Rory and Jess have gone five years without each other. Miserable sums it up. But soon their paths will cross again, and this time maybe they both won't screw it up... I wrote this during the summer after S2 finale based on spoilers for 3.1, 3.2, and 3.3.

The Complete Writing To Rory

Chapter One: Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine

~If there was to be a story about my life it would have to begin with a disclaimer. DISCLAIMER: My life isn't mine. It belongs to some idiot who can't write for his life. Or her life. Either way, the one who's controlling what's happening to me is some jerk that doesn't seem to want anything good to happen to me. It like he wants me to be one of those people in books that start off with people who won't ever amount to anything, and they have a dream to become more then what life has in store for them and all sorts of crap like that. Except I've been spared the crap. Come to think of it, I wouldn't at all mind crap every now and then. I've been living off reused lines for the past five years.
I've always been messing up. Somewhere along the line I realized that it wasn't possible for someone to mess up this much and still be real. I decided that I'm someone's puppet and they'd been giving me all the trash that's happened to me... and what I've done to myself. Or what they've made me do to myself. Or what....

Disclaimer: My life isn't mine. I don't belong to me. I belong to someone else. Believe me, if this life was mine, I would've done some major plot changing.

But of course it's not mine, and I keep on getting the same plots and meeting the same characters... oh, they're never the same but all that's ever really different is the hair color. I'm always in the wrong place at the wrong time...
I suppose my writers think that it's funny to have me like this. Wake up. Have a glass of orange juice. Attempt to live through the day. End the day with orange juice. You're thinking I'm pathetic because I live on orange juice. Well I'm not. It's Tropicana.
It must be lovely having a puppet.
I'm twenty-two and I'm living in an apartment building in Manhattan, New York. I'm twenty-two and my roommate is a sixty-year-old woman who dies her hair blonde and pretends she's twenty. I'm twenty-two and all I drink is orange juice (Tropicana). I'm twenty-two and my life ended when I was three. I'm twenty-two and my life began again when I was seventeen. Then ended a year later.
I know what you're thinking, Pathetic. You try having a producer. And get a thesaurus. Pathetic twice in a few paragraphs is.... pathetic.

Maybe I'm exaggerating. Maybe I am trying to come off as insane. But I'm telling all the basic truths.
You're a sensible person. You can take everything I've said and separate facts and fantasies, you can tone down until you reach the truth. So we'll skip over analyzing and explaining. We'll go straight to what's important. My life sucks. It really always has. My early years: tragic, sad. My preteen years: tragic, sad. My teen years: tragic, sad. Oh, and they sucked. That explains everything you need to know.

I had lived in New York City for as long as I could remember. I have no idea if I was born there, as I could never press my parents for details. Or my parent, once the dear old prize that Liz (mommy) picked up at Der Wienerschnitzel left us in a one-bedroom apartment with cigarettes and each other. Liz was just thrilled that she now had a bad-boy fifteen year old to handle, to bail from jail, to get in the way when she dated. When I was seventeen, my mom got fed up with me. Sometimes I can tell myself that she did it because she didn't want me to turn out like she did. But only at night. At night my shell melts away. But during the day I'm sure that she just wanted to get rid of me.
One morning I woke up and my mom said to me, "pack." She had bags under her eyes and she looked... happy. Some ghost of joy was reflected in those dark, lifeless orbs. I still don't understand what made her happy. Shell up says: no more Jess! whoopee! Let's hold hands and skip after he gets on the bus! No shell says: her son is getting out of Brooklyn, her son's going to have a second chance.
She was my mother, I loved her. Seeing her the teeniest bit happy made me shut up and do what she asked.
I packed.
She took me to the bus and then told me where I was going, "you're going to live in Stars Hollow with your uncle."
Then she gave me a hug - she didn't hug much and this one wasn't great - and left.
Talking about Stars Hollow is not something I do under normal circumstances. It's not painful.... The best year of my life, yes. Made that by Rory Gilmore.
I loved Rory.
Since this is none of your business and if you're reading this you really shouldn't be, as I've written this for no one, I won't elaborate. Let's just say things didn't work out.

~

"Jess!" He spun around and saw her. Her eyes were shining and he almost opened his arms to fragile girl who's huge blue eyes were illuminated by the dim glow of a reflecting street sign from outside. Kiss her, just one last time. But he couldn't do that.
"Hey," was all he said.
"I need to talk to you," the light was bouncing off her eyes. They were filled with tears.
"Sure."
"Why are you..." she swallowed. Each time the fluorescent bulbs lit up those sapphire's and he saw the tears, he hated himself. Why did he do this? She didn't deserve it, Rory didn't deserve anything bad, "why are you with Shane?"
"Hmm, let me think. All summer, that means two months," he added, loading his gun with as many bullets as it could take, "first week, no letter. No call. So, Rory, I think you mean, 'why didn't Jess sit around and mope for six weeks, just waiting for a girl who kissed him and ran off to come home and finally decide want she wants... which might take another six months and it's possible that he might not be included in the final decision. Why?" he was mad now, and the voice that had begged him to take Rory in his arms and kiss her was rapidly decreasing it's volume, "the girl who - even though he'd made it clear that he liked - had told him in her own little innocent ways that she loved some floppy haired bag boy? Some idiot who didn't even have a reason to be with her? The girl who'd made it clear she wanted not me, but Dean," he was dropping subtleties... not like there was any use for them, "I'm not Dean, Rory, and that's why you liked me. So I'm not going to act like him and sit around with no life until my sweet Rory returns. You didn't write. You didn't tell me you were leaving. You kissed Dean in front of me right after you kissed me. Doesn't give me the best reasons to be with you. To wait around."
"It wasn't a real kiss, Jess. The Dean kiss. It was a 'hey, hi,' how did you I didn't break up with him? You could've called me."
"I didn't know that you were supposed to be my top priority."
"Maybe I'm playing hard to get!"
"You've been playing hard to get with me for a year! I figured you wanted me to back off. Oh, speaking of backing off, by the way, aren't you still with Dean?"
"Maybe I don't want to be with you anymore!" she said quickly, jumping away from Dean.
"You know this isn't about us! It's about Dean! Are you still with him?" suddenly he stopped talking. Her mouth was opening and closing. His tone softer, he took her by the shoulders and looked straight at her, "are you?"
She stared down at the floor and then managed a grin through her heavy flowing tears, "if I wasn't," she whispered, "would you like to go out sometime?"
"Rory, are you?"
She leaned against the shelf and rested her forehead against the cheap metal, "yes."
He dropped her shoulders and stopped the intense stare, "great."
She looked up and her pink lips parted, but he turned and stormed out of the store, received an annoyed call from Taylor about slamming doors. All he could hear was his own stupidity pounding in his ears, never should've moved back, never should've moved back.

~

All right, so once the pen gets going, it's hard to stop writing. I've told you, oh reader who will never be, far more than you need to know.
Rory and I were perfect for each other. We both loved to read... and we had tastes that were similar enough and different enough that we had the most glorious debates and discussions. Rory was the first one I could ever talk to. Rory was the only one who looked past that I outlined "dead" bodies in chalk, that I stole donations from little boxes. That I took a gnome. And Rory made me want to stop stealing, stop being a 'bad boy'. Actually, Rory made me want to do about anything that would make me more desirable in her eyes. That is why I took the things, I know. All I wanted was her.
But she had a boyfriend.
So? was all I really thought of that until she made it all clear to me that we were just friends.
I wanted much more than that.
And then when she kissed me, what did I do? Find myself a making-out partner. Not even a girlfriend. Just a sleazy un-Stars Hollow-ish type. Why? I don't know. Ask my writers. They're the ones who snatched the Rory character and put her in Washington. Were they trying to test me then?
Well, I failed the test.
After the fight, Rory made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. I managed to live a month without her and then left.
Sometimes I think about what happened to her. She probably went to Harvard and now has a nice boyfriend who can stand Ayn Rand. Who waits outside her classes every day to escort her to her dorm. Kisses her goodnight, doesn't sneak into her room, is liked by everybody - especially the matriarch of the Gilmore Household, Lorelai. Sort a version of her old boyfriend with a brain this time.
It's no good wondering. She deserves the good life she no doubt has, and I deserve my roommate, the platinum blonde. I deserve everything I've gotten.
But if I knew that if I was the perfect little twenty-two year old they would write Rory back in, believe me, the very tone of my voice would be sickly sweet.~

Jess walked into his apartment. June was sitting in his reading chair. Ignoring the woman he sat down on top of her and began to read, scribbling notes every now and then.
"So, sweetie, how was work?"
He underlined a word.
"Where do you work again?"
He circled this paragraph.
"Jess, do you want me to get up?"
"You think?" he mumbled, still not tearing his eyes from the page.
"Okay honey."
He rolled off her lap onto the chair as she stood up. She cast him a patronizing look he ignored, "Jess, I need your opinion on something."
"Work was fine, I work at Strictly Coffee and," he glanced up before dropping his eyes back to the world of Hemmingway, "you need to re-dye your hair."
She nervously primped it, "do you really think so?"
He got up and walked into his room, slamming the door.
So was his life.

Rory,
It's amazing how much you can miss someone that you love... even after five years. Of course I regret what I did to you - how I spoke on our last two meetings - every day. Of course you probably regret ever kissing me in the first place and being unfaithful to your dear bag boy, so there's really no point in sending this. I'm not going to.
Every day I have my little things to remind me of you. Strictly Coffee has that aroma that so enticed you and brought you to Luke's diner every day. With every cup I fill I think of your face. Ah, yes, this is Rory love poetry. What should I call it? Your Face Stares Out Of The Caffeine?
Today June tried to act like a mother again. Caring wasn't one of the things my mom did best, so I'm not sure June's doing it right. Maybe you could tell me how Lorelai does it.
My life is pretty much as bitter as that coffee stuff you love so much. Do you know that all I drink is orange juice? My life has been pitiful since you left it. But you know that.
- Jess

He gave the paper a faint smile and put it in the Rory Pile. He'd been writing letters to her for four years now. The Rory Pile was a big box by now. He addressed each letter to where she used to live. He almost laughed as he thought of what might happen if Lorelai read all these letters.
Between pouring coffee, his joke autobiography, and writing the letters to Rory he would never send, his life was reading. Books had always been there for him. They were there now. But even books didn't hold all the comfort they used to. With each word he was forced to think of Rory.
He never really knew if he loved thinking of her bent over a book, only a few strands of hair falling into her face... or couldn't stand it. Because he could never be there to brush the few locks of deep chocolate hair away and pass his fingertips lightly over the skin on her face.
And though he told himself every day and he knew that life without Rory Gilmore was rueful, worthless, and pointless for him, he never let himself say that he missed her.
That would really be to much of saying that it was his fault she was gone.
And he had to blame that on the producers of his life.

Miles and miles away, she was washing dishes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Two: Washing Dishes


"I'm home!"
Not even a Rory darling, she thought, scrubbing the white china so hard she was sure it would break. Let it break. I hope it breaks.
"Hey! Ror!" her husband entered. She flashed him a smile then went back to the dishes. He came over and kissed her lightly before she shoved him away.
"I'm doing the dishes."
"I can see that Rory. Just because you're the smart Harvard girl, doesn't mean I'm just plain old stupid."
"You don't have to rub it in about Harvard."
"What? You went for a year, didn't you?"
"Sure I did. Before that little event, that is. Or didn't you hear? I stayed there for a year before I left."
"Rory..." the man collapsed into one of their few chairs, "please not n..."
"That's right. I decided I wanted something closer to home. So didn't I go to Yale? Nice school, wasn't it. But didn't something prevent me from continuing my education..."
"Rory, no. No. No."
"Dean, I've put everything on the line for you. I moved to California with you because you said that you'd have something for me here. I've been with you since I was sixteen! Don't you think that's pathetic? I've never had another boyfriend! I've made all sorts of sacrifices for you. I decided to settle for an education here when I've wanted all my life to go to a big, booming, promising school. Why did I do that? Why do I even put up with you? I'm living in California washing dishes!"
"Rory, we have this fight once a week. I think I'll just..."
"Fine!" she shouted and grabbed her coat before running out the door.
The California summer was fading away. The air was finally becoming more brisk, and the sharp wind was comforting in her usual depressed state. She made this trip at least five teams a week, and she could've walked to her spot with nothing to guide her but her nose if she had to.
The spot was far away from her home. If she wandered across the street, followed a path into the woods behind the rows of houses and walked for ten minutes she got there.
The leaves were changing color. She could never decide whether she liked it best when it was in full springtime, or when the leaves above her were this palette of fall colors.
Sitting down on the log and leaning against a tree, she began to cry. If you wanted misery, her spot was perfect. The crisp air could nip at your tears and freeze them on your cheeks. It would make crying ten times more terrible.
Rory was one of those people who got a little comfort out of crying. Crying was an art to be done in it's full glory only when she was alone, and it was the friend that said, "yes, your life is terrible and I do feel so very sorry for you."
Before California, she had been able to cry a lot. It hadn't been her only friend. But she had gone with Dean, accepted when he proposed to her when she was only twenty, and gone to live with him... live with him in this big place, lonely for all it's people. She missed Stars Hollow every day. She blamed Dean for everything, and she wasn't afraid to tell him that. But she was afraid to leave him.
Rory wiped away tears and thought of the girl she'd thought she was going to become. Chasing stories through crowded streets, through deserts, through gunfire. Fearless and famous.
How different from that was she now? So different she was convinced now that she was far from fearless. She could never be brave. She was even below timid. There was nothing for her 'out there'. And that's why she couldn't leave Dean.
Why couldn't she go home?
Being away from Stars Hollow, from her mother and from Luke and Lane and even Taylor and Kirk, she missed Miss Patty and Babette. She missed the porcelain unicorns.
She had left home so confident. She had told everyone that she was going to come back to the little people one day and still remember them. She would give them all credit in her speeches (broadcasted on every channel in every language). Of course she'd been joking. But when she'd received those, "you go do that, Rory" looks, it had made her want to do it so badly. She wasn't a little girl getting mixed up in "the world" and falling for the "bad boy".
So she couldn't go home with less than what she left with. That and about seven hundred dishes to her name.


She sat there for a while, just thinking about her life. Or moping. The two were practically inseparable in her mind. She closed her eyes and breathed out deeply, hoping to see her breath fall out in clouds of steam. But it wasn't cold enough for that yet.
She reached inside her jacket and pulled out a book. Howl. She opened it up and began to read. Reading. The only thing that hadn't changed.

*~*~*~*~

Chapter Three: What Makes The Muskrat Guard His Musk?


"You know what you need, Jess?"
One.
"You need to make some friends. Get out there. You know, out in the world. You and I could go out together. I could hook you up with one of my friends and maybe you could bring some boy along..."
"June, I don't think that I need a date with a sixty-year-old right now. In fact, I'm going to totally gush my heart out my little poor and misunderstood heart out right now and tell you what I need."
His roommate sat down in a chair across from him, "yes, Jessie?"
"I need a fingernail clipper."
The creases of 'worry' on June's face didn't vanish, "well, I've got one. Sweetie?"
Two. Just counting how many until you hit twenty.
His hand dropped to the coffee table where he grabbed a book and opened it up. Didn't really matter what page. He'd read it about forty times.
"Or, you know, you should get an e-mail address. I met some of the greatest guys online."
"Gee, I wonder why? How old do you tell them you are?" he said aloud, not bothering to look up. June's mock concern in him was completely related to the fact that he was the perfect age to be a dating candidate for one of her friends. Personally, June's way of "chasing after" wasn't as flattering as she thought it to be. After all, who in this world has an Oedipus complex?
June looked at him and stared hard until his eyes flicked up. She then shook her head slowly and deliberately and sniffed (loudly) before walking out the door.
Oh dear. He was ridden with guilt.

~Rory,
Right now I'm so very torn. Would it be unfaithful to you to date a sixty -year old platinum blonde right now? June's given me an offer that's so hard to refuse. A romantic candlelight dinner at the old folks home.... but you know how very devoted I am to you....~

Cynical. That's how Jess felt right now. Cynical.

~ How is dear Bag Boy? Or how was he before you jumped in your brand new car and drove off into the wild blue yonder. Forgot all about everyone... me, him, though, for your sake, it might be better that his image is forever erased from your memory.
Sometimes I actually work out "what-if" scenario's in my head and imagine what might have happened if I dumped Shane while I had the chance. I've forgotten what happened to her. See, Rory, that's how unimportant she was to me. Yet that's exactly why she was so *very* important. It was the little things that kept up us apart. And the little things added up to the big thing. What keeps the Rory and the Jess apart? So said the cowardly lion "what makes the muskrat guard his musk?". That was courage.
What keeps the Rory and the Jess apart?
Pride. And Jess' nonsensical babble through the pen.
It would be such a cliché, reused and time-honored theme that separated us two bookworms. Maybe we were too much alike, contrary to public opinion. Of course, the one similarity they saw between us was reading. That was the one huge difference I saw. Some of the author's you read made me sick, and still those small town people saw us as the same under the literati category.
We were such a regular little couple. Torn apart by hate between our families... or Lorelai. When she's angry, she can fill up the space of all Juliet's little Capulet clan's rage. From such different cultures... yes, Rory, they'll write a novel about our timeless love. Except it'll be a tragedy because I end up getting shot by my insane roommate and you end up a cold, hard, rich, businesswoman. And then Disney will buy it and change the ending.
June is knocking on my door. She's saying something about spare keys. Right. Did I tell you about that? I'll let you know, in case I haven't already tooted my own grimy horn enough, that it takes a lot of skill to find out where *every single* tenant keeps their spare key. This isn't Stars Hollow where all the spare keys are kept in the gnome's pipe. My glorious collection of metal unlockers is resting on my desk next to the Rory Box.
I know what you're thinking. Maybe you had yourself convinced that my "outrageous" crimes in Sleepytown were just to keep me amused. And they were. And you're thinking "in such a great place like New York City, how can he be bored," trust me, it's not really all that.~

"JESS MARIANO!!!!" loud loud loud. He spun around in his swivel chair. Even the swivel chair reminded him of Rory. He could just imagine her soft hair spinning and whipping the air as she gave herself up to that childish urge to spin.
"Yes Mother?" he called in an overly sweet voice.
"UNLOCK THIS DOOR."
"Well, I would, but I've lost my key. In fact I went all around the building yesterday looking for it. I've found a few and I'm trying all of them, but so far, none have worked."
"JESS M-"
He got up and unlocked the door then sat down to watch the one-woman scene. June walked in, her hair hanging limp around her powdered face. She strode to his shoe box and had a bit of trouble with it. Once it was cradled in her arms she shot him a look and stomped out the door.
"And I thought people were supposed to grow out of the temper tantrum stage at fifty. Guess I was wrong," he actually didn't mean for her to hear that one. But her ear-shattering shriek sounded from the next room, so he guessed she did.

~ When they finally give me lifetime in prison for disrespecting my elder's, Rory, I want you to come down and give me a big lecture. You're so cute when you lose your temper. And once you're done screaming I'll kiss your tightlipped mouth. You'll just stare with your mouth part open. I'll blink my eyes and lean back against my cell wall. You'll slap my bail money (which you'll have plenty of by then) on the desk and storm out.
But it would be worth seeing you again. Maybe that's why I'm verging on being a criminal. My picture in the paper... you might still care a little bit, so you'd come.
You don't know how much it would mean to me to~

Jess stared in horror at what he'd written. As if Rory was reading over his shoulder, he crossed it out as fast as he could.
What the hell was he thinking. He couldn't even say he missed her.
But these were never going to be sent....
He rolled his eyes as the fated argument began again.
He was surprised who won.
Once again he glanced around the room and then covered the paper with his hand as he rewrote the line and finished the sentence.

June was painting her nails when Jess came out of his room holding a stack of dollar bills. Dropping them on the coffee table he didn't even look as he kept walking towards the door. She noticed a bag slung across his shoulder.
"Jess?" she called, "where are you going?"
"That's next month's rent," he still didn't look back, "I'm going to Rory."
The door swung shut behind me. June sighed and turned back to her nails. Yet another little boy she'd scared away. But this one's excuse was the worst.
She dipped the brush into the tiny glass bottle, "who the hell does he expect me to believe Rory is?"

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Four: Notes On A Coffee Cup

Rory was sitting the vastly underpopulated room filled with enticing smells and specials boards. It was strange how much you could hate a town and still have so many spots in it that were dear to you, that you loved to escape to.
"Rory, hi. The usual?"
"Hey Diana. Yes, please," Starbucks. Of course. Coffee would always have a place in her heart. She took a piece of paper out of her bag and began to write on it.
The Starbucks of her town was a restaurant style coffee house with a one page menu that mostly consisted of the different and bizarre flavored coffee's they served. The waitress returned with a steaming mochachino. She glanced down at the yellow pad, "what are you writing Ror?"
The young woman hurriedly stashed her work and gave Diana an embarrassed smile, "nothing."
Only watering manners prevented the high school girl from poking her nose further into things, "if you say so, ma'am," the title was overly stressed and the girl even gave her customer a mock curtsy to accent her opinion on the secrecy.
Secrecy and hostility were the main players in making this town such an unfriendly place. Almost everyone, even those who had never left Salsville were convinced that they were secret agents and were absolutely forbid to consort with any of the little folk of the town. Since a decent portion of the place's population were also sure that they were not allowed to reveal their identities they did not exactly make friends with other's of "their kind".
The place was so peculiar and tiny that Rory, upon first arriving, had actually thought she might like it in it's similarity to Stars Hollow. But the inhabitants were far from welcoming.
She thought maybe she needed to live here for a while. Let them get used to her. But she was from a place they'd never heard of. And therefore she was unworthy of anything. She wasn't rich, and she was boring.
Lifting up her styrofoam coffee cup she took a sip and almost spit it out. You couldn't blame the town for it's coffee.
Still, she couldn't help but think of how much Luke's coffee had said about Stars Hollow. And what did this stuff say about Salsville?
Cheap cup. Cheap coffee. Cheap place.
She would never get used to any of them.

"Rory!" Dean put on a fake smile, "It's so nice to see you back! Where were you all day?"
"I went to get some coffee," his face fell.
"I made you some," Rory kept herself from grimacing. Dean tried. Trying was the only good trait he had... or tried to have.
"Always room for more!" she said brightly and followed him into the kitchen.
He presented her with a mug of cold brown liquid. This wasn't even an apology. Dean always liked to pretend that their fights just went away. His logic was 'Rory comes home, that means she's forgiven me.' She and Dean never even had a moment where they stared at each other and gave a nod to apologize... and accept the other's apology.
The coffee was worse than what she'd had earlier. Dean had already begun to pour himself some. She smiled when she saw his face. Dean did not have a very high coffee tolerance. She could only imagine what this tasted like to him.
She got up and dumped hers in the sink. Then she turned away and left the house before she could see the look in his face.
Dean really didn't have any personality beyond pretending to still love her and taking offense at everything she did. Ridding herself of his poor excuse for coffee would only be considered - by him- an action of pure hate on her part.


~Rory entered Luke's. She knew by now where the key was hidden. The diner was empty and dark. She sat down at a table and waited. Lorelai didn't know she was here. She didn't need to tell anyone she was here. This was her business alone.
And then he came downstairs. A box labeled "books" was cradled in his arms. He saw her and set it down.
"Hi Jess."
He gave her a nod and started upstairs.
"Wait!" she called, jumping up and running to him, "aren't you going to say something?"
"Wasn't planning on it."
"I came to see you."
"Rory, you could try making your own coffee sometime."
"Jess! I don't want coffee, I want to talk to you!"
He stared at her for a few seconds. Then he went behind the counter and began to prepare coffee.
"So, why do you have your books down here?"
"These are only a few. I was going to drop them off at your house," she smiled. So she had been forgiven. Waiting until he was in front of her, she leaned forward to kiss him. He walked away.
"Jess? You did break up with Shane, didn't you?" she was terrified for a second and her sudden action now looked rash, harsh instead of brave. The cold doubt returned and flooded her head. What ifs and maybe poked cruelly at her: had Babette too greatly stressed some episode of Jess and Shane drama. What if they hadn't broken up? What if it was just a little fight and she was waiting outside for him right now?
"Yea. Did you break up with Dean?"
She smiled, her confidence returning, "I told him it was to hard. He said fine, but once I'd realized that I was wrong, he'd be waiting."
"Hmm. So now you need someone new and I'm closest?"
She couldn't believe this. Wasn't this what they both wanted? "Jess, you know perfectly well that I really, really..." he interrupted her before she could go on.
"Don't you want to know why I broke up with Shane?"
Rory smiled again and leaned closer to him, "because you couldn't stand to be without me?" she teased.
"No. I'm going back home."
He was joking, of course. She rolled her eyes, "again?"
He stared at her once more and the her smile fled, "aren't you home here?" she was whispering. Confused. What she had done with Dean - it had seemed right at the time. She had wanted to set herself apart from the expected, and take another step towards Christine Amaphour. But what if they were right - the inhabitants of her smiling town. What if he had been right the night they had driven her steady car to it's battered doom? What if...
"Not kidding," he said, the words washing her in unmistakable dread, "the books are a gift to you. You were the only decent thing in this place."
Rory tried again to kiss him. And succeeded this time, "that's my going away present to you, Mr. Mariano," she said quietly, hoping that she could win him again with a kiss - make him stay, just for her. Was she being selfish? Was she blackening his future by trying to shackle him to the limits of Stars Hollow?
Selfish or not, he kissed her back.
He turned around and poured out the coffee, "it'll do."
What was this? Wasn't there supposed to be love in the air by now? Where was the music, the zooming out on the happy couple as they at last joined together in the ending kiss? A perfect kiss free of boyfriend worries, free of everything. They were supposed to be in love by now, "Jess, you can't..."
"Luke has all the rest of my stuff at the bus station. Bye Rory." He was at the door. She wasn't going to let him get away again.
"Are you leaving because of me? Are you still mad at me? Jess, just give me a chance I'll..."
"Rory, you were the reason I came back. And I hate to see your eyes look tortured like that. So just... blink. Don't make me look at you. I came back for you, but I don't think that I was to much of a thing to wait for," she pushed her eyes as far open as the could go, trying to be defiant while she still felt so inexplicably powerless that it was laughable, "bye Rory," he said at last.
He walked out the door, leaving her at the counter. She stared at where he had been standing just moments ago. Lifeless, she took a sip of coffee. It should've been delicious. It should've comforted her. Instead it tasted bitter on her tongue. She had the strongest urge to spit it at him... if only he was there to be spit on.
Her eyes fell on the box of books. Unsure of what to do, she went over to them and kneeled down, taking out some of the worn paperbacks. Putting her head down on the box, she closed her eyes and cried.
Luke came into the diner later that night after seeing Jess off. His baseball cap was folded and smashed between his hands, and his eyes were on the concrete, wondering if he'd done something wrong. He found Rory asleep. When she woke up early the next morning, she was in her bed.
She spent the rest of her sleeping hours crying. Lorelai let her skip school the next day without needing to ask why. News traveled fast in Stars Hollow. And best friends don't often have to use words.~


"Rory!" the twenty-two year old look up to see her only Salsville friend rushing towards her.
"Hannah," there was a styrofoam coffee cup in her left hand and a pen in her right hand. Blue ink was scribbled and smudged all over the cup.
"Inspiration catch you off guard again?" her friend asked with a head jerk to the cup when she caught up to Rory.
"I wasn't totally unprepared this time. Trusty ole' Pete the Pen was with me."
"Well, you can stop trying to cover your writing with your little fingers. I've long since stopped trying to read it."
Rory cautiously removed her hand and Hannah eyes immediately flew to the unprotected writing. Hannah looked at Rory and smiled, "it's instinct," Rory's frown caused her friend a laugh, "don't worry. It's so smudged it's illegible anyway."
The two walked in silence. Hannah turned to Rory and suddenly asked, "did you and Dean have a fight today?"
"I would normally compliment you on skills of observation. But we've been fighting so much lately..." Rory looked down at the pavement. Hannah regretted bringing it up.
"Rory?" she asked again, trying to change subjects. She hated seeing Rory sad, and she hated this stupid place and the idiots in it for making Rory so unhappy.
"Yes?"
"What do you write on those coffee cups?"
"Memories."
"You never talk about your life before you came here. Why do you write about it?"
"Because I miss it so much. And if I write it down, it's easier to believe that it's not mine," Hannah raised an eyebrow, "it's like reading a novel," Rory explained without to much in her voice suggesting that there was any heart in it, "you know that it's all not real and that's makes it easier to stop longing for it. It's easier to see once you put it in print that it was too perfect to last."
Hannah put her arm around her the small woman, "Rory, what made you desert Stars Hollow?"
Rory sighed, "me."
The other girl gave her a half-hug and kissed the top of her head, "come on, no one will know. You'll feel better if you have a scapegoat. Whose fault was it really?"
"Rory Leigh Gilmore."
"Honey, that's you."
Rory looked up at her for a second then turned her eyes to the woods, "not anymore."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Five: It's Better Then Drinking Alone


"Hey, mister. Can I get you something?"
"A ride to Connecticut?"
"Can't help you there."
Jess shrugged and waved his hand to one of the beers.
"Polite, aren't you?" the bartender asked, grabbing it off the shelf for him.
"So, Connecticut, what are you doing here?"
These assumed regulars had the idea of a Cheers bar fixed in their heads. Free drinks, open hearts, a tight we-have-no-lives-drinking club... lovely little picture. Not his kind of thing. He shrugged again.
"Just saying, I don't see any reason for you to be here. In Monitcello."
"I'm not exactly a native."
"It's obvious."
Shrug. He switched shoulders this time. The waitress plopped down next to him, "so, you speak with limbs only?"
"I'm fluent in it."
"Well, English isn't your first language, obviously," a girl on his left side injected with an air of knowledge before she burst out laughing and slapped the cold counter with her hand.
The waitress even was striking up two-second poses. Instinctively, he looked around for a camera.
"No, that would have to be Manhattan," said a woman wearing so much lipstick it couldn't be healthy, eyes narrowed, lips tight, a perfect face of drunk analyzation.
"Oh, a city kid!" Regular-With-Beer-Glued-to-Hand commented.
"I've never been to the city."
The conversation switched from him to graffiti, pigeons, and pollution and he was left alone to drink. Until the Bar Rats remembered the stranger in their midst.
"Why are you going to Connecticut?"
"Chasing after the girl I love." They took his reply mildly, as if it happened all the time in their little television land.
"Why don't you take a bus? I know you can get from the City to almost anywhere, with a few transfers...."
"I have no money."
"Who does?" Mr. Regular nodded to himself, "who does? Hey mister! Another two beers... on him!" the selection was random. It didn't seem to matter. Grumbling, the victim threw money on the counter and turned back to his laptop.
His breath heavy and thick with drink, Regular leaned over to Jess and stage-whispered in his ear, "we like to pick on the business guys. Make them think they fit in and then 'em drain for cash," Business Guy scowled as the harsh voice carried across the room.
Jess raised the bottle to his lips. A woman with a hopefully fake bird on her head had just entered and was screaming the "latest". If you took Stars Hollow and saturated it in alcohol, this would be it.
He glanced around and noticed a girl - maybe fourteen years old, sitting in the corner reading her book as the man with her... probably her father, with his eyes fixed on the football game. She had to have a story. Bar Bookworm.
He tilted his head to get a better look at the book but received a warning glance from her father.
God, he missed Rory.
But he was going to find her now, and that was all that was important.

He was up to his elbows in dishwater. The owner of the motel came in and smiled at the stack of clean dishes.
"Nice job."
"That's what you're not paying me for."
"I hope you'll like the room you're getting."
"So long as there aren't enough termites to chew down and collapse the cheap bed I'm sleeping in, I'll be fine."
"Not very confident in my motel, are you?"
"The outside doesn't give the best impression."
"My mother, Anna Sr., did the decorating," she said with a sigh. He nodded, as if it explained everything. It had been five years, but the small town bank of knowledge still existed in his head.
"So, are you done yet?"
He spun the last dish onto the pile, "yep. Can I go to bed now?"
"Only after you finish making the french toast for tomorrow."
"You serve your french toast cold?"
"It'll be our little secret."
"Remind me not to get breakfast here tomorrow."
"Just because it's reheated? Like you've never been broke," Anna defended her motel quickly, "and let me tell you, what I don't put in on food, I put in on good, reliable, microwave ovens."
He broke the final egg and handed her the two bowls, "mix, stir, soak bread, cook, flip, done."
"What?"
He was already asleep by the time she came into his room, covered in flour and asking if he could please make another batch.

"Mariano! Over here!" Jess glanced around the motel and spotted his ride. The one-in-a-million person who had happened to be staying at Anna's motel and was headed for Stars Hollow.
"Hey," he dropped his bag into the open trunk before getting in to the car. He was still tired could hardly see through the heavy early-morning mist of the Catskill mountains.
They drove the first few miles without saying a word, Jess with his nose in a book, Sam with his eyes on the road. At last Sam sighed, as if he had been fighting the urge to say this for the last hour.
"So, how'd you screw up?"
"Excuse me?" Jess looked up.
"Hardly anyone ever gets out of Stars Hollow. If you did, you wouldn't have to hitch a ride with me to come back. So you must've screwed up. Like me."
"Well, I hadn't figured that out about you yet," but Jess had known that he and this man had something in common. Why else would Sam have agreed to take Jess with him back to Stars Hollow. When they shook hands, their eyes had spoken that a rule would not be to pry any further into backgrounds. But now Sam had given out to his pure human curiosity.
"Guess it's kind of obvious, now that I'm taking renters?" Sam gave a soft snort at his own comment and his eyes hardened, "seriously, though, I didn't know Stars Hollow had to many screw-ups."
"The whole town is a screw-up."
"So you must've done something pretty bad to be counted... bad."
Jess didn't look at him when he answered. Instead he looked out the window, "didn't you?"
"Worst part is, I don't have anyone to blame it on."
"Join the club."
"Anyone but me."
"Join the club."
Another cloud of quietude descended on them. It took awhile for Sam to speak again.
"When did you leave?"
"Five years ago."
"That would explain why I don't know you. Ten."
"Oh."
"Yea. Let me tell you, spending ten years hating yourself is not the most pleasant in the selection of futures. Remember this, Mariano, you choose for yourself. No one chooses for you."
"I'll remember it, coach."
Sam reddened, "sorry."
"Well, if I hadn't come to my senses about Rory, I would probably have had just that fate."
"Rory Gilmore? The nice little girl who seemed to be joined at the hip with her mother?"
"Lorelai," he almost smiled. His memories of Lorelai were practically welcome memories. She was so much like Rory.
But no one could ever be Rory.
"So how are they?" Sam asked. Jess could see where this was going. He decided to play along with the small talk.
"I don't know. Last I saw, Rory had high hopes for Harvard and Lorelai was in a constant flirting match with my uncle."
"Luke Danes?"
"So their relationship's famous?"
"It's a little town."
The silences were getting less uncomfortable.
"Is Taylor still there?"
"Yea."
"That man is going to live forever. I remember when I was a kid and he caught me skipping across the street, the next town meeting was about how children's discipline needed to be stronger."
"Well, at least I didn't keep him bored," Jess said, then stopped.
Sam glanced at him and a slow smile crept across his face, "oh, come on. Tell me your Taylor pranks!"
Jess sighed and suddenly longed for orange juice, "one time I drew an outline of a body outside his market and put police tape around it."
"I'm surprised the local boys didn't worship you."
"There's just something pretty hateable about me, I guess."
Quiet. Hush. Lull.
"So are you going to tell me what happened?" Sam had finally cut to the chase - again. Jess' eyes flicked over to him for a second before he responded.
"Nope."
"I wasn't really ready to tell you mine, either," his driver admitted.

Time passed in slow hours of silence, coughs, and occasional words. The clock in Sam's car didn't seem to work, and neither man had a watch.
"Do you want something to drink?" asked Jess sometime later, hand in his backpack.
"I might have lived in Stars Hollow where all types and forms of alcohol were nonexistent but I still know the laws of the outside world, and they seem to imply..."
"No, I have two pints of Tropicana Orange Juice."
"Orange juice?"
Jess looked over at him and shook the pint, trying to make it appear more appetizing. His companion snatched it and opened it deftly, taking a long gulp before setting it on the dashboard.
"I see we're not foreign to opening Orange Juice containers," Jess said in the lightest form of drawl/Jess-teasing.
"Hey, when I was a kid, my mom made me open my own milk."
Sam seemed ready for Jess to share a similar memory. He simply took a sip of his own identical beverage.
A silence settled over the two of them. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't anything. The two stood on common ground. That was enough in a friendship for Jess. These days, he hardly found enough people he could stand being around for five minutes.
Sam flipped on the radio and the song came on in the middle.


And they're sharing a drink,
They call loneliness,
But it's better then drinking alone.

Sing us a song, you're the piano man,
Sing us a song tonight,
We're in the mood for a melody,
And you've got us feeling all right.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Six: Ms. Gilmore of Salsville, California


The squirrel was being watched.
Had the furry rodent known, it couldn't have cared less. The bright blue eyes that were taking in every crinkle of nose never blinked, but the squirrel was far from flattered. It went on chewing.
It's watcher mimicked the action with her own cold biscuit.
At last the object of her attentions looked up and stared at her and sat quite still. It wasn't afraid, that much was obvious. It did, however, look rather perturbed that this big, hairless lump was trying to familiarize itself with the squirrel's own stashes of nuts. It dropped it's nut before scurrying off, perhaps hoping that the creature would be distracted by the acorn, giving the squirrel time to get back to it's storage tree without the hideous giant seeing.
The Hairless Lump (actually very beautiful by it's own species standards) folded her legs beneath her in the most graceful form and put a few slim fingers over the acorn. She gingerly let her hand enclose around it before dropping it in the pocket of her faded blue coat.
The rock on which she had sat crouched on for an hour, just watching the squirrel, had left it's own pebbled indentations in her blue jeans. She smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could before tightening her periwinkle scarf and gathering her hair in the respectful bun it was usually kept in these days.
The squirrel had invaded her spot two days ago. Every day so far it had come dashing around the clearing, collect what nuts had fallen, then make it's escape after it was enough irritated by Rory's open and rude staring to leave.
For the last two days, she had watched the squirrel come and go. That morning she had risen at four, before the sun was even out, to wander to her spot and search the canopy of dry branches to look for his home. Rory had never been a morning person, and her four o'clock extrusions had never treated her well. She could take half an hour of being enchanted by dawn's beauty before she simply collapsed against a tree and slept until her face was splashed by the first rays of sun. Gilmore's had never been early risers.
That morning when she'd awoken again to see the squirrel peeking his head out from a branch in the tree in front of her, then diving to the ground. She had leaned forward, cupped her chin in her hands, and watched the squirrel that she found herself loving more then many a thing in her wretched... location.
Why did the squirrel spellbind her so? She wasn't so much of physco-analyist to guess. Perhaps because it looked so simple and carefree and God damn happy. And simple. And carefree.
Rory had always had two voices in her head. The voice of her early years who had always seen that the resident of the house down the street - the one who wore all black and walked with a twisted cane - was a witch.
And then there was the voice that she had hoped would someday make her famous. The voice that sought a story in the cat-loving woman, wanted to make her into some newspaper character: a misunderstood old lady.
That voice saw no potential in a squirrel, and in it's gift of the acorn. It saw nothing but one of nature's creatures using some defense mechanism it instinctively had: leave an acorn, the predator backs off.
But the voice that knew a witch when it saw one - whether she rode on her broomstick in plain view or tried to disguise her witchiness beneath a mean old lady exterior - that voice loved the squirrel, saw it as different from every other squirrel in Salsville. It fueled the voice to whisper "thank you" to the rodents retreating form.
Salsville had brought the childish voice out from hiding. Her journalistic voice had had little to do in the shifty town. It had gone to sleep when it discovered that Rory was letting it go for some guy that was her most recent love. Rory had realized it's absence when her husband showed her that their house of dreams was a falling down shack in a place where the most polite people were the ones who would take the longest in removing your money from your pocket. She had realized then that she had failed one voice.
It was then that the other voice woke up and kept Rory alive.

"Hello Mrs. Rytfen," Rory said cheerily from her place in the back of Goods and Gorp line.
The woman shifted her eyes ever so slightly and then saw who owned the voice. A smile pumped with artificial flavoring spread across her tight lips, "Mrs. Forrester," she purred, reaching out a claw like hand to Rory, "nice to see someone's in back of me. Can't have a girl like me in the back of the line."
Rory had lived here for two years. She was still the new girl.
"Ms. Gilmore," she corrected. It was habit by now, insisting on a more contemporary title in this old fashioned town. She didn't understand why she still bothered. Want of a Ms. was just another thing to add to the list of reasons to dislike the young and "rebellious" Lorelai Forrester.
"But isn't this your fourth time in the back of the line this week?" to be in the back of the line and Goods and Gorp was a sign of laziness. In Salsville, you were quick and alert whilst you shopped. The less time it took, the more time you had to sit around at home and practice your "shifty eyes". When you went to the Salsville Mall (a block of buildings calling themselves stores for clothes) your service was curt and rude. They might as well have been screaming at you, "faster, faster, the faster you are the quicker I can leave."
"How is your husband, Mrs. Rytfen?" Rory asked in her most polite voice.
"He is very well, Mrs. Forrester. And yours?" the dialogue was sickening and tedious: straight out of a slightly twisted Jane Austen - oh, and that was a double negative. Right about now the heroine would have rebelled and left the lazy town for intrigue, romance and excitement.
"He has never been in a higher state of content with his life," Rory answered, trying to add some interest to the conversation. Sometimes she could actually find herself in competitions with the local folk of who could use the most 'big words' in a sentence. They hated it when she outdid them. However, Mrs. Rytfen was a self appointed queen of Salsville. She considered most below her, and was unshaken by any amount of excessive vocabulary.
"I am happy to here that. There has been some silly rumor about divorce being in the wind for you two. But a divorce of such a young and carefree and romantic couple - under the Salsville sky, no less - would be such a shame."
The words were back. If only they applied. You are sly, Mrs. Rytfen. What you mean, of course, is that I can't hold onto the pitiful excuse I have for a husband. And that I'm an idiot teenager who's going to end up living in a shack with a moron for the rest of her life.
You see, I would be mad, but you're right.
"Mrs. Rytfen, it's your turn," Rory's hand made a sweeping gesture to the counter. She resisted a very strong urge to stick her tongue and flap her hands at the witch when she was out of it's line of vision.
The two years had brought great improvement on Rory's ability to withstand temptation.
Only the tip of her tongue made it past her teeth.


It was the afternoon when she came home, arms full of groceries, and without a husband to help her carry the load to the kitchen. She kicked the door closed her foot and walked to the back of the house.
"Rory..." Her belated knight in shining armor strode into the room and gave his wife a stern look, "I need to talk with you."
At that moment, Rory hated herself. She hated herself for praying that this talk would end in a divorce. She hated herself for praying that she would have an excuse to run, crying, to Stars Hollow and into her mother's open arms. Back into the life she had loved, the life that had been made so wonderful by every single resident of the town that was her life.
Dean had been a part of it, but he had stopped contributing to the glory of Stars Hollow when...
Dean's voice interrupted her thoughts. She looked down at her shoes, afraid that her face would show her eagerness.
"Rory, I know that a 'where is this relationship' going talk is supposed to be a thing of high-school-sweetheart days."
Oh sure. Rub it in that I'm married to my first boyfriend. All thoughts of trying to hide her joy at the possible outcomes of such a "talk" fled and she stared at him, trying to appear extremely bitter and unlovable.
"But I think that we need it. You see, Rory, I've been in love with you for a long time."
"Dean, I think I know where this is going," she said quickly and (she hoped) cruelly.
"Oh, thank God. We all know I'm no good with words."
"No, Dean, you're terrible with them. Terrible at everything," she was right now trying to figure out what would be the best way to angrily storm up to their room, grab the suitcase that sat in her closet and storm out. Rory had never unpacked. Dean had always told her this was temporary.
"Everything but loving you," he said, his face wearing a little smile that could be called nothing but goofy.
"Not anymore."
"Well, I guess our freshly married relationship is finally over."
"It did draw out for a little, huh?" ugh. She even said that last part with a smile. Why wasn't he giving her what she needed for a fight?
"Well Dean, I don't think I can stand another second in this house. I think I'm going to go pack. Right now! The sight of this shack is... sickening...." his expressionless face hadn't given her the energy she needed to continue her passionate rage.
"Well, aren't we a little drama queen?"
"YES! Now I'm packing!"
"Okay! Okay! Just, well, don't count on moving out of here for a while."
His words froze her. Her foot was left hovering over the bottom step. Her head turned back to him and mission: stomping was halted.
"Do... do you make a habit of keeping your ex-wives hostage?"
Now both their faces showed obvious confusion, "Ror? Ex-wives? What are you talking about?"
"Well, I thought we were getting a divorce...." she was squeaking like a mouse. He came over to her and had pulled her into a hug and a sloppy kiss.
"Rory, no wonder you were so mad! I just meant that we should, you know, start making this into more of a marriage. Get a bigger house, start making our... martial status more obvious to the rest of Salsville. I was talking to Mr. Plezer" the owner of the market where Dean was bag boy, "and he's forgotten all about you. I was lucky enough to get you. I want everyone to know how much we love each other."
Right.
"Oh... well... phew! That was close, huh?" she was crying, she realized.
"Rory, don't cry. Don't cry."
"I... I..."
"You don't have to say anything. It's all right."


"Hi Rory! The usual?"
"Hey Diana. Yes, please."
The coffee arrived. The coffee disappeared. Automatic reactions. She pulled a pen from her purse and began to scribble on her coffee cup.
"What are you writing, Rory?" Diana asked. Why is it, Rory wondered, that everyone always has time to annoy me?
"You know what's great about not working?" was Rory's answer.
Diana sighed, "no, what?"
"You have so much time to do nothing. Christopher Robin told Pooh that his favorite thing to do was do nothing."
"Rory, I'm sensing a ramble."
"Have you ever watched a squirrel? You should. They're so great, squirrels... they're so innocent and bold, so naïve, so interested in doing what they do... they have such happy lives."
"Yes, Rory. I suppose you want to be a squirrel?"
"I wouldn't mind it," Diana got up and walked away. Lorelai Gilmore Forrester was strange. Diana liked her, but she wasn't sure what she thought of her sanity.
"Well, Rory, if you need anything more..."
"Another coffee cup. I'm out of room on this one."
"Sure," poor Rory. Diana knew how lost Rory was. One time she had even done a paper on her for school - changing her name to Alice Fillmont, of course.
Poor Rory. She looked like she had been one of those who could've been big.
Diana just hoped she didn't end up like her. She was pretty sure there wasn't any hope for Rory.

~
"Rory Gilmore, today is a monumental day. Today is a day that you and I will cherish forever. Today is a day that..."
"Mom!" six-year-old Rory whined.
"all right, all right," Lorelai pouted at the interruption in her speech but skipped to the end anyway, "today I have invited all our friends to witness this event. Kirk has even agreed to videotape it for us. Today we have with us all who are dear and some who aren't," those who were attending the Big Tasting glanced at one another. Rory clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle at her mom's speech - so reminiscent to Bilbo Baggins', "but it doesn't matter because no one can spoil this day for us! No one! So..." Lorelai glared at Luke. He went behind the counter, took the steaming pot, frowned and gave Lorelai his "you don't know what you're doing" face. Luke had a lot of faces for Lorelai.
The diner owner added in a voice that was as desperate as Luke's voice could get his final warning, "Lorelai, you'll regret this. You'll regret this 'til the day you die. If you want to end up lying in a hospital bed attached to New York City's water supply and hooked into the electrical system, fine. But don't do it to your daughter."
"Rory, bambi face, show him the bambi face," Rory looked up and gave Luke the bambi face. Lorelai added her own eyes. Luke frowned again.
"POUR!" Lorelai commanded. He took a mug off the shelf and poured the coffee into. Another stern glance from Lorelai. He took Rory's favorite mug and poured it in there instead.
Rory went up the counter and stood on her toes, her tiny face peering up from below the bar stool. She held up her hands and Luke started to pass her the coffee like he would Kirk when he was being a pest about beverages. Lorelai screeched and dashed behind the counter before snatching the coffee back and then cradling it in her two hands. Then she straightened and cleared her throat.
"Rory, by the power invested in me by me, I now pronounce you able to take your very first sip of coffee," and with these words, Lorelai passed the mug down to Rory. Rory held it in between her hands and closed her eyes. She raised her mug to her lips and tilted back her head before letting the hot liquid heaven slide down her throat and warm her stomach.
Almost the whole town of Stars Hollow stood staring at her. Each was waiting for the moment when Rory proved whether or not they'd win their bet: she'd love it, she'd hate it. Was she, in fact, a creature of caffeine?
Rory placed the mug back on the counter and held up her arms to her mother. Lorelai picked her up and kissed her forehead.
"Well?" she asked.
"It's yummy," Rory said, "it's very very yummy."
The diner erupted in chaos. Everyone was jumping up and down, Luke was pouting, and Lorelai and Rory were drinking coffee together for the first time.
"Rory, I want to let you know that all coffee is not as good as Luke's coffee. Luke's coffee is the ruling coffee of all coffee's. But there will come a time when you need to buy other coffees. And you will have to learn to live with them. However, if you have lived on non-Luke's coffee for over a week, murder is acceptable to get to it. And when we go home I'll teach you how to make your own - even though that will never be necessary with Luke so close by."
"Unless," Luke added, "it's the middle of the night and I'm asleep and then you will have to make your own."
"Like I said," Lorelai went on as if she hadn't heard the diner owner's grumble, "it will never be necessary. Because Luke will always be there for us."

~

"Luke!" Rory dashed into the diner, panting, "I need coffee!"
"No," the man didn't even look up from the card he was scribbling on.
"But I need it!" she said again.
"Well I haven't made any and I don't have time. Did you not see the closed sign?"
"But your door wasn't locked," the ten-year-old smiled, as if it made no sense. Luke looked up and sighed.
Now that her request had been granted, she smiled and hopped onto a bar stool.
"Who are you writing to, Luke?" she asked.
"Santa Claus."
"Did you ask him to bring me presents? Because I'd really like..."
"I'm writing to my nephew."
Rory leaned forward, "you have a nephew?"
"Yea. It's his birthday sometime next week."
"Next week is my coffee anniversary."
"How could I forget?"
"I'm getting free coffee, right?"
"You always get free coffee."
"But now I'll get more free coffee."
"You know the limit."
"But it's my coffee anniversary," she said in the same dazed voice as before. He gave her a glare.
"What's your nephew's name?" Luke checked the card.
"Jess."
"How old is he?"
"Your age."
"I wish I had a cousin."
"Here's your coffee," he began to usher her out the door, "and practice reading the word CLOSED once you get home. There's a difference between that and OPEN."
"You practice reading the word HARDWARE!" she called as she skipped out the door, "there's a difference between that and DINER!"
He smiled after her, and she stopped outside the diner to smile back. Her smile lit up her face.

~

Dean wasn't home once Rory got back another one of her eventless days. She collapsed on their couch and began to read. When he got back her kissed her and gave her a smile. He was so happy. So happy that they were "moving on."
But they weren't. They could walk forward as far as they liked, but their hearts were back in their sixteenth year.
She smiled back at him. The shape her lips formed had all the traits of a smile, but her eyes were dull as she looked at her husband.
He pretended not to notice, and tried to remember when Rory had started smiling like that.

*~*~*~*~*

Chapter Seven: Hello, James Dean

Neither one of the two men that sat in the car were sure if they could get out.
"Well, you found a parking place."
"Yea," Sam said hollowly, staring at Stars Hollow's main street.
"I think we need to get out of the car."
"I'm going to get of the car now," Sam said, not to Jess, but to himself.
"Do you need me to hold your hand?" Jess in the most mocking tone he had. Sam glared and unbuckled his seat belt.
Jess threw open the door and got out.
"Looks the same," he remarked, not admitting how glad he was of it.
"Looks better then when I left it," suddenly Sam was smiling and he threw back his head and screamed, "WE'RE BACK!". Jess smiled, despite himself
Of course at this the whole town poked their heads out of their fairy-tale homes and stared. Slowly they came out onto the street and just looked at the returnees, their mouths hanging open.
Sam walked up to one of the houses that hadn't revealed any gaping idiots and knocked.
"MOM!" he called.
"Sam?" came a voice. The door slowly opened and the woman hugged Sam as hard as she could, "my Sammy!"
The mouths of the townsfolk closed halfway. They smiled at the crying mother and son who stood in the doorway.
They frowned at Jess.
He grabbed his suitcase out of the trunk and walked up the street.
"Just the kind of welcome I'd hoped for."

Jess had walked to this house more times then he could count. He had paced back and forth, debating whether or not he should knock, throw a rock at her window...
He wasn't 'fretting' as he knocked this time. He just slumped over and waited.
The door opened. For the first time in his life he caught his breath. She looked the same, and he could even see Rory in her.
"Hello, James Dean," she said.
"Hello Ms. Gilmore."
"Well, come in."

He stood in her living room as he had six years before, looking at the pictures on her mantelpiece. Rory as a baby, Rory when she was six, holding a coffee mug, Rory, Rory, Rory. Lorelai came over and looked at the pictures.
"So, let me guess, you missed her?"
He shrugged and followed her into the kitchen where she sat down, a mug of coffee in her right hand.
"I missed you, too, Lorelai," he said. She opened her mouth to continue the banter but he interrupted her, "I just need to find out about her. I need to find her."
"Hmm," Lorelai took a sip, "this is very good for something I've cooked."
He didn't point out that you didn't cook coffee. She was looking at him from the corner of her eye, measuring, seeing if he was worthy of her daughter. He could tell all this and sat up straighter, looking back at her.
"Well, James, I guess you'll find out from someone else if you don't find out from me."
"Most likely."
"Rory doesn't live here anymore."
"I guessed."
She stopped. He noticed that he had leaned forward at the sound of *her* name. Embarrassed, he withdrew into his chair.
"She's in Salsville, California."
"You sure?"
"My telephone bill tells me so."
"How is she?" he asked. Mild. That's all he wanted. A mild conversation that led to answers.
To his surprise, Lorelai started crying.
He sat still for a long time as she cried, just watching her brown head quiver on the table and listening to her sniff and sneeze. He didn't look at the clock to time how long she trembled there. He just watched her, somewhere between confused and sad and angry and relieved and frustrated and lost.
At last she lifted her head and he passed her a tissue. She took it and wiped her eyes. She did not look red and swollen. Crying became her.
"Thanks, Jess," she said softly. Then she looked up and stated firmly, "I need a hug."
He stood up and went to where she sat, then gave her a most awkward embrace. She clung tightly to him and kept crying. He held onto her and wondered why, why she as putting on such a display of emotion for a boy she had hated for a year and not seen in five.
When her last tear had been shed, she let go of him and smiled.
"I needed that."
He just looked at her. He was confused, to say the least.
"I needed to cry. Rory... Rory left this life," she waved her hand to the kitchen, "about two years ago. Hers is not a happy tale."
"What happened?" he asked.
"She went to Harvard. And then to Yale. And then she told me one day that Dean - they were still together - Dean had asked her to go live with him in California. She was so sure that life was going to work out right for her. So she left and went with him."
Oh.
"I'm sorry, Jess. She and I don't talk much anymore. Whenever I call, I get her answering machine. Whenever I write, the reply could've been to Taylor as much as it was for me."
He wasn't sure what to do. He sat there for a few seconds and then gave Lorelai a weak smile as a tear rolled down his cheek. She came over and gave him a much firmer hug.
"It's nice to know someone's as miserable as I am. She's gone. But I bet..."
she was having a hard time talking, "I bet they broke up. She was ten times to good for him."
"Yea," was all he could say. He refused to let his voice be choked up in front of Lorelai.
"Isn't it nice to have someone to cry with?"
He nodded this time, feeling seven years old. A salty drop of water from Lorelai landed on his head.
"I need a cigarette."
"Too bad."
"I quit."
"You can sleep in Rory's old room tonight." The dialogue was pointless and meaningful at the same time.
"Thanks," he said, getting up and walking out of the kitchen. He still couldn't believe the 'moment' he had just had. Finding out Rory was gone. Crying with Lorelai.
"Jess," she called. He looked back at her, "some of Rory's books are still there."
"Thanks," he said again.
She knew that she didn't have to tell him where Rory's bedroom was. Once he was in his room, he smelled the air and he smelled her.
He glanced at the bookshelves. Each had been labeled since he'd left: by author, genre...
And then he saw a label underneath a shelf in the center of a bookcase.
He went over to it and read it, sure for the first time he was in love with Rory, and so completely willing to put it on paper.
"Jess Books," he whispered
Every shelf had a few books on it. He knew that they were Rory's least favorite of her collection. Of course she'd taken all her favorites with her and left behind just a few of each genre
All but the shelf for "Jess Books."
It was empty.
She'd taken all those with her.


Lorelai poured herself another cup of coffee. She was thinking how she would tell Jess in the morning. She hated that boy, but at least they had something in common now.
She stared into the mirror and began to practice: "Good morning Jess. There is something I forgot to mention last night while we were crying our miserable worm eaten hearts out. Rory's married to Dean. Yea. Sorry about that. I know you love her and all but, hey, I love her, too. We both lost her to the freakishly tall Bag Boy. Want to have another little crying session? Oh, I see you've already started. Want me to buy you a pack of cigarettes?"
She glanced at the microwave. It was three o'clock in the morning. She would be sleeping all day tomorrow - no. She had to tell Jess tomorrow.
"Hey Lorelai."
Speak of the devil.
"Can I have Rory's address?"
She gestured to the fridge.
He grabbed it and gave Lorelai a rare smile before practically running out the door. She ran after him and reached the door.
"Where are you going?" she screamed.
He didn't look back as he walked down the street, "Rory!"
Her jaw dropped. He kept walking.
"You can't walk to California!" she called.
"Where she leads I will follow!" he answered, almost pleased at his Hollywood words.
And then she smiled. Her loathing of the kid who'd almost killed her daughter was gone.
"Hey Jess!"
"What?"
"You can use my car! Keys in the ignition."
He turned around and stared. She smiled. He walked to the jeep and turned it on.
He started rolling forward.
"Thanks!"
Was the last thing she heard before he sped off into the night.


Finding a parking space hadn't been hard. There were only a few cars and he, honestly, would have parked on top of one. He needed to see her right now.
"27, 28, 29, 30, 31..."
it was hard to believe that something so ugly could house Rory. His eyes flickered over the house and he made a lucky guess as to where her room was. He saw, though, that the wall leading to her window was impossible for climbing.
He grabbed another side of the house and began to climb up. The gaps in the house made for easy footholds.
His head was spinning with what-ifs. But his feet kept moving. They were not going to stop until they got to Rory.
And then he reached the window about ten feet from where he guessed she was. He took a pebble from his pocket and tossed it to her window. He wanted her to be awake to greet him. He needed to hear her voice.
Another pebble.
Another.
"Hey, you!" he yelled
Another.
He estimated about far he'd have to jump. He let go of the wall and sprung over to the window and tossed the final pebble.
Plunk.

He didn't notice as a car pulled out from the driveway and sped off carrying the patriarch of the household.

*~*~*~*~*~