***Sexual Content, Violence, and Swearing***

He slipped the key into the lock of his apartment and stepped in. He was covered in grease, unbearably hungry, and his muscles were miserably fatigued. But he was home.

The little apartment in Hell's Kitchen wasn't much. It consisted of four rooms, a living room/dining room, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom about the size of a walk-in closet. He had decorated the best he could, and liked to call the place Spartan. The walls were a dirty shade of white, the carpets, old and stained, were a kind of puke pink color. The tile in the bathroom and kitchen was fading and peeling back. His water was hard. It was his. At least he didn't have roaches or rats; both were common to the area in New York. In his living room he had a dinged up table, covered in a blue sheet, where he ate, and a sunken sofa that folded into a bed. The previous occupant left appliances, an ancient gas stove and a humming refrigerator, in the apartment. The refrigerator was full. He had a stereo and a twin bed in the bedroom.

Jess considered himself lucky. While the furniture was nothing to applaud and the apartment one step up from a shelter, it was better than what he had. Luke had supplied most of the furniture and had stocked him with enough food to do him a while. The first two-month's rent was paid, and he would be able to make his own payments after that. He had a standing deal with the landlord, if Jess was willing to fix up his own apartment and play handyman for the building, the landlord would consider the rent paid in full. That was good. His paycheck wasn't big, a mere two hundred a week. Pathetic. He was a mechanic at a garage just a few blocks from where he lived. With this added benefit he could afford food, maybe some more furniture, and hopefully soon a car. For now he walked.

The little room was overheated, caused by the lady in apartment 3B, Agnes, all of 87, who kept the furnace the whole building shared higher than it should be to warm her arthritis ridden bones. He was sweating, which made the dirt and grime cake to his body. With an inward cringe he pulled a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt from a box in his closet he used as a drawer. Sighing heavily, he stripped out of his clothes, briefly noted he needed to make more time to work out, and probably eat more, then got in the shower and let the hot spray take him to heaven.

Half an hour later he was in the basement of the building pouring detergent into a washing machine. He popped quarters in, hit the start button and hopped up to sit on the washer with a book.

"....They have separate rooms now, his with a lock. They're still married though. Has to be a bad way to go, killed by a cheese shredder. Rory? Have you heard a word I said?" Lane asked, worried about her friend's far off stare.

"Uh huh." She said, barely hearing that Lane had asked about her.

"You're thinking about Jess aren't you?"

"What?" Rory snapped back. "Jess? No. I was thinking about...." She paused trying to think of something plausible. "....cheese."

Lane cringed a bit. Then proceeded. "Cheese, huh? What kind of cheese?"

She said the first thing that popped into her head. "Swiss."

"Like the Army knife?" She was going somewhere with this.

"Yeah."

She paused a second for effect. "That Jess keeps in his back pocket." It was a statement rather than a question.

"Okay, I was thinking about Jess, but is that so bad?"

"No, not at all. I guess. You like him." Again, it was a statement not a question.

"I don't not like him."

"You like him." Lane repeated. 'Even though he killed your boyfriend.' She thought, but decided not to say that. She wasn't even sure if Rory grasped the fact that it was clear Jess had done it. She always was trying to see the good in him.

"I don't want to talk about it. I think I should just go home." She got up.

"Okay. I'll see you later then. Luke's tomorrow after school?"

"Yeah, it's a date."

She barely remembered to check the mail before she walked into the house. Bill. Bill. Taylor's Newsletter. Letter from Chilton. Bill. The last envelope made her pause. It was addressed to her but the return address caught her off guard. It was addressed:

John Dawkins

53 Hemming Way

New York

She stared at it a moment in curiosity and then in surprise. She couldn't believe it took her so long to figure it out. John Dawkins, a.k.a Dodger from Oliver Twist. 53, the number of chapters in Oliver Twist. Hemming Way wasn't so subtle. And New York. It was a letter from Jess.

She ran into the house, threw the other mail on the kitchen table, ran into her room closed the door...............and locked it. And sitting on her bed ripped the letter open.

Rory--

Hi. Sorry. Didn't get my smoke signal? I'm in New York. My own apartment. There's a note card with the address and phone number on it in here. I'm here. I'm not bleeding, which is a good sign. I hope to remain that way. I miss you. Hope you're okay. Sorry again.

Jess

P.S- Forget about me.

Tears had formed in her eyes. She took the note card out and looked at the number. She decided that she ought to give him a call while her Mom was gone. She took out her cell phone, so the long distance wouldn't be on the home phone bill, and dialed the number listed on the card. It rang six times.

Voicemail picked up.

If you don't know who this, you've got the wrong number. If you don't know what to do, you shouldn't be playing with the phone. Beep.

It was Jess' voice, and he didn't sound at all pleased.

"Hi. It's Rory. I'm just calling to say I got your letter. Uh. Me too. And not a chance mister. Bye." She hung up.

Rationalizing that she had a lot of thinking to do, she left a note telling Lorelai she was out for a walk and would be home soon. To order something from Al's Pancake World and if she was late she would warm it up when she got home. With that she headed for the one place she could think clearly. The bridge.

Temper darkened his eyes as he walked through his living room and into the bedroom to put his clothes away. The dryer had eaten a dollar of his money, two full loads worth of quarters, and he realized he'd forgotten to eat. After he'd finished putting his clothes away he pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer and stuck it in the oven. Pulling out a Pepsi from the fridge he grabbed a note pad and decided to check his messages. Thank God voice mail came with basic with the phone. Upon picking up the receiver he hears the five beeps signaling a message. Great. Couldn't he have just one night to himself?

He dialed the number and waited. He impatiently listened to the first two messages about problems that needed to be fixed in the building. He'd give the tenants a call after he ate. Expecting the third one to be the same, he steeled himself for the irritation that he always got from one of these calls by taking a drink of his soda. And nearly spat it out.

Rory's voice was the last thing he had expected hear. The only thing he'd wanted to hear. So, she got his letter. That was good. He didn't know that it would be delivered with a phony return address on it, but he hadn't really had much of a choice. What if Lorelai had gotten to the mail before Rory?

He quickly changed his mind about putting the tenants off until the next day. He had the weekend off, so he'd go to work tomorrow and get on a bus to go see Rory right afterwards. It'd be nice to see her again, to actually see how she was doing rather than listen to a phone message. She had sounded like she was crying anyway.

The oven timer went off and had him jumping out of his skin. After catching his breath he took it out and had his first meal of the day.

In a better disposition he called the tenants and went about his work.

He was going to Stars Hollow.

She hadn't slept. She had spent most of the night thinking, and trying to keep the Thai food, that night's special at Al's Pancake World, settled. She thought she had come up with a solution to most of her problems.

Now it was five in the morning. Lorelai wouldn't be up for another hour. Rory snuck the cell phone out of the living room where it was charging and grabbed a phone book.

The Hartford bus station opened at four in the morning, so she was okay to call right now. Finding the number in the phone book she dialed the phone and waited for an answer.

"Hello. Hartford Bus Station. How may I help you?" A woman receptionist asked. Rory thought she sounded way to cheerful for five in the morning.

"Um. Yes. Are there any afternoon buses from Hartford to New York today?" She asked.

"Yes. One at four-fifteen and one at six." The happy-lady answered.

"Okay, is it possible to order a ticket and pay for it upon arrival?" Rory asked skeptically.

"Oh, yes. Would you like a ticket?"

"Yes. The four-fifteen please."

"All right, that's $23.50. Name please?"

Name? Name? She couldn't tell her her real name, what if someone tried to track her. Quickly she made something up.

"Uh. DuGrey, Mary DuGrey." She lied.

What on Earth had made her think of Tristan just then?

"All right, Ms. DuGrey. You're all booked. Make sure to be here ten minutes early to pick up your ticket." The cheery-woman said.

"All right, thanks." Rory said.

"Buh-Bye." Click.

"Oh God." Rory muttered as she stood up. "I need coffee."

"Hi, Mrs. Lang." Jess greeted his landlord's wife with a cheery disposition and his sweetest smile.

"Why hello there Jess. What can I get you for?"

"I wanted to drop this off. Some one may be coming to drop off some more furniture and they'll need a key." He said handing her his spare key.

"Alrighty. I'll mind to give them the key if they come asking."

"Thanks, Mrs. Lang."

"Don't you worry none about it. You enjoy your little trip." She said, giving him a wink.

"That I'll do ma'am."

It was already pretty late, he had gotten the later bus because he needed to get home and shower and cash his check before leaving. Now, he walked to the bus stop, nearly smiling at the prospect of seeing Rory.

"Uh, hello. Uh. Mary DuGrey. Hartford to New York." Rory said at the ticket counter at the bus stop.

It wasn't the cheery-lady anymore but some older man.

"Oooo- kay." He droned. "That'll be Twenty-three fifty, Miz DuGrey."

She counted him out the money.

"Tha-ank you. En-joy your trip."

She nodded grabbed her ticket and bag, which she had packed and took with her to school.

She was going to New York.

To be continued.