Defending Bjork

Chapter 10: Just Like Old Times

A/N: Thanks for the fabulous reviews! Each and every one of them made me smile. I think you're all wonderful for taking the time to read and review my story, and I appreciate it immensely. Special thanks, again, to AvidTVfan for being one cool and incredibly patient chick. That said, here's Chapter 10 with my apologies. I'm afraid it might prove that quantity doesn't always equal quality. It's been the bane of my existence for a good month now, so I've decided to finally let it loose on the world. Your opinions, good or bad, are welcomed. Lastly, my usual disclaimer: all portions of actual GG script do not belong to me; I use them with the utmost respect for their authors and should be granted no credit for their brilliance. Okay, that's it… enjoy! ~Becka


A short while later, Rory finished the last of her onion rings and stood up to go. Setting some money on the counter, she glanced around the diner for Jess and found him by a table, taking someone's order. As soon as he'd brought her rings, the Stars Hollow dinner crowd had arrived, and he'd been busy taking and delivering orders ever since. Occasionally, he'd glanced at her as he'd made his way back and forth from the kitchen to the tables, but they hadn't had another opportunity to speak. Though, in Rory's opinion, that was probably just as well.

With a small sense of relief, she headed towards the door. Before she reached it, however, she couldn't resist taking one last look at him, and, just as she did so, he looked up and saw that she was leaving. Suddenly faced with too many inadequate ways to bid someone goodbye, she found herself at a loss as to what to do. It didn't matter though because, almost immediately, another customer needed Jess's attention, and he looked away. Sighing, she pulled open the door and stepped outside into the cool, spring air. Fighting the urge to watch him through the diner window as she passed, she headed home.

Rory entered the house and, after closing the door behind her, walked into the living room. Lorelai was sitting on the couch, robotically flipping through the television channels; even though she wasn't paying the least bit of attention to what was flashing past, she barely looked up as Rory entered the room. Whereas most days, they would animatedly exchange whatever noteworthy and not-so-noteworthy things had happened to them in their brief time apart, today the only sound was the indecipherable hodgepodge of channel-surfing noises.

"We need to be at my parents' house in an hour and a half," Lorelai finally said, her eyes not straying from the television set.

"I know," Rory replied, and again, silence took over. She watched her mother for a moment, tired of fighting; then, frustrated, she headed towards her room to change.

As soon as Rory's bedroom door clicked shut, Lorelai turned off the television and glanced in its direction. Then, sighing, she stood and trudged upstairs to change her own clothes.


The car ride was long and excruciating. If it weren't for the slight salvation of the classic '60s radio station, neither woman probably would've survived with her sanity intact. They missed each other; they wanted the fight to be over; but they were both far too stubborn to ever be the first to apologize. Like mother, like daughter...

As soon as they'd pulled into the driveway and stopped, they quickly unbuckled their seatbelts and got out of the jeep. Usually, they'd sit and debate the merits of actually going into the house for the Friday dinner, putting off the inevitable for as long as possible. Today, they figured the dinner couldn't be much worse than the torture they were already inflicting on each other.

Lorelai approached the door and knocked, with Rory standing a short distance behind her. When the maid of the moment answered the door, Lorelai didn't even bother to make a quippy remark. She just smiled slightly, handed over her coat, and proceeded into the other room. Rory offered the maid a quiet "Hi" and "Thank you", as she did the same.

"Lorelai! Rory!" Emily greeted them happily as they entered the room. She paused, glancing at her watch. "Well, isn't that strange," she remarked, bewildered.

"What?" Lorelai asked.

"I think my watch must be broken. I wonder when that happened." She paused and held it up to her ear. "No, it's ticking. What time do you have?"

"5:45," Rory answered.

"That can't be right," Emily disagreed. "That would mean you two are early."

"You must've missed the pigs flying overhead this afternoon."

"The what?" Emily asked, looking at her daughter.

"We're early," Lorelai stated.

"So you are."

"If it'll help, we can go run around the block a few times," Lorelai offered.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Emily answered, frowning. "In fact, I think you two should make a regular habit of being early for things. Punctuality says a lot about a person."

"Yeah, well, I've heard rumors about what Punctuality has to say about me, and, believe me, it isn't pretty," Lorelai joked.

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind," Lorelai dismissed. "It's not important."

"Would you two like something to drink?" Emily asked as she approached the drink cart.

"Just water," Rory said, sitting down on the couch.

"Anything with a high percentage of alcohol is fine," Lorelai said, sitting down on the very opposite end of the couch from Rory.

When Emily turned around to hand them their drinks, she noticed their seating arrangement but wisely said nothing. Instead, she took her seat and calmly sipped her drink. She watched her daughter and granddaughter closely as they uncomfortably sipped their own drinks. "So," she began, drawing their attention. "Anything interesting happen this week?"

"Nope," Lorelai said.

"Not really," Rory agreed.

"Oh, all right," Emily accepted, somewhat dejectedly. There was a long pause as she observed the girls, while they looked at anything but each other. "Well," she began again. "What about that auction? I seem to remember you both talking about it incessantly last Friday. How did it go?"

Rory glanced at her mother out of the corner of her eye and saw her tense slightly. "It was fine, Grandma."

"What about you, Lorelai?" Emily pushed, turning her attention to her daughter. "Did you enjoy it?"

"It had its moments," she said curtly.

"I see. Well, we obviously know who bid on Rory's basket," Emily observed, not noticing the way Rory blushed and shifted uncomfortably at her statement. "But what about you? Who bid on yours?"

"Uh… Luke did," Lorelai said nonchalantly before immediately taking a large swig of her drink. Surprised, Rory looked over at her mother. With their fight and subsequent lack of communication, she hadn't gotten a chance to ask her who'd bid on her basket. In fact, it had completely slipped her mind.

"Luke?" Emily repeated.

"Yes, Luke."

"Luke who works in that diner?"

"No, Luke from General Hospital," Lorelai said sarcastically. "Of course, Luke who works in that diner."

"He bid on your basket?"

"Again, yes."

"Luke bid on your basket," Emily stated, the corners of her lips curling up in a slight, knowing smile.

"And Polly wants a cracker," Lorelai observed. "We get the point."

Lorelai's comment only served to heighten Emily's amusement. Eyes twinkling, she took another sip of her drink.

"Okay, what is that?" Lorelai asked.

"What?"

"That look."

"What look?" Emily repeated.

"That look! You have the same look you had the time you found out that Mrs. Ponde's house is 50 square feet smaller than yours."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Emily demurred.

"You look like you just devoured a village full of small children."

"That's absurd. I have no such look," she denied.

"Fine, you know what," Lorelai sighed. "Forget it. I don't think I want the look explained." There was a short pause before Emily spoke again.

"So, out of curiosity, how much did Luke from the diner pay for your basket?" she asked.

"You can just say Luke."

"What?"

"His name isn't 'Luke from the diner'. We all know which Luke Luke is, so you can just say Luke."

"Fine, how much did Luke," Emily emphasized, "pay for your basket?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I've never attended a basket auction. I'm just curious how much these things generally cost."

"Planning to bid on one next year?" Lorelai asked.

"No, of course not. Why are you being so difficult? It's a simple enough question."

"Then why don't you ask Rory how much Dean paid for her basket?" she asked irritably. Her irritation quickly turned to regret, however, when she saw hurt and betrayal flash through her daughter's eyes.

"I will ask Rory, but first I asked you."

"Okay, fine," Lorelai sighed, giving up, the argument less important to her at that moment than the defeated look on her daughter's face. "Luke paid $52.50 for my basket. Happy?"

"Very," Emily said, satisfied. "Now then, what about you, Rory? How much did Dean pay for your basket?"

"Oh… well," Rory stammered uncomfortably. "He didn't really… he… it wasn't exactly…"

"It wasn't exactly what?" Emily asked, confused.

"The bidding stopped at $90," Rory said abruptly, instinctively choosing to omit the one other important piece of information.

"$90?" Emily exclaimed.

Rory nodded hesitantly.

"That's quite a bit of money for a boy like Dean to spend. Good for him. I think it's lovely that he's willing to pay a little more to show you how much you mean to him," Emily remarked, smiling in approval.

"Thanks, Grandma," Rory mumbled, staring down at her hands.

Emily looked curiously at Rory, and then, distracted, slightly sniffed the air. "Do you two smell something?" she asked quickly.

Lorelai shook her head. "I don't."

"Exactly!" Emily cried. "Dinner should be served in a few minutes, and yet we can't smell it. This new cook keeps forgetting to turn on the oven," she said, annoyed. "I'm going to go check on her." Without another word, Emily rose and hurried into the kitchen.

After she'd left, Lorelai glanced at Rory. Feeling her mother's gaze, Rory looked up. They both seemed like they wanted to say something, but instead, simultaneously, they folded their arms over their chests, slumped back, and, completely silent, waited for Emily to return.


Rory and Lorelai's postures hadn't changed much by the time they were situated at the dinner table with Emily. They sat silently across from one another, sullen and very deliberately eating their dinner, while Emily tried to fill the silence by prattling on about Richard's latest exploits.

"A cigar club!" Emily exclaimed, looking at her dining companions as she told her story. "Can you imagine a more disgusting organization to join? Your grandfather now pays money to sit in an enclosed room with a bunch of other men and blow smoke in each other's faces. Twice a week, he comes home smelling like a flophouse." Pausing, she looked at Lorelai and then at Rory; neither woman seemed to be paying much attention to her story. "So I finally just confronted him," she continued. "I said, 'Richard, I know you're going through a transitional period here, and I encourage your trying out new things, but this seems completely out of character for you.'" Again, she paused. "I'm sorry, am I boring you?" she finally asked, obviously offended.

"No, you're not," Lorelai said weakly, glancing at her mother.

"Sorry, Grandma," Rory apologized.

Deciding perhaps a new tactic was necessary, Emily turned her attention to Lorelai, "So, how are things at the inn?

"Fine… the same," Lorelai answered.

"And Rory, aside from bidding on baskets, how's that boyfriend of yours?"

"Apparently very chatty," Rory pointedly remarked.

Sighing in annoyance, Lorelai shifted her position and shot daggers at her daughter.

"Well, that's nice," Emily commented, picking up on the tension. "Lorelai," she tried again. "Anything new with you?"

"No, nothing. It's been pretty quiet around the house lately," she replied, looking straight at her daughter.

"Well, sometimes quiet can be nice. Soothing. You can hear yourself think," Emily babbled, glancing at both of the women. Getting the same non-reactions, she decided enough was enough. "All right, what's going on with you two?" she asked, dropping her silverware onto her plate with a clang.

"Nothing," Lorelai mumbled.

"It's not nothing. You've both been sitting here all night, barely saying a word unless spoken to and not even looking at each other except to glare. Are you in a fight?"

"I'm not," Lorelai stated.

"Please!" Rory remarked.

"Please what? You are the one who's been freezing me out all week."

"I just haven't had anything to say," Rory replied before being interrupted by the beeping of her pager. Reaching into her purse, she pulled it out and glanced at the text message: Rory, I'm really sorry. We need to talk. I miss you. Give me a call tonight… please. Love, Dean.

"Who is it?" Lorelai asked, pulling Rory's attention away from the message.

"No one."

"Why won't you tell me who?" Lorelai pushed, all of her emotions from the past week quickly rising to the surface.

"Cause it's no one."

"Is it Jess?" she asked, spitting out his name angrily.

"You're kidding, right?" Rory said in disbelief.

"Jess? Who's Jess?" Emily interjected, confused.

"No, I'm not kidding," Lorelai continued, ignoring her mother.

"Why would you automatically assume that it's Jess?" Rory asked.

"Because why won't you tell me who it is?" Lorelai threw back.

"Who's Jess?" Emily asked again.

"Luke's nephew," Lorelai explained.

"It's not Jess, okay?" Rory said defensively. "It's Dean! You wanna read it? Oh wait, no. Dean will probably tell you all about it later."

"That's not funny," Lorelai said, shaking her head. "You know, all week you've been –"

"We're not getting into this again."

"What?" Emily asked, glancing back and forth between the two of them. "Getting into what? Is it about this Jess? The thing you're not getting into again?"

"You know, you never liked Dean at the beginning," Rory reminded her mother.

"That's because I didn't know him."

"And now you don't like Jess?"

"That's because I know him," Lorelai explained.

"Are you dating Jess? What happened to Dean?" Emily asked.

"I'm not dating Jess," Rory said, glancing at her grandmother.

"No, but he's trying to weasel his way in."

"He's not trying to weasel his way."

"In where?" Emily asked.

"In Rory's world. He has his eye on her, and he's trouble."

"He's not trouble," Rory disagreed.

"Yes, he is," Lorelai contended. "And, you know, since we're on the topic of Jess, all week, I've been wondering something… when did all of this happen?"

"All of what?" Rory asked.

"You, spending so much time with him. I can't figure out how I missed it. He moves here, you two barely speak two words to each other, and suddenly you're hanging out together, and he's bidding on your basket?"

"Jess bid on Rory's basket?" Emily asked, surprised. "I thought Dean bought Rory's basket."

"Jess outbid Dean," Lorelai explained.

"Why would Jess outbid Dean? Dean's her boyfriend."

"Exactly my point! Tell us, Rory," Lorelai said, turning back to her daughter." Why would Jess outbid Dean?"

"I don't know," Rory stammered. "Because he wanted to, I guess."

"And because he doesn't care who he hurts, as long as he gets his way," Lorelai finished.

"That isn't true; he didn't hurt anyone."

"What about Dean?"

"Dean overreacted."

"What about you?"

"What are you talking about? Jess hasn't hurt me."

"But he will."

"I can't believe this," Rory said, amazed. "Is this how it's going to be now? Just because you think that, maybe, someday, Jess might hurt me, I'm not supposed to talk to him? I guess I better watch out for the mailman then because someday he might put an extra sharp letter in our mailbox, and I might get a paper cut. Or what about Taylor? He's been known to hurt people's feelings. Should I avoid him too?" Rory ranted. "And then there's Dean. He isn't perfect, you know. Maybe he'll break up with me or cheat on me or…"

"Rory," Emily interrupted. "If your mother thinks this boy isn't appropriate company for you, then you need to listen to her. She knows what's best for you, and that's that."

"There! Thank you, Mom," Lorelai said, nodding in agreement.

For a second, Rory just looked at her mother, flabbergasted. She couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Not sure what to say anymore, she pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. "Excuse me, but I just don't feel very hungry right now," she said before quickly leaving the room.


Walking into her grandfather's study, Rory shut the door loudly behind her and flopped into a leather armchair. She sat for a moment, unsure what to do. Then, she remembered what had happened between Jess and Lane earlier that day in the diner, and, armed with an idea, she walked over to the desk. Picking up the phone, she dialed a number.

"Kim's Antiques," Mrs. Kim answered. "We're closed; call tomorrow."

"Mrs. Kim, it's Rory."

"It's after nine," she reminded her.

"I know."

"Lane can't talk after nine."

"Mrs. Kim, I promise I will never again call Lane after nine," Rory said desperately. "But can I please just talk to her now? Just this once?"

Mrs. Kim hesitated. "Okay, just this once."

"Thank you," Rory said gratefully.

After a moment, Mrs. Kim came back on the phone. "Rory?"

"Yes?"

"Lane's not feeling well. She needs to call you tomorrow."

"Oh," Rory said, disappointed. "Okay. Um, thanks anyhow."

"Yes, goodbye," Mrs. Kim said before hanging up.

Rory hung up her grandfather's phone and looked at it for a second, hoping Lane was okay. Then, sighing, she leaned back in the desk chair and looked around the room. Her eyes fell on a nearby bookshelf. Curious, she stood and walked over to it, scanning the titles. It didn't take long before her eyes fell on the spine of one particular hard-cover book. Smiling, she pulled it from the shelf and flipped to the first page. Reading as she walked, she went back to the armchair and sat down.

Rory had only been reading for a few pages when there was a knock on the door.

"Hey, can I come in?" Lorelai asked hesitantly.

"It's not my house; I can't stop you."

"Just listen to me for one second, okay?"

Placing the book out of view at her side, Rory leaned back in the armchair and sighed.

"No sighing," Lorelai said. "Just let me talk."

"Go ahead," Rory agreed, leaning forward as Lorelai walked around the chair and sat down on the ottoman.

Lorelai paused, looking closely at her daughter. "I don't wanna lock you up and throw away the key," she began.

"Well, good," Rory said, confused.

"Your judgment means something, especially to me. I can't be your eyes and your ears and your brain."

"I'm trying really hard to connect the dots here."

"I got spooked," Lorelai admitted. "I know it violates the fabulous, cool mom clause we're supposed to have going, but I did, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I just feel like, lately, there's been stuff going on with you, and you haven't felt comfortable talking to me about it and that scares me."

"I'm not trying to keep things from you."

"I know. I know that. But I guess that whole snowman thing threw me for more of a loop than I first thought. The idea that you snuck out and did that and were never gonna tell me…"

"I should have told you," Rory agreed.

"Or at least invited me to help," Lorelai joked.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. And I'm sorry I made it seem like I was waiting for the right moment to use it against you. It wasn't an evil plan."

"I know," Rory said honestly.

"That said, I'm not gonna deny that I'm concerned about Jess."

"Well, you shouldn't be."

"But I am. However, you are a smart girl; you're a good judge of character; and the fact that he seems to like you gives him a couple of brownie points. You're not a little kid. I don't actually think you were ever a little kid."

"I was, for about a month," Rory admitted.

"If you think he's a decent guy, I have to respect your judgment."

"Thank you."

"But I'm asking you to be careful."

"I will," Rory assured her.

"Really careful."

"I will."

"'Boy in the plastic bubble' kind of careful."

"I promise."

"And no more crime sprees."

"Oh…" Rory said hesitantly.

"'Oh'? I don't think I like the sounds of that 'oh'", Lorelai said, concerned. "Don't tell me you've been knocking over banks in your spare time."

"No, not banks," Rory hedged.

"Convenience stores then?"

"I stole a table number!" Rory blurted.

"You stole a what?"

"A table number… from Pete's."

"Well, it's about time," Lorelai said, relaxing.

Rory paused, caught off-guard by her mother's response. "It is?"

"Everyone steals those, babe. It's a rite of passage."

Rory smiled. "So I hear."

"My baby's growing up," Lorelai remarked, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye. "Which number did you get?" she asked eagerly.

"Nine."

"Excellent choice," Lorelai nodded. "I've obviously raised you well. So, snowman destruction… petty theft… are there any other crimes I should know about?"

"Nope, just those two."

"Well, good, because, in case you've forgotten, you vowed many years ago that you'd be the Louise to my Thelma. I don't need you running off and becoming someone else's Bonnie instead."

"I won't," Rory promised.

"So, can we officially declare this fight over?"

"Fight over," Rory agreed.

"And I didn't even have to bite off your ear," Lorelai said, standing up.

"Maybe, next time," Rory suggested, rising as well.

Remembering something, Lorelai turned back to her daughter. "Oh, hey, Rory."

"Yeah?"

"You should think about cutting Dean some slack. He's crazy about you. He didn't mean anything by coming to me. He just wigged."

"I know."

Lorelai nodded, and, together, they headed towards the door.

"You still don't look okay," Rory observed, glancing at her mother.

"Oh, well," Lorelai said sadly. "My mother agreed with me tonight."

"I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. I appreciate that."


"I need a shower!" Lorelai declared as they walked through their front door later that night.

"Don't be so dramatic."

"'I agree with you a hundred percent.'" Lorelai mimicked as she took off her coat. "Ugh!"

"Go upstairs," Rory ordered.

"Find a movie; I'll be down in a minute."

"Okay."

"'I agree with you a hundred percent,'" Lorelai repeated, heading up the stairs. "I may have to shave my head also."

"Bye!" Rory called after her. Once her mother reached the top of the stairs and turned the corner, Rory paused and looked around nervously. She eyed the phone for a moment, and, then, making up her mind, she grabbed it from the table and headed to her room. Closing the door, she dialed a number and sat down on her bed. After a couple of rings, the other line was picked up.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Hi," Jess repeated, smiling.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing. You?"

"Nothing."

"Why'd you call?" he asked, curious.

"I, um," she stammered. "I wanted to…"

"I'm glad you called," he interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because maybe you can explain what the hell this crazy woman is talking about," he said, looking down at the book in his hand.

"Ah, The Fountainhead!"

"Yes. Your fault," he reprimanded. "And you will pay."

"I promise. Commit to it one more time, and, if it still is awful for you, I will make it up to you."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, intrigued.

"Yeah," she agreed, leaning back against her pillow.

"Okay. I'm gonna hold you to that," he vowed, smirking.

There was a brief pause while Rory also smiled. "So," she began again. "Which part has you so confused?"

"I don't even know," he answered, chuckling. "I think she lost me about 30 pages ago. I'm basically just reading the words now. It's a lost cause."

"No, it's not," Rory promised. "What page are you on?"

Pausing, Jess glanced down at the book. "Uh… 230, I guess."

"Oh, well, that's the part where…"

"You don't seriously know what happens on page 230, do you?" he asked, amazed.

"No, not really," Rory teased. "But I figured you wouldn't know the difference."

"Very funny. Some help you are."

Rory laughed. "Sorry. Tomorrow, I will take a look at page 230 and see if I can "Cliff's Note" it for you."

"How about you just summarize the whole book, and we can pretend like I read it?" he suggested.

"Hey," Rory argued. "I'll have you know that I was reading Hemingway, as promised, less than an hour ago."

"You were?"

"Yep. A first edition, even. I found it in my grandfather's study."

"I'm impressed. How far did you get?"

"Well…" Rory hesitated, thinking about how dull and slow the book was.

"That's what I thought," Jess laughed.

"Maybe we should just give up and agree to disagree."

"No way! You're just trying to back out of your promise," Jess teased.

"Rory!" Lorelai called from the living room. "Where's the movie?"

"Jess," Rory said quickly. "I've gotta go."

"Okay."

"Sorry. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye," she finished abruptly, hanging up before she even had a chance to hear him return the goodbye. Holding the phone in her hand, she headed towards the bedroom door and opened it, just as Lorelai's hand was poised to knock.

"Oh, hey," Lorelai said, looking down at the phone in Rory's hand. "Did you call someone?"

"Oh, yeah… Dean."

"Really? Good," Lorelai smiled. "How'd it go?"

"He wasn't home."

"Oh, well, tomorrow then."

"Yeah, tomorrow," Rory quietly agreed. "So what movie were you thinking?"

"Hmm… good question," Lorelai pondered as they both headed into the living room.


"I think I had a nightmare last night," Lorelai said the next morning as she and Rory walked side-by-side towards Luke's.

"It wasn't the one with the school field trip and the woods and the hyenas and the men dressed like hyenas…"

"And those weird vials full of the fluorescent blue liquid?" Lorelai asked, shuddering. "Thank God, no."

"Yeah, because those vials were the weird part," Rory remarked sarcastically.

"Well, those vials certainly weren't normal."

"No argument here," Rory agreed. "So, if it wasn't that nightmare, what was it?"

"Well, you and I were fighting."

"That really happened," Rory pointed out. "You and I were fighting."

"I'm not completely unhinged. I realize that was reality."

"Sorry," Rory apologized. "Continue."

"You and I were fighting, and we went to Luke's."

"Okay."

"At least it looked like Luke's," Lorelai clarified. "It had tables and walls and a floor."

"Definitely sounds like Luke's," Rory teased.

"And Luke looked like Luke."

"Did he have a nametag on?"

"Umm, no."

"Then, maybe Luke wasn't Luke. Maybe Luke was Tom Cruise, but, in your dream, Tom looked like Luke, just like, last week, when you dreamt that Jude Law was really Fisher Stevenson disguised as Bruce Springsteen."

"But Bruce had a 'Dave Coulier' nametag on, which means your logic is flawed," Lorelai countered.

"So it was Luke."

"It was definitely Luke," Lorelai affirmed.

"So we were fighting, and we went to a place with walls, a floor, and tables, and Luke who wasn't Tom was there? And that was your nightmare?"

"No! The nightmare was the salad."

"The salad?" Rory asked, confused.

"The huge, green salad… in the massive, wooden bowl… packed with tomatoes and carrots and celery and those disgusting organic sprouty things!"

"Was the salad chasing you around the diner?"

"No."

"Then how is this a nightmare?"

"Luke made us eat it!"

"The salad?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Rory said, looking at her mother strangely.

"What?"

"That really happened. Yesterday."

"It did?"

"Yep."

"But he wouldn't!" Lorelai declared dramatically.

"And the hinge wiggles loose."

"Luke really made us eat salad?"

"He did."

"But the image seems so foggy and nightmarish."

"Well, you were food-deprived at the time."

"Good point. I can't believe he made us eat salad."

"It was pretty inhumane," Rory agreed.

Considering the situation, Lorelai looked down the street to gauge their distance from the diner. "Okay, we have three blocks to plot our revenge."

"My name is Lorelai Gilmore. You fed me salad. Prepare to die," Rory declared as her mother brainstormed.

"Okay. Option 1. How about we go buy twenty or thirty cell phones, arrange it so they'll all start ringing at the same time, and then hand them to customers as they enter the diner?"

"It gets points for creativity," Rory evaluated. "But it's elaborate, expensive, and it'll require planning. Plus, I want coffee."

"Yeah, me too," Lorelai agreed. "Okay, Option 2… uh... well, there's the classic choice. We could put rat poisoning in the food and shut the place down?"

"I'm supposed to be avoiding a life of crime, remember?"

"Right, right. Hmmm…"

"We're almost there," Rory remarked, grinning. "Better hurry."

"Okay, how about this?" Lorelai said, stopping right below the steps to the diner. "You create a distraction, and I'll run behind the counter and wrap a rubber-band around the faucet sprayer, so when he turns on the faucet, he'll get a face-full of water?"

"What if Jess turns on the faucet?"

"All the better!" Lorelai declared, grinning evilly.

"Mom…"

"Fine; I don't have a rubber-band anyway," she moped, her shoulders slumped in exaggerated defeat as she walked up the steps to the door.

Sighing heavily, she was just about to reach for the handle to push the door open when Rory stopped her and said very seriously, "I have an idea. How about you just demand coffee over and over again, ask him a million personal questions, and call him Duke repeatedly?"

"Just like old times? Hmmm… I like it!" Lorelai brightened, grinning mischievously as they walked into the diner, the bell ringing ominously to announce their arrival.


Both Jess and Luke looked up as the Gilmore girls entered the diner, chatting excitedly with each other. Despite himself, Jess smiled a little and glanced at Luke, who was grinning from ear to ear, happy to see that the storm had blown over.

Shifting his eyes back to the girls, Jess saw Lorelai whisper something to Rory, and Rory nodded in agreement. Looking a lot like the Cheshire cat's long-lost twin, Lorelai approached the counter and sat down on a stool right in front of Luke. "Hey Duke… Rory and I would like two coffees."

"What did you just call me?" Luke asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I swear, you just said Duke."

"Nope, I definitely said Luke. Can we get that coffee?"

"Sure," Luke said, looking at her strangely before moving to grab the coffeepot.

Deciding it might be best to steer clear of the situation, Jess held a mug out towards Luke. After Luke had filled it, Jess glanced warily at Lorelai and stepped around the counter to bring Rory her coffee.

"Hey," he said casually, setting the mug in front of her.

"Hey," she replied quickly before snatching it up and taking a big gulp, her eyes still focused on her mother and Luke.

"What's going on with your mom?"

"She's exacting her revenge," Rory explained, eyes twinkling.

"For what?"

"The salad."

"I see. So the fight must be over then?" he asked.

She turned her eyes to him. "It is."

"Who won?"

"It was a draw."

"Huh," he said, nodding.

"I'm sorry I hung up so fast last night," Rory apologized.

Jess shrugged, his eyes turning towards the diner window and following someone's path to the door.

Rory was about to turn to look when the diner bell chimed, and the customer immediately appeared at the table.

"Hey," Dean said quietly to Rory, doing his best to ignore Jess.

"Hey," Rory whispered, shifting uncomfortably.

"You didn't call me last night," he remarked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

"My mom and I watched a movie, so I didn't get a chance," Rory explained, causing Jess to raise an eyebrow and smirk slightly.

"It's okay," Dean assured her. Then, he glanced at Jess, noticing his smirk. Fighting the urge to physically wipe the smirk off his face, Dean turned back to Rory. "Can I talk to you outside?"

"Um… sure," Rory agreed, standing up. "Thanks for the coffee, Jess," she said softly, her eyes meeting his only briefly as she followed Dean out of the diner.

After they left, Jess moved over to a recently vacated table and began to stack the dishes, his eyes focused on the couple outside. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but Dean seemed to be doing all of the talking. As the conversation continued, he watched as Rory relaxed, seemingly accepting what Dean was saying. When Dean finally stopped talking, she smiled and said something back. Dean grinned and nodded, then leaned down and kissed her. As Rory stepped closer to her boyfriend and reached her hand up to rest on his shoulder while they kissed, Jess stopped mid-motion, his chest constricting painfully. He continued to watch for a second, then, he looked down and finished cleaning the table. By the time he walked behind the counter to put the dishes in the sink, his face was emotionless.