A/N ~ Please! Put down those stones! I'm sorry its taken so long! I was suffering from a severe bout of writer's block!!! Anyway, here it is, the return of Dodger in the Jess POV, I hope its ok! Please, as always, leave reviews! Tell me whether you love it, hate it, or whatever! Special thanks to my girl Stew Pid for proofreading for me! And on with the show!!
Disclaimer/Spoilers ~ Check other chapters, nothing has changed!
Random Rant ~ I HATE THE WB!!! They cancelled Jess' spin off! Oh well, maybe now he'll return to Gilmore Girls
Shameless Plug ~ I would love you forever and always if you R/R my other stories, especially Invictus.
Chapter Seven: Tradition (Jess POV)
Not one thing about this town has changed.
Not one.
You would think after four years that something might appear somewhat differently, but no. Even the grass looks the same.
Even in the dark I can tell that this entire town is still caught in a time capsule of a perfection rivaling that of Pleasantville. It's sickening. I mean, what normal town in America is one hundred percent free of trash or grime? It's completely unnatural. I honestly believe, and have for some time now, that at some point the inane residents of this Silver Hills Outpatient Center are going to impose open executions for those who spit their bubblegum on the sidewalk, and Stars Hollow will undoubtedly be the cause of the apocalypse, an event triggered when Taylor is woken up by a band of teenagers 'street slaloming' after his bedtime.
I snorted incredulously as I disembarked from the dusty old bus, carrying nothing but Ferdydurke under my arm and that same tattered old duffle over my shoulder.
I watched the bus pull slowly and laboriously away and here I am, standing alone again under a streetlamp giving off a dim glow in the pitch black of night. Nobody knows I am here, and honestly, if they did I doubt they would care. Actually, that's a lie, they would care. My presence would influence the entire town to lock its doors for the first time in four years. I sighed a little as I shifted my bag from one shoulder to the other, and began the short walk to Luke's.
The short walk that took twenty seven minutes.
I just couldn't bring myself to walk in there, so I took detours. I rounded Stars Hollow in its entirety twice, the entire time failing to find one alteration to its setting.
So here I am now, standing completely still, watching him through the window. He's talking on the phone with someone, deeply involved in what, for Luke, would be considered an animated conversation. I think I actually saw him laugh a little, but no need for alarm; it could have been a grunt. I shifted nervously as I watched him hang up the phone and shut off the diner lights before trudging up the stairs to the apartment.
It's now or never.
And still I can't move.
I'm not really sure what is so foreboding about entering that diner, but there is something telling me to turn and run like hell. Though that's not very different from anything I usually feel, being that thoughts along those lines are usually my first instinct in any situation.
Still, this time it seems different, and I was just about to turn and walk back to the bus station when I stop my hand, my fingers just inches from the duffle that is slumped sullenly at my feet.
I have nowhere else to go.
And so I push through the apprehensive cloud that seems to have encased me, and allow my feet to carry me to the door.
My hand reaches out and before I know it I'm climbing the stairs, my legs as heavy as lead, a weight increased by the thought of having to face my uncle again after all this time.
I'm not one for goodbyes, and I never have been. I can't even stand the emotionless and obligatory handshake at the departure from the household of a coworker or friend. I'd much rather just slip out unnoticed and by no means missed.
And Luke knows that now. After all, I left without a word early that morning in late May.
Actually no, that's not true.
There was a word.
In fact, there were two.
"I'm out."
And that was it. I walked away from Luke, from Stars Hollow, and from her, and I boarded a plane that would carry me into something new.
And now I'm back, and I'm standing before the 'William's Hardware' sign on the door.
There are voices floating softly through the oak and glass of the door, and they all sound high and light, feminine actually.
Huh.
Luke must be experiencing the joys of late night Cinemax, because there was no way that he actually had numerous amounts of women in his apartment at this time.
I smirk to myself a bit as I raise my hand and rap on the textured glass before me, waiting for the inevitable uncle/nephew awkwardness that was about to occur.
The door swings open, and . . .
"Hey Uncle Luke."
And then silence. . .
And more silence. . .
I hate silence . . .
"Uh," how very intelligent of you Uncle Luke. Next thing you know, he'll be wearing a loincloth and banging stones together to make fire.
I smile at that Luke/caveman picture in my head. It really fits actually. He already has the grunt and the head scratch down to an art.
And then, as my extremely intellectual relative is trying to figure out how to make words out of sound again, I notice three girls sitting on the couch behind him.
What are three girls, who look about my age, doing sitting on my uncle's couch?
But before I get the chance to ask and, being me, throw in several lewd and sarcastic comments involving a whore-house, a voice calls out from the side room of the apartment, "Who is it Luke?"
That voice sounds oddly familiar.
"Its. . . its uh . . ." Luke mumbles inanely as I enter the apartment and begin to walk slowly toward my old room, aware that at least four pairs of eyes are drilling into my back as I go. But before I can make it there, the bodiless voice calls out again, and this time it seems to be getting closer as it carries on.
"Luke? Is it my mo-" But the sentence is never finished, because before she can complete her last thought I round the corner and we crash into each other.
And we stand there for a second, neither moving, but she is still so close that I can feel her breathing into my chest, and nobody speaks until . . .
"Jess?"
Oh my god . . .
She backs up slowly, pushing long brown tendrils of hair from her face as she stares at me with those eyes that are still so genuine and sanguine. "It is you!" she exclaims after a second, and then she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me into a hug.
It takes me a few seconds to reciprocate for the fact that I'm still shell shocked by seeing her again after all these years, but I finally pull my jaw from the floor and my voice back to my throat,
"Hey Rory."
She backs up slowly and stares at me, like she doesn't yet believe that I am standing before her. I shift a little as she looks me up and down, her eyes finally resting on my shirt and staying there as she speaks softly, "You haven't changed at all."
"What makes you say that? I haven't said more than two words to you. You couldn't possibly pass judgment that quickly."
She cocks her head to the side as she points to the saying on my shirt, "Well I can at least tell that you are just as cynical as always."
I look down,
'The beatings will continue until morale improves,' Is inscribed in fading gray lettering on the front of my black tee-shirt just above the skull and crossbones.
"Well, what can I say?" I asked, still a little uneasy.
She smiles widely at me, and for a second there is a silence where all just observe one another. Then Rory seems to come back to her manners and looks around. "Oh, um, Jess these are my roommates," she says, motioning to the rest of the girls sitting around the room. "This is Heidi Feliceta, Adair St. James, Claire Hilton, and Nia Stevenson, you already know Paris."
I looked around the room, finally noticing all of its occupants (Pairs was snoring on Luke's old bed) and I nodded at each girl as Rory introduced them to me. When she was finished she turned to her friends, "Guys, this is Jess Mariano. I know I've mentioned him to you. He's a good friend from when I lived in the Hollow." And I was greeted by four identical smiles and a few waves. After this nobody seemed to know what to do, so Rory turned to me and said, in what would seem to be tradition, "So, Hi."
I exhaled a long breath, "Hi."
