You Can Stop Crying, I'm Back
By: ZLizabeth
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I really need reviews here! I mean, REALLY REALLY. I have seen one chapter stories with more reviews than mine (by that I mean, like, fifty compared to my twenty four)... is my writing THAT bad? Okay, if it is, don't spare me the bitter naked truth. Just review. One word review: rocks. Sucks. Okay, those are acceptable. If you feel like making an occasional "I liked the part... because..." blah blah blah and continue on elementary school essay crap, I love you (the essay junk is THE BEST)! YOU WILL BE MY SHINING STAR!!!!
Oh, and does anyone know where you can find Season ONE GG scripts? Or at least the PILOT?
"You can stop crying, I'm back," was what he said.
"Well, come in. I guess we'll need to find you a hotel," was what she said. He climbed into her room, not believing he was standing in Rory Gilmore's bedroom. For the second time in two days. In two different bedrooms. And he couldn't believe that there wasn't some sort of awkward silence that they tried to fill with, "so how have you been" and "how's work". But he had never had an awkward silence with Rory. Why should this be different?
"What, I can't stay here?" and suddenly he felt seventeen, dodging what Rory intended and buying himself as much time as possible with this marvelous creature. No reason that this was any different.
"Don't you wish. No, hotel. Ah, but I have to get dressed... so I'll get dressed..." he stared openly at her, "in the bathroom."
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," he smiled at her and opened the bedroom door. A look of worry flickered across her face. Like she was remembering something.
"No," she said quickly, "you can't go downstairs. What's the point in my *guest* moving when I, marvelous host that I am, can simply change in this closet..." she walked over to her closet and threw open the door to reveal about enough space to hold her legs. She then grabbed some clothes out of her drawer and disappeared into the closet to find the door would not fully shut.
"Jess, could you hold this door closed?" she asked. He leaned against the door and listened to wire hangers topple off metal poles and bang against Rories.
"Why don't you leave on your stunning Hello Kitty pajamas and shock the town?"
"I don't think they'd notice. They really only pay attention to big things... like young girls not taking their husband's last names."
He laughed, "and who was the rebel who requested that?" sharp intake of breath from the closet, "Mrs. Shoopa Coopa," came a quick reply.
"This town is messed up, then. Shoopa Coopa?"
"I know, why would someone want to keep that name?"
"If it was a real name."
"I was going for humor there."
"And was there a scandal when you requested a bookstore that sold more than drugstore paperbacks in this town?" he didn't know why he had changed the subject. It was a profoundly seventeen-ish thing to do, not let the conversation settle, never let himself reveal much. Towards the end of when he'd known her, the topics had remained in their little chats for more than five minutes.
"You noticed?"
"The eyes of a reader never miss and town seeped in ignorance," he had observed some of the shops on his drive in - and the bookstore seemed to be located in the front of Rite Aid.
"I haven't really requested anything to improve our literary structure yet," she said, and soundly very disappointed in herself. He changed the topic again.
"How long have you lived here?"
"About two years," she answered, stepping back into the room.
She did look beautiful. She looked ravishing, stunning, lots of verbs and he thanked the Jess Show's creators for letting them talk as if there were no years, no memories between them.
Rory looked different. She looked a bit less naive, and she looked tired. Her skin remained pale and flawless, yet her eyes were weary and not quite as shimmering as they used to be. She was slender and the timid child of the twilight, but the hints of the days worries were so prominent in something in her. He'd like to say that he could remember her so well and her image had so burned in his memory that he could tell these things without the slightest hints. But even a stranger could see the unhappiness eating away at her heart.
Her eyes had always been what he'd loved the most about her. He had found that he was unafraid to lose himself in their sapphire depths, and he would do anything to earn a glance from them. Or make the slight crinkle appear on the edges when he did something so very wrong, so very Un-Stars-Hollow-Ish, something only they two could laugh at, consider wonderful, share as an inside joke whenever their eyes met.
So it killed him now.
But there was another thing.
Her hair had never been something he had taken much notice of. Of course it was soft, perfect, impossibly wonderful for just a head of hair, blah blah blah. Yet all of Rory fit those qualifications.
Yet now her hair stood out as it was pulled back into a simple, plain, victorian housewife bun. It wasn't Rory.
"So," he had been staring, but it could pass as typical Jess behavior, "what do you say we bail?"
Her eyes widened and she let her lips creep up at the edges, remembering that night they'd first met, "I know these windows open."
Then she smiled and her features of fatigue melted. She was simply the Rory Gilmore he was *in love with*.
And the smile lit up her whole face.
He had been shocked when Rory was the first to jump out the window. She had scrambled down with clumsy and rolling movements, and he had laughed and flaunted his wall-dropping abilities in her face.
When they at last reached the sidewalk (Rory having fallen on top of Jess) he was hungry. And he was sure she was too.
"So, where can you eat in this hellhole?"
"There's a Starbucks..."
"Rory Gilmore reduced to chain coffee. Never thought I'd see the day."
"It's open pretty late," she went on, ignoring him pointedly, "and we can get real food."
"I'm all for it."
"We shouldn't eat there, though."
"Why not?"
"...uh... it's not a nice place," Rory, you are an awful liar, was all he thought. But he kept his mouth closed.
"So where should we eat?"
There was a second where Rory stared at him and then opened her mouth, "I know a nice little place."
"As opposed to your not nice place."
"Exactly."
"Take me there."
"This is terrible," he said after his first sip of orange juice.
"Isn't it?" she said, gloating.
Jess and Rory were seated on a log in a clearing in a forest. Rory had pulled him off the road and into the woods that surrounded the town. And then she had sat him down on a log in a place with a canopy thick enough to make it hard to distinguish her features. However, the tone in her voice, literally, spoke for itself.
"You shouldn't have gotten orange juice. Juice is the healthy competitor in the race for popular beverages. Coffee should prevail."
"In this case, I'm routing for the other side. This is the single worst Styrofoam container of orange juice that I have ever tasted."
"Shouldn't the Styrofoam container tell you something?"
"That I'm a fool?"
"Maybe."
She leaned her hand against his shoulder then, and let it rest there as if this was the most natural position in the world.
They sat there in silence for what must have been twenty minutes. And then suddenly Rory spoke, breaking the peace he felt with the exact words she said. Not her voice. Rory's breathing or Rory's chatter, there wasn't a way he could choose. The words were so foreign and not like Rory that even her musical voice couldn't make them any better.
"Well, we can't have you loitering around here all night, I guess we should get you a hotel. Like I said before," her voice was embarrassed, ashamed.
"Well Rory, it's nice to know that you don't want me spending the night out here."
She looked slightly offended, then brightened, "wouldn't that be nice? Sleeping out here, in My Spot, just you and the squirrels and the beautiful air and the night. Like you're wrapped up in a silk sheet and a velvet blanket. I should do that sometime."
"Hey, Gilmore, there's no time like the present. Why don't you and I sleep out here tonight? I'm sure there has got to be at least two sleeping bags in this place."
Several emotions danced on her face. Rory was not one for concealing feelings, "no... I can't... I have to... you see..." she seemed lost on how to begin her sentence so he forced a laugh and gave a mild-toned, "that's fine."
"Good. So, I'll take you to a hotel. And we can get together tomorrow morning. Unless you have plans..."
"Rory, the only reason I would actually come to a place like this would be to see you."
She smiled up at him and then made her way back into the town. He followed her like an obedient puppy.
When they reached the jeep, she stopped and her jaw dropped.
"You have mom's car."
"Yea."
"Why?"
"She lent it to me."
And then he watched as she slumped over, realizing that this was going to be a game of dodging any comments or questions about what their life had been since the night five years ago.
She smiled again and took his hand, "the hotel here has terrible service."
Over the next week, Jess had a better time then he'd had in five years. He and Rory made fun of the so-called-books that the Rite Aid sold, ate at Starbucks, visited Her Spot, and enjoyed the banters of half a decade ago. They never talked about what had happened to him once he'd left, what she'd done, how Luke was, how Lorelai was, and they were very careful to stay away from memories. Because as many as there were that had turned Jess' life into *something* there was always that little person that could've wrecked the simple friendship they had managed to rebuild from the ruins of everything from Washington to the Diner Farewell.
It wasn't exactly forgiveness, as neither Rory nor Jess was sure anymore who needed to be forgiven. And the little bit of warmth they'd managed to rekindle from the ashes of the huge fireplace was so delicate that the slightest breath could blow it out.
The Salsvillians (Rory had shared with him her nickname : Sals-villains) were distant to Jess and took no notice of him. They never said hello, they never told him to keep away from their Rory, and they never even looked at him.
So they were safe. Rory had kept Jess to herself... when she saw friends on the street she had hurried on after waving, as if she was afraid of something they could reveal to Jess. And every night after the day they'd spent together she'd vanish into the place that now was home; the ugly ugly house. And in the morning there she would be, at Starbucks, waiting at "their table."
He didn't ask her anything. He was to afraid of tipping the scales out of balance and sending himself plummeting back into a Roryless world.
He had her back. And it didn't matter to him how little of her recent life he truly knew, how little she really did belong to him now. He would continue this charade of the same ole friendship as long as he could. The smallest word could tear her away.
He was doing something that he had only done once - his seventeenth year.
He was writing his own lines and not letting the script rule the pathetic excuse he had for a life.
By: ZLizabeth
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I really need reviews here! I mean, REALLY REALLY. I have seen one chapter stories with more reviews than mine (by that I mean, like, fifty compared to my twenty four)... is my writing THAT bad? Okay, if it is, don't spare me the bitter naked truth. Just review. One word review: rocks. Sucks. Okay, those are acceptable. If you feel like making an occasional "I liked the part... because..." blah blah blah and continue on elementary school essay crap, I love you (the essay junk is THE BEST)! YOU WILL BE MY SHINING STAR!!!!
Oh, and does anyone know where you can find Season ONE GG scripts? Or at least the PILOT?
"You can stop crying, I'm back," was what he said.
"Well, come in. I guess we'll need to find you a hotel," was what she said. He climbed into her room, not believing he was standing in Rory Gilmore's bedroom. For the second time in two days. In two different bedrooms. And he couldn't believe that there wasn't some sort of awkward silence that they tried to fill with, "so how have you been" and "how's work". But he had never had an awkward silence with Rory. Why should this be different?
"What, I can't stay here?" and suddenly he felt seventeen, dodging what Rory intended and buying himself as much time as possible with this marvelous creature. No reason that this was any different.
"Don't you wish. No, hotel. Ah, but I have to get dressed... so I'll get dressed..." he stared openly at her, "in the bathroom."
"I'm leaving, I'm leaving," he smiled at her and opened the bedroom door. A look of worry flickered across her face. Like she was remembering something.
"No," she said quickly, "you can't go downstairs. What's the point in my *guest* moving when I, marvelous host that I am, can simply change in this closet..." she walked over to her closet and threw open the door to reveal about enough space to hold her legs. She then grabbed some clothes out of her drawer and disappeared into the closet to find the door would not fully shut.
"Jess, could you hold this door closed?" she asked. He leaned against the door and listened to wire hangers topple off metal poles and bang against Rories.
"Why don't you leave on your stunning Hello Kitty pajamas and shock the town?"
"I don't think they'd notice. They really only pay attention to big things... like young girls not taking their husband's last names."
He laughed, "and who was the rebel who requested that?" sharp intake of breath from the closet, "Mrs. Shoopa Coopa," came a quick reply.
"This town is messed up, then. Shoopa Coopa?"
"I know, why would someone want to keep that name?"
"If it was a real name."
"I was going for humor there."
"And was there a scandal when you requested a bookstore that sold more than drugstore paperbacks in this town?" he didn't know why he had changed the subject. It was a profoundly seventeen-ish thing to do, not let the conversation settle, never let himself reveal much. Towards the end of when he'd known her, the topics had remained in their little chats for more than five minutes.
"You noticed?"
"The eyes of a reader never miss and town seeped in ignorance," he had observed some of the shops on his drive in - and the bookstore seemed to be located in the front of Rite Aid.
"I haven't really requested anything to improve our literary structure yet," she said, and soundly very disappointed in herself. He changed the topic again.
"How long have you lived here?"
"About two years," she answered, stepping back into the room.
She did look beautiful. She looked ravishing, stunning, lots of verbs and he thanked the Jess Show's creators for letting them talk as if there were no years, no memories between them.
Rory looked different. She looked a bit less naive, and she looked tired. Her skin remained pale and flawless, yet her eyes were weary and not quite as shimmering as they used to be. She was slender and the timid child of the twilight, but the hints of the days worries were so prominent in something in her. He'd like to say that he could remember her so well and her image had so burned in his memory that he could tell these things without the slightest hints. But even a stranger could see the unhappiness eating away at her heart.
Her eyes had always been what he'd loved the most about her. He had found that he was unafraid to lose himself in their sapphire depths, and he would do anything to earn a glance from them. Or make the slight crinkle appear on the edges when he did something so very wrong, so very Un-Stars-Hollow-Ish, something only they two could laugh at, consider wonderful, share as an inside joke whenever their eyes met.
So it killed him now.
But there was another thing.
Her hair had never been something he had taken much notice of. Of course it was soft, perfect, impossibly wonderful for just a head of hair, blah blah blah. Yet all of Rory fit those qualifications.
Yet now her hair stood out as it was pulled back into a simple, plain, victorian housewife bun. It wasn't Rory.
"So," he had been staring, but it could pass as typical Jess behavior, "what do you say we bail?"
Her eyes widened and she let her lips creep up at the edges, remembering that night they'd first met, "I know these windows open."
Then she smiled and her features of fatigue melted. She was simply the Rory Gilmore he was *in love with*.
And the smile lit up her whole face.
He had been shocked when Rory was the first to jump out the window. She had scrambled down with clumsy and rolling movements, and he had laughed and flaunted his wall-dropping abilities in her face.
When they at last reached the sidewalk (Rory having fallen on top of Jess) he was hungry. And he was sure she was too.
"So, where can you eat in this hellhole?"
"There's a Starbucks..."
"Rory Gilmore reduced to chain coffee. Never thought I'd see the day."
"It's open pretty late," she went on, ignoring him pointedly, "and we can get real food."
"I'm all for it."
"We shouldn't eat there, though."
"Why not?"
"...uh... it's not a nice place," Rory, you are an awful liar, was all he thought. But he kept his mouth closed.
"So where should we eat?"
There was a second where Rory stared at him and then opened her mouth, "I know a nice little place."
"As opposed to your not nice place."
"Exactly."
"Take me there."
"This is terrible," he said after his first sip of orange juice.
"Isn't it?" she said, gloating.
Jess and Rory were seated on a log in a clearing in a forest. Rory had pulled him off the road and into the woods that surrounded the town. And then she had sat him down on a log in a place with a canopy thick enough to make it hard to distinguish her features. However, the tone in her voice, literally, spoke for itself.
"You shouldn't have gotten orange juice. Juice is the healthy competitor in the race for popular beverages. Coffee should prevail."
"In this case, I'm routing for the other side. This is the single worst Styrofoam container of orange juice that I have ever tasted."
"Shouldn't the Styrofoam container tell you something?"
"That I'm a fool?"
"Maybe."
She leaned her hand against his shoulder then, and let it rest there as if this was the most natural position in the world.
They sat there in silence for what must have been twenty minutes. And then suddenly Rory spoke, breaking the peace he felt with the exact words she said. Not her voice. Rory's breathing or Rory's chatter, there wasn't a way he could choose. The words were so foreign and not like Rory that even her musical voice couldn't make them any better.
"Well, we can't have you loitering around here all night, I guess we should get you a hotel. Like I said before," her voice was embarrassed, ashamed.
"Well Rory, it's nice to know that you don't want me spending the night out here."
She looked slightly offended, then brightened, "wouldn't that be nice? Sleeping out here, in My Spot, just you and the squirrels and the beautiful air and the night. Like you're wrapped up in a silk sheet and a velvet blanket. I should do that sometime."
"Hey, Gilmore, there's no time like the present. Why don't you and I sleep out here tonight? I'm sure there has got to be at least two sleeping bags in this place."
Several emotions danced on her face. Rory was not one for concealing feelings, "no... I can't... I have to... you see..." she seemed lost on how to begin her sentence so he forced a laugh and gave a mild-toned, "that's fine."
"Good. So, I'll take you to a hotel. And we can get together tomorrow morning. Unless you have plans..."
"Rory, the only reason I would actually come to a place like this would be to see you."
She smiled up at him and then made her way back into the town. He followed her like an obedient puppy.
When they reached the jeep, she stopped and her jaw dropped.
"You have mom's car."
"Yea."
"Why?"
"She lent it to me."
And then he watched as she slumped over, realizing that this was going to be a game of dodging any comments or questions about what their life had been since the night five years ago.
She smiled again and took his hand, "the hotel here has terrible service."
Over the next week, Jess had a better time then he'd had in five years. He and Rory made fun of the so-called-books that the Rite Aid sold, ate at Starbucks, visited Her Spot, and enjoyed the banters of half a decade ago. They never talked about what had happened to him once he'd left, what she'd done, how Luke was, how Lorelai was, and they were very careful to stay away from memories. Because as many as there were that had turned Jess' life into *something* there was always that little person that could've wrecked the simple friendship they had managed to rebuild from the ruins of everything from Washington to the Diner Farewell.
It wasn't exactly forgiveness, as neither Rory nor Jess was sure anymore who needed to be forgiven. And the little bit of warmth they'd managed to rekindle from the ashes of the huge fireplace was so delicate that the slightest breath could blow it out.
The Salsvillians (Rory had shared with him her nickname : Sals-villains) were distant to Jess and took no notice of him. They never said hello, they never told him to keep away from their Rory, and they never even looked at him.
So they were safe. Rory had kept Jess to herself... when she saw friends on the street she had hurried on after waving, as if she was afraid of something they could reveal to Jess. And every night after the day they'd spent together she'd vanish into the place that now was home; the ugly ugly house. And in the morning there she would be, at Starbucks, waiting at "their table."
He didn't ask her anything. He was to afraid of tipping the scales out of balance and sending himself plummeting back into a Roryless world.
He had her back. And it didn't matter to him how little of her recent life he truly knew, how little she really did belong to him now. He would continue this charade of the same ole friendship as long as he could. The smallest word could tear her away.
He was doing something that he had only done once - his seventeenth year.
He was writing his own lines and not letting the script rule the pathetic excuse he had for a life.