This story is a collaborative effort between MahliaLily ( http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=288788 ) and CircleSky.

A Few Verses Short of a Christmas Carol

CHAPTER 4: What is it with Chicks and Phones?

Finishing a chapter, Jess stuffed the well-worn copy of Fahrenheit 451 into his back pocket and then pulled his coat snug as he weaved his way through the lazy Sunday strollers on the sidewalk. Every single person he passed was bundled up in a wool hat, muffler, and mittens, and all of them had big 'ole "Season's Greetings" grins on their faces. Quite a few of them were carrying bags containing purchases that would, no doubt, end up under somebody's Christmas tree.

It's busy downtown today, Jess thought as he swerved just in time to avoid colliding with an uncharacteristically harried and rushed elderly woman. Realizing what he'd just thought, he shook his head disapprovingly. 'Downtown'? When did I start thinking of the center of Stars Hollow as 'downtown'? The sidewalk is paved with freakin' cobblestones, for God's sake.

The whole place was straight out of a fairytale – just bursting with so much good will that it was almost enough to make Jess nauseous. But still, there was something pleasant about the town's quaint demeanour. And if I keep thinking like that, something inside me is gonna die.

As Jess walked, he noticed that there were little, crunchy balls of snow in his path, rubble left behind by the blade of a shovel. He took great pleasure in the sound they made as the soles of his hiking shoes mercilessly flattened them, one by one.

Jess gracefully side-stepped a storekeeper who was knocking icicles off an awning and zeroed in on his destination - the Stars Hollow Post Office. Just as he was about to pull open the tinted glass door, however, it was pushed open from the other side. Jess was forced to dodge it quickly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Taylor said amiably before he had the chance to recognize whose face he'd almost disfigured. But, thanks to the abrupt change in Taylor's facial expression, Jess could pinpoint the exact moment the older man realized to whom he was talking. "Mr. Mariano," Taylor grudgingly acknowledged.

"Sir," Jess mocked, motioning as if he were tipping his hat. Then, smiling at Taylor in a way that directly contradicted his serious tone of voice, he said, "You know, you should really watch that door. I know you're a busy man and all, but you could seriously injure someone who lacks my catlike reflexes."

Ignoring the reprimand, Taylor appraised Jess, concerned by his overly cheerful attitude. "Why are you smiling?" he asked quickly. "You've been up to no good, haven't you?"

"Me?" Jess questioned, laying his open palm against his chest and adopting a stricken look. "I think I may be insulted. I'm simply taking advantage of one of the many fine services this town has to offer."

"Mock if you will, but just remember that you would not be able to mail whatever it is you're mailing right now, if it weren't for this fine service."

Jess smirked a little, internally acknowledging that Taylor had just made a very good point. There was no way he was going to let him know that, however. "Nah, my mail could've waited 'til tomorrow. But you – you were flyin' outta here like a bat out of hell. Makin' a run for it before the letter bomb goes off?"

"Why, I would never!" Taylor replied, flabbergasted. "I – I didn't mail anything."

"You didn't?" Jess asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No!" Taylor assured him a little too forcefully. By now, he had stepped out onto the street, and, as he spoke, he quickly glanced around as though he were hiding something. His nervous behaviour did not go unnoticed by Jess.

"Geez, Taylor, I was kiddin' about the letter bomb, but now…" Jess trailed off then leaned in closer to Taylor and teased softly, "Should I be wearing protective gear or something?"

"Must everything be a joke with you?"

"Oh, please," Jess scoffed. "In this town, everything is a joke. This town itself is a joke."

"You won't be laughing forever, young man."

"Huh. For once you're right, Taylor," Jess said with a tinge of anger. "God willing, I'll get outta this town someday soon. Now, excuse me; I have something to mail. Don't you have some cops to elude?"

"I did not mail anything illegal!" Taylor raged.

"A-ha! But you mailed something?" Jess asked, catching Taylor's error.

"You're impossible!" Taylor huffed dismissively before storming away from the post office.

Chuckling in satisfaction, Jess entered the post office and made a beeline for the visibly bored clerk at the front desk. He handed over the envelope for Rory and then headed to the mailboxes that aligned the far wall – far being relative, of course, as the post office was barely bigger than a walk-in closet. Fishing in his pocket, he retrieved the key to Luke's post office box and stuck it in the lock. He was momentarily surprised when he saw the bulging bundle of mail that lay inside – that is, until he remembered that he'd forgotten to pick it up yesterday as Luke had asked. He flipped through the pile: a few random letters and bills; what was apparently a Christmas card from Luke's dear, old, batty cousin, Frannie, and her "gorgeous" parrot, Petey; and a small box with his name on it.

Jess frowned. He'd actually forgotten about his ridiculous Secret Santa for a moment, and he found himself rather annoyed to be reminded. Unfortunately, this was likely another gift, and he knew there was a very distinct possibility that he would not like its contents. He freed his hands by stuffing the other mail in his back pocket, alongside the novel, and glanced around the room. The only other person in the post office was the clerk, who was watching Jess out of boredom. He didn't particularly look like the type to care what Jess's gift was. Nonetheless, Jess switched his position so that the clerk couldn't possibly see what he was opening. Then, feeling safe, he peeled the wrapping paper off.

Jess finished opening the gift and, for a long moment, just stared at its contents, trying to figure out what it was supposed to mean. Confused, he lifted the item out of its box and opened its lid. Sure enough, as he'd thought, it was a black, felt stamp pad like one could find in any office supply store. Who would send him a stamp pad? Pondering that question, Jess noticed that, when he'd lifted the pad out of the box, he'd revealed yet another note. Cautiously, he picked it up, unfolded it, and read the words. "I'm sure it won't be the first time you've been fingered."

Blinking, Jess scanned the note again, praying that he'd read it wrong. He hadn't. Fingered? Who is this freak? This time, he almost laughed. These gifts were so unlike Stars Hollow, it was almost funny. Almost – if they weren't also so disturbing. At least he could be grateful that no one else had been around to see the gift this time; he could only imagine how merciless the teasing would have been then.

After reading the note several more times, Jess sighed and finally crumpled it in his hands. He tossed it into a nearby wastepaper basket, leaning forward slightly to make the long shot. As he was straightening up, however, he caught sight of the clerk again, still watching him as though observing Jess had been the only excitement he'd had all day.

Jess frowned again, then walked over and reached into the wastepaper basket. He pulled the note back out and stuffed it in his pocket. The clerk looked trustworthy enough, but, in this town, one never knew. It was better to be safe than sorry. He'd burn it instead.

Still unnerved and distracted by his most recent Secret Santa gift, Jess left the post office and strolled towards the diner, deep in thought. He'd decided that someone must be playing a trick on him because there was no way these gifts could be for real. Could they? Granted, Stars Hollow was full of freaks, but they'd always seemed like the innocent, simple-minded, 'Little House on the Prairie' type of freaks – not this type of freaks. Then again, what with Miss Patty and Kirk as just two examples, was it really entirely out of the realm of possibility?

"Jess!" Luke barked, startling his nephew back to reality as soon as he walked through the door.

"What?" Jess replied, sounding more annoyed than he actually felt.

"Where have you been? You were supposed to help me with the breakfast shift, remember? First, you're walking down the stairs – I think to come help me. Next thing I know, I see your back halfway out the door."

"Geez, Uncle Luke," Jess said in a snide tone. "How did you ever manage this place before I came along? If I'd known I was such a valuable asset…"

"Knock it off," Luke ordered. "When you say you're gonna be here, I expect you to be here. Where did you go?"

"I had something to take care of."

"Like what?" Luke asked, refusing to settle for that weak attempt at an excuse.

"Like something," Jess mocked, approaching the counter. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"The rush was fifteen minutes ago. If you want to get paid for your time, I expect a good excuse."

Jess sighed and looked down at the ground. He was really going to need that money to cover Rory's gifts. He lifted his head but avoided looking at Luke as he reluctantly admitted, "I had to mail something."

"You had to mail something? Right now?" Luke asked curiously.

"Yes," Jess said, finally making eye contact. "Right now. If I didn't mail it this morning, it wouldn't get there on time."

"Do you owe somebody money?"

"No," Jess said, insulted.

"Well then, what couldn't wait?" Luke pried, starting to enjoy this interrogation.

"Look," Jess answered, gesturing angrily. "I don't need the money that badly. I'm going upstairs."

As Jess walked around the counter and towards the stairwell, Luke's eyes followed his every move. Jess was just about to step up the first stair when Luke grinned and said joyfully, "Ohhh!" His tone stopped Jess dead in his tracks.

Jess paused on the stairs for a moment and then turned his head to his uncle. When he saw the annoying look of satisfaction on Luke's face, he couldn't help bellowing, "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Luke said casually, wiping down the counter.

Jess turned around and walked over to where Luke was standing. "What?" he repeated, growing angrier by the second.

"It's Sunday," Luke stated.

"Yeah, so."

"Mail isn't delivered on Sunday except at one time of year and for one reason."

"Are you going to get to a point someday?"

"I know what you were doing."

"Yeah, right," Jess scoffed.

"It's okay, Jess. Your secret's safe with me," Luke assured him conspiratorially.

Jess gave him another annoyed look and then smirked. "Well, gosh, Uncle Luke. Now that you know the whole story, do I get my money?"

Luke handed him an order pad. "Get to work," he said, still smiling.

Frustrated, Jess snatched the pad from his hand and turned to walk to a table.

"I hope your mail gets there on time… Shakespeare," Luke said knowingly.

Jess glared at him out of the corner of his eye but kept on walking.

***

A short while later, Jess had just finished perking a fresh pot of coffee when he saw a little girl walk into the diner, carrying a gift-wrapped box. He watched with interest as she approached Luke from behind and tugged on his flannel shirt. Luke turned to see who wanted his attention and, not seeing anyone, was about to turn back to his customer when he felt the tug again. This time, he looked down and saw the little, redheaded girl holding the box out to him.

"This is for you," she said matter-of-factly, and, as soon as Luke took the package, she turned on her heel and marched back out of the diner. Even Jess couldn't help but smile at the cute display.

Luke finished taking the order and then walked back and set the box on the counter. He quickly began to peel away the gift-wrap, excited since his two previous gifts had actually been worthwhile. In his zeal, he didn't notice that a curious Jess had moved in closer so he could peer over Luke's shoulder.

Setting aside the paper, Luke ran his fingers around the perimeter of the white, rectangular box, breaking the tape that sealed its edges. Then, he lifted the lid and removed the festive tissue paper. As soon as he saw the gift, however, he smashed the lid back down as quickly as possible – but not quickly enough. The box had been open just long enough for Jess to catch a glimpse of what lay inside – a black, short-sleeved T-shirt emblazoned with an iron-on portrait of the crew of the Starship Enterprise. Unable to control himself, Jess chuckled, drawing Luke's attention.

Grabbing the wrapping paper in one hand and the box in the other, Luke said gruffly, "I'm going upstairs. Keep an eye on things."

"Can you promise you'll be wearing your gift when you come back down?" Jess teased.

"You're not funny."

"Really?" Jess asked with a raised eyebrow. After taking a brief moment to consider Luke's theory, he shrugged. "You could be right. But that," he said, pointing to the box, "is funny."

Ignoring him, Luke headed up the stairs. Jess quickly walked to the bottom, however, and yelled up, "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me… Uncle Spock!"

***

Later that evening, Lorelai was upstairs casually augmenting the outfit she had "just thrown on that morning." Rory knew her mother was dressing up just in case her next present turned out to be another date - a hot one.

Rory was sorting through the mail that had come earlier that day when she came across an envelope with her name and address on it but nothing else. She dropped the junk mail on the kitchen table and headed into her room for her letter opener. With pleasant anticipation, she slit open the envelope. Inside was a lined page, which she eagerly unfolded, revealing a poem printed in the boxy script of an old typewriter.

She exists on a plane that's far above me.
A person beyond what I've aspired to be.

The world she views with a gleam in her eyes,
And at her glance, it all beautifies.

Her eyes, two stars, cast a rosy sheen.
She surely must be a celestial queen.

And yet, despite all her exalted being,
Even simplest creatures still is she seeing.

She appreciates me like no others do.
For it's through her eyes that I can shine too.

Rory sank to her bed and reread the poem numerous times, her hand finding its way up to cover her mouth, and her eyes misting over with unshed tears. Who had written this poem? Despite her extensive, internal catalogue of poetry, she didn't recognize the words or the author's style. Had Rory's Secret Santa written it for her?

"Hey Sweets," Lorelai started as she burst into Rory's room. "Have you seen my…" Noticing the look on Rory's face, she forgot what she was about to say. "Hun, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Mom, read this," Rory blurted as she thrust the paper at Lorelai.

"From your Santa?"

"Yes."

Lorelai took the page from her.

Rory watched her mother's expression avidly as Lorelai's eyes scanned the page. "Wow. Whoever wrote this sure is hot for you," she said as she sat down beside Rory at the foot of the bed.

"Mom!" she admonished. "Do you think Dean wrote it?"

"Frankly, no."

"Well, then he must have found the poem somewhere. I don't know who else it could be."

"Ha-ha! Maybe Kirk wrote it," Lorelai teased.

"Mom! Ew! Be serious!"

"Uh, well, Jess comes to mind," Lorelai answered as though stating the obvious. "We already know he has the hots for you."

"No. It couldn't be him. Jess hates poetry. Besides, we're just friends."

"My darling daughter, I love you, but you're crazy."

"No, really," Rory argued.

"'A few verses short of a Christmas carol', that's what you are," Lorelai said wryly.

"Hey! You stole my line!" Rory complained.

Lorelai shook her head sadly and made a tsking noise. "Delusions of grandeur. This is gettin' serious. I'm afraid the men in the white coats are gonna come and take you away any day now."

"Funny," Rory said in a tone that was anything but amused.

When they heard the doorbell ring, Lorelai added, "Oh, the men are early." She got up to answer the door. "I just hope the straitjacket is stylish. Your grandmother always says you look so good in blue."

Rory rolled her eyes, picked the poem up from where her mother had left it on the bed, and dragged herself into a standing position. Then, she followed her mother into the front hall to see who the next blind date was.

***

That day, Dean's aunt and uncle had arrived from Chicago, and, for the occasion, his mother had made a festive celebratory dinner. When they'd finished the meal, his mother had presented the guests with a dessert selection courtesy of Dean's Secret Santa. Afterward, when the family retired to the living room to watch a holiday movie, Dean excused himself and crept back into the kitchen.

Despite the fact that it was probably the third piece he'd had that day, Dean cut a slice out of the marble cheesecake. He lifted it and placed it on a saucer, afterwards licking the delicious crumbs off of his fingertips. Dean covered the rest of the cake again and, turning, picked up his plate to go, but he stopped himself before he could walk away. Smiling, he looked down at the counter again. As an afterthought, he tucked a couple of rocky road cookies beside the slice of cake and, finally satisfied, headed out of the kitchen.

Dean took the delicacies with him up to his room and kicked the door closed behind him. He sat down on the carpet, beside his stereo, and placed the plate on the floor in front of him. Reaching up onto his desk, he grasped the audiocassette he'd left there earlier, once again cracked open the case, and popped the cassette into the tape deck.

As Dean waited for the strains of the first song, he unfolded the stationery tucked into the cassette case and reread the note.

"Dearest Dean," the note began in Times New Roman font. Dean smiled again, took a bite of cookie and read on.

"Have you ever wanted to say something and found that you just couldn't? I have. There are a lot of things I've wanted to say, but, for whatever reason, I could not say them to your face. So I made this tape. It contains songs which I hope will speak for me."

Dean put the page back down and bit into the cake as Madonna began singing "Crazy for You." Dean sat there on the floor, lazily eating cake and cookie, and paid greater attention to the lyrics of the song than he ever had before. Dean finished up his snacks to the accompaniment of the next song, Cheap Trick's "I Want You to Want Me."

The cassette contained other such romantic classics as "I Think I Love You" by David Cassidy and "Can't Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley. But the song that caught Dean's fancy and pleased him the most was "You're the One that I Want" from the Grease Soundtrack, because of what the lyrics signified. It meant that Dean was the one Rory loved, not Jess.

Once Dean had listened to many of the songs, he left the tape playing in the background, stood up, and lay back against the pillows on his bed. He reached for the phone on the end table and dialed the seven little numbers he knew so well. Rory answered on the second ring.

"Hey there," Dean drawled in a husky voice brought on by the romantic music.

"Hi, Dean," Rory replied distractedly. When the phone had rung, she'd been rereading her poem for perhaps the hundredth time, still wondering who had sent it. She wasn't all that grateful for Dean's interruption. "How are you?"

"Great! And yourself?"

"Um. I'm good too. So, did you get your latest gift?" she said, thinking instead, not of his gift, but of the one she herself had received.

Dean smiled because she'd brought up exactly what had put him in such a good mood. "I did. Actually, that's why I called."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I wanted to tell you how awesome I think my Secret Santa is," he said slyly.

"Yeah? You really scored this time, huh?"

"I sure did."

"Well, whoever your Secret Santa is, he or she must be putting in a lot of effort," she said casually. "What did you get today?"

Dean realized she was playing it cool, not letting on she already knew the gifts he'd received. If she wants to pretend she's not my Santa, he thought, then I'll play along. "A mixed tape," he replied just as nonchalantly, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh. Good music?"

Dean caught the chorus of Andy Gibb's "I Just Want to Be Your Everything." "Yeah, there's some very good music on here."

"Good," Rory replied, still distracted by her own gift.

"What about your Secret Santa?"

"Mine? Oh, you know, the usual. Jellybeans, deck of cards…" she trailed off, the lie slipping easily from her lips and her heart speeding up. For some reason, she'd lied to Dean. Actually, the reason was obvious; she didn't think he'd take it well if he knew her Santa had written her poetry.

"Have you figured out who your Santa is?" he asked.

"Um. No," she said quickly, feeling a little bit panicked. "I don't like to speculate on these things."

"Sure you do."

"No, I don't. It's my mother who does."

"Okay, if you insist," Dean grinned. "In any case, I think I've figured out mine."

"Well, don't tell me," she said quickly, trying to underscore her new stance of non-speculation. "It's supposed to be a secret until Christmas Eve!" If he kept talking about Secret Santas, Rory might accidentally reveal more than she wanted to.

Dean chuckled. "Okay. I won't speculate. I'll just wait until the party."

"You do that." Rory relaxed and changed the subject. "So your aunt and uncle made it there all right?"

"Yup. The folks are downstairs watching The Grinch Who Stole Christmas."

"Oh yeah. Good movie. I forgot that was on tonight."

"Hey, speaking of good movies, you know, Two Towers opened the other day. You still haven't told me if you'll come with me to see it."

"Oh. Uh, I'll have to think about it."

"Okay. Just let me know, and I'll buy the tickets."

"Actually, don't buy the tickets yet. To tell you the truth, I don't really want to go," Rory said gently. "Seeing the first one so many times kinda ruined the book for me."

"But you loved the special effects."

"Yeah but… I'll think about it. Just don't buy the tickets yet."

"OK. We can do something you like beforehand. We can go out for a nice dinner."

"Oooh! Yeah, let's go some place in Hartford. Like The Willows."

Dean crinkled his nose a little at the thought of the upscale Willows restaurant. But still, this was Rory. He'd do anything for her. "Yeah, we can go to The Willows."

"Oooh Dean!" came her excited voice over the phone lines. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"

Dean smiled again as the next song, "All My Loving" by the Beatles, began. "Yes, I do believe you have," he purred.

***

Not long after Rory hung up with Dean, she finally put down the poem and, needing a distraction, walked over to the Christmas tree. Leaning over, she plugged in the lights. Once the Christmas lights were on, she walked around the living room and turned off all of the lamps until only the glow of the tree illuminated the room.

Sighing contentedly, she sat back on the couch and watched the flashing colours reflect on the walls. She gazed at them, entranced, losing track of time, and was surprised when she finally glanced at her watch and saw that it was almost 11:30. She didn't want to go to bed before her mom came home so she kneeled down on the floor and crawled over to the tree until she was lying beneath its limbs, gazing upward at the twinkle lights and delicate ornaments.

Every year, she and her mom would lie under the tree and take in its beauty together as though it were a secret only they shared. Lorelai would point out special ornaments and tell Rory the stories of how they came to reside in the Gilmore household. Rory would smile as if she'd never heard the tales before, and, eventually, her mother's gentle, comforting voice would lull her into a peaceful slumber beneath her very own sky of twinkling, crayon-coloured stars.

Rory smiled at the memory and shifted her position so she was more comfortable for the Christmas vigil. Just a few minutes later, she heard her mom open the front door and walk in.

"Rory! Hey, Ror, where are you?" Lorelai called, breathless.

"Over here," Rory replied from beneath the tree.

"Aw, you started without me?" Lorelai asked sadly as she took off her winter coat and threw her purse onto the couch.

"I just laid down. You didn't miss a thing."

"You better not be lying to make me feel better," Lorelai joked before walking over and crouching beside the tree. "Scoot over." Rory moved a little to the right, and Lorelai stretched out on the floor beside her, drawing in an awed gasp as she looked up into the tree. "Is it possible that it's even more beautiful this year?" she asked softly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Rory mused. Then, she turned to look at her mother and asked with a mischievous smile. "How was the date? You were out later than usual."

"Not by choice," Lorelai answered with a deep sigh. "Are you sure you want me to tell you about it and ruin this beautiful moment?"

"Yes, please."

Lorelai sucked in her breath and held it for a moment, the lights of the Christmas tree casting sparkling reflections in her haunted eyes. She seemed to be struggling with a memory that was ideally forgotten, yet too painful to forget. "Nah. I can't do it," she said finally, letting her breath out in a whoosh.

Rory laughed softly. "That bad, huh?"

"Ooh yeah," Lorelai replied with attitude and depression. "Maybe someday I'll be able to talk about it."

"What about Luke?" Rory asked. "How's the Secret Santa thing going?"

"Man, you are good at zoning in on the bad topics tonight, kiddo."

"Don't wanna talk about it?"

"Can we find sharp sticks and poke them in our eyes first?"

"I'll take that as a 'no.'"

"I have one more gift to buy for Luke," Lorelai said as a peace offering. "Sookie and I are going to Hartford tomorrow to try to find something."

"Good enough," Rory conceded.

"Thank God you weren't blessed with your grandmother's 'Pry Until It Hurts' gene."

Rory smiled in amusement, and they fell into a comfortable silence.

After awhile, Rory glanced at her mother out of the corner of her eye and said quietly, "Dad called today."

Lorelai's heart caught in her throat, but when she spoke, her voice miraculously sounded normal. "He did?"

"Yeah. He just wanted to wish me a Merry Christmas because he figured we'd be busy for the next couple of days."

"How is he?"

"He's fine. Sherry's fine. They're having a good time at her parents' place."

"Good. That's good," Lorelai said, almost genuinely.

"He told me to tell you Merry Christmas too."

"That was nice of him."

"Yes, it was," Rory agreed.

Lorelai smiled and changed the subject. "Any more thoughts on who your Secret Santa might be?"

Being reminded of the poem excited the butterflies in Rory's stomach. "No," she said sadly. "I can't imagine who could've written it."

"My money's still on Jess," Lorelai stated.

"It isn't from Jess," Rory argued, although the thought that it could have come from Jess made her heart race and led the aforementioned butterflies to start doing gymnastics. It was like a Summer Olympics was going on inside her stomach.

"If you say so," Lorelai teased, letting the issue drop.

They continued to quietly lie on the floor for a long time, both with thoughts anywhere but on the tree, until at last, Rory sighed and moved over to rest her head on her mother's shoulder, positioned in such a way that she could still gaze upwards. Lorelai shifted her arm so it wrapped around Rory and began running her fingers soothingly through her daughter's hair.

"Hey Mom," Rory whispered, pointing up at a small, simple angel ornament. "Where'd that one come from? I can't remember."

Lorelai smiled and kissed the top of Rory's head before squinting up past the bright lights at the tiny angel. "Well, you must've been maybe two or three," she began. "I wanted to get you an ornament every year, but that year, I wasn't sure if I could afford it - "

As her mother murmured softly in her ear, Rory snuggled more deeply into her embrace and closed her eyes.

***

Please review!

This story is a collaborative effort between MahliaLily ( http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=288788 ) and CircleSky.