A/N: Sorry this update was so long in coming. I spent hours updating this
chapter and, fumbling a save, lost ALL my updates. After much crying,
pouting and gnashing of teeth, I decided to get over myself and start
again. Then, I had to re-read much of A Brief History of Time because a
physicist, I am not. In return for taking so long, you guys get an extra
long chapter. Consider it your reward for your patience.
Also, like the question in that old Rod-Stewart-but-Van-Morrison-did-it- much-better song, have I told you lately that I love you? If not, mea culpa because, I do! Your reviews are sustaining and more appreciated than you will ever know. Thanks for hanging with me!
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. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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"Are you ready?" Lane's voice nervously calls from outside Rory's closed bedroom door.
"Let's see it," Rory responds from within her bedroom.
Rory's bedroom door opens and Lane tentatively enters. Spinning around, she twirls to a stop and, chewing on her bottom lip asks, "What do you think?"
Rory surveys her friend. Her eyes start at the long sleeved silver t- shirt, move to the red paisley men's necktie secured around her neck, and then travel to the army-green cargo pants Lane wears. The most mysterious item, a full-length ethereal pink ballet tutu, has been placed on top of the cargo pants, and comes to rest just above Lane's black Doc Martens. Curious, Rory's gaze travels back upward where she makes eye contact with Lane. Attempting to strike a nonchalant pose, Lane's her eyes unwittingly transmit the apprehension she is valiantly trying to hide.
"Incredible!" Rory responds enthusiastically, hoping to put her friend at ease. "Put a pair of deely-boppers on your head and you'll be all ready for the festival."
"Ah," Lane sighs, wrinkling her nose. "What you're saying is this look is more 'alien mutant', than 'Avril Lavigne'?"
Rory's eyes widen in shock as she realizes her mistake. Before she can stop herself, she sputters, "That's your drumming outfit?"
"Forget it," Lane utters dismissively with a wave of her hand. Shoulders slumping, she begins to exit Rory's room mumbling, "I'll never get this right."
Scrambling to prevent her friend's departure, Rory scurries across the room and gently captures Lane's arm. "No, no, no. . . " Rory protests, gingerly guiding Lane back into her bedroom.
"I'm sorry Lane," she begins. "Don't worry. This is fixable. The outfit's bones are good, it just needs a little rework. Oh. . . I have a great idea!"
She leads Lane to her bed and forces her to sit. "Wait right here," Rory commands.
Once Lane is properly situated, Rory sprints across her room. Pausing briefly at the door, she grins, "If you lose the necktie and tutu before I come back, I'll let that whole 'Avril Lavigne' comment slide by mock-free!"
Loosening the tie, Lane starts giggling.
"Any doubt I might have had about you being my best friend just disappeared!" she calls to Rory's departing back.
When Rory returns to her room moments later, Lane looks decidedly less like an extra from a Mad Max movie and more like her best friend.
"Here," Rory says, stepping over the discarded tutu, as she walks towards Lane. Handing her a shirt she urges, "put this on."
Whipping off the silver t-shirt, Lane pulls the shirt Rory has just given her over her head. Standing to look at herself in Rory's mirror, Lane grins broadly.
"Oh, it's perfect!" Lane trills, beaming at her reflection. Turning to Rory she continues, "I love it!"
Seeing her mother's rhinestone adorned 'porn star' t-shirt on Lane, Rory grins too.
"Much better," Rory agrees.
"It matches the pants and boots but it's not too match-y. It also hugs my curves. . ." pausing, she catches a glint of laughter in Rory's eyes. "I have curves, you know."
"Oh, absolutely," Rory deadpans.
"Like I said, it's the right amount of curve-hugging-tight so you can tell I'm a girl which you wouldn't think would be important when you're sitting behind a massive drum set, but trust me, it is. This shirt has the perfect rebel attitude that shouts 'I am reclaiming a feminine archetype from the male-dominated world of sexual fantasy so that it no longer symbolizes female oppression and degradation but womanly empowerment!'"
"I was just going to say that."
"Plus, I look sexy."
"And very Rock-n-Roll."
"Really?" Lane squeals.
"Totally! Dave is going to love you in that."
"Oh my God, I'm going to be sexy in front of Dave. I may faint!"
"Of course, you could wear a potato sack and Dave would still think you looked hot."
Lane turns and approaches the bed on which her best friend sits cross- legged. Sitting across from her and assuming the same position, Lane places her head in her hands sighing, "I'm so in love."
"I know. It's really cute!"
"Speaking of love, hotties and cute-ness, what's up with you and Jess? You haven't mentioned him lately."
"That's because I'm pretending that he and I are just friends."
"Uh huh. How's that working for you?"
"Remember the drummer in Spinal Tap who spontaneously combusts?"
"Remember him? I have nightmares about those Spinal Tap drummers all the time!"
"Do you really?"
"Oh yeah. . . I can't tell you how many times I've woken up in a cold sweat after dreaming of being killed in a bizarre gardening accident. It's so crazy. I mean, I don't even own a hoe."
"Well, I think freak drummer deaths is something unique to the Tap. Besides, your band has nothing in common with them."
"Actually," Lane muses, "we do share some of their gig-landing difficulties."
"But do your amps go to eleven?"
"No," Lane sighs, "they only go to ten."
"Therein end your Spinal Tap similarities. You'll probably die nowhere near a garden."
"Surprisingly, that is not comforting. Wait a minute. . . why are we talking about Spinal Tap? Were you going somewhere with this?"
"Oh yeah," Rory remembers. Looking at Lane sheepishly she admits, "Lately, when I'm around Jess, I feel like I'm going to burst into flames."
"It's that bad, huh?"
"The other day. . . in the diner. . . all he did was touch my arms and I swear, I couldn't even remember my name."
"It's Rory."
"It came to me about 20 minutes later but, you know, thanks anyways."
"Oh anytime! That's what I'm here for."
The girls are interrupted by the sound of the Gilmore front door banging open.
"Rory?" Lorelai's voice calls from the front entrance of the Gilmore house.
"In here," Rory answers from her bedroom.
"Wait till you see what I-" Lorelai says while entering Rory's room. In her hand she carries a large vinyl garment bag, which she holds high above her head to keep from dragging it on the ground. Pausing when she spies Lane, she smiles, "Hi Lane!"
"Hey!" Lane sings, returning the greeting.
"Cool shirt! You look bitchin'!"
"Oh, I let her borrow it to complete her rock star persona," Rory explains.
"If it's a problem, I can give it back," Lane quickly interjects, looking worried.
"Don't be silly. It looks great on you. Very early punk Debbie Harry! However. . . if Mama Kim sees you in it, I know absolutely nothing about that t-shirt and I've never met you before in my life."
"Yes, stealth is unfortunately necessary in this case," Lane agrees. Turning to Rory she explains, "Mama probably wouldn't see the take-back-the- night reclamation of a formerly offensive stereotype as 'fighting the power' of male oppression."
"Plus, it's sparkly," Rory points out. "That's probably not allowed."
"I guess I should leave it here," Lane says resignedly.
"Sounds like a good idea," Lorelai encourages.
"Can I keep it on until I leave?" she asks hopefully.
"Absolutely!" Lorelai affirms. "But, I don't think you'll be wearing it long because you will want to go with me to the diner. In fact, you should both be there to witness me bestowing this gift I hold in my hot little hand on Luke."
"Oooh, presents!" Rory coos, clapping her hands. "What did you get him?"
Unzipping the garment bag and pulling its sides back, Lorelai triumphantly says, "Feast your eyes on this bad boy!"
"Oh my God," Lane drawls, her chin dropping to her chest.
"That's for Luke?" Rory asks, unsure of what she is beholding.
Grinning from ear to ear, Lorelai nods. She whips the garment bad completely off and walks to Rory's mirror, holding the regulation Star Trek officer's uniform in front of her.
"Didn't you know?" Lorelai begins incredulously, while standing behind the uniform to gaze at her own reflection. "Luke is a closet Trekkie."
"No!" gasps Lane.
"Yes!" Lorelai assures her. "Today, I am outing him!"
"Luke seems pretty happy in his closet," Rory observes.
"That's what he wants you to think. Inside, he's empty and alone, longing for fellowship with other members of the Starship Enterprise. The Space Festival provides the perfect opportunity for our Luke to come out of the shadows and embrace his geekiness. From today on, he leaves the darkness behind him to walk in the sunshine."
"I don't think Luke wants to stand in the light," Rory reasons. "He likes the dark. He's like a vampire, or Ozzy Osbourne. You know, if they wore flannel."
"Going through life in denial of your true self is no way to live. Today, Luke Danes is going to take the first steps that will lead him down the pathway of self-actualization. He will discover the freedom that comes from standing tall and saying to the world 'I am a Trekkie, and I don't care who knows it'."
"You don't seriously expect him to wear that uniform, do you?"
"Oh grasshopper, you underestimate the feminine wiles of your mother and the power of Gilmore charm. Besides, he better wear it if he knows what's good for him. I didn't just shell out $49.99 to rent this thing for nothing."
"Did you check the company's return policies? If the costume is returned shredded, will you still get your deposit back?"
"You know, your negativity is starting to interfere with my moment. I need you to work with me here. Try to picture Luke walking proud wearing this uniform, speaking into the Com badge and setting his Phasers on stun," Lorelai pauses in her revelry to place a hand on her heart. "It brings a tear to my eye. Thank God Luke has me."
"Amen, sister!" Lane cries.
"May the force be with you," Rory adds for good measure.
"That's the spirit!" Lorelai exclaims, nodding her head. "You girls make me proud. Now, c'mon, let's get ready to set Luke free so he can boldly go where no diner owner has gone before!"
Seeing Lane begin to change clothes, Rory teases, "If you'd rather stay here and lounge in the porn star t-shirt for a while longer, I think mom would understand."
"Are you kidding?! I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Lane states, smiling.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Luke emerges from the kitchen in time to witness the trio of women entering the diner. He hesitates slightly as he notes Lorelai's too casual walk towards the counter. On instinct, his eyes slide to the girls to discover the half-guilty, half-amused looks on their faces. Bells of warning begin to alarm in his head. By the time his glance returns to Lorelai, she is already seated on a counter stool, her face, a mask of practiced nonchalance. Sensing something slightly off, he leans slightly over the counter, spying a strange plastic garment bag on the stool next to Lorelai.
"No," Luke states flatly, tossing a dishtowel over one shoulder so it hangs at the ready.
"What?" Lorelai questions.
"Whatever you want, the answer is 'No'."
"Now Luke-y," she begins in mock innocence. "What makes you think I want something?"
"Don't call me Luke-y," he orders, placing one hand on the counter while the other rests on his hip. "You have your 'I'm about to make a ridiculous and unreasonable request of Luke simply to torment him' look on your face."
"I have no such look!" she protests.
"Spare me. Even if you didn't, those two," he pauses to gesture at Rory and Lane, "are dead giveaways."
Recognizing that Luke has turned his radar on them, the pair immediately look away and feign casual disinterest. Lorelai glances at the girls over her shoulder as they sit at a nearby table.
When she turns back around, Luke tells her, "They don't exactly have poker faces."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she assures him. "I'm just here for coffee."
"Uh huh," he says warily studying her for a moment before turning to get a coffee mug and the pot.
Setting the mug in front of her, he pours coffee while Lorelai grins impishly at him.
"What's in the bag?" he asks, his mouth set in a scowl, his eyes watching Lorelai with hawk-like sharpness.
"Oh, you mean this bag?"
"That'd be the one."
"Gee, I almost forgot. I brought you a little present."
"Take it back."
"How can you say that? You don't even know what it is."
"I don't need to know what it is. I'm pretty sure I don't want it."
"That's not very gracious of you. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Keep it up and I'll never buy you another gift."
"Promise?"
Conversation between Luke and Lorelai ensues as a voice behind Rory and Lane asks "What's going on over there?"
Lane turns towards the voice and a smile spreads across her features. "Hey Jess," she says in greeting to the voice's owner. "Rory, look," she continues, moving her gaze from Jess to Rory. "Jess is here."
"Hi Jess," Rory says shyly, awkwardly.
"Hey," Jess says softly to Rory, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes lock with hers as he notes the pink tint beginning to color her features. His smile grows. "You know, if you really want to spy on someone, you should at least pretend like you're not staring at them."
"We're watching Luke's liberation," Lane explains.
"He's about to be walking on sunshine," Rory elaborates.
"You should make a note of the date and time so you can tell your grandkids exactly where you were when Luke cried freedom," Lane encourages.
"Just like where you were when the OJ verdict came in," Rory supplies helpfully.
"Or the first time you heard Yo La Tengo," Lane adds.
"Is Lorelai proposing?" Jess asks confused.
"What?" Lane half-speaks, half-laughs.
"Please," Rory says rolling her eyes at Jess. "Try to focus."
"Quiet!" Lane says hushing them. "I think it's about to get good."
The teens fall into silence as they watch the interaction between Luke and Lorelai intensify.
"She's unzipping it," Lane whispers.
"Quick. . . How many seconds before Luke goes ballistic?" Rory whispers back.
"My money's on 5," Lane answers.
"OK, I got 4," Rory bets.
"1, 2, 3-" Lane begins counting.
Lane's countdown is interrupted by a volcanic explosion erupting from Luke as he realizes that Lorelai's garment bag contains a Star Trek uniform in his size.
"Are you insane?!" Luke booms, backing up until he unwittingly crashes into the back counter near the coffee pot.
"It's for your own good, Luke," Lorelai says, trying to reason with him.
"My own good? I hate to break it to you but the tenuous grasp you held on reality. . ." he pauses for effect, "I think we can safely says that's gone."
"Until you learn to accept all the parts of yourself, you'll never be truly happy."
"I am in full acceptance of myself. I told you, I am NOT a Trekkie, closet or otherwise!"
"It's OK to admit it Luke. We all accept and care for you, not matter what. Nothing can ever change that."
"Listen to me Lorelai, I am NOT a Trekkie and I am NOT wearing that uniform!"
"But the Federation needs you!"
The three teenagers are smiling broadly, desperately trying to control their laughter.
"That's beautiful," Jess grins.
"Told you," Rory responds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Jess glances back and they hold each other's gaze, smiling. Lane steals a glance at the two and cannot hide the pleased look that overtakes her face. Turning away, she returns her attention to Luke and Lorelai.
"For me?" Lorelai begs.
"I don't know how many different ways I can say 'no'," Luke responds.
"I'll eat a salad."
"What?" Luke questions, doing a double take.
Clearing her throat, Lorelai hesitates, "I said. . . I will eat a salad if you will wear this uniform."
Luke thinks about it for a moment and responds. "Nope. Not good enough."
Lorelai sighs. "OK, I will eat two salads."
"Still not good enough."
"I'm not giving up coffee."
"I never asked you to," Luke answers, raising his eyebrows.
Recognizing the look of challenge on his face, Lorelai covers her eyes with her hands for a moment. Squaring her shoulders, she removes her hands and says, "OK, I will eat salad everyday for a week."
"Hmm. . ." Luke pauses, thinking. "Close but no cigar."
"Well, what will it take?"
Luke makes burning eye contact with Lorelai who doesn't look away. Luke's eyes grow liquid and Lorelai shifts under the intensity of his gaze.
"You eat salad everyday for a week," he begins. "And by salad I mean green leafy stuff with carrots and tomatoes and other vegetables mixed in. . ."
"Oh God," Lorelai murmurs.
"And I get to watch you eat it to make sure you don't stuff it in a napkin and stick it in your purse-"
"OK, I get it," Lorelai interrupts. "What else?"
"Well, you owe me something."
"What?"
"Just. . . something," Luke says evasively, his voice low. "I'll tell you when I think of it and, when I remind you that you owe me, you. . . well. . . owe me."
"Sounds kinda cryptic," Lorelai breathes.
Luke's eyes travel possessively over her face, down to her neck and then reclaim her eyes. He whispers, "Those are my terms. Take 'em or leave 'em."
"I'll take 'em," Lorelai responds, her voice barely a whisper. For some unknown reason, she feels herself shiver.
"OK," he mutters.
As Luke watches her thoughtfully, Lorelai takes a sip of coffee to compose herself. Recovering, she bounces off the stool and thrusts the vinyl bag at Luke.
"Go change," she orders, pushing him in the direction of the apartment stairs.
"You know," he muses, as he stumbles along, "I think the one who's crazy may be me. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"A deal's a deal," she reminds him. "Look on the bright side, at least you don't have to eat salad."
As Luke disappears behind the curtain, Lorelai bounds over to the table where Rory, Lane, and Jess watch with stunned and amused expressions on their faces.
"Rory," she begins, speaking rapidly, "Run home and get the camera."
"Mom!" she cries in shocked horror.
"We'll be lucky if he keeps that uniform on more than an hour. I want to preserve this for posterity."
"But-" Rory says.
"No 'buts'! Time's wasting. Go, go, go! Run like a bunny!"
"But I don't know where the camera is!"
"Lane," Lorelai commands, turning to Lane. "Go with her. Use your wonder twin powers together to find it."
As the girls stand, Rory turns to Jess and asks, "Will you be at the festival?"
"Have we met?" he asks her, smirking. "I'm Jess."
"Right," Rory says nodding, trying her best to keep from grinning. Briefly, she glances at the ceiling before looking at Jess and saying, "Why do I even bother to ask you these questions?"
"It's a mystery to me too," he grins.
"Just to clarify," she begins. "You are not going to the festival?"
"I'm manning the dunking booth," he states sarcastically.
Rory's eyes knit together briefly as she glances quizzically at Jess. He returns her gaze and raises his eyebrows. This time, a full smile erupts on Rory's face. Sighing, she rolls her eyes and heads towards the door. As her hand touches the doorknob, she turns back and says, "See you later, Jess."
Jess smiles and tilts his chin up once to acknowledge the 'goodbye'.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"Luke!" Lorelai calls up the stairs.
"What?" a muffled voice calls in return.
"Get down here."
"In a minute."
"You said that 15 minutes ago."
"I'm not ready," he calls.
"You have to come down eventually."
"Says who?"
"Says seven days worth of salads and a mystery I.O.U."
Luke's feet are heard coming very slowly down the stairs.
"Is anybody besides you in the diner?" he asks from an unidentifiable location behind the curtain.
"Umm. . . she says looking at the crowd that has formed in anticipation of Luke's Star Trek debut. "It's virtually empty," she lies.
Luke emerges from behind the curtain as the diner falls into pin-drop silence. He stands awkwardly, clad in a vintage red Star Trek uniform from the original series. In addition to the red shirt and pants, Luke sports regulation black combat boots and a Star Trek insignia Com badge. Like a petulant child, he scowls and looks uncomfortably around while tugging at the neck of the costume.
"Luke, my brother!" Kirk's voice is heard calling across the diner.
The sea of people parts to reveal Kirk, who has just entered the diner, wearing the identical Star Trek officer's uniform. Kirk lifts his hand in the Vulcan salute and says "Live long and prosper."
Seeing Kirk as a mirror image of his own appearance, Luke's face transforms from a look of acute embarrassment to absolute horror. From behind the counter, Jess is heard breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
"That's it!" Luke yells, as he turns on his heel and sprints back up the stairs.
"Standing in the light for 13.7 seconds," Lorelai sighs. "That's gotta be some sort of world record."
"OK," Kirk announces loudly to the crowd, as he points at the curtain behind which Luke has just disappeared. "He can be Spock. Or even Captain Piccard. But I am Captain Kirk! Do you all hear me? I am Captain Kirk!"
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"Oh no!" Rory exclaims while laughing. "Then what happened?"
"Well, Luke came back downstairs wearing flannel and his baseball cap, and Kirk refused to speak to anyone who didn't address him as 'Captain'," Lorelai recaps.
"I can't believe I missed it," Rory whines.
"I can't believe we didn't get a picture of it. Where was the camera anyways?"
"In the bathroom closet behind the economy sized bottle of Mr. Bubble."
"Dang! Economy sized? No wonder it took so long to find it."
"Yeah, there's the moral. . . Always buy Mr. Bubble in the small bottle."
"What were we thinking?" Lorelai wonders.
"Probably that we didn't want to run out of Mr. Bubble."
"Damn our planning ways."
"Lesson learned," Rory agrees. "At least we got a picture of Kirk's panic attack during the rebroadcast of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds."
"You'd think Captain Kirk would be calmer."
"Too bad we didn't have audio to go along with it," Rory says.
"Camcorder. Put that on our list of things to buy."
"Right after squirt guns."
"I'm so glad you have your priorities straight," Lorelai says, yawning. "OK, I'm going to bed. I'll probably have nightmares about all those salads I have to eat this week."
As Lorelai walks towards the stairs, Rory asks, "Was it worth it?"
Lorelai grins, remembering. "The look on his face. . . cutest thing I ever saw. Well, next to you that is."
Rory smiles. Walking over to Lorelai, she hugs her saying, "Night, mom."
"Goodnight, honey," Lorelai responds, kissing the top of her daughter's head.
Rory walks into her bedroom and realizes that she isn't tired. Electing to read before trying to sleep, she retrieves Tom Robbin's Jitterbug Perfume from her book bag. Flipping to the page near the book's end marked by her bookmarker, she becomes lost in the tale of le parfum supreme, savage bees, perfect tacos, Mardi Gras, feather-light hearts, and everything coming together at 9:00 tonight, Paris time.
Finishing the book, Rory smiles. She feels the sort of melancholy restlessness she always feels when reaching the end of a book that unexpectedly thrusts a new perspective on her. Full of thoughts of universal possibilities and the meaning of life, Rory walks to her window and gazes at the stars. Her breath makes a small cloud on the cold windowpane as she tries to count all the tiny flecks of light sprinkled in the night sky. Knowing that sleep is a long way off for her, Rory decides to walk to the gazebo and look at the stars through the telescope before it is returned to Providence.
She layers on her winter gear and silently slips unseen through the front door. It clicks quietly shut behind her as she steps out into the cold. Tonight, there is no wind to pierce through her coat, or to color her cheeks as she makes her way to the town square. She smiles as she looks at the remnants of the Space Festival. The moon bounce stands empty, bereft of the giggling voices of bouncing children. The booth manned by the local travel agency still contains some brochures jokingly offering interplanetary travel. 'Mars on a Budget', and 'Venus is for Lovers', pamphlets litter the booth's interior.
'Good thing there's no wind tonight,' Rory thinks, smiling. 'Taylor would have a fit if those blew around.'
A space yo-yo lies forgotten on a park bench as Rory nears the gazebo. She is startled out of her silent observations when a slight movement behind the telescope catches her eyes. Momentarily taken aback, she freezes and holds her breath. Unable to determine who or what it is, she silently pads forward, her tennis shoes offering little sound to announce her presence.
As her eyes adjust to the darkness within the gazebo, Rory is able to make out the figure of another person, gazing into the telescope. Glancing around the gazebo, she determines that the person is alone. Only when he momentarily stands straight to observe the sky through his naked eyes, does Rory realize that it's Jess.
Feeling herself relax, she walks up the steps in the gazebo.
Without turning around to look at her, he says, "Fancy meeting you here."
"I was just about to say the same thing to you."
"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Jess asks, turning to face her.
"I finished Jitterbug Perfume and couldn't sleep."
Jess nods, understanding.
Walking closer, gesturing to the telescope she asks, "Are you looking at the stars?"
"The moon."
"Can I?" she questions.
Jess steps back and with a sweeping motion, offers her use of the telescope. Tentatively, Rory approaches. Closing one eye, she presses the other to the eyepiece.
"I can't see anything," she murmurs.
"Here," Jess says, moving behind her. He places his hands on either side of her and repositions her slightly to the left. "You have to stand right behind it," he explains.
"Oh. . ." Rory stammers, coloring. His nearness sets her pulse racing, but she hides it by pressing her eye to the lens and looking through the telescope.
"Wow," she breathes. The moon glows white and yellow, its subtle shadings and contours made more visible. She gazes at the moon's surface for a few moments, marveling at how different it looks when magnified. "It's beautiful," she whispers.
"Want to see Orion?" Jess asks, his voice behind her is startlingly near.
Straightening, Rory looks at Jess and nods.
She takes a few steps back as he moves closer to the telescope. Gently, he repositions it. Taking a moment to readjust the focus and fine tune the angle, he finally steps back and says, "OK, check it out."
Again, Rory steps up to the telescope and gazes through it. It is what she thought she came here for. . . the opportunity to closely study one of the stars she spied earlier from her bedroom. Looking at it for a moment she is quiet. Finally, she says, "It's beautiful too, except I can't see it as well as the moon."
"Orion is farther away," Jess explains.
"Yeah," she grins, standing up to face him. "I know."
He smiles back at her.
"You've been holding out on me," she accuses.
Smirking, Jess backs up and sits on one of the gazebo's benches. He stretches his legs in front of him and slouches. Lifting his chin at an arrogant angle, he says evasively, "What do you mean?"
Rolling her eyes, Rory sits on the bench across from him. She tucks her legs under her in a cross-legged position and says, "Explain to me again why you needed a tutor last year."
"Because I was failing every subject," he answers as if he is explaining why you can't swim across the ocean to a 5-year old.
"Anyone who can find Orion in the night sky does not need a physics tutor," she counters.
"See now, that's where you're wrong. School physics is all about formulas and calculations and stupid little meaningless crap that they pound into your brain like nails. God, it's excruciating."
"It's not that bad," she chuckles.
"Are you kidding? All the teachers care about are numbers and formulas for useless things like speed and velocity, and making sure you can spit it all out on standardized tests. They never bother to tell you that the purpose of physics is to explain the mysteries of the universe, like. . . how time works, or if there's life out there and where and how we fit in. It's as if they say to themselves, 'let's take this really cool subject and make it as boring and as tedious as we possibly can'."
"How would you proposed making physics more interesting?"
"It wouldn't be that hard. Just. . . pull the focus out of the weeds and look at the big picture."
"How exactly?"
"I don't know. Start class with the theories of general relativity and quantum mechanics. Tell students that general relativity, which explains the force of gravity in the big world, and quantum mechanics, which deals with things on a small scale, are in direct conflict with each other."
"So what?"
"So, they can't both be true. Atomic particles don't behave according to the rules of general relativity, and quantum mechanics doesn't hold up when applied to big objects."
"Wait a minute," Rory laughs. "Are you saying that Einstein's Theory of Relativity is wrong?"
"Nope," Jess grins. "I'm not saying anything. Stephen Hawking is the one who pointed out the inconsistencies and even he isn't calling Einstein wrong."
"Ah. So you read, A Brief History of Time."
"Yup. Did you?"
"Not yet. It's on my list but I haven't gotten to it."
"It's the first time I ever understood what E=mc2 really implied and that there's more to physics than boring vector formulas."
"Like what?"
"Well, like black holes, the big bang, time itself, and the nature of God. Here's a question, the universe is expanding, right?"
"Yeah. Edwin Hubble hypothesized and proved that back in 1924."
"OK, so what's it expanding into?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what was there before if not the universe?"
"I. . . I don't know," Rory admits, her eyebrows knitting together.
"And does that mean it's limitless? Is there infinite space for expansion or will it run out? If so, will the universe contract? And what will happen to us when it does?"
"Hmm. . ." Rory thinks aloud. "I'm embarrassed to admit it but I never thought about it."
"Exactly my point. High School teaches physics without tying it together to give you any kind of understanding of the world. I just can't make myself care about that class."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What do you mean 'well what'? Tell me. . . is there infinite expansion space? Can the universe contract?"
"You know, the last time I tried to tell you what happened in a book, you got a little. . . out of sorts."
Rory blushes deeply in the darkness of the night. Pulling her legs out from under her, she places her feet on the gazebo floor. Out of nervous habit, she re-tucks her hair behind her ears.
"I don't care," she says, not really knowing what she means. Looking at Jess she says, "I want to know what you know."
"No," he says, stiffening. "You don't."
"Yes, I do."
"Trust me Rory," Jess tells her, his tone serious. "You don't want to know what I know."
"God, you can be so irritating," she says, exasperated. "You don't know what I want and don't want. Don't pretend that you do."
"Really?" he says, his voice low and angry. "You want to know what I know, Rory? You want to know how to shoplift cans of soup from D'Agastinos because your mother disappeared for a week and you have no food in the house? Or do you want to know how to bandage your hand when you slice your palm trying to get the damn can opened?"
"Jess-"
"Or do you want to know how to avoid the neighborhood drug dealers who want you to run money for them? Or how about I tell you about the pedophiles searching for fresh young boys to lure into dark alleys? Are these the things you want to know?"
She is on her feet and across the gazebo as he spits the last question at her. Crouching in front of him, she tries to grasp his hands but, angry, he pulls them away. He is suddenly very close to tears and having not cried since the day his father left when he was 5-years old, he is furious. Furious at himself for letting her get too close and furious with her for getting there.
With his hands out of reach she places her hands on his knees. "Oh Jess," she says, her voice a wavering whisper. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"I told you, you don't want to know what I know."
"You're still wrong about that."
Startled, he looks at her. His eyes search hers for signs of deceit or badly timed humor. Finding none, he continues to stare.
"If you want to tell me that stuff, I'll listen, Jess. I meant it when I said I want to know what you know. I. . ." she pauses, searching for the words to make him understand. Meeting his piercing gaze she continues, "I want to know what a sunrise over the Brooklyn Bridge looks like. I want to know the quickest way to get across Midtown during morning rush. I want to know where the best coffee shop in Greenwich Village is. And I want to know what will happen if and when the universe finally contracts."
The ability to speak seems to have left him and he cannot answer her.
Standing she says, "Maybe some day, when you're ready, you'll tell me all these things."
Remembering how he pulled away from her, she resists the urge to touch him and turns to exit the gazebo.
In that brief moment, Jess snaps out of his stupor. To prevent her departure would be breaking her rules, breaking their tacit agreement to pretend that friendship is the only thing they feel towards each other. He has pushed her limits but he has never prevented her flight. Leaving is who she is. Indifferent is who he had always been. Together they are chase and run, shadow and light, temptation and salvation, scared and scared.
On its own, his hand moves to grab hers. The simplicity of it reminds him of a Dick and Jane novel his first grade teacher expected him to read as if he hadn't already been reading for years.
See sand. See line. Stay Jess, stay! See Rory. Take Rory's hand. Look behind you. See line.
His heart pounds as he turns her towards him.
She looks at his hand holding hers because it is easier than looking at his face.
His other hand drifts to her waist as he begins softly, gently pulling her down onto his lap.
Her legs slip to either side of him as her knees alight on the bench.
He searches her face as she straddles him.
She closes her eyes, unsure of what to do.
He lets go of her hand and places both hands on her back.
She gasps.
He pulls her closer and closer until their torsos touch, and meld together.
Instinctively her hands wrap around his back as he turns his head into her body and tucks his face into her neck.
It feels so simple, so simple.
They stay like that for long minutes, getting used to each other. Both scared, both hesitant. Jess feels Rory begin to relax as she gives into the melting sensation she has fought for so long. Slowly, his hands leave her back and travel to the front of her coat. Curious, she leans back to watch. When his hands still, she looks, at last, at his face. His eyes hold hers and she momentarily forgets to breathe. Keeping constant eye contact, he begins unfastening the buttons of her coat. His hands shake slightly and he hopes she can't tell. One button, two buttons, three. When her coat is open, Jess snakes his arms inside it and around her back. Hungry for her warmth, he pulls her close again as his head resumes its former position.
Fascinated, Rory's mind is swirling. His arms feel strong and she feels safe. She lets out a contented sigh. Taking that as his cue, Jess tilts his head slightly so his lips brush her neck. Rory freezes as an avalanche of chills cascade across her chest. Jess quietly nuzzles her neck and kisses her delicate, sensitive skin. Moving his head to the other side of her, he kisses her neck just under her jaw. His lips are smooth and tender. Rory gasps when she feels his tongue slide out to taste her.
Patiently, teasingly, he kisses his way to her ear. Sensations she has not even imagined flood powerfully through her. When his teeth lightly grasp her earlobe, another gasp escapes from her as an electric current emanates from her ear. Breathing heavily, Jess glances at her to be sure she's ready. The backwards tilt of her head, closed eyes and slightly parted lips tell him all he needs to know. Leaving her ear, his lips make their way towards hers.
Taking her bottom lip between his, he stills, letting her get accustomed to the sensation, the feel of him. She leans slightly forward towards him, uncertain. He feels her tremble and impulsively slides his finger to the pulse in her neck. It is pounding. He moves his lips so they are even with hers as he kisses her softly. She makes a small noise. It takes all of his self control to refrain from crushing her to him, kissing her savagely, moving against her. He wills himself to do what she asked him, to teach her what he knows.
Kissing her gently, he reaches his tongue out to lick her bottom lip. Again, she gasps, parting her lips. Her slightly opened mouth provides him the access he needs and he slides his tongue in. This time, her moan is louder, more passionate. His tongue probes further, exploring, teaching. Without actually knowing, he knows that Dean never kissed her like this.
Dizzy, Rory moves her hands to the sides of his face. Her touch pushes him to the edge of control. Thus far, she has remained passive but now, slowly, she is beginning to explore him. Tentatively, she touches the tip of her tongue to his. His reaction is fervent and immediate. Her hands travel to his neck as she hesitantly slides her tongue in his mouth. He pulls her closer, encouraging her exploration. Tongues touch, teeth clink.
Leaving his lips, she kisses his neck. His head falls backwards, granting her complete access. As she discovers him, she notices the expression on his face change as he fights to control himself. Feeling powerful, she winds her fingers in his hair and kisses his ear. He groans. Drunk on him, she recaptures his lips. Pulling her closer to him, forgetting to be gentle, he kisses her passionately. A current of passion runs through her and settles between her legs. They break apart briefly only to capture each other's lips again, hungry, wanting.
When he feels her hips move slightly, he stills, pushing her back.
"Rory," he whispers.
Through dilated pupils, she looks at him questioningly. Groaning, he kisses her again, placing his hands on her cheeks. It takes all his willpower to pull away from her and rest his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes and moves her head onto his shoulder, this time tucking her face into his neck. Breathing in his masculine scent, she clings to him. He moves one hand inside her coat to caress her back while the other strokes her hair. Trying to calm herself, she closes her eyes.
Aware that her breathing has become heavy, he shakes her slightly saying "Let's get you home."
"OK," she yawns, detangling herself from him.
"I'll walk you home, you know, to make sure you don't get lost."
Grinning, she nods at him.
When they reach her door, she turns uncertainly to him. Stepping closer, he tucks her hair behind her ear and trails his finger down the side of her face.
"Jess-" she starts.
"Shh," he tells her. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."
His lips brush hers and then kiss her forehead. Stepping away he softly says, "Goodnight, Rory."
"'Night Dodger," she whispers with a smile before slipping into the house.
As he walks home he feels the lingering traces of her touch, smells her scent on his clothes. Entering the diner and climbing the stairs to the apartment, he guesses sleep will be elusive tonight. He is right.
Awake, lying in his bed, he considers putting a chair against the door to keep everyone, including her, out. It's a fleeting idea, and too late for that anyways, he realizes. She is already the very breath he feels inside his lungs.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
A/N: I think one area where general relativity and quantum mechanics agree is that reviews make authors write faster (or is it just me?)
Also, like the question in that old Rod-Stewart-but-Van-Morrison-did-it- much-better song, have I told you lately that I love you? If not, mea culpa because, I do! Your reviews are sustaining and more appreciated than you will ever know. Thanks for hanging with me!
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. ~ . ~ . ~ .
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"Are you ready?" Lane's voice nervously calls from outside Rory's closed bedroom door.
"Let's see it," Rory responds from within her bedroom.
Rory's bedroom door opens and Lane tentatively enters. Spinning around, she twirls to a stop and, chewing on her bottom lip asks, "What do you think?"
Rory surveys her friend. Her eyes start at the long sleeved silver t- shirt, move to the red paisley men's necktie secured around her neck, and then travel to the army-green cargo pants Lane wears. The most mysterious item, a full-length ethereal pink ballet tutu, has been placed on top of the cargo pants, and comes to rest just above Lane's black Doc Martens. Curious, Rory's gaze travels back upward where she makes eye contact with Lane. Attempting to strike a nonchalant pose, Lane's her eyes unwittingly transmit the apprehension she is valiantly trying to hide.
"Incredible!" Rory responds enthusiastically, hoping to put her friend at ease. "Put a pair of deely-boppers on your head and you'll be all ready for the festival."
"Ah," Lane sighs, wrinkling her nose. "What you're saying is this look is more 'alien mutant', than 'Avril Lavigne'?"
Rory's eyes widen in shock as she realizes her mistake. Before she can stop herself, she sputters, "That's your drumming outfit?"
"Forget it," Lane utters dismissively with a wave of her hand. Shoulders slumping, she begins to exit Rory's room mumbling, "I'll never get this right."
Scrambling to prevent her friend's departure, Rory scurries across the room and gently captures Lane's arm. "No, no, no. . . " Rory protests, gingerly guiding Lane back into her bedroom.
"I'm sorry Lane," she begins. "Don't worry. This is fixable. The outfit's bones are good, it just needs a little rework. Oh. . . I have a great idea!"
She leads Lane to her bed and forces her to sit. "Wait right here," Rory commands.
Once Lane is properly situated, Rory sprints across her room. Pausing briefly at the door, she grins, "If you lose the necktie and tutu before I come back, I'll let that whole 'Avril Lavigne' comment slide by mock-free!"
Loosening the tie, Lane starts giggling.
"Any doubt I might have had about you being my best friend just disappeared!" she calls to Rory's departing back.
When Rory returns to her room moments later, Lane looks decidedly less like an extra from a Mad Max movie and more like her best friend.
"Here," Rory says, stepping over the discarded tutu, as she walks towards Lane. Handing her a shirt she urges, "put this on."
Whipping off the silver t-shirt, Lane pulls the shirt Rory has just given her over her head. Standing to look at herself in Rory's mirror, Lane grins broadly.
"Oh, it's perfect!" Lane trills, beaming at her reflection. Turning to Rory she continues, "I love it!"
Seeing her mother's rhinestone adorned 'porn star' t-shirt on Lane, Rory grins too.
"Much better," Rory agrees.
"It matches the pants and boots but it's not too match-y. It also hugs my curves. . ." pausing, she catches a glint of laughter in Rory's eyes. "I have curves, you know."
"Oh, absolutely," Rory deadpans.
"Like I said, it's the right amount of curve-hugging-tight so you can tell I'm a girl which you wouldn't think would be important when you're sitting behind a massive drum set, but trust me, it is. This shirt has the perfect rebel attitude that shouts 'I am reclaiming a feminine archetype from the male-dominated world of sexual fantasy so that it no longer symbolizes female oppression and degradation but womanly empowerment!'"
"I was just going to say that."
"Plus, I look sexy."
"And very Rock-n-Roll."
"Really?" Lane squeals.
"Totally! Dave is going to love you in that."
"Oh my God, I'm going to be sexy in front of Dave. I may faint!"
"Of course, you could wear a potato sack and Dave would still think you looked hot."
Lane turns and approaches the bed on which her best friend sits cross- legged. Sitting across from her and assuming the same position, Lane places her head in her hands sighing, "I'm so in love."
"I know. It's really cute!"
"Speaking of love, hotties and cute-ness, what's up with you and Jess? You haven't mentioned him lately."
"That's because I'm pretending that he and I are just friends."
"Uh huh. How's that working for you?"
"Remember the drummer in Spinal Tap who spontaneously combusts?"
"Remember him? I have nightmares about those Spinal Tap drummers all the time!"
"Do you really?"
"Oh yeah. . . I can't tell you how many times I've woken up in a cold sweat after dreaming of being killed in a bizarre gardening accident. It's so crazy. I mean, I don't even own a hoe."
"Well, I think freak drummer deaths is something unique to the Tap. Besides, your band has nothing in common with them."
"Actually," Lane muses, "we do share some of their gig-landing difficulties."
"But do your amps go to eleven?"
"No," Lane sighs, "they only go to ten."
"Therein end your Spinal Tap similarities. You'll probably die nowhere near a garden."
"Surprisingly, that is not comforting. Wait a minute. . . why are we talking about Spinal Tap? Were you going somewhere with this?"
"Oh yeah," Rory remembers. Looking at Lane sheepishly she admits, "Lately, when I'm around Jess, I feel like I'm going to burst into flames."
"It's that bad, huh?"
"The other day. . . in the diner. . . all he did was touch my arms and I swear, I couldn't even remember my name."
"It's Rory."
"It came to me about 20 minutes later but, you know, thanks anyways."
"Oh anytime! That's what I'm here for."
The girls are interrupted by the sound of the Gilmore front door banging open.
"Rory?" Lorelai's voice calls from the front entrance of the Gilmore house.
"In here," Rory answers from her bedroom.
"Wait till you see what I-" Lorelai says while entering Rory's room. In her hand she carries a large vinyl garment bag, which she holds high above her head to keep from dragging it on the ground. Pausing when she spies Lane, she smiles, "Hi Lane!"
"Hey!" Lane sings, returning the greeting.
"Cool shirt! You look bitchin'!"
"Oh, I let her borrow it to complete her rock star persona," Rory explains.
"If it's a problem, I can give it back," Lane quickly interjects, looking worried.
"Don't be silly. It looks great on you. Very early punk Debbie Harry! However. . . if Mama Kim sees you in it, I know absolutely nothing about that t-shirt and I've never met you before in my life."
"Yes, stealth is unfortunately necessary in this case," Lane agrees. Turning to Rory she explains, "Mama probably wouldn't see the take-back-the- night reclamation of a formerly offensive stereotype as 'fighting the power' of male oppression."
"Plus, it's sparkly," Rory points out. "That's probably not allowed."
"I guess I should leave it here," Lane says resignedly.
"Sounds like a good idea," Lorelai encourages.
"Can I keep it on until I leave?" she asks hopefully.
"Absolutely!" Lorelai affirms. "But, I don't think you'll be wearing it long because you will want to go with me to the diner. In fact, you should both be there to witness me bestowing this gift I hold in my hot little hand on Luke."
"Oooh, presents!" Rory coos, clapping her hands. "What did you get him?"
Unzipping the garment bag and pulling its sides back, Lorelai triumphantly says, "Feast your eyes on this bad boy!"
"Oh my God," Lane drawls, her chin dropping to her chest.
"That's for Luke?" Rory asks, unsure of what she is beholding.
Grinning from ear to ear, Lorelai nods. She whips the garment bad completely off and walks to Rory's mirror, holding the regulation Star Trek officer's uniform in front of her.
"Didn't you know?" Lorelai begins incredulously, while standing behind the uniform to gaze at her own reflection. "Luke is a closet Trekkie."
"No!" gasps Lane.
"Yes!" Lorelai assures her. "Today, I am outing him!"
"Luke seems pretty happy in his closet," Rory observes.
"That's what he wants you to think. Inside, he's empty and alone, longing for fellowship with other members of the Starship Enterprise. The Space Festival provides the perfect opportunity for our Luke to come out of the shadows and embrace his geekiness. From today on, he leaves the darkness behind him to walk in the sunshine."
"I don't think Luke wants to stand in the light," Rory reasons. "He likes the dark. He's like a vampire, or Ozzy Osbourne. You know, if they wore flannel."
"Going through life in denial of your true self is no way to live. Today, Luke Danes is going to take the first steps that will lead him down the pathway of self-actualization. He will discover the freedom that comes from standing tall and saying to the world 'I am a Trekkie, and I don't care who knows it'."
"You don't seriously expect him to wear that uniform, do you?"
"Oh grasshopper, you underestimate the feminine wiles of your mother and the power of Gilmore charm. Besides, he better wear it if he knows what's good for him. I didn't just shell out $49.99 to rent this thing for nothing."
"Did you check the company's return policies? If the costume is returned shredded, will you still get your deposit back?"
"You know, your negativity is starting to interfere with my moment. I need you to work with me here. Try to picture Luke walking proud wearing this uniform, speaking into the Com badge and setting his Phasers on stun," Lorelai pauses in her revelry to place a hand on her heart. "It brings a tear to my eye. Thank God Luke has me."
"Amen, sister!" Lane cries.
"May the force be with you," Rory adds for good measure.
"That's the spirit!" Lorelai exclaims, nodding her head. "You girls make me proud. Now, c'mon, let's get ready to set Luke free so he can boldly go where no diner owner has gone before!"
Seeing Lane begin to change clothes, Rory teases, "If you'd rather stay here and lounge in the porn star t-shirt for a while longer, I think mom would understand."
"Are you kidding?! I wouldn't miss this for the world!" Lane states, smiling.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
Luke emerges from the kitchen in time to witness the trio of women entering the diner. He hesitates slightly as he notes Lorelai's too casual walk towards the counter. On instinct, his eyes slide to the girls to discover the half-guilty, half-amused looks on their faces. Bells of warning begin to alarm in his head. By the time his glance returns to Lorelai, she is already seated on a counter stool, her face, a mask of practiced nonchalance. Sensing something slightly off, he leans slightly over the counter, spying a strange plastic garment bag on the stool next to Lorelai.
"No," Luke states flatly, tossing a dishtowel over one shoulder so it hangs at the ready.
"What?" Lorelai questions.
"Whatever you want, the answer is 'No'."
"Now Luke-y," she begins in mock innocence. "What makes you think I want something?"
"Don't call me Luke-y," he orders, placing one hand on the counter while the other rests on his hip. "You have your 'I'm about to make a ridiculous and unreasonable request of Luke simply to torment him' look on your face."
"I have no such look!" she protests.
"Spare me. Even if you didn't, those two," he pauses to gesture at Rory and Lane, "are dead giveaways."
Recognizing that Luke has turned his radar on them, the pair immediately look away and feign casual disinterest. Lorelai glances at the girls over her shoulder as they sit at a nearby table.
When she turns back around, Luke tells her, "They don't exactly have poker faces."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she assures him. "I'm just here for coffee."
"Uh huh," he says warily studying her for a moment before turning to get a coffee mug and the pot.
Setting the mug in front of her, he pours coffee while Lorelai grins impishly at him.
"What's in the bag?" he asks, his mouth set in a scowl, his eyes watching Lorelai with hawk-like sharpness.
"Oh, you mean this bag?"
"That'd be the one."
"Gee, I almost forgot. I brought you a little present."
"Take it back."
"How can you say that? You don't even know what it is."
"I don't need to know what it is. I'm pretty sure I don't want it."
"That's not very gracious of you. Didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a gift horse in the mouth? Keep it up and I'll never buy you another gift."
"Promise?"
Conversation between Luke and Lorelai ensues as a voice behind Rory and Lane asks "What's going on over there?"
Lane turns towards the voice and a smile spreads across her features. "Hey Jess," she says in greeting to the voice's owner. "Rory, look," she continues, moving her gaze from Jess to Rory. "Jess is here."
"Hi Jess," Rory says shyly, awkwardly.
"Hey," Jess says softly to Rory, a small smile tugging at his lips. His eyes lock with hers as he notes the pink tint beginning to color her features. His smile grows. "You know, if you really want to spy on someone, you should at least pretend like you're not staring at them."
"We're watching Luke's liberation," Lane explains.
"He's about to be walking on sunshine," Rory elaborates.
"You should make a note of the date and time so you can tell your grandkids exactly where you were when Luke cried freedom," Lane encourages.
"Just like where you were when the OJ verdict came in," Rory supplies helpfully.
"Or the first time you heard Yo La Tengo," Lane adds.
"Is Lorelai proposing?" Jess asks confused.
"What?" Lane half-speaks, half-laughs.
"Please," Rory says rolling her eyes at Jess. "Try to focus."
"Quiet!" Lane says hushing them. "I think it's about to get good."
The teens fall into silence as they watch the interaction between Luke and Lorelai intensify.
"She's unzipping it," Lane whispers.
"Quick. . . How many seconds before Luke goes ballistic?" Rory whispers back.
"My money's on 5," Lane answers.
"OK, I got 4," Rory bets.
"1, 2, 3-" Lane begins counting.
Lane's countdown is interrupted by a volcanic explosion erupting from Luke as he realizes that Lorelai's garment bag contains a Star Trek uniform in his size.
"Are you insane?!" Luke booms, backing up until he unwittingly crashes into the back counter near the coffee pot.
"It's for your own good, Luke," Lorelai says, trying to reason with him.
"My own good? I hate to break it to you but the tenuous grasp you held on reality. . ." he pauses for effect, "I think we can safely says that's gone."
"Until you learn to accept all the parts of yourself, you'll never be truly happy."
"I am in full acceptance of myself. I told you, I am NOT a Trekkie, closet or otherwise!"
"It's OK to admit it Luke. We all accept and care for you, not matter what. Nothing can ever change that."
"Listen to me Lorelai, I am NOT a Trekkie and I am NOT wearing that uniform!"
"But the Federation needs you!"
The three teenagers are smiling broadly, desperately trying to control their laughter.
"That's beautiful," Jess grins.
"Told you," Rory responds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
Jess glances back and they hold each other's gaze, smiling. Lane steals a glance at the two and cannot hide the pleased look that overtakes her face. Turning away, she returns her attention to Luke and Lorelai.
"For me?" Lorelai begs.
"I don't know how many different ways I can say 'no'," Luke responds.
"I'll eat a salad."
"What?" Luke questions, doing a double take.
Clearing her throat, Lorelai hesitates, "I said. . . I will eat a salad if you will wear this uniform."
Luke thinks about it for a moment and responds. "Nope. Not good enough."
Lorelai sighs. "OK, I will eat two salads."
"Still not good enough."
"I'm not giving up coffee."
"I never asked you to," Luke answers, raising his eyebrows.
Recognizing the look of challenge on his face, Lorelai covers her eyes with her hands for a moment. Squaring her shoulders, she removes her hands and says, "OK, I will eat salad everyday for a week."
"Hmm. . ." Luke pauses, thinking. "Close but no cigar."
"Well, what will it take?"
Luke makes burning eye contact with Lorelai who doesn't look away. Luke's eyes grow liquid and Lorelai shifts under the intensity of his gaze.
"You eat salad everyday for a week," he begins. "And by salad I mean green leafy stuff with carrots and tomatoes and other vegetables mixed in. . ."
"Oh God," Lorelai murmurs.
"And I get to watch you eat it to make sure you don't stuff it in a napkin and stick it in your purse-"
"OK, I get it," Lorelai interrupts. "What else?"
"Well, you owe me something."
"What?"
"Just. . . something," Luke says evasively, his voice low. "I'll tell you when I think of it and, when I remind you that you owe me, you. . . well. . . owe me."
"Sounds kinda cryptic," Lorelai breathes.
Luke's eyes travel possessively over her face, down to her neck and then reclaim her eyes. He whispers, "Those are my terms. Take 'em or leave 'em."
"I'll take 'em," Lorelai responds, her voice barely a whisper. For some unknown reason, she feels herself shiver.
"OK," he mutters.
As Luke watches her thoughtfully, Lorelai takes a sip of coffee to compose herself. Recovering, she bounces off the stool and thrusts the vinyl bag at Luke.
"Go change," she orders, pushing him in the direction of the apartment stairs.
"You know," he muses, as he stumbles along, "I think the one who's crazy may be me. I can't believe I let you talk me into this."
"A deal's a deal," she reminds him. "Look on the bright side, at least you don't have to eat salad."
As Luke disappears behind the curtain, Lorelai bounds over to the table where Rory, Lane, and Jess watch with stunned and amused expressions on their faces.
"Rory," she begins, speaking rapidly, "Run home and get the camera."
"Mom!" she cries in shocked horror.
"We'll be lucky if he keeps that uniform on more than an hour. I want to preserve this for posterity."
"But-" Rory says.
"No 'buts'! Time's wasting. Go, go, go! Run like a bunny!"
"But I don't know where the camera is!"
"Lane," Lorelai commands, turning to Lane. "Go with her. Use your wonder twin powers together to find it."
As the girls stand, Rory turns to Jess and asks, "Will you be at the festival?"
"Have we met?" he asks her, smirking. "I'm Jess."
"Right," Rory says nodding, trying her best to keep from grinning. Briefly, she glances at the ceiling before looking at Jess and saying, "Why do I even bother to ask you these questions?"
"It's a mystery to me too," he grins.
"Just to clarify," she begins. "You are not going to the festival?"
"I'm manning the dunking booth," he states sarcastically.
Rory's eyes knit together briefly as she glances quizzically at Jess. He returns her gaze and raises his eyebrows. This time, a full smile erupts on Rory's face. Sighing, she rolls her eyes and heads towards the door. As her hand touches the doorknob, she turns back and says, "See you later, Jess."
Jess smiles and tilts his chin up once to acknowledge the 'goodbye'.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"Luke!" Lorelai calls up the stairs.
"What?" a muffled voice calls in return.
"Get down here."
"In a minute."
"You said that 15 minutes ago."
"I'm not ready," he calls.
"You have to come down eventually."
"Says who?"
"Says seven days worth of salads and a mystery I.O.U."
Luke's feet are heard coming very slowly down the stairs.
"Is anybody besides you in the diner?" he asks from an unidentifiable location behind the curtain.
"Umm. . . she says looking at the crowd that has formed in anticipation of Luke's Star Trek debut. "It's virtually empty," she lies.
Luke emerges from behind the curtain as the diner falls into pin-drop silence. He stands awkwardly, clad in a vintage red Star Trek uniform from the original series. In addition to the red shirt and pants, Luke sports regulation black combat boots and a Star Trek insignia Com badge. Like a petulant child, he scowls and looks uncomfortably around while tugging at the neck of the costume.
"Luke, my brother!" Kirk's voice is heard calling across the diner.
The sea of people parts to reveal Kirk, who has just entered the diner, wearing the identical Star Trek officer's uniform. Kirk lifts his hand in the Vulcan salute and says "Live long and prosper."
Seeing Kirk as a mirror image of his own appearance, Luke's face transforms from a look of acute embarrassment to absolute horror. From behind the counter, Jess is heard breaking into uncontrollable laughter.
"That's it!" Luke yells, as he turns on his heel and sprints back up the stairs.
"Standing in the light for 13.7 seconds," Lorelai sighs. "That's gotta be some sort of world record."
"OK," Kirk announces loudly to the crowd, as he points at the curtain behind which Luke has just disappeared. "He can be Spock. Or even Captain Piccard. But I am Captain Kirk! Do you all hear me? I am Captain Kirk!"
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
"Oh no!" Rory exclaims while laughing. "Then what happened?"
"Well, Luke came back downstairs wearing flannel and his baseball cap, and Kirk refused to speak to anyone who didn't address him as 'Captain'," Lorelai recaps.
"I can't believe I missed it," Rory whines.
"I can't believe we didn't get a picture of it. Where was the camera anyways?"
"In the bathroom closet behind the economy sized bottle of Mr. Bubble."
"Dang! Economy sized? No wonder it took so long to find it."
"Yeah, there's the moral. . . Always buy Mr. Bubble in the small bottle."
"What were we thinking?" Lorelai wonders.
"Probably that we didn't want to run out of Mr. Bubble."
"Damn our planning ways."
"Lesson learned," Rory agrees. "At least we got a picture of Kirk's panic attack during the rebroadcast of Orson Welles' War of the Worlds."
"You'd think Captain Kirk would be calmer."
"Too bad we didn't have audio to go along with it," Rory says.
"Camcorder. Put that on our list of things to buy."
"Right after squirt guns."
"I'm so glad you have your priorities straight," Lorelai says, yawning. "OK, I'm going to bed. I'll probably have nightmares about all those salads I have to eat this week."
As Lorelai walks towards the stairs, Rory asks, "Was it worth it?"
Lorelai grins, remembering. "The look on his face. . . cutest thing I ever saw. Well, next to you that is."
Rory smiles. Walking over to Lorelai, she hugs her saying, "Night, mom."
"Goodnight, honey," Lorelai responds, kissing the top of her daughter's head.
Rory walks into her bedroom and realizes that she isn't tired. Electing to read before trying to sleep, she retrieves Tom Robbin's Jitterbug Perfume from her book bag. Flipping to the page near the book's end marked by her bookmarker, she becomes lost in the tale of le parfum supreme, savage bees, perfect tacos, Mardi Gras, feather-light hearts, and everything coming together at 9:00 tonight, Paris time.
Finishing the book, Rory smiles. She feels the sort of melancholy restlessness she always feels when reaching the end of a book that unexpectedly thrusts a new perspective on her. Full of thoughts of universal possibilities and the meaning of life, Rory walks to her window and gazes at the stars. Her breath makes a small cloud on the cold windowpane as she tries to count all the tiny flecks of light sprinkled in the night sky. Knowing that sleep is a long way off for her, Rory decides to walk to the gazebo and look at the stars through the telescope before it is returned to Providence.
She layers on her winter gear and silently slips unseen through the front door. It clicks quietly shut behind her as she steps out into the cold. Tonight, there is no wind to pierce through her coat, or to color her cheeks as she makes her way to the town square. She smiles as she looks at the remnants of the Space Festival. The moon bounce stands empty, bereft of the giggling voices of bouncing children. The booth manned by the local travel agency still contains some brochures jokingly offering interplanetary travel. 'Mars on a Budget', and 'Venus is for Lovers', pamphlets litter the booth's interior.
'Good thing there's no wind tonight,' Rory thinks, smiling. 'Taylor would have a fit if those blew around.'
A space yo-yo lies forgotten on a park bench as Rory nears the gazebo. She is startled out of her silent observations when a slight movement behind the telescope catches her eyes. Momentarily taken aback, she freezes and holds her breath. Unable to determine who or what it is, she silently pads forward, her tennis shoes offering little sound to announce her presence.
As her eyes adjust to the darkness within the gazebo, Rory is able to make out the figure of another person, gazing into the telescope. Glancing around the gazebo, she determines that the person is alone. Only when he momentarily stands straight to observe the sky through his naked eyes, does Rory realize that it's Jess.
Feeling herself relax, she walks up the steps in the gazebo.
Without turning around to look at her, he says, "Fancy meeting you here."
"I was just about to say the same thing to you."
"Isn't it past your bedtime?" Jess asks, turning to face her.
"I finished Jitterbug Perfume and couldn't sleep."
Jess nods, understanding.
Walking closer, gesturing to the telescope she asks, "Are you looking at the stars?"
"The moon."
"Can I?" she questions.
Jess steps back and with a sweeping motion, offers her use of the telescope. Tentatively, Rory approaches. Closing one eye, she presses the other to the eyepiece.
"I can't see anything," she murmurs.
"Here," Jess says, moving behind her. He places his hands on either side of her and repositions her slightly to the left. "You have to stand right behind it," he explains.
"Oh. . ." Rory stammers, coloring. His nearness sets her pulse racing, but she hides it by pressing her eye to the lens and looking through the telescope.
"Wow," she breathes. The moon glows white and yellow, its subtle shadings and contours made more visible. She gazes at the moon's surface for a few moments, marveling at how different it looks when magnified. "It's beautiful," she whispers.
"Want to see Orion?" Jess asks, his voice behind her is startlingly near.
Straightening, Rory looks at Jess and nods.
She takes a few steps back as he moves closer to the telescope. Gently, he repositions it. Taking a moment to readjust the focus and fine tune the angle, he finally steps back and says, "OK, check it out."
Again, Rory steps up to the telescope and gazes through it. It is what she thought she came here for. . . the opportunity to closely study one of the stars she spied earlier from her bedroom. Looking at it for a moment she is quiet. Finally, she says, "It's beautiful too, except I can't see it as well as the moon."
"Orion is farther away," Jess explains.
"Yeah," she grins, standing up to face him. "I know."
He smiles back at her.
"You've been holding out on me," she accuses.
Smirking, Jess backs up and sits on one of the gazebo's benches. He stretches his legs in front of him and slouches. Lifting his chin at an arrogant angle, he says evasively, "What do you mean?"
Rolling her eyes, Rory sits on the bench across from him. She tucks her legs under her in a cross-legged position and says, "Explain to me again why you needed a tutor last year."
"Because I was failing every subject," he answers as if he is explaining why you can't swim across the ocean to a 5-year old.
"Anyone who can find Orion in the night sky does not need a physics tutor," she counters.
"See now, that's where you're wrong. School physics is all about formulas and calculations and stupid little meaningless crap that they pound into your brain like nails. God, it's excruciating."
"It's not that bad," she chuckles.
"Are you kidding? All the teachers care about are numbers and formulas for useless things like speed and velocity, and making sure you can spit it all out on standardized tests. They never bother to tell you that the purpose of physics is to explain the mysteries of the universe, like. . . how time works, or if there's life out there and where and how we fit in. It's as if they say to themselves, 'let's take this really cool subject and make it as boring and as tedious as we possibly can'."
"How would you proposed making physics more interesting?"
"It wouldn't be that hard. Just. . . pull the focus out of the weeds and look at the big picture."
"How exactly?"
"I don't know. Start class with the theories of general relativity and quantum mechanics. Tell students that general relativity, which explains the force of gravity in the big world, and quantum mechanics, which deals with things on a small scale, are in direct conflict with each other."
"So what?"
"So, they can't both be true. Atomic particles don't behave according to the rules of general relativity, and quantum mechanics doesn't hold up when applied to big objects."
"Wait a minute," Rory laughs. "Are you saying that Einstein's Theory of Relativity is wrong?"
"Nope," Jess grins. "I'm not saying anything. Stephen Hawking is the one who pointed out the inconsistencies and even he isn't calling Einstein wrong."
"Ah. So you read, A Brief History of Time."
"Yup. Did you?"
"Not yet. It's on my list but I haven't gotten to it."
"It's the first time I ever understood what E=mc2 really implied and that there's more to physics than boring vector formulas."
"Like what?"
"Well, like black holes, the big bang, time itself, and the nature of God. Here's a question, the universe is expanding, right?"
"Yeah. Edwin Hubble hypothesized and proved that back in 1924."
"OK, so what's it expanding into?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what was there before if not the universe?"
"I. . . I don't know," Rory admits, her eyebrows knitting together.
"And does that mean it's limitless? Is there infinite space for expansion or will it run out? If so, will the universe contract? And what will happen to us when it does?"
"Hmm. . ." Rory thinks aloud. "I'm embarrassed to admit it but I never thought about it."
"Exactly my point. High School teaches physics without tying it together to give you any kind of understanding of the world. I just can't make myself care about that class."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What do you mean 'well what'? Tell me. . . is there infinite expansion space? Can the universe contract?"
"You know, the last time I tried to tell you what happened in a book, you got a little. . . out of sorts."
Rory blushes deeply in the darkness of the night. Pulling her legs out from under her, she places her feet on the gazebo floor. Out of nervous habit, she re-tucks her hair behind her ears.
"I don't care," she says, not really knowing what she means. Looking at Jess she says, "I want to know what you know."
"No," he says, stiffening. "You don't."
"Yes, I do."
"Trust me Rory," Jess tells her, his tone serious. "You don't want to know what I know."
"God, you can be so irritating," she says, exasperated. "You don't know what I want and don't want. Don't pretend that you do."
"Really?" he says, his voice low and angry. "You want to know what I know, Rory? You want to know how to shoplift cans of soup from D'Agastinos because your mother disappeared for a week and you have no food in the house? Or do you want to know how to bandage your hand when you slice your palm trying to get the damn can opened?"
"Jess-"
"Or do you want to know how to avoid the neighborhood drug dealers who want you to run money for them? Or how about I tell you about the pedophiles searching for fresh young boys to lure into dark alleys? Are these the things you want to know?"
She is on her feet and across the gazebo as he spits the last question at her. Crouching in front of him, she tries to grasp his hands but, angry, he pulls them away. He is suddenly very close to tears and having not cried since the day his father left when he was 5-years old, he is furious. Furious at himself for letting her get too close and furious with her for getting there.
With his hands out of reach she places her hands on his knees. "Oh Jess," she says, her voice a wavering whisper. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
"I told you, you don't want to know what I know."
"You're still wrong about that."
Startled, he looks at her. His eyes search hers for signs of deceit or badly timed humor. Finding none, he continues to stare.
"If you want to tell me that stuff, I'll listen, Jess. I meant it when I said I want to know what you know. I. . ." she pauses, searching for the words to make him understand. Meeting his piercing gaze she continues, "I want to know what a sunrise over the Brooklyn Bridge looks like. I want to know the quickest way to get across Midtown during morning rush. I want to know where the best coffee shop in Greenwich Village is. And I want to know what will happen if and when the universe finally contracts."
The ability to speak seems to have left him and he cannot answer her.
Standing she says, "Maybe some day, when you're ready, you'll tell me all these things."
Remembering how he pulled away from her, she resists the urge to touch him and turns to exit the gazebo.
In that brief moment, Jess snaps out of his stupor. To prevent her departure would be breaking her rules, breaking their tacit agreement to pretend that friendship is the only thing they feel towards each other. He has pushed her limits but he has never prevented her flight. Leaving is who she is. Indifferent is who he had always been. Together they are chase and run, shadow and light, temptation and salvation, scared and scared.
On its own, his hand moves to grab hers. The simplicity of it reminds him of a Dick and Jane novel his first grade teacher expected him to read as if he hadn't already been reading for years.
See sand. See line. Stay Jess, stay! See Rory. Take Rory's hand. Look behind you. See line.
His heart pounds as he turns her towards him.
She looks at his hand holding hers because it is easier than looking at his face.
His other hand drifts to her waist as he begins softly, gently pulling her down onto his lap.
Her legs slip to either side of him as her knees alight on the bench.
He searches her face as she straddles him.
She closes her eyes, unsure of what to do.
He lets go of her hand and places both hands on her back.
She gasps.
He pulls her closer and closer until their torsos touch, and meld together.
Instinctively her hands wrap around his back as he turns his head into her body and tucks his face into her neck.
It feels so simple, so simple.
They stay like that for long minutes, getting used to each other. Both scared, both hesitant. Jess feels Rory begin to relax as she gives into the melting sensation she has fought for so long. Slowly, his hands leave her back and travel to the front of her coat. Curious, she leans back to watch. When his hands still, she looks, at last, at his face. His eyes hold hers and she momentarily forgets to breathe. Keeping constant eye contact, he begins unfastening the buttons of her coat. His hands shake slightly and he hopes she can't tell. One button, two buttons, three. When her coat is open, Jess snakes his arms inside it and around her back. Hungry for her warmth, he pulls her close again as his head resumes its former position.
Fascinated, Rory's mind is swirling. His arms feel strong and she feels safe. She lets out a contented sigh. Taking that as his cue, Jess tilts his head slightly so his lips brush her neck. Rory freezes as an avalanche of chills cascade across her chest. Jess quietly nuzzles her neck and kisses her delicate, sensitive skin. Moving his head to the other side of her, he kisses her neck just under her jaw. His lips are smooth and tender. Rory gasps when she feels his tongue slide out to taste her.
Patiently, teasingly, he kisses his way to her ear. Sensations she has not even imagined flood powerfully through her. When his teeth lightly grasp her earlobe, another gasp escapes from her as an electric current emanates from her ear. Breathing heavily, Jess glances at her to be sure she's ready. The backwards tilt of her head, closed eyes and slightly parted lips tell him all he needs to know. Leaving her ear, his lips make their way towards hers.
Taking her bottom lip between his, he stills, letting her get accustomed to the sensation, the feel of him. She leans slightly forward towards him, uncertain. He feels her tremble and impulsively slides his finger to the pulse in her neck. It is pounding. He moves his lips so they are even with hers as he kisses her softly. She makes a small noise. It takes all of his self control to refrain from crushing her to him, kissing her savagely, moving against her. He wills himself to do what she asked him, to teach her what he knows.
Kissing her gently, he reaches his tongue out to lick her bottom lip. Again, she gasps, parting her lips. Her slightly opened mouth provides him the access he needs and he slides his tongue in. This time, her moan is louder, more passionate. His tongue probes further, exploring, teaching. Without actually knowing, he knows that Dean never kissed her like this.
Dizzy, Rory moves her hands to the sides of his face. Her touch pushes him to the edge of control. Thus far, she has remained passive but now, slowly, she is beginning to explore him. Tentatively, she touches the tip of her tongue to his. His reaction is fervent and immediate. Her hands travel to his neck as she hesitantly slides her tongue in his mouth. He pulls her closer, encouraging her exploration. Tongues touch, teeth clink.
Leaving his lips, she kisses his neck. His head falls backwards, granting her complete access. As she discovers him, she notices the expression on his face change as he fights to control himself. Feeling powerful, she winds her fingers in his hair and kisses his ear. He groans. Drunk on him, she recaptures his lips. Pulling her closer to him, forgetting to be gentle, he kisses her passionately. A current of passion runs through her and settles between her legs. They break apart briefly only to capture each other's lips again, hungry, wanting.
When he feels her hips move slightly, he stills, pushing her back.
"Rory," he whispers.
Through dilated pupils, she looks at him questioningly. Groaning, he kisses her again, placing his hands on her cheeks. It takes all his willpower to pull away from her and rest his forehead against hers. She closes her eyes and moves her head onto his shoulder, this time tucking her face into his neck. Breathing in his masculine scent, she clings to him. He moves one hand inside her coat to caress her back while the other strokes her hair. Trying to calm herself, she closes her eyes.
Aware that her breathing has become heavy, he shakes her slightly saying "Let's get you home."
"OK," she yawns, detangling herself from him.
"I'll walk you home, you know, to make sure you don't get lost."
Grinning, she nods at him.
When they reach her door, she turns uncertainly to him. Stepping closer, he tucks her hair behind her ear and trails his finger down the side of her face.
"Jess-" she starts.
"Shh," he tells her. "We'll talk about it tomorrow."
His lips brush hers and then kiss her forehead. Stepping away he softly says, "Goodnight, Rory."
"'Night Dodger," she whispers with a smile before slipping into the house.
As he walks home he feels the lingering traces of her touch, smells her scent on his clothes. Entering the diner and climbing the stairs to the apartment, he guesses sleep will be elusive tonight. He is right.
Awake, lying in his bed, he considers putting a chair against the door to keep everyone, including her, out. It's a fleeting idea, and too late for that anyways, he realizes. She is already the very breath he feels inside his lungs.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
A/N: I think one area where general relativity and quantum mechanics agree is that reviews make authors write faster (or is it just me?)