Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls. I don't own "A Thousand Miles" by Vanessa Carlton. I also don't own Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier. (Yes, those are direct quotes.)

A/N: A thousand apologies. Finals stressed me out. And snail speed is a huge flaw of mine. Thanks for all the fantastic reviews. I really appreciate them. And a HUGE thanks to Avid—for her wonderful encouragement—and to Sweet (*bows down* All hail the queen! lol)—for putting up with my craziness, not complaining about it, and for being a kick ass beta. Without the two of them, this chapter would have taken so much longer. And to avoid confusion as to what day it is… it's Thursday.


Chapter Seven: Oh, These Memories


And I, I
Don't want to let you know
I, I
Drown in your memory
I, I
Don't want to let this go
I, I
Don't....


"Hello?"

"Hi, Sam."

"Rory, hi!"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Well, I have a meeting in one minute. So you have exactly two. Now…go!"

"Um…uh…you can't rush me. I get flustered."

"Sorry," he said, stifling a laugh. "Take your time. Is there any particular reason you called?"

"Not really. I'm on my way home from the inn. I just wanted to say hi. And, oh yeah, I wanted to tell you that I just had a near death experience," she explained.

"Oh, now this sounds serious. Do explain."

"I was at the inn today watching people set up for the prom when a ladder fell. Nearly took me out."

"And when you say nearly you actually mean you were on the other side of the room."

"Well…it did make a big noise when it fell. Scared me half to death."

"Poor Rory," he said in a sympathetic tone.

"I'll get over it," she explained, nodding her head.

"You're so brave. Oh, dammit, I have to get going but quick question."

"Yeah?"

"How's Saturday?" He asked.

"Saturday? How is what Saturday?"

"Is Saturday a good day to come to Stars Hollow?"

"Oh." Rory froze. "Saturday…" Oh, god. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind. Of course he wanted to come. Why hadn't she thought of this before?

"It's not a definite. I have a lunch with Jack and a client whose name I can neither spell nor pronounce, but I may be able to get out of it. So Saturday is a maybe."

"Saturday…" She repeated.

"Ror, are you okay?"

"Still in shock over near death."

"Right, right," he said, unsuccessfully holding back a laugh. "I gotta go but I'll call you later about Saturday, okay?"

"Saturday. Right. Sure."

"I love you."

"Love you too." She hung up her phone and slipped it into her pocket. She continued walking, feeling rather dazed. He was coming to Stars Hollow. She wanted to feel happy about this. Part of her was excited to see him. But an overwhelming sense of dread tainted that excitement. He couldn't come now. Things with Jess were so… up in the air. Sam didn't know about him, and he didn't know about Sam. And absolutely no one knew about the engagement. Then, there was that nagging feeling that she couldn't ignore. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make it go away. She was hanging on… to a feeling, a memory. And every time she saw Jess, that feeling grew stronger. She couldn't let it go.

At some point, she had reached her driveway. She didn't really notice her surroundings until she felt the doorknob of the front door in her hand. The fact that it was unlocked—and she had most definitely locked it before she had left that morning—didn't even register. She was too busy mulling over her current predicament. The door closed behind her, and she headed straight for her room. Slowly, the exhaustion began to set in. A combination of her lack of sleep and being on her feet all day. She wondered why she hadn't felt it before. She reached her doorway.

What the hell?

"Jess?" She asked, taking a step back.

He jumped slightly when he heard his name. He turned around and said, "You're not supposed to be home yet."

"Oh, sorry, should I go outside and circle the block a few more times?"

"No need," he said, ignoring her sarcasm. "I was going to borrow a couple of books but now that you're here, I can just ask you."

She walked forward and joined him in front of her bookcase. "And when you say borrow, you mean steal."

"I'm planning on returning them." He paused. "Eventually."

She rolled her eyes. "So you broke into my house to steal my books?"

"I didn't break into your house."

"Came down the chimney?"

"No, Luke lent me his key."

"Luke was your accomplice?" She asked.

"Yes. My accomplice in this big, elaborate scheme to fix your toaster."

"You fixed our toaster?"

"That's why I'm here," he explained. "Luke sent me to fix it. He called me the toaster master. It was kind of strange." He ran his fingers over the bindings of the books in front of him. "So it's all fixed, and I was going to grab a couple of books before I left but now that you're here… I'll just invite myself to stay."

"How considerate of you."

"It's almost time for the dinner rush at Luke's. I'd rather stay here and use the excuse that your toaster was so screwed up I had to completely take it apart."

"So you're going to leave poor Luke all by himself to handle the rush?"

"He's managed without me before."

Almost five years without Jess. She took a deep breath and turned back to her bookcase. She was reading too much into his comment. "I'll tell Luke I found you standing over the hundreds of pieces in tears. Would that help your alibi?"

"Yes, thank you."

He grabbed the paperback his finger was resting on. Then, he began to scan another shelf. "Do you realize you have several shelves of books here?"

"Oh? Is that what these are called?" She asked, feigning surprise.

"I was just wondering why there are so many here. Didn't you bring any to New York with you?"

"I…well, I really haven't had much time to read lately."

"So?"

"What do you mean so?"

"That still doesn't explain why all of these wonderful pieces of literature are collecting dust here instead of in a bookcase in New York."

"Tiny apartment. No room."

He still didn't seem satisfied with her answer, but let it go. "When's the last time you sat down and read a good book?" He asked as he grabbed a random hardcover.

Five years ago. "It's been awhile," she admitted.

"Huh," was all he said. He then turned around—with the two novels in tow—and started for the kitchen. "Coming?"

"Uh… coming where?" She asked, darting a look of longing towards her bed. She wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to stand. She followed him out to her living room, where he took a seat at the end of the couch.

"Here," he said, offering a book to her.

"What?"

"It's a book," he explained. "You open it up and it tells a story."

She blinked. "I know what a book is. But I…"

"You what? Don't have time to read?"

"Nope. I have tons of things to do."

"Like?" He asked.

"Well, I…" She paused to think. Then, sighing, she plopped down on the opposite end of the couch. Slowly, she sank back into the cushions. Her legs had been about two seconds from buckling. She turned to him and his outstretched hand, having an internal debate with herself. Reading with him? Something they used to do all the time together. That was their thing, what made them different, bonded them together. And it was something she hadn't done herself in years. She very much doubted that she could just sit down and suddenly dive back into a novel. And she wasn't sure she could deal with this right now. This familiar feeling… this longing…

Hesitantly, she reached out and took the paperback from him. It was upside down so she turned it around to read the title. And that was when the feeling intensified. Her heart began to beat faster, and she wouldn't admit it later but tears sprang to her eyes. She was about to cry at the sight of a book. One she hadn't looked at in so long. One she had hidden, hoping to never come across. One she had once loved to read over and over, just to reach that certain page. To see his tiny handwriting shoved into the margin. She looked up at him, blinking rapidly to hide the tears. Why did he pick this one? Of all the novels she had in her room…was he trying to tell her something?

"What's wrong?" He asked, confused when he saw her expression. "Oh, sorry. I forgot." She sighed with relief, disappointment. It was just a mistake. He didn't mean anything by it. "You don't like this book, right?"

Wow. She had never realized words could hurt so much. Once again, she was blinking back tears, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. No. This couldn't be right. "I love this book," she said. "It's one of my favorites."

At his confused expression, she turned her head back to look at the novel in her lap. She didn't want him to see her face. He didn't remember. How could he not remember? She tried to replay the memory of when he gave her the book in her mind but it came out fuzzy. The details were too hazy; she couldn't even remember the color of the bow. Suddenly, it seemed like a dream, an event that she had only imagined. Without him, it was like it had never happened at all.

Her eyes bore into the cover of the novel, reading the title over and over. On the Road. And a nagging thought: were the words even there? If she opened to the page right now, would his handwriting be present? Perhaps she'd find it empty. Maybe it would be better that way. She could pretend it never happened. Pretend it didn't hurt so much to know that he had forgotten a memory that was so important to her. One she liked to fall asleep thinking about. And then, another thought, a taunting voice in the back of her head:

He doesn't remember loving you.

No, that couldn't be right. Just because he had forgotten this one thing didn't mean he didn't remember everything else. But… what if they were all empty memories? Hollow remembrances of him and a girl that, for the life of him, he couldn't remember why he had dated. Just because he remembered them together didn't mean he remembered the feelings. The way her hand fit perfectly in his, the way she kissed, how she tasted… And it hurt her to think that. It was almost too much.

"Ror?" He asked, his voice worried. "Did I…"

She took a deep breath. Don't show it, she ordered herself. It's not his fault. Don't cry.

"Did you know prom is tomorrow?" She asked suddenly, willing the knot in her throat to loosen. Not exactly a smooth transition, but a change of subject was needed, and it was the first thing that popped into her head.

"What?"

"Prom. The Stars Hollow Prom is at the inn tomorrow night. I watched them set up today." She tried her best to ignore the lingering pain. Just concentrate on the conversation.

"Ah, the prom." He paused, a smirk slowly forming on his face.

"What?" She asked.

"'Mr. Mariano, that tux is simply too big for you. We'll just have to find something smaller.'"

"Oh my god," she said, a laugh escaping her throat.

"I'm not that short," he insisted. "I just happened to be shorter than that bitchy saleslady."

"Jess, if you hadn't insulted her outfit then maybe she wouldn't have been so mean to you. Dave was a perfect gentleman, and he was fitted for his tux in less than twenty minutes."

"That woman was already evil. My comment about her less than flattering mini-skirt had nothing to do with her attitude. She had it in for me as soon as she saw me. It was like she could tell I didn't want to be there."

"You didn't want to be there? What's this? And I thought that scowl was an expression of your enjoyment."

"Oh, yes. I was so thrilled to be trying on a hundred and one different tuxes. I especially enjoyed the red one that insane woman threw me in."

Rory lost it then. She burst out laughing, near tears once again but for entirely different reasons than before. "I… forgot… all… about that," she said, between laughs. "You looked just like a…"

"Yes, thank you, Rory. I know, all I needed was a few gold chains and I would have looked like a pimp. You know that would have made you my-"

"Watch it," she cut in, still smiling. "That red tux looked stunning on you but I liked the one we finally ended up with."

"It made me look like a penguin."

"No!" She insisted. "You looked like a secret agent."

"How can I forget? You called me Double O Wal-Mart for the rest of the day."

She found herself laughing once again. Finally, memories that weren't killing her. "All you needed was the blue vest to go underneath it."

He was silent for a moment, and she felt a change in the air. Don't, she silently pleaded. Please don't ask whatever it is on your mind. Don't ruin this. They were laughing, smiling together. For once, it didn't hurt so much.

"Did you end up going to the prom?" He asked, his gaze seemed to go right through her.

Her smile disappeared. "Did I go?"

"Yeah."

"Of course I didn't go. Jess, it was barely a month after…" She trailed off.

"Oh. I just wanted to know." He paused. "Did Lane go?"

"Yeah. But she came over to see me beforehand. Dave had to pry her off my arm when it was time to go. She felt horrible for leaving me at home."

"Huh." Another pause. "Did she have a good time?"

"After a good hour of worrying about me, she had a blast." An uncomfortable feeling settled over her, and she wondered if he felt it too. The room was draped in awkwardness, and she wanted the conversation to end. It seemed like no matter what they talked about, they ended up back here: an awkward silence. Perhaps it didn't matter what they talked about. It was just because it was them. She wondered if things between them would ever be completely normal again.

She looked down at her hands and then at Jess's. He still held the hardcover. She read the title to herself and a small smile sprang to her lips. "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."

"What?" He asked.

"Rebecca," she said, gesturing toward the book. "Good choice."

He looked down at the book. "Oh. I just grabbed any random book."

"Not a big fan of this one?"

"It was too predictable."

Her jaw dropped. "Too predictable?" She asked, shocked. The previous awkwardness seemed to melt away as she defended the novel. "Are you kidding me? When Maxim confessed, I practically jumped out of my chair."

"Seriously? I mean, it is," he began, picking up the book and pointing to the writing on the front cover, "the unsurpassed modern masterpiece of romantic suspense. See that? Suspense. How could you not suspect Maxim?"

"Well, I figured there was something off about Rebecca's death but I never…" She paused. "Wait… do you mean to tell me that you also knew what the doctor was going to say? That you weren't on the edge of your seat wondering whether or not Maxim was going to get away with it?"

"I…" He began. "I wasn't on the edge of my seat," he explained.

"Uh huh. Eat your words."

"No. I stand by my previous statement."

"Right, right. You just don't want to admit you were wrong."

"It's my opinion. Do you know what that means? It can't be wrong."

"It can and it is," she said, nodding. "But despite the 'predictability', did you enjoy the writing style? I loved the descriptions used. The entire first chapter was just a description of Manderley and its surroundings. It was amazing." She found herself smiling once again. It had been way too long since she had done this. And she was surprised at how much she remembered. It had been at least seven years since she had read Rebecca.

"She was very wordy."

"Okay, so you didn't like the book."

"I didn't say that."

"Not in so many words," she said.

"I liked the main character. How's that?"

"Okay, now you're getting somewhere. I liked her too. I love how her name was never given. It was like she always had to assume a role. First she was a companion, and then she was the second Mrs. de Winter. She was never just herself."

"Interesting thoughts on our nameless heroine. Would you like to read Rebecca instead?"

"Yeah, that would be nice."

"Okay, hand me On the Road."

Rory felt herself freeze once again. "No," she said quickly. She didn't want to give it to him. It didn't seem right for him to sit there and read it and not understand the deeper meaning. And she didn't want him to open to that page. She didn't want him to see the words and not understand, not remember. Another confused expression on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't we read Rebecca together?"

"Uh, okay," he said, uncertain.

She wasn't entirely sure why she had made the suggestion. But as long as he didn't see the other book, she was happy.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"You might want to move closer if you want to read this with me."

"Right, right." She was a moron for doing this. She slid down the couch, stopping just as their knees touched. She swept her legs up underneath her, and suddenly, they were shoulder to shoulder. She was leaning on him.

He opened the book to the first page, and she shifted her gaze from him to the book. What a strange feeling. Her eyes were on the words, and she tried to read them, but she couldn't concentrate. It was like her head was swimming. She blinked a couple of times, furrowing her brow. Jess moved his hand to turn the page, and she used her own hand to stop him.

"Hold on," she said, her voice low. She didn't seem to notice that her hand was still resting on his.

"Since when are you so slow?" He asked.

"Shhh."

Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again.

Alright, that part she knew. She had just quoted it. Her eyes moved to the next sentence.

It seemed to me I stood by the iron gate leading to the drive, and for a while I could not enter, for the way was barred to me.

The words ran through her mind, seeming out of place there.

There was a padlock and a chain upon the gate. I called in my dream to the lodge-keeper, and he had no answer, and peering closer through the rusted spokes…

She allowed herself a small smile as her eyes began to dart across the page. It was slow going, but finally the words didn't seem so foreign to her. She finished up the page and turned to the next.

Once again, he finished before her, and she had to stop him from moving on to the next page.

"How about you turn the page when you're done?"

"Okay," she said, only half-listening. She was trying to take it in, all at once. The words couldn't come fast enough. She was ready to explore the Manderley estate, wander into the Happy Valley with the rhododendrons towering above her, fifty feet high.

He lifted his arm above her head and rested it on the couch behind her. "It's more comfortable this way," he explained.

She gave a slight nod, not really paying attention to him or her surroundings. The familiar feeling that had been threatening to take over earlier had completely overpowered her, yet she didn't really notice. What she felt seemed natural to her. She had once again fallen back to years before where they did this all the time. She leaned farther into him, and slowly, he inched his arm forward until it was around her shoulders. A small sigh escaped her lips, and Jess looked over at her. A slow smile.

Rory yawned, the exhaustion coming over her once again. By page five, her yawns were more frequent. By page eight, her eyelids were drooping. By page ten, her head was on his shoulder. His shirt felt soft under her cheek, and she felt her eyes closing. She tried her best to stay awake, wanting to delve farther into the make believe world that she missed fiercely. But instead, she allowed sleep to claim her as she lost herself in the one thing she missed more.

His touch.


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