Disclaimer, rating and information about spoilers can be found in the first chapter.

Notes: And after a little pause (which was positively short for me) between updates By The Book part the sixth is up. I'm working pretty much full-time and my social life has picked up, now that the majority of my friends have turned eighteen. We're Canadian so 18 = legally able to do pretty much anything. Thank you to all the reviewers (especially Tinuviel Henneth to whom I say all Dave fic is good fic! Sigh. I lurve Dave. If he's in it, I'll read it). I'm most impressed that I haven't gotten one along the lines of "Dave belongs with Lane! Die!" or "Trory/Lit/Narc 4 EVAH!" (and ew, I can't believe I just wrote that) etc. etc.

Man, there's always things I mean to address in the AN but I always forget. That's annoying. I'll just say that I'm sorry, but I suck at writing Lorelai. Allons-y.

Part Six: Which One's Right, Which One's Wrong?

"Ahem," a throat was cleared (loudly) but the two original occupants of the Gilmore's kitchen were far too busy to notice that they were no longer alone.

Kissing Dave, Rory had noticed, was unlike anything she had experienced before in her (limited) experience. It lacked the dizzying intensity and confusion she had always felt when kissing Jess. Her mind wasn't racing, trying to figure out what he was thinking, where the kiss was leading and where was the best place to continue so that no one could see them. Whos, whats wheres, whens, and whys, ceased to exist. Her mind was wondrously blank. All she could focus on was the texture of Dave's lips, the vaguest taste of peppermint and the fleeting patterns his fingers were tracing on her back where her pajama top had ridden up. Nothing else mattered beyond the two of them.

He wasn't as practiced and smooth as Tristan had been. He'd stubbed his toe on the table when he'd closed the distance between their bodies. He's cursed (a very mild curse) and she'd giggled until he had kissed her again. She hadn't been able to remember what had been funny.

It wasn't like kissing Dean, either. The fact that his fingers were on her bare skin, causing her spine to tingle in a manner she was sure wasn't normal or healthy, was proof of that. Her body was pressed up against his, her hands twined around his neck.

So it was different than what she was used to. It wasn't so scarily intense. It was passion more than practice. It wasn't safe and easy and simple. But it was unbelievably good. Had she known it would be like this she was sure she would not have fought against it for a minute, let alone days.

"Lorelai Leigh Gilmore!"

That got their attention. It was a law of the universe that the number of names a mother used when yelling at a wayward offspring was directly proportional to how much trouble said offspring was in. Rory, needless to say, could count the number of times she'd been 'Lorelai Leigh Gilmore' on one hand.

Instantly, Rory and Dave sprang apart, placing a good four feet of space between them. Rory faced her mother. Her mother and Mia. Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red than they had been before as she studied the floor and tried to regulate her breathing. It was one thing to be caught like this by her mom, but by Mia…

"We were just…" Dave began to stutter out some sort of explanation.

"Oh don't worry, I know perfectly well what you were 'just' doing. I had front row seats to the floor show just now, remember?"

Sufficiently intimidated, Dave fell silent.

"Smart boy," Lorelai said sarcastically before turning her attention to her daughter. It was then that her stern, shocked mother façade crumbled. She giggled and tried to smother it with a cough. When Rory met her eyes, bewildered, she smirked, "Hate to say I told you so."

Annoyed, yet a little relieved, Rory glared at her mother, "Than don't."

"Oh but I have to. It's my right as the one who gave birth to you. And don't think I won't pull this little story out to embarrass you with on every significant occasion for the rest of your life. My daughter. Making out with a guitarist in the kitchen. I'm so proud," Lorelai wiped away an imaginary tear before continuing, "Besides, it's so rare that I'm completely right, and you're totally wrong."

"Mom…"

"Oh! Where are my manners?" Lorelai turned to Dave, who was doing his very best to blend into the (rather loud) wallpaper. "Dave, this is Mia, owner of the Independence Inn, and one of our greatest friends. Mia this is Dave, the one I was telling you about."

Mia held out her hand, a gleam of amusement in her eye "Nice to meet you, Hottie McMusician." Dave flushed even more, unused to being teased in such a way by kind looking senior citizens, and Mia, admirably, was able to maintain a straight face.

"Mom!"

"Honestly, Rygalski is such a mouth full," Lorelai said innocently.

"So this is what it's like to wish for the ground to swallow you whole," Rory murmured.

"No," Lorelai answered, "that'll come later, after we have a nice little mother daughter chat."

Rory sighed, resigned, and turned to Dave who appeared to be mortified into muteness. "I'll walk you out." He nodded silently and followed her out of the kitchen away from Lorelai's badly concealed glee and Mia's benevolent amusement, carefully avoiding eye contact. "I'm so sorry about…"

But her apology was cut off beneath Dave's lips, which had once again descended upon hers. Whereas in the kitchen he had kissed her slowly, exploring, gently coaxing and receiving a response he now kissed her with a fierceness she had not expected from him. His hands clutched her hips, backing her up against the doorway as his lips and tongue sought hers, memorizing her, so that, no matter what, he would always have this moment. Finally, he pulled away, giving in to the oxygen requirements of his body. Gently he rested his forehead against hers. "What is it with people and not letting me finish my sentences today?" Rory breathed, eyes still closed.

"I just… I didn't want to only have done that once," Dave said, by way of explanation.

"I didn't really mind."

He smiled and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead before stepping back, putting some distance between their bodies, lest her mother, just in the next room, wonder what was taking them so long and come to investigate. "What you said back there, before, was right."

"What did I say?" she asked, her synapses slower than usual.

"That things were about to get complicated."

The blankness lifted and just like that she remembered. Dave was another girl's boyfriend. A girl that just so happened to be Rory's best friend. Rory closed her eyes as the gravity of the situation, kept at bay by the warm, fuzzy feelings she had been having while Dave kissed her, returned.

"Hey," Dave's fingertips brushed her face, her closed eyelids, down her nose, before coming to rest on her cheek. His thumb brushed her lips and she opened her eyes to find his staring straight into her, unwavering in their earnestness. "I want you to know," his voice faltered ever so slightly. He cleared his throat and began again. "I want you to know that no matter what happens with… any of this, that I don't regret what happened today. And I never will. Not for one second."

Tears pricked at the back of Rory's eyes but she couldn't cry. Not just yet. His words weren't fancy or poetic. He wasn't making promises he couldn't keep. And somehow, that moved her more than anything else could have. She stepped forward once again, rose to her tiptoes and wrapped him in a hug, burying her face in his shoulder, "Thank you, David."

Dave hugged her back, taking his own comfort in the simple gesture, and replied, "You're welcome, Lorelai."

Finally Rory pulled back, quickly swiping a hand across her face to get rid of the few tears that had leaked out against her will.

Dave opened the front door, turned and said, "Goodbye, Rory."

Rory smiled and said, "See you later, Dave."

He nodded, understanding her meaning, and silently walked out onto the porch. Rory straightened her clothing and headed back into the kitchen. Her mom was sitting there, where Dave had been when the morning began, drinking coffee; glee replaced with motherly sympathy.

"Where's Mia?"

She went back to the Inn. She thought we could use some time to talk a little."

"Oh," Rory dragged a kitchen chair closer to her mother and sat down in it heavily. She dropped her head onto the tabletop, hair obscuring her face as her tears flowed freely.

"So. You and Dave, huh?"

"Yeah," and no words were spoken between them for the next few minutes while the daughter cried, and the mother tried to give what comfort that was possible to give.

* * * * * * *

And that was the chain of events that led Rory to this, two days after the incident that shall not be named, sitting in the living room, trying to read, but instead contemplating the nature of astrology.

But if Dave was water, what did that mean? Water, if she recalled correctly, was the healing, emotional element. It was the strongest, the most enduring, water having the power to, over time, change the shape of anything, even the toughest granite. And that, to Rory, was unbelievably scary.

Astrology was nonsense anyway, she told herself. No one with a functioning left-brain could possibly believe any of it.

However, nonsense it may be, that didn't stop a little voice in Rory from pointing out that water was what one used to put out fire. And that ice was most effective in soothing the wounds one received when the flames got too close for comfort.