Well, what can I say. It's been a long year. Thanks to many of the faithful fans, and to all those still writing me. I am not writing anything new, but I thought it was pretty inconsiderate of me to leave all this written material for the unfinished stories unpublished………plus I have some spare time now that it's summer.
So here's the next piece to the four part seasonal ficcie. There is a possibility that Crash and Burn will finally be completed…….if anyone is interested, let me know. Props to emrie, oregano, proud and prejudiced, columbiachica, and all those ppl out there still writing good literati, as well to all the people on the fan forums. This is the sad end of a good thing………..
luce
It's fall now. The summer conversations are over……..her flustered confession still lingers between them. It's their secret for now, below Lorelai's detection. They smile and pretend they are friends, hands entwined beneath tables, fingers tentatively touching……..but people see.
It's a small town, smaller than most, large enough to not be too rural; a teenager has two options on Saturday night - see a movie or get laid. Stars Hollow is the kind of town where if you shoplift and get caught, the owner will give you a serious talking to, call your parents, and decide on a punishment together that would give you enough community service hours to win a scholarship. It is altogether the type of town that you'd get talked about in, and Rory Gilmore and Jess Mariano are no exception.
The two are more often than not the topic of some Sunday brunch or coffee chat or casual lunch; maybe a Garden Society meeting or any conversation with Miss Patty. Photos of the two were snapped clandestinely for the Stars Hollow Gazette gossip column, and they are observed by at least one or two interested spectators as they wander through the streets chatting. This is not always the case; after all, they're not celebrities. They're just.....a constant object of interest.
Inside Doose's Market, a graying man in a cardigan sweater and a flamboyant, rather hefty middle-aged madam in a colorful, flowing ensemble converse with gusto. It's cool outside, and slightly cloudy, but bursts of sunshine peek out and flash over the green lawns and orangey gold trees. The air is dry and breezy, a typical fall day, ruffling the gauzy edges of skirts and sending colorful leaf corpses into a frenzy over the pumpkin-decorated streets.
The look on their faces is hungry and conniving, although the lady feigns great disinterest when she sees an available male walking by. The older man rolls his eyes and commences.
"Patty, I'm telling you. There's something absolutely disconcerting about that relationship! I don't believe a moment of what she says. Just friends my foot, I say," grimaces the man, watching the two figures as they amble by on the sidewalk, talking animatedly.
"Your lettuce is fabulous, Taylor," says the woman absently.
"Oh, for Chrissake! Did you hear a word I said?"
"Yes, and I think you're one step short of instating your own communist chapter with a secret police. People have the right to live their lives in peace, you know, without someone tracking their movements," replies the lady, feeling plums with a little more ardor than pleased the storeowner.
"I'm not tracking their movements, I'm just keeping one eye open, and stop feeling those plums as though they were one of your male victims," mutters the man.
"I keep an eye open, and, do I ever see....." grins the woman, watching with delight as the little beady eyed man goes into a frenzy.
"Now Patty, I'm telling you! If there's anything, you must tell me! Come on.......one free soda?"
"Are you bribing me?" asks the diva, delighted with herself and hardly disguising it.
"Take it however you want," pleads the man.
Without waiting one more second, the be-flowered bejeweled woman with the Birkenstock sandals pounces.
"You would not believe the scandal surrounding those two! Now, you thought Rory and Dean standing by a tree kissing for twenty minutes was bad. Well, with those two, it's a mighty different story; they're sly as foxes and secretive too," she begins with relish.
"Yes, yes, continue," says the man impatiently.
"Well, it seems to me, despite her mother's mandate that they be just friends for now, they are forever found in the same place. But he's a slick one, and not a good one either....I take it......"
"I heard they were fooling around in Luke's kitchen, trying to cook up some mess......" Taylor whispers, sliding an eye towards the nearest customer.
"Whipped cream and strawberries, no doubt" snorts the lady, chuckling.
"Patty, don't be vile," grimaces the man.
"My third husband used to love it when I filled up the bathtub with them. He preferred some chocolate syrup on top too......"
"Patty!"
"All right, don't get your knickers in a knot. What's worse, some of those books they pass back and forth...."
"Not Anais Nin!"
"Well, not yet," says the woman, her tone seeming slightly disappointed.
"Well then?"
"e.e. cummings.........you know he lived in whorehouses in Paris?" exclaims the woman mysteriously.
"Scandal!"
"Some of his material is on my favorites....."
"That I don't doubt," says the man rather sourly.
"There was Kate Chopin, The Awakening," the woman recounts carefully.
"Not a good sign."
"Some claim to have seen a van Goethe, but I doubt it of Rory. I wouldn't put a Marquis de Sade below Jess, maybe Juliette?"
"My God!" the man blanches.
"Yes, and Mary McCarthy and Madame Bovary and the list....well, the list just extends!"
"I'm shocked. Plus, those poets are always scandalous too," Taylor grumbles.
"An indecent bunch. But here's the piece de resistance; rumor reached me that Kirk swore he saw Jess give Rory a copy of Lolita!"
"My God! They're making love with books!" gasps the man, hands gesturing emptily in the air.
"I'm perfectly jealous," murmurs Miss Patty, eliciting a glare from Taylor.
"You're perfectly insane," mutters the storeowner.
"I wouldn't mind a nice piece of what she's got there," giggles the eccentric lady, popping a strawberry from the bin.
"Oh Patty you disgust me. Someone should warn Lorelai."
The woman curiously says nothing, just turns and looks out the window, eyes focusing on a girl and boy standing by the gazebo.
The wind is ruffling Rory's hair, sending it dancing around her face; flashes of brilliant, very late afternoon sunshine illuminate the air around her in an almost curious, untamed mood. The sky is dark blue and moody, a hint of a storm in the air, deep navy clouds rolling in the distance toward the painted gold light that lay in a sort of holy radiance upon everything. He is standing opposite from her, leaning, or rather slouching, against the gazebo wall in a relaxed, typical manner. He watches her mouth as she speaks, her eyes, her hands as they dance in the air accompanying her words like butterfly wings. She is sweet and whole and not very breakable; he's amused and somewhat in awe of her uniqueness, her innocence. She thinks when she dials zero the operator knows her, because she called her 'hon' once. In the past she has asked him if she were allowed to take food on a subway in New York.
Jess is rather complementary to her sweetly sarcastic and dryly humorous nature; he is a boy for whom the verbal thing "comes and goes", but never comes as much as for her. Seemingly aggravated by life and by people in general, he only relents to her ceaseless wit and harmless questionings. Not even she can prod and plead with him to change something without receiving some caustic remarks, but towards her, they're always softened by a grin and a look which imparts all the mysteries of the world between them. They share knowing smiles and a seemingly superior level of enlightenment which can be very intimidating to the average person that approached them.
They are the kind of boy and girl that when placed across the dinner table would make a conscious effort to avoid each other's eyes for the fear of being too obvious, too transparent. Sooner or later though, they would accidentally make eye contact; and then, he would ask her to pass the salt, and everyone would be watching and would know that what he meant is 'I love you'. Then, she would blanch, he would look away, and the moment would be over, leaving them both wondering where their plans had failed.
He looks at the sky, as Miss Patty watches silently from behind the glass that obliterates sound. The woman's eyes follow the pair....thinking......dreaming in a wistful cadence.......remembering the sound of someone's voice on a cool fall night, someone with eyes that she still remembers from so long ago.
All of us have a memory like that.
By the gazebo, the wind is picking up.
Her eyes are moody blue with exhilaration; they glint fiercely in the sunshine, picking up the excitement of the rising storm. He's standing up now, looking upwards, analyzing.
"Wow. I think it's about to unload," he notes, his brow wrinkled. The girl nods in agreement, enthusiastic.
"I love it! I love this part right before it storms..." she grins, then desperately clutches at her uniform skirt as it flies up under a gust of wind.
"Got the Seven Year Itch?" he laughs, as she races inside the gazebo, flushed, sitting down and tucking in her skirt like a school girl caught in the act.
"Well, there's no subway grates in Stars Hollow, a girl's gotta make the best of what she's got," she quips with a grimace. "I didn't flash too much.....did I?"
"It was horrible. We all got the full monty."
"Jess!"
"Relax. I don't think anyone saw it anyway......you know, unlike Monroe, you don't need to flash a little leg to become an idol. Somehow I've come under the impression you sort of already are around here."
The girl shakes her head modestly.
"Whatever, me? Be serious. Now my mom, on the other hand........she's full of charm. She has a way with people."
"Yeah, I could tell that about her right off the bat. I tell you, she got me so quick..."
"Could you be anymore sarcastic?" the girl interrupts, a shadow passing over her features.
"I don't know, could she be anymore sweet to me?" says the boy, unapologetic this time. He moves through the gazebo restlessly, as though the strong wind stirs some sort of primal instinct in him. Turning away from her, he rests both hands on the posts in the entrance of the gazebo. His expression is slightly distant, as though he is really in the center of the storm and his body is just a shell left behind. He feels the wind in his bones, and it makes him edgy.
She notes this fact with some sort of curious pleasure; it shows her another side, just like the shadows and lights flittering around them as the trees heave, scattering dry rain of red and gold leaves. She studies him with a hidden smile, a shy inspection from under concealed lashes. She likes the way his shoulders are broad and steel under the blue of the rough jacket with the perpetually askew collar. It covertly displays appearance of hidden strength wanting of unveiling. She's seen him in a fight, and likes what he's capable of doing. Needless to say, the breakup with Dean was rather disastrous; the collision resulted in a few very damaged knuckles and a bruised rib to Jess, but Dean, Dean's face was a pulpy mess. She had refused to speak to Jess for a week, although it had been self defense.........that was the only time Jess refused to apologize. Inside, she had known Jess was right. She had to decide where her loyalties lay.
Her eyes wander down from the shoulders to the back pockets of the rough Levi's. She grins; truly her mother's daughter.
She's still watching him from the bench as he suddenly turns around.
"Hey, let's not talk about it. I've already forgotten it," she says, willing to restore the peace, and averting her eyes carefully. "It's gone from my mind,"
"Yeah, you get distracted easily," he grins, a sneaky smile.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks, under a pretense of innocence.
"I saw you checking out my ass," Jess sighs with an air of feigned self-importance and boredom that gives her no choice but to release the smile she's trying to hide.
"Should I even try to defend myself on that charge?" she glares, earning a laugh from him. He's suddenly in a playful mood.
"Nah, I think we're pretty much even considering that skirt incident back there."
"Oy, I think I feel violated....." she sighs, and shakes her head.
She bites her lip and smiles a tiny smile, wondering exactly if she's on his mind. She's getting the restless urge to kiss him senseless. She blames it mentally on the weather.
"So, one more year to go............" she wonders out loud, almost expecting his next reply. It never fails to delight her.
"Is that a small talk starter?" he grimaces, turning more into a smile.
"You know, I don't know why I put up with you." she frowns, and crosses her arms, maybe just to keep out the chill of the wind.
"Because I make your .....uh.....palms tingle."
"Lame."
"Forgive me," he rolls his eyes. "Um, heart race. No, heart pound, blood race. I give you chills. Still not it?"
"Not by a long shot," she grins.
"Okay, how bout....I make your toes curl."
"Like the sight of hair in my kitchen drain. Anything else?"
The dark haired boy studies her with an amused, comfortable smile.
"I dunno. I make you dizzy? I make your legs shake?"
Silence.
He watches her out of the corner of his eye, restless and crazy just to kiss her. He's too well aware he can't here. She just.....wouldn't .....allow it......
"Conversation officially killed, call in CSI," she replies tersely after a minute pause in which both of them think thoughts that leave their backs a little stiffer and their mouths a little drier. She reprimands her mind which stubbornly wandered back to the outline of those shoulders. Her hands want to know the contours of the shifting muscle and warm skin on them; she sits on the offenders, tucking in the edges of the skirt.
She knows she should have dispelled his easy comment with another sarcastic barb. But the game ran short when her mind wandered, and when she failed to play by the rules. She was the good one, the one that always became disgusted at that kind of thing. She'd forgotten for a second, and he knew it.
Chastising herself, she turned to him in a softer tone.
"It's because you give me free coffee, you silly, deluded man. And all this time you thought I enjoyed your company."
He accepts her disguised answer and thanks her silently for the affirmation she gave him with his eyes. She nods.
The storm is taking a turn; the sunshine which flitted so madly against the dazzling green and navy blue now has disappeared. The air is calm, with the threat of lightning.
"What did you do with that copy of Lolita?"
"Gave it to my mom. She likes scandals. It was terrible of you to set up the gossip chain, and you know it. For Chrissake, Jess, can you torture these people a little more? I mean, they're the ones who put up the Rory Curtain..........they're already convinced you're well on your way to corrupting this town. I bet you an ice cream cone that Taylor's going to bring up the banishment of Lolita from town establishments at the next Town Meeting."
" I have no doubt, but I'll bet anyway. I have some loose cash around."
"Where from?" asks the girl curiously, and is dissatisfied with the shrug he gives her.
"Remember the weekend I went to New York?"
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he responds simply, and smiles.
She waits for him to continue.
"That explains it," she says, a little cross. "Confess, sinner."
"I helped some Boy Scouts get their City Navigating patches."
"Really? How much?" she asks, rolling her eyes.
"$800," he grins, grabbing the edge of the roof at the entrance and swinging before dropping to his feet. He began pacing again.
"Jess!" she glares, and crosses her arms.
"I just called up some old debts."
"You're still lying," she accuses, and sighs impatiently at the crooked grin as is resurfaces.
"I'm a man of mystery," he says flippantly, as she stands up and marches toward him. They stand face to face, as she vehemently stares him down.
"God I want to kiss you," he suddenly says.
"Nice try. Tell me where you got the money," Rory says evenly, her eyes pinning him.
His face suddenly turns expressionless; she can see the muscles in his jaw harden quickly, and his eyes chill to hers.
She is very slightly disconcerted, but not really frightened; respectfully, she steps back and says nothing more, upset. She turns around.
Outside, the clouds have closed overhead, pulling the stormy gray sky into a tight swirl of shades of charcoal. The wind is screaming, then, quiet to a strange standstill. The air smells electric, the little hairs on the back of his neck making their presence known. The sound of thunder stills the air.
He comes towards her, standing too close behind her, close enough for her to smell the distant scent of cologne and a faint hint of cigarette smoke. It's his scent, and he knows her palms slowly clench into fists for a second whenever she comes near it. She likes the taste of it.
"Hey," he says, rough, soft.
Behind him, a rustle in the tree which looks black and bare against the gray. The wind is barely breathing.
"Jess," she says calmly. "I can't have you do it again. You can't haul me into this."
"I'm not hauling you into anything," he answers. She can feel him standing so close, his words fall against her neck and slide into her hair.
She turns around, furious.
"You hauled me into you! So that means, whatever you're in, I get pulled into too!"
The clouds are fast; a wail comes from the wind, then, more stillness in the silence between the two figures.
In the window of Doose's, a certain dance teacher finally comes to the register with her purchases. She watches the tense couple curiously.
Raindrops.
One, then two. Three. Four. Fivesix. Seveneightnineten.....oh eleven, too quick too fast, then,..............
It's raining. Hard.
Inside the gazebo, the two figures are still in their tense, frozen positions.
"I am not planning to get you involved in any way, Rory," the boy says in a low, calm voice.
She won't be still, she won't let it go. Fire sparks in her eyes like the lightning streaking through the sky.
"I'm involved, you idiot! I care what happens to you! You were doing so much better, now this? I know and you know that however you got that money it wasn't legal, and I don't care if I sound like small town girl who knows nothing and who's spazzing out and I'm spazzing out........because.....I love you!"
They stand in silence amidst the heavy pouring rain outside the gazebo.
Her face turns from anger and misery to sudden, still surprise. Wide eyed, they stare at each other.
His mouth opens and closes, with no sound.
"Say something....." she whispers, and her face crumbles. Tears rain down her cheeks. Desperately, she spins and flees.
The dance teacher is still watching; she's joined by the cardigan wearing tyrant in the window, as people slowly drift towards it. They're buzzing, yet silent, speculative and quiet with curiosity.
It takes a split second for him to reach.
"Rory!"
He reaches her amid the torrential sheets of rain that fall on their shoulders, crushing them; he grabs her arms, she swings around unwillingly, her face an angry, confused, miserable mask. Rain courses down her lips and cheeks in rivulets, her honest blue eyes brilliant in the stormy light, full of tears.
She's lost within his arms in a moment, unable and unwilling to resist; he crushes her to his chest, her hands lovingly stroking his hair, his face, his shoulders, over and over again.
"Shh...." she says. "Shush. Just be quiet."
He won't be.
He buries his head in her hair, breathing hard, and she feels something warm slide against her neck. Another drop. She knows it's not rain.
"Rory, I love you I'm sorry, please, don't cry, I love you-"
"Shh.......she interrupts, gently stroking his neck. He abruptly pulls back. She looks at him with surprised eyes.
Then they're kissing. Rain on their lips, clinging to his eyelashes, his cold eyes melting, his cold hands warming. She leans against him, brushing back wet hair out of her eyes in strands; they're grinning against each other's mouth, then laughing all of a sudden.
"I can't believe, Oh God," she gasps, and he kisses her so hard her saddle-shoe-navy-tights long legs almost buckle.
"Jess, I'm such an idiot," she whispers between clashes.
"I like the way that sounds. Say it again." he murmurs, and kisses her again, meeting fierce, soft, intoxicating resistance in her lips.
"I'm such an idiot."
"No, not that part, you idiot. The other thing."
"I love you. Love you love you love-"
His mouth takes the words from hers and tastes them; they're sweeter than they've ever been before.
She gasps for another breath, inhaling rain. He kisses her mouth, her eyelids, her cheekbones, drinks the raindrops running down her neck, her earlobes......
"Hey, hey!" she interrupts sharply, and they both turn, shocked.
Hands and faces fog up the entire window of Luke's Diner and Doose's Market and every place people have sought refuge.........
"So much for our cover," groans Rory, and looks back at him.
He grins, and raises one eyebrow.
"We should charge them for this."
"You barricade the doors, I'll set up the cash boxes. One at a time."
They laugh, and kiss again, the world forgotten.
It's November. The chilly rain washes over the town, over the two figures still standing in it, over the world. In the window, Miss Patty sighs and turns away from Taylor's rants, and smiles.