Title: Ambiguity
Author: Angeleyez
Summary: Say Goodnight, Gracie. Take Two. Exit Jimmy stage left. Enter Rory. This is called communication. Can one conversation change everything?
Dedication: Mai, because this ficlet was a form of procrastination for her. Also, she's a doll. Melissa, because she's the queen, and she gives out the loveliest compliments.
A/N: Geez, I am so stuck in a season three state of mind. It must be my bitter resentment toward how the RoryJess storyline turned out. I suppose I'm trying to fix things, lol. This starts off with Jess in the diner. Jimmy's left and Rory and Lorelai already had their conversation about Jess. Feedback would be much appreciated.
Her words faltered at the expression on his face. She swore that she had been filled with rage only a second ago, but now she could feel herself softening. He was usually so hard to read, but tonight, she could immediately tell something was wrong. Something was off.
"You could give Angel a run for his money," she said quietly, hesitant to break the stony silence.
His head tilted up slightly at the sound of her voice, only now realizing she had entered the diner. His eyes were questioning; he didn't understand. She wondered if he heard her at all.
"What with the brooding. And the hair gel," she added as an afterthought, hoping for a smirk. No such luck.
"I'm not brooding. I'm deep in thought," he explained.
"It's basically the same thing."
"Fine."
And that was it. She didn't like that he gave in so easily. She thought maybe they would slip into a light banter before she got into the real reason she was there. But now her anger was fading away, and worry was slowly replacing it. The image of the prom dress in the window seemed hazy now, and suddenly, she really didn't care. Her mind had entered concern mode. Jess hadn't been himself lately, and tonight was no exception.
She continued to stand only a few inches in front of the door, feeling unsure of whether to move forward or turn around and bolt. She shifted uncomfortably and averted her eyes, looking at anything but him. On a nearby table, there was a lone mug, and she moved forward to get a closer look.
"It's always sad to see perfectly good coffee go to waste," she commented once she noticed its contents.
He heard her, but didn't look, instead opting to speak to the counter in front of him. "It's old."
"Poor coffee, not getting to fulfill its destiny." She was still trying to lighten the mood. The atmosphere of the diner was weighing down on her, and she didn't know what to say, how to act. Her mind was blank; she had no idea why he was he like this. He kept shutting down, freezing up. She wanted to blame Dean and their fight at Kyle's. There was the vague thought that maybe he really was mad at her, although she couldn't think of why. There was the possibility that it was her saying "No, wait", but she liked to think that he was better than that. After all, he had been weird from the moment they arrived at the party that night. Then there was a fuzzy voice playing in her mind,
"You used to go to our school."
It was Lindsay's voice. Then it was Dean's reply, Jess's reaction. It was pieces finally starting to shift into place. But there was something else…
"It's old, Rory. It's cold and probably tastes like cardboard. Feel free to take a sip anyway. The last guy in here didn't seem to like it though. He bolted not too long after trying it." His voice sounded strange. Trying to keep out emotion, it seemed. She was still unsure of where to go with this. Her mind fell back to a little earlier that night, in front of the dress shop, the uncertainty of the two of them reflected in the glass as she stood there. Everything was always planned out for her, she hated ambiguity. But lately, the word was synonymous with their relationship.
Now Lorelai's voice was in her head, telling her she couldn't make him talk. At this point, Rory didn't care. She was his girlfriend, and she deserved to know. Her voice broke before it even reached the air. She sucked in a breath.
"Are we going to prom?"
His look was one of incredulity, and she realized too late that this was beyond a silly high school dance. She knew her question sounded asinine, but they had to start somewhere.
"I… I passed by the dress shop tonight with my mom. There was a dress in the window and all I can think was that I don't know if I'll get to wear one. It's not even prom though, it's… everything. It's how you won't talk to me, and sometimes you pull me closer, but usually you're pushing me away. I never know what's going on with you. It's like this guessing game that I'll never win, and I'm tired of it. I don't care if you don't want to talk about it. I'm your girlfriend, and I want to know. Right now."
"Do you want some coffee?" He asked.
"What?" It was her turn to look disbelieving. Had he heard anything she had said? Perhaps she had spoken too fast, a side affect of falling into a ramble. Or maybe he was more of an asshole than she had ever imagined and was ignoring her words. Anger was coursing through her veins, and she had to restrain herself from yelling.
"Cof-ffeee," he pronounced slowly for her, acting as if she were an incompetent. "You were just mourning the loss of that cup, and I figured maybe you were hinting. I put some on before you got here."
She took a tentative step forward. He had spoken a bit faster than usual, and if she didn't know any better, she would think he may have been rambling himself. Maybe it was contagious.
"Did you hear anything I said?"
"One coffee coming up."
It was as if they were each having their own conversation. Jess was in a zone where the two of them were exchanging pleasantries, Rory sitting down for a cup. She was in the real world, torn between anger and concern, waiting for him to snap out of it.
"Jess," she said rather bluntly.
He reached over and grabbed a mug and placed it in front of him. "You want to know what's going on with me?" He asked, his expression nonchalant. He was spinning the coffee cup, eyes following the flash of blue. A nervous gesture, it seemed, but that couldn't be right. He was always composed and confident. Cocky, even. He didn't usually fiddle, although there was the distant memory of his tapping the chair in front of him, offering her a soda. Fidgeting and asking her again, needing to do something other than stand there. He had been nervous then.
"Yes," she insisted.
"My father was just here."
This was not what she was expecting. For a moment, she was convinced she had misheard, although she didn't know what words she could have confused. "What?" She was a broken record.
"Yeah, Jimmy was just here. Only for a second. He popped in to introduce himself, sat down for a sip of coffee. You know, nothing out of the ordinary. Damn it!" Jess had kept his eyes down while he spoke, continuing to twirl the coffee mug. But then he had spun too hard, and the cup had taken a nose dive. She heard it shatter, though her mind seemed numb. What did this mean…
She walked forward quickly and joined him behind the counter. He was already crouched down, staring at the glass before him. He saw himself in the pieces. There was the flash of the bus station in his mind. He didn't know if he was thinking of Jimmy or himself. Anywhere but here always seemed to be the solution. He really didn't care.
"Jess…" she began, at a loss for words.
He pulled a small wastepaper basket out from beneath the counter to dump the glass into. He gathered a few pieces into a pile but didn't pick them up.
"I can't take you to prom."
She was silent.
Suddenly, the words came again. They poured out of him, and he didn't know why he was admitting all of this now. It seemed too late to salvage this…them. But she asked, and it was the least he can do. He didn't think they'd last much longer anyway. Nothing good lasts forever.
"I'm not graduating." She looked up at his words. "Nope, I think I may be an official high school drop out." He scattered the glass. "Remember my black eye? Lied about that. Didn't get it from a football. When have you known me to play football? And I'm definitely no Marsha Brady. I was attacked by a mentally unbalanced swan and was too embarrassed to tell you." He picked up a couple of pieces and looked up at her. "Hey, do you remember when you lost Dean's bracelet last year? That was me too. Hold on, I know there's mor--"
But he was cut off by her lips. She had sprung forward, carefully positioning her knees so she wouldn't cut herself on the glass that still littered the floor in front of them. This wasn't the reaction he was expecting, not that he particularly minded. He dropped the glass and moved his hands up automatically, one landing on the side of her face. The other drew a line down her arm, and he swore she shivered. She pulled away after only a few seconds and shot him a look.
"Breathe," she ordered.
He now understood the reason behind her kiss. "You shouldn't do that, Rory."
"Do what?"
"That's me, remember?" He asked. His eyes moved down, and he began to pick the glass up again. He threw a few shards away. "You like to talk things out. I'm the one who cuts you off with a kiss. Nope, no need to tell you anything." He was shaking his head as if he couldn't believe himself. "Just shut you up with concert tickets and kissing." Until she said no. Until she said wait. Suddenly he was so angry with himself, he couldn't see straight. It was hard to take a breath, and then he realized that her hand was tightly wrapped around his wrist.
"Jess!" She said sternly. "Let go!"
He didn't understand; she was touching him. How could he let go? Then finally he noticed his fist was clenched, and he let his hand fall open. A large piece of glass hit the ground, and he saw red.
There were no words as she stood, and then pulled him up as well. She led him into the kitchen by the wrist and brought him to the sink. She turned on the water, and he stuck his hand underneath. He didn't wince but it sure as hell hurt.
"Come on," she gestured, heading back to the front of the diner. He sat down at the nearest table and watched as she began to rummage around underneath the counter. "I need a cloth to wrap around your hand."
"There's one in front of you."
"I can't use the one you used to clean up with. I need a clean cloth."
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Jess," she began, exasperated, "if I use that one, your cut could get infected. Then you'll get gangrene and your hand will fall off."
"Then I'll buy a hook and become a pirate."
She fixed him with a look as she continued her search. "I refuse to date Captain Hook." Her remark was spoken in an off-hand way, but his mind latched itself onto the word date. His eyes followed her form as she crouched down behind the counter, out of sight. Maybe, just maybe…
He decided to play along, allow them to fall into some kind of semblance of a conversation. If he kept the air light, he could pretend nothing was wrong. He had the vague image of her with tears falling stuck in his mind. Kyle's party kept playing out over and over again in his head, and he felt his throat start to constrict. But at the same time, he was grateful for the hurt. One bad thing distracting him from something worse. It was a vicious cycle. Once Rory left, the only thing that would keep him from thinking of Jimmy would be the searing pain of the end of their relationship. Jess knew that that was where tonight was headed. Everything was slowly crumbling. This was one of the last things to fall.
"Hey Wendy, what do you have against pirates?"
"Nothing. I only dislike the ones that have a hook for a hand."
"You have something against cripples?" He asked.
She peeked up from behind the counter. "Oh yes, I'm surprised you didn't know that about me. I purposely park in handicapped spots in parking lots, and I let the door slam on people in wheel chairs."
"Cruel," he said, staring down at his hand. The cut didn't appear too deep, but what did he know?
"You've twisted my words. I only despise people with a hook for a hand. And scissors."
"Not a fan of Johnny Depps's earlier work?" He asked, saying the first thing that popped into his head. He was listening as intently as he could, but his mind was starting to fall a million miles away. Anywhere but here, it was the catchy tune playing in his head. The radio had long ago been shut off. First the door had been shut, the music cut off, and then he had stood behind the counter wondering if it had happened at all. Rory was speaking again, a distant voice invading his thoughts. He turned his head to try to follow.
"--and to think, this summer, he's playing a pirate. Not a coincidence," she stood up, triumphant. There was a cloth in her hand.
"Must be a conspiracy against you." This conversation was easy to follow. Meaningless words. He was thankful. "Does he get a hook too?"
"Oh, stop. You don't want a hook, trust me. You can poke someone's eye out with it. And how will you pour me my coffee?"
"I'll become left handed," he answered.
"I didn't know you were ambidextrous."
"I'm not. Rory? My hand's starting to bleed again." His eyes froze on his hand, and a thin line of red appeared on his palm. It felt like his head was swimming, and he wasn't sure if his hand even hurt anymore. Squeamish was a trait he definitely didn't possess, but his stomach continued to turn anyways. Then he noticed the coffee mug out of the corner of his eye. The one he had picked up. Jess quickly turned his head.
"Oh, sorry," she mumbled, walking over to his table. She sat down next to him, and took his hand gently in hers. "I'm not really an expert on this, you know. I'd ask Luke when he comes home. There's probably some kind of cream or gel that you're supposed to put on cuts like this. We really don't want you getting gangrene now." She gave him a small smile as she wrapped the cloth around his hand.
"Thanks Nurse."
"Nurse? Why nurse? Why not a doctor?"
"Silly Rory. Girls can't be doctors."
She shot him an annoyed look and pulled the cloth as tight as she could. "I hope you're kidding, and I sure hope that hurt."
"Like hell."
"Good."
A silence fell over them, thick and heavy. He kept his eyes on his now covered hand, but he could feel her gaze on him. "I don't want to talk," he blurted out.
"Well I don't want to make out."
He sighed and finally looked up at her. "I didn't mean it like that. I just… I don't want to talk about anything right now. Jimmy or… us. I want some quiet." He could really use some peace. He needed a comfortable silence without her probing gaze, trying to read him. He figured she'd leave now. Maybe their break up wouldn't be official tonight, but as soon as she arrived home she'd remember what an asshole he was. Maybe she'd break up with over the phone.
She nodded faintly, her eyes drifting to the diner around him. Then she stood up, and he figured that was it. He couldn't believe her kiss to shut him up would be their last. Oh well. It was better than the one at the party. That had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The one they had just shared had tasted like cherries. He had always loved her flavored lip gloss. It'd stain his mouth, and hours later, he'd still taste it. Later tonight, when he'd be lying on his bed, trying his hardest to forget her, she'd still be on his lips.
She didn't leave.
Instead she walked over to the far wall and grabbed the broom that was resting against it. She dragged it to the center of the diner and began to sweep.
"What are you doing?" He asked.
"Sweeping."
"Ah ha." He paused. "Why exactly?"
"You'll have trouble with your hand, so I'll finish for you. I'll sweep, and there will be no talking."
He didn't respond.
For a few moments, there was only the sound of the broom against the floor. He didn't understand Rory's compliance to his request for silence nor her presence at the diner. Why hadn't she left yet? She had been pissed off when she entered earlier, that much he was sure of. But here she was, sweeping away the minutes, seemingly not minding his refusal to talk. Wasn't that one of their main problems? He was always clamming up. Maybe he needed to stop.
"He left when I was born."
Rory made no sign that she had heard him. She continued to sweep, and his gaze remained fixed on the tabletop in front of him. It could use another wipe.
"Said he was going to the store. Never came back."
His tone was reluctant but he knew he would keep going. A part of him hoped that she would ask a question. Whatever it was, he thought he'd answer it.
"He never called or wrote or anything like that. He's the typical deadbeat dad. Probably owes a shit load of child support." He picked at the cloth on his hand. Luckily, blood hadn't seeped through. Yet.
"After eighteen years of not seeing someone, you don't expect him to just walk through the door. Blurting out that he's your father while you're trying to explain that you're closed." He sighed. "I called him loser coffee guy."
"Aw, you gave him a nickname." Jess looked up at the sound of her voice. She had finally stopped sweeping, and was now standing in an awkward stance, the broom held tight in her hands. "You're halfway to father and son bonding."
There was the tiniest flicker of a smile on his lips before he quickly squashed it. She leaned the broom back against the wall, and took the seat across from him.
"So this is what the whole communication thing is," he remarked.
She nodded. "Yes, this is called communication. Fun, isn't it?"
"I could get used to it," he said. Maybe he could.
"Do you feel better?"
"Tons. I'm no longer considering jumping off the roof."
"Well, as long as I've cured you of your suicidal tendencies." She paused. "You know, things aren't alright between us, right?"
His heart sank even though he knew that one conversation couldn't fix everything.
"But tomorrow…" She paused. "Tomorrow, we'll talk. About…us."
His eyes flickered up to meet hers. Huh. Maybe it took two.
He nodded in understanding before a smirk appeared on his face. "Now how long exactly do we have to talk?"
"What?" She asked in disbelief.
"Is there a certain amount of time? I mean, I just did all this talking tonight. Do I get points for that?"
"You're lucky I know when you're kidding," she said, standing up. "Goodnight Jess."
"No points then?"
She smiled and headed towards the exit.
"Goodnight," he said as she walked by.
She froze with her hand on the door. "Jess?"
He turned at his name. "Yeah?"
"Do you think he'll try to talk to you again?"
Jess shrugged. "I don't know."
She nodded mutely and opened the door.
"Rory," he called out just before the door shut behind her. She turned and he gave her a small smile. "I'll tell you if he does."
- End -