I was probably three episodes into meeting Jess while watching the show when I came up with this idea and finished it around the time I completed the revival. It was originally a one-shot (just the first chapter) but now we're here.
Happy birthday to Rory!
Disclaimers - This is my first Gilmore Girls fic so I apologize for any OOC. All the books used for inspiration were those that I read while studying them. I find it kinda symbolic that these books made up a portion of my French BA and I'm publishing it while getting a French MA.
Chapter 1: Moderato Caffeinated
« Moderato, ça veut dire modéré, et cantabile, ça veut dire chantant. C'est facile » - Moderato cantabile, Marguerite Duras
Rory caps her highlighter after marking that quote in neon yellow. She makes sure to trace the term in its entirety. Moderato cantabile. And circle it in blue pen.
It's the title of the book so it has to be important, especially since it's explained and defined later in the same sentence.
Before Rory sat to read the note for class in Chilton's library between classes, she wandered the archives to the music section. She scanned the old and untouched book spines until she found a music theory book.
The musty scent she always loves hits her in one whiff as she delicately flips through the book. It's probably been here before Chilton itself. But she carries it with her to her chosen study table.
One seat away from the vent so she isn't directly under a draft but can feel the cool air during warmer months. One seat away from the window so she gets enough natural light but no annoying glares. One seat away from the shelves to avoid the scuffled sounds of students or staff walking by or browsing (although she doubts anyone at Chilton would require a paleontology journal anytime soon).
Rory continues reading another day at the cafe for Anne and Chauvin. Two people from different social classes caught the aftermath of a passion-ridden crime. They spend the novel repeating their daily routines before meeting again. They drink and chat despite societal expectations and norms that should keep them apart.
The rich married woman and the blue-collared bachelor. A love that could never be.
Eventually, the two implied lovers stop talking about the original topic that brought them together. The more they drank, the more they vented, confided and created a bond they could never have with anyone else.
But they could never be. Aside from their different statuses and places in society, they were always interrupted during their time together. The clock would always tick. The more it struck past the end of a work day, the more workers would pour into the cafe. The growing chaos and interruptions doomed them to a potential scandal if anyone saw them. They tried to keep talking, to get every last word in and because they didn't want the conversation to end.
If societal pressure wasn't a damning construct, they would've talked all night.
An odd scent hits Rory's nose which immediately prompts her to look up from the book. It shouldn't be here. Luke's coffee doesn't blend well with Chilton's scent of old books, stringent cleaner, or overpriced perfumes and colognes.
The new yet familiar dark roast scent tickles her nose and tastebuds; a grin teases her lips to hide her watering mouth. Chilton's coffee tastes like money, literally and figuratively. Luke's coffee has undertones of cocoa and notes of some of the best memories throughout her life.
Rory can't take it. She turns around but nothing's there. She's still at Chilton with its old books so she isn't sure where the scent originated.
Cautiously, Rory turns back around and Jess is now sitting in the seat in front of her. Her breath hitches as she stares at him. His dark hair is tousled as he slouches in his seat. One hand holds an old and folded paperback. The other hand moves a coffee, a paper to-go cup from Luke's, towards her.
That's the moment Jess's eyes flicker up at hers, grinning from the corner of his mouth when their eyes meet and lock. Her eyes purse as she tries to hide the smile she wants to let out.
"What are you doing here?" Rory asks.
"I was in the area," Jess responds.
"Why would you be in this area at this time?"
Jess shrugs one shoulder. "I'm on a field trip."
Rory nods, playing along with his ruse. "Alone?"
"Individual project." Jess takes one of Rory's pencils and fiddles with it against his book. He shows her the cover for a moment so she can catch it.
The Hunchback of Notre Dame. A translated French classic just like her current read. She flashes her cover for a moment so he saw it. His head tilts a little to read the title and he nods approvingly.
"So, what is this apparent individual project of yours that required your presence in this neighbourhood?" Rory asks. "On a quest for Quasimodo's bell tower to see if they're hiring?"
"Hey," Jess states firmly, pointing her pencil at her, "honest man's work. Just like that Chauvin character."
"Comparative essay?"
"Historical French gothic literature structures." Jess looks around at Chilton's limestone walls, marble head busts of classic authors and alumni, and dusty books. "'Oh, everything I loved!'"
"You can't be here."
"Why not?" He opens his arms. "This is a school and I'm doing an individual project. And look, I got you a coffee."
Rory scoffs but she can't take her eyes off him as he returns to reading, a leg up on his chair so he could read with the book on his knee. It doubles as a hard enough surface so he could write in the margins and between the lines without needing to change positions and risk losing his train of thought.
It's a successful strategy she uses all the time when reading without a table or a desk, or if either of those surfaces were sticky for unknown reasons.
The more Rory thinks about it, this gesture is thrilling. An act of passion, as do the heroes and heroines in their books. Sneaking in through forbidden castle walls to pay her a visit after walking through a labyrinth to find her. Only Jess would do this and play it off as a fictional school trip for a fictional school project.
Dean would never walk through Chilton's doors let alone sneak in. He knows he'd never belong. At most, he would wait outside and she'd visit between classes or just after the school day.
The coffee would be cold by then. Unlike now with Jess.
"Hey, Rory, who's that suit over there?" Jess asks.
Rory turns around in the direction where Jess juts his chin. She looks towards the library's front desk only to see Headmaster Charleston chatting with the librarian.
Rory's pulse pounds in her ears as her eyes widen in alarm. She looks at Jess who's now grinning and tapping the eraser end of her pencil against his dimple.
"Oh…" Jess mutters, leaning in closer to Rory from across the table. "Is that the big man in charge?"
"Jess," Rory states through gritted teeth, "you need to leave."
"Why? Is study hall over and we'll eat some fancy, bland Chilton food in your bougie cafeteria?" Jess gasps. "Or is Frollo gonna expel me from the clock tower?"
"Jess," this time her voice hitches with a small laugh. She quickly glances behind her. "Headmaster's heading this way."
Jess lifts his chin. "You got a Chilton shirt under that sweater?"
"Excuse me?"
Jess groans as Rory consciously holds the collar of her half-zip Chilton sweater. Her cheeks burn and she looks down trying to hide it.
"So what if I am?" Rory questions. "I go here unlike you."
"Give it," Jess demands. "Come on, Esmeralda, show me a magic trick."
Rory's lips part before twisting into a playful grin. As Jess shrugs off his leather jacket and throws it under their table, Rory takes off her sweater and tosses it to him. Jess slips on her Chilton half-zip over his plain white tee. Rory straightens her shirt and fixes her hair just as Headmaster Charleston approaches their table.
"Ah…" the old man exhales as he gazes upon their reading material. "Hugo and Duras. Two controversial writers yet classics."
"What writer doesn't piss people off?" Jess questions, ignoring Rory's widening eyes and kick from underneath the table. She'd try again but doesn't want to hit the air or, worse, the table.
Headmaster Charleston looks down at Jess and his eyes narrow a bit. His looks aren't sneering but piqued. Rory sips the coffee that Jess got — it doesn't matter what he says because it's hers now — to, ironically, calm her nerves. It does hide her shaky hands but quickens her heart.
"That's what makes their works more credible, don't you think?" Headmaster Charleston asks rhetorically. "And worth the interpretation, argument, analysis, and discussion, don't you think?"
"Absolutely," Rory says because she felt the need to say something before Jess makes some insensitive statement and blows his cover as a fake Chilton student on a fake field trip for a fake individual project. Though, she instantly regrets saying it since her voice might've squeaked.
"Well, I'll let you two get back to your reading."
"Will do," Jess states.
"Absolutely," Rory says before realizing she already said that and can't take it back.
Headmaster Charleston gives them one last mastered smile before leaving them. Jess and Rory watch him exit. She doesn't exhale until she hears that door click shut. Jess snickers, shaking his head as Rory takes one big gulp of the coffee.
"He had no idea who I was," Jess says.
"What are you talking about?" Rory asks him. "He didn't say anything."
"He didn't have to. It was all over that Hugo-esque face of his. If he did say something and I actually was a student here, I could just tell my rich mommy and daddy that my own Headmaster didn't recognize me. And on that note, Chilton loses a hefty donation and gets a bad rap at the club that the man who probably went to school with Duras doesn't know his students. Little does he know that my far-from-rich parents probably forgot who I am."
Rory tilts her head a little, staring at him. He does have a point. Headmaster Charleston doesn't want a potential scandal.
"I should head on outta here," Jess says. He points at Rory's book with her pencil. "Can't have the working class see us together or that'll cause a scandal."
"We shan't be burned at the stake," Rory refers to his book that's curled in his fist. She can spot his scribbles between the lines and smiles a little.
"I'll leave you with your drink."
Rory glances at the coffee. In her book, it was the wine they shared.
Jess stands and picks up his things, backpack slung over a shoulder and his leather jacket folded over his arm. Rory folds her hands together on her closed book, expecting him to leave so she could watch him go.
But he doesn't move. He slides into the seat next to her. Rory's back straightens as she clears her throat, pushing some hair behind her ear.
"Don't you have a clock tower to get to?" Rory teases.
Jess glances down at Rory's watch, leaning in closer to get a better look. Their faces are mere inches apart, breaths slow. Jess's eyes flicker her way and she immediately looks elsewhere until he sits back. His hands rest on her chair, not around, and his body is turned to her.
"I got ten minutes before the bells need ringing," he says.
"We're stalling…" Rory responds, singing the last syllable.
"You've read your book. You know why."
"That I do." She purses her lips. "You're still in my sweater."
Jess looks down at the Chilton crest on his chest. "I'll need it to get out of here in case I run into Victor Hugo out there."
"Or Marguerite Duras."
"She's here too?" He whistles a raspberry. "Must be a French thing in life and in art. An ugly man and a beautiful woman."
"Life imitates art. C'est la vie."
Jess raises a brow. "So that's what that expression means."
Rory grins with a small laugh. "I think you need to start going to French class."
He waves a hand dismissing it. "The books are translated."
Rory gasps offended. "Sanctuary!"
Jess smiles, parting his lips before looking around and applauding as he stands. If there are other students or faculty nearby, they could hear him in the quiet library.
"Sanctuary! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!" Jess exclaims with each step out the door.
Rory doesn't think her smile will leave nor does she want it gone. She holds her coffee to her lips, inhaling it deeply before returning to her book.
But first, she scribbles a reminder on a sticky note to get her sweater back … and her pencil.
And always, I post two chapters when I publish a story.
