ignorance she put on him.

The book. The unfinished, barely a book – book. It made her feel alive, and it made her feel wicked.

And on top of all of that, she was late to her next class – questionable intentions would have to wait.

Andrew's bookshop was as busy as ever – which actually meant that the hype around the town of the teenage rebel Jess Mariano was working there had died down, and instead Jess was back to arguing with patrons about their versions of boring literature. This mainly boiled down to him defending Kerouac's drawling prose, and backing the corner of Hemingway too many times to count – he was blaming Gilmore's influence on the town for that one.

He was back stocking shelves, having been exiled for getting into a particularly heated discussion with Jackson. He found the work methodical – it allowed him an escape that he relished in.

Luke continued to fret and hover. His eyes had widened particularly wide after seeing Jess on the window sill after his double date. Jess pretended to ignore his entrance, but did throw his leg back into the building to appease him.

Lorelai continued to mother him. She kept watching him with a close eye and mentioning fattening foods that he should definitely try while telling him comedic anecdotes of her life just to get him to smile.

Lane was asking for advice. Thankfully not around her love life – but actually around the tour that her band were seeking to go on, with surprising help from her own mother.

Rory was gone. She was back at Yale – where she should be. Studying to the point of exhaustion and working towards that dream that seemed like a fairytale once when they drove under the stars towards the prospect of icecream in a cone.

He was getting comfortable. He was settling down.

But occasionally he wanted to get a glimpse into the world he had created in his mind. His red notebook, he had decided, was missing – but there was a story in there that he continued to flesh out in his mind whenever he possibly could. Andrew's offered that unique perspective.

"He'd know what to choose – that's what he does best." Andrew's voice echoed over the shelves as Jess stocked and priced the books.

"That's not really an option, Andrew."

"You want a good gift, go to the master. He has this unique ability to know exactly what you're looking for."

"Look, Andrew, I appreciate it but -"

"Jess?" Andrew called over the shelves. Jess wiped his hands of dust on his jeans and made his way around to the front of the shop without any qualms.

"Yep?" He turned to corner and finally looked up to see the towering, lanky, awkward form of Dean. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, and quickly began to try and make an excuse to leave when Andrew interrupted him.

"Dean's looking for a gift for Rory." He explained, a smirk on his face that suggested to Jess that he knew exactly what he was doing. "I thought you could help him out?"

"Always the giver there Andrew." Jess snarked, stuffing his hands into his deep pockets and rocking on his heels, staring only at Andrew and refusing to give Dean a second glance.

"You know me well, Jess." He quipped back. "I'll leave you two to it – I'll finish off the stock." And he left quickly after that leaving Jess to serve Dean as a customer.

"So." Jess started, finally looking at the man who was obviously red with anger or embarrassment – Jess couldn't tell. "A gift for Rory."

"Look, this was a bad idea – I'll just." He started to turn to leave. But Jess wasn't going to let this chance slip from between his fingers.

"I wouldn't say that." He said loudly, cutting in, "It's cool Dean. I can help – just tell me what the gift is for."

"You'll help?"

"Sure. That's my job." He shrugged. "So, occasion?"

"No occasion really – just a surprise gift" Dean explained, following Jess as he weaved between the shelves, trying to find the exact book he was looking for.

"Nice – no frilly romance necessary then." He replied, his best customer-facing voice on while internally he was smirking with glee.

Dean was quiet as Jess surveyed the books. He knew exactly where he was going, but was trying to keep up some semblance of facade. He only let it go on for a moment before reaching down and choosing just the volume he wanted. "This will be perfect." He said, handing it to him.

Dean looked at it, front the back, turning it over in his hand. "Really?"

"It's one of her favorites – trust me Dean. She'll want a blank, fresh copy."

Dean seemed to get that constipated look on his face again, but nodded and followed Jess back to the cash register. As he was ringing up the order, taking the cash from Deans hand and fiddling with his change, Dean finally piped up.

"I wanted to apologize, by the way."

"Uh-"

"For what happened after you came back."

"What happened?"

"It was just a bit shocking to see you at the diner – I never expected you to go ahead and act on anything I'd said."

Dean kept babbling. Jess was lost for only moments before it clipped and flashes of the bloodied bathroom seemed to filled his mind like a red waterfall. "Stop. Wait. Why are you apologising?"

"You did it straight after -"

"Why does everyone think I put the value of my life on their hands?" He snapped, with an edge of a shake behind his words. "You did nothing Dean. Rory hasn't done anything. Luke hasn't done anything. None of you in the stupid town have any impact on whether I choose to live or die. That's my choice and my fucked up mind." He ranted, his breath ragged and completely oblivious to Andrew stepping out of the stock room and making his way closer to them with an urgency which was foreign to his muscles. "You have no significance on my disease." Jess said. Punctuating every word. "So please don't' apologize, and please don't harbour any unnecessary guilt to martyr yourself okay? You're not that important in my life, don't flatter yourself." Jess smacked the change into Dean's awaiting, frozen hand the same instance that Andrew placed his own on Jess' shoulder, squeezing down and squaring up behind him.

"I think you should leave now, Dean. Hm?" He said with a viciousness that Jess wasn't expecting.

Dean nodded and all but ran from the store.

"You alright, Jess?"

Jess nodded, his breath ragged.

"Well said." Andrew muttered, tapping Jess on the shoulder tightly, smiling at the boy and his eyes glassy with emotion. "You're going through hell right now Jess." He continued, looking at Jess so intensely that the boy seemed to snap back to the moment, to the reality. "Those who go through hell and make it out the other end – you know what we call them?"

Jess shook his head.

"Heroes." Andrew answered. "You may not think you are – but you're a strong young man. And when you make it out of this I expect great things from that mind of yours, okay?"

All Jess could do was nod – and that seemed all that Andrew needed. He nodded himself, tapped him one last time on the should and quickly made his way back to the stock room and out of sight.

Jess didn't think he could be blamed for camping out between the shelves of his favorite books for the rest of the day.

The chaos of the newsroom was a welcome rest from her preoccupation. Paris, desperate for some kind of attention, accused her of sabotage as soon as she walked into the room. The woman, resolute on her religion piece and sneering at anyone who so much as mentioned a prayer, paid no head to Rory's wants. It was only when they were all gathered around, listening for their name and assignment that Rory's mind finally zeroed in on the present.

She'd gotten Features. Finally.

And suddenly she was Rory Gilmore. Aspiring journalist who once brought men to tears with her words on sidewalk concrete. Writer and researcher ready to crack a story. With only a brief thanks to Doyle, she was able to sit at her desk, spread out her notes and begin thinking deeper into what she wanted to write. The world sunk into darkness behind her and she was free in her own mind.

It was dusk. Where the clouds folded in with pinks and oranges that made the colourful Stars Hollow pale in comparison. Jess had stumbled in from his shift at Andrew's quickly into late afternoon and waved off Luke's slight concern at his otherwise pale appearance. He threw himself at a table in the corner, accepted the free coffee, and fell into a world of his own quite quickly.

So Luke turned his attention elsewhere. With Lane helping at the diner, he kept a close eye on any scraps she was giving her starving band – and made sure to 'accidentally' put in a wrong order for one of the patrons so she could salvage it. In return, he was allowed to argue with her to no end about the importance of Steely Dan in modern music and infuriate her with his lack of musical prowess.

It was only later, when the diner darkened to a point where the electric lights had to be switched on, and the few stragglers were falling out that Luke finally noticed a spectacle he'd been avoiding.

Luke recognized a man on a mission when he saw one. Could see no one. Could hear nothing. Just purely engrossed on his point of focus. Coffee cups surrounding him, half finished and cold. It was the kind of image where Luke could picture an array of various kitchenware acting as ashtrays and still burning cigarettes in their contents.

He definitely didn't want to disturb him while he like this, but he did find himself just staring at the spectacle.

"Stop it." The man grumbled

"I wasn't doing anything."

"Stop looking at me, Luke – you're distracting me."

"I wasn't doing anything, Jess, just working."

He waved a hand, dismissing the older man. "Whatever."

It was, of course, his nephew. Jess, scribbling away on any scrap pieces of paper that had been lying around upstairs. All that Luke could see were quotation marks and angry scratches through Jess' otherwise neat handwriting. He looked desperate, ragged – like he had no other choice.

"Wha-"

"I'm writing Luke." Jess said simply.

"Well I can see that."

"No – I mean, I'm writing something. Like a book something. I just need some peace and quiet for a bit."

Luke held up his hands and backed away slowly. "Yep, go for it." He muttered, turning around to prepare to clean the diner after a day of work. "But you're cleaning up your creative mess," he looked around, noting the many coffee cups, "You might put a Gilmore up for her money there." Was his last comment before he left Jess alone to his work for the rest of the evening.

Jess paused, smiled into his work without looking up, and continued on his crazed journey. Even if Luke didn't understand what Jess was doing – he could understand it's significance.

It was an obsession. When she could decide on her breakthrough piece, the tabs of research so small that shed lost her initial topic. Going down one rabbit hole after another. Disheartened only briefly by Paris' exclamation of mind numbing conformity of the downloads piece. But she was determined to prove her wrong.

"Rory." Knocking on the window interrupted her – thrown from her concentration. The pencil in her hand clattered to the floor and her hair fell out of her hand from where she had been angrily holding it up. It took her a while to figure the source, and soon the looming figure of her supposed boyfriend was waving in the window.

"Oh." She jumped up and pointed to the front door where she quickly ran to let him in. "What are you doing here?" She asked quite frazzled, shutting the door behind him.

"Nice to see you too." He commented sarcastically, that smile of his reaching his eyes and warming his face.

"Of course," She said, shaking her head and reaching up to give him a quick peck on the lips. "But I'm going to be working on the paper all night – I thought I said-"

"You did! But I wanted to surprise you." He pulled a hand from behind his back and presented her with a neatly wrapped package.

"That's really sweet." She said breathlessly, accepting to gift and walking slowly to her room. "But I do need to do a lot of work. I've only just come back from Stars Hollow and I have so much to do that I really don't have time to-"

"Okay." Dean finally interrupted, obviously put out but still calm and gentle in his voice. "Fine, just open the gift and I can be on my way. I know you have work to do but it won't be some time before I get to see you next."

She felt guilty. And she hated that.

"Okay," she said quickly, carefully pulling at the paper.

It was immediately evident that it was a book. Rory was a little worried about what his choice would be. Small in it's size and a paperback – it didn't give her much of a clue as she was unwrapping it.

"I got help at the bookstore," Dean said as she slowly opened her gift. This immediately gave her more hope. If Andrew had helped Dean then maybe it wouldn't be such as bad choice after all.

It was only when she turned it around after finally peeling away the paper, feeling slightly confused at Andrew's choice for her that she had a slight jolt at the title.

Howl, Kaddish, and Other Poems – Allen Ginsberg.

Jess chose it.

"Thank you." She said earnestly, turning it around in her hands and opening up the pages.

"I was told your copy is a bit old, and you could use a blank, clean one." Dean continued to ramble in his pleasure of a good gift giving.

It was foreign to see Howl without any of Jess' writing in it.

"Blank." She repeated.

"Yeah," Dean replied, still obliviously happy.

She could feel herself over-analyzing the meaning of it already. "Is that what they said when they suggested it?" She tried to be subtle, "That I'd appreciate a blank version?"

It didn't work, she could see Dean's eyebrows slowly pull together. "Yeah, a blank, fresh copy."

She shook her head, plastered a smile on her face and kissed Dean's concern away. "Thank you, I love it."

Blank.

Fresh.

He was erasing himself from her life.