Defending Bjork

Chapter 12: Weaving Tangled Webs

A/N: A million thanks to all of the reviewers out there. Your job can be a tedious one at times but know that we, or at least I, appreciate so very much that you take the time to let us know what you think. You keep the fanfic world turning, and, for that, you are irreplaceable. Thanks also to CircleSky and AvidTVfan for being pretty darn awesome, and again and always, to my sister. Even when sick and miserable, she read this chapter and said such sweet things that I actually blushed. Can't ask for much cooler family than that. Enjoy this yet-again lengthy chapter, y'all.

Disclaimer: Gilmore Girls and its characters belong to the WB, Amy-Sherman Palladino, and all those other cool people. I borrowed a teeny-tiny bit of dialogue for this chapter, which means it's their brilliance not mine. You'll recognize it when you read it, I'm sure. Also, just an FYI, since ASP couldn't seem to decide when Jimmy left Liz and Jess… I'm taking my own liberties as well. If you don't like it, blame her for her indecisiveness. Hehe.


The following morning, Rory sat on a bench in the town gazebo and nervously twisted the leather bracelet tied around her wrist. The sun had begun peeking out over the horizon just an hour or two before, and, for the most part, the town was deserted. Absently, she turned her eyes to the sprawling tree that had been regally guarding the gazebo ever since she could remember. Last time she'd noticed, its leaves had still been hidden away in winter hibernation, but now she was surprised to find that the branches were green with life. Seeing the sudden color reminded her of when she was maybe eight or nine and had been sick with a nasty flu.

For days, the blinds on her bedroom window had been closed, so she could rest without interruption, and, thanks to her mother, she'd had no real need to leave bed. To this day, she still vividly remembered the moment, after the flu had subsided, when she'd gone to her window and opened the blinds. Before she'd become sick, everything outside had been painted in the stark gray and brown shades of winter, but when she looked out the window just days later, everything was suddenly bright and sunny and green. She'd stared out that window for quite a while, just taking in the lush leaves, the crystal blue sky, and the blooms of color erupting from the auburn, ceramic pots in her neighbors' yards. It was like going to sleep in Kansas and waking up in Oz. It had struck her at that moment, at such a young age, how quickly things could change.

Shifting her eyes from the tree, Rory looked down at her bracelet. The edges of the leather were slightly worn and discolored. When Dean had first given it to her, she'd spent hours examining it, twirling it around her wrist, memorizing the slight texture flaws that made it special, that made it hers. She'd run her fingers over it a million times in those first few weeks, and then, eventually, she'd stopped. Now, she sadly realized that it'd been a long time since she'd even really looked at it. She slowly revolved it around her wrist, easily locating those familiar imperfections.

"Hey," Lane greeted breathlessly as she collapsed onto the bench beside Rory, disrupting her from her reverie. "I have approximately," she continued, looking at her watch, "fifteen minutes. What's the emergency?"

Rory looked up from the bracelet. "I'm a horrible person."

"See, I knew it had to be something extreme for you to be up this early on a weekend."

"I am – I'm a horrible person," Rory said again, more to herself than to Lane. "I'm a liar. A fibber. A fraud."

"You are?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Lane said hesitantly.

"And now I have no choice but to get you involved. So I guess that makes me a corruptor too. Your mom should've kept you far away from me. I'm a lying, fibbing, corrupting fraud."

"Rory, I'm not really following here."

"I lied to Dean."

"Okay," Lane said carefully, trying to be supportive. "That happens. Sometimes you have to lie to protect the ones you love."

"And my mom."

"You lied to Lorelai? Why would you lie to Lorelai?"

"Exactly. I have no reason to lie to my mother, who has always been understanding and sympathetic, and yet I did," Rory said in resignation. "I'm unbelievable."

"Okay, Rory. I know you. If you lied to your mom, you had a reason."

"No, not really. I'm just a horrible person, and that's what we do."

"Well, then I must be a horrible person too because I lie to my mom all the time."

"No, you don't."

"Oh yeah? Just last night, I told her the tofu pie we had for dessert – and I use the term 'dessert' lightly – was great, and then, not an hour later, I snuck out to Luke's for a cookie. Out the window! Before you ask, yes, my room is still on the second floor! And, no, a magical tree did not miraculously sprout up outside said window to assist my escape! So, in addition to seriously endangering my life for a cookie, I, like you, lied to my mother. Did I tell her where I was going? No. Was the tofu pie great? No. Did I enjoy the pilfered cookie? Yes! Did I have a second? You bet I did!" Lane exclaimed.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Rory's lips. "Any normal person would lie for one of Luke's cookies."

"You are not a horrible person, Rory. Trust me."

"But your lies were innocent. Those lies don't even compare to my lie."

"Let me be the judge of that. What was the lie about?"

"Jess," Rory said flatly.

"Oh."

"See, see! I say 'Jess', and you say 'Oh.' That 'oh' says it all."

"What does my 'oh' say exactly?"

"That you disapprove. That I shouldn't have lied. That I'm a horrible person."

"That's not what the 'oh' meant. At least, that's not what I meant for it to mean. It obviously has a mind of its own. Here, let me try again," Lane stated. She paused for effect and adopted a very straight face. Then, ready, she tried again. "Ohhh?" she repeated, drawing the word out into a question and exaggerating enormously in the process.

Rory, at last, smiled.

"See, it was more of a 'Please continue' oh. Or an 'Oh, you don't say?' oh. Definitely not an 'oh' of disapproval."

"Okay," Rory accepted reluctantly.

"And you're not a horrible person."

"Okay."

"Repeat after me: 'I, Rory Gilmore, am not a horrible person'."

Rory smiled a little and said mechanically, "I, Rory Gilmore, am not a horrible person."

Lane smiled. "To be honest, your Ben Stein impersonation isn't really convincing me that you believe, but I'll take it for now. We have 11 minutes left. So tell me what happened, and we'll figure out a plan."

"Dean cleaned our gutters yesterday."

"Mm-hm. And?"

"And I was gonna stay and keep him company, but the book sale was yesterday."

"Right. You'd been looking forward to that."

"Exactly. And Dean knew that, so he made me go, despite my protests. So, to make it up to him, we agreed I'd treat him to a movie after he was done."

"Okay. Seems fine so far."

"But then I ran into Jess at the book sale."

"Oh," Lane said, frowning. Immediately realizing what she'd said… again, she began to apologize profusely. "Sorry! Sorry! Ignore the 'oh'! Jess is fine. I like Jess. Well, maybe 'like' is too strong a word. I tolerate him. Well, sort of. Sometimes. I mean, he knows music, so he can't be all bad, right?" Lane paused and sent Rory a sheepish look. "Just ignore me and continue. Please?"

Rory sighed. "It wasn't a big deal. He was there, and I was there, so we started looking at books, and he found the new release area, which I never even knew existed. It had been there every year, and I didn't even know. So, needless to say, I was a little excited. We both were. And we got all caught up in looking at them, and I guess I lost track of time. So we went to buy the books, and I had a million boxes, so Jess offered to help me carry them. So we were carrying the boxes, and we got to Luke's, and Jess asked me to come in, so he could give me something. We went in, and then there was this… thing…" she trailed off, leaving the statement unfinished. "And so I left … and I just completely forgot about Dean. But then, when I got home, did I just confess?" Rory asked rhetorically, her words picking up speed as she grew angrier with herself. "No, of course not. I could've. I could've admitted everything, but instead I told my mom you had a crisis, and I had to help you, and I lost track of time, and then I called Dean and told him the same thing, and he was so sweet. All he wanted to know was that everything was okay with you. He wasn't even mad. But he should've been mad because I lied to him… and I lied to my mom… and I got you involved when you were just an innocent bystander. You weren't even an innocent bystander. You were an innocent away-stander. But I didn't care because I needed an excuse, and I thought of you. And what's worse is this isn't even the first time I lied. I lied about destroying the snowman. I lied about the picnic. I told Dean and my mom that it was just tradition, which it is, but I actually think I wanted to go. And I lied to Dean about not being able to call him that night because I called Jess. I found time to call Jess. And I leave details out, which is just as bad as lying, if not worse, because it's completely intentional. Leaving details out isn't some spur-of-the-moment kind of thing like lying is; it's calculated and planned and despicable. I'm a calculating, planning, despicable, lying, detailing-leaving-outting, horrible person. And, now, it's even worse because, once you tell a lie, you can't go back. You just have to make up more lies, which is why I made you come here. So you can help me cover up all the lies I keep telling, which makes me a corruptor. I'm a corrupting, planning, despicable, lying, detail-leaving-outting, horrible person," she finished, before pausing at last to breathe.

"Wow," Lane said, wide-eyed. "That was amazing. That was basically the last few months of your life in one breath. How did you do that?"

"I don't know," Rory answered, exhausted.

Lane stared at her friend and nodded in wonder.

"You're not saying anything," Rory accused. "Say something."

"Okay. Well, I… uh, you ac-? There's…? And…?" she said in bewilderment.

"Full sentences," Rory prodded.

Lane grabbed a thought mid-air and spoke. "You destroyed the snowman?"

"With Jess," Rory sighed. "It was probably that poor guy's dream to win that contest, and we just wrecked it. Just like that."

"I had no idea. Wow. That's…"

"Appalling?" Rory offered.

"Impressive."

"Impressive?"

"Yeah," Lane nodded.

"I don't think you're quite grasping the severity of the situation here. I'm out-of-control."

"No, you're confused," Lane stated. "It's understandable. I mean, there's obviously something going on between you and Jess."

Rory opened her mouth to interrupt, but Lane continued, "I'm not saying it's a 'something-something', but it's something. A friendship or a connection or something else, but whatever it is, you don't want to believe it or feel it because you love Dean and he's a great guy and you don't want to hurt him. Which is understandable. And your mom doesn't like Jess, so you feel like you can't tell her what's going on. Again, understandable. You're just trying to protect everyone involved until everything makes sense."

Rory sighed sadly and looked down at her bracelet again. "But what if it never makes sense?"

"It will…. probably…. eventually," Lane offered. "I think. I'm sort of blindly grasping for wisdom here."

Rory smiled a little and glanced at her friend. "So what do I do until then?"

"Devise my really believable debilitating crisis?"

"And so the corruption begins…"


Minutes later, a tentative plan was formed, and Lane sprinted back home to get ready for church. Rory, meanwhile, decided she better go take care of the remaining physical evidence of her lie. Walking quickly down the stairs of the gazebo, she headed in the direction of Luke's.

As she got closer and closer to the diner, her body became awash in a flood of nervous tingles, and it was all she could do not to turn around and head in the direction of her house instead. She convinced herself that there was no way he would be awake this early on a Sunday morning; it was the only way she could keep walking. When she reached the diner, she climbed the few stairs to the door and peered cautiously between the blind slats. Luke was inside, putting a fresh liner in the coffee pot. He was alone.

Experiencing a simultaneous onslaught of disappointment and relief, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. Luke glanced up as she walked in and, seeing who his customer was, frowned slightly in confusion.

"Hey Rory," he hesitantly greeted her.

"Hi Luke," Rory replied as she approached the counter and sat down on a stool.

"What are you doing here?"

"Getting a cup of coffee?" Rory offered uncertainly. "You're open, right?"

"Yeah, we're open. It's just -," he paused, eyeing her carefully. "You and your mom don't usually show up here until after ten-thirty… at the earliest."

"I was up early today."

"I always figured your clocks didn't even register AM time on weekends."

"No, AM does occasionally make an appearance. Rarely though, only on special occasions."

"And the special occasion is…?"

"Every day is a holiday somewhere," Rory stated weakly.

Luke didn't buy her story for a second. "Did something happen? Did you and your mom get in another fight?"

"No, no fight."

"Okay," he accepted. He paused uncomfortably, unsure how to handle the situation. There was a reason he wasn't the one with the teenager. Except, he suddenly realized, he did have a teenager. He was going to have to figure out how to do this eventually; might as well start now. "Is there anything I can do or…"

"A cup of coffee would be perfect," Rory interjected, saving him from attempting to find a way to finish his sentence.

"Coffee… okay," he said, turning to the pot, thankful for the easy out. Unfortunately, the sight of the percolating, nearly empty pot immediately reminded him that he'd just started the coffee. Frowning, he abruptly turned back to the teenage girl at the counter and pointed at the pot. "It'll be a minute."

"Okay," Rory nodded. She glanced over her shoulder and scanned the diner again. When she located the two boxes of books she and Jess had unceremoniously abandoned in a corner the night before, she frowned and turned back to Luke. Her arms ached from carrying them yesterday, and the boxes looked even heavier today.

Luke was still studying Rory carefully, trying to figure out what was going on, when her eyes met his. She could tell he was concerned. "Jess mentioned that you might move," she said casually, hoping to distract him.

"Yeah," Luke nodded. "It's probably time."

"That'll be weird though, I bet. Living somewhere else and having to make a special trip to come to work."

"I hadn't thought about that," Luke admitted, folding his arms over his chest. "I can't believe I didn't think of that," he mumbled to himself, not at all fond of the idea.

"It'll be nice though. I bet you'll find a really great place. Mom always liked Peach. Did you guys look on Peach?"

"Yeah. Peach. Plum. Fig. We hit 'em all."

"Good. That's good," Rory smiled, shifting uncomfortably. "I think the coffee's ready," she said, peering around him at the pot.

Luke glanced over his shoulder at the full pot. "Yeah, it is. Let me just grab you a mug. They're still in back," he explained.

Rory nodded and watched as Luke headed in back. Moments later, he emerged, carrying a rack of mugs. Neither of them spoke as Luke placed the rack on the counter and grabbed a mug for her. Filling it to the brim, he turned back around and expertly glided it along the surface of the counter towards her. Rory looked down and was about to pick it up when she saw Luke's hand still resting on the handle. Confused, she glanced up and was met with Luke's concerned but surprisingly comforting eyes. He seemed to hesitate briefly, and then, he offered gently. "If there's anything you want to talk about, I can try… I mean, if you ever…"

"I'm okay, Luke, but thanks," she warmly assured him.

"Okay," he nodded, moving his hand away from the mug. "Coffee's on the house."

"Thanks," Rory smiled gratefully before taking a sip.

"Paper?" he asked, grabbing the Sunday edition from the counter.

"Don't mind if I do," Rory answered. She took the paper from his hand and turned her eyes to the headlines.

Luke watched her for a second, smiled, and then turned to fill the donut tray with fresh pastries.


The increasing din of the breakfast crowd cut through Rory's concentration, and she looked up from the paper. The once-empty diner was now quickly filling up with customers. Surprised, Rory glanced at her watch and realized that nearly 40 minutes had gone by. She'd wanted to be home before her mom woke up. She needed to be out of the diner before Jess woke up. Taking one last large gulp of her coffee, she neatly refolded the paper and laid it on the counter. Then, pulling on the jacket she'd absentmindedly removed at some point during the forty minute interval, she hopped down from the stool and headed towards the boxes.

The two boxes were stacked one on top of the other, and, feeling Herculean, she knelt down and slid her fingers under the bottom box. On the count of three, she pushed with her legs and promptly went… nowhere. In the rational part of her brain, she'd known there was no way she was going to be able to lift both boxes at once, but these days, she was pretty confident that rationality was one of her weaker traits. Sighing, she scooted away from the boxes and tried to think of another way to get them home. Short of the sudden appearance of a crane, she was at a loss.

"Are those yours?" Luke asked, pausing beside her on his way back to the counter.

"Uh, yeah. They're mine," Rory answered, still brainstorming.

"How did they get here?"

"We carried them."

"We? We who?"

"Do you have any idea how I could get them home?" Rory asked, avoiding the question.

"Well, I'd help, but things are pretty busy here. Do you want me to get Jess?"

"No!" Rory said quickly. "I mean, that's okay. I'll figure it out."

"You sure?" Luke asked, again puzzled by her behavior.

"Yeah. I'm sure. Thanks."

"Okay," Luke accepted. "If you change your mind, let me know." Without another word, he hurried to the counter to fill orders.

Rory sighed and glanced at the apartment stairs worriedly. Then, making an abrupt decision, she hefted the top box into her arms and headed for the door.


As Rory turned towards her front yard, she struggled to prevent her arms from giving out under the weight of the box. It had been a lot easier yesterday when she could distract herself from the pain by talking to Jess. Today, every twinge registered. The light at the end of the tunnel finally visible, she scurried awkwardly towards the stairs. Taking the first step, her knee bumped against the bottom of the box and nearly sent it flying to the ground. Instinctively, she struggled to maintain her hold, but a couple of books on top slid from the box and hit the stairs with a loud clunk. Moments later, Rory heard the click of the front door opening.

"Is that my darling daughter or a cardboard box with legs?" Lorelai teased, causing Rory to peek around the side of the box.

"Very funny," she mumbled, shifting her position.

"Why didn't you yell or something?" Lorelai asked, lifting the box from her daughter's arms.

Rory exhaled gratefully and immediately rubbed her aching arms. "I figured the neighborhood only needed one Gilmore call of distress this week."

"Geez, what do you have in here? Bricks?" Lorelai asked, mounting the rest of the stairs.

Rory bent down and retrieved the fallen books, then hurried up the steps to open the door for her mother.

"A single book seems deceptively light," Rory remarked. "But it turns out a ton of feathers still weighs a ton."

"Should it concern me that I actually followed that stream of consciousness?"

"Probably."

"How many feathers do you think it would take to make a ton?" Lorelai asked, dropping the box on the floor as soon as she got inside.

"A lot," Rory answered. "My arms hurt."

"So do mine."

"You carried them three feet. I carried them ten miles."

"Well, honey, why were you circling the town? You could've just brought them straight here."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Rory asked, collapsing on the couch.

"Walk how the crow flies. Must I teach you everything?"

"Too much pain. Cannot banter."

"Wow. That's some serious pain. Let me see," Lorelai said, sitting beside her and pulling her arm into her lap. "Those are gonna bruise," she commented as she gently touched Rory's bright red forearms. "Too bad Lane doesn't have any big, burly brothers."

"Yeah, too bad," Rory moped.

"But at least you caught her before church. I know you and your beloved books were experiencing separation anxiety."

"Well, now they're disowned," Rory declared, glaring back at the toppled box.

"Do I smell coffee?" Lorelai asked suddenly, sniffing the air.

"Huh?"

"Coffee. I distinctly smell Luke's coffee. And bacon and," she paused, leaning towards Rory and sniffing her jacket. "Belgian waffles. You went to Luke's!" she exclaimed, gently shoving Rory away from her in dismay.

"I needed coffee," Rory said guiltily. "And 'Ow'!"

"You went to Luke's… without me… on Belgian Waffle Sunday?" Lorelai asked in exaggerated disbelief.

"I didn't know it was Belgian Waffle Sunday when I went," Rory pointed out.

"That's no excuse."

"I just carried twenty tons of books for ten miles," Rory tried again.

"Likely story," Lorelai replied, narrowing her eyes.

Rory held up her arms. "I have the bruises to prove it."

"C'mon, we're going to Luke's."

"But I was just there."

"Yes, without me. C'mon, up! Up! Belgian Waffles are an excellent salve."

"I've never heard that."

"Sure. It's common knowledge. Dip 'em in syrup, stick 'em to your arm, instant pain relief."

"That's ridiculous," Rory said, standing up.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. C'mon, out the door," Lorelai prodded, pushing Rory towards the foyer. "Watch out for the orphans," she reminded, stepping over the displaced books.

"Can I be an orphan?" Rory asked.

"I can't even tell you how many times I wondered that same thing when I was your age," Lorelai admitted, pulling the door shut behind them.


The diner bell chimed, announcing Lorelai and Rory's arrival. As soon as they'd cleared the doorway, Rory's eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of Jess. He wasn't in sight. Begrudgingly, she followed her mother to an empty table and sat down. In mere moments, Luke spotted them and approached the table to take their order.

"Rory," he greeted. "Lorelai. What can I get you?"

"I thought you were supposed to send me advanced notice about Belgian Waffle Sunday," Lorelai replied without prelude.

"Excuse me?"

"The ad in the paper? The newsletter? The bright, flashing neon sign? The skywriter? Ringing any bells?"

"No, not really."

"The letters lovingly melted into the freshly fallen snow? B-E-L-G-I-A-N W-A-F…"

"It's Spring," Luke interrupted. "There isn't any snow."

"That shouldn't have stopped you!"

"In that case, I must've forgotten," Luke lied. "It's Belgian Waffle Sunday. There. Happy?"

"See, now that's just unacceptable. If you aren't going to schedule a specific waffle day like normal diners, then you must give preferred customers advance notice. Advance as in 'before the sacred event occurs'."

"Maybe I do give preferred customers advance notice."

"Wow! Mean!" Lorelai exclaimed, her mouth open in astonishment.

"So I take it you want waffles?"

"Yes, please."

"What about you, Rory? Back for the rest of your books?"

"What?" Rory asked, turning her eyes from the curtained stairway to Luke.

"Your books," he repeated, gesturing towards the box in the corner. Lorelai glanced at the box, then at her daughter.

"Those aren't mine," Rory lied, feeling instantly guilty.

"What?" Luke asked, confused. "Those books?" he reiterated, pointing his pencil at the box of books.

"My books were at Lane's."

"But…"

"Those must be someone else's," Rory said firmly. "It's weird that they'd leave them in the diner though. Can I have waffles too?"

"Sure," Luke muttered, sending Rory a baffled look. "Two orders of waffles."


A queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, Rory shoved her syrup-saturated waffle around on her plate and glanced remorsefully at Luke. He had been so nice to her that morning, worrying about her and checking to make sure she was okay, and she'd repaid him by lying to his face. And to make things even worse, he'd yelled up to Jess about fifteen minutes ago, which meant he could appear in the diner at any second. Rory frowned and slumped a little in her chair.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelai glanced at her miserable daughter. Between the circumstances of yesterday, the mysterious relocation and re-relocation of the bracelet, and the phantom books, Lorelai had the situation pretty much figured out. The details were fuzzy, but she'd done enough lying to her parents to know how to read between the lines. In all honesty, it was somewhat reassuring to see how poorly Rory lied; it meant she didn't do it very often. Now it was just a matter of waiting until Rory finally caved.

"Hey!" Lane chirped happily, joining the Gilmores at their table.

"Hey Lane," Lorelai smiled, taking another bite of her waffle. "Free at last, huh?"

"I am. Are you gonna eat that, Rory?" Lane asked, pointing at the uneaten waffle.

"It's yours," Rory answered, pulling her fork away as Lane slid the plate in front of her and dove into the food.

"How are you doing?" Lorelai asked Lane.

"Me? I'm great!" she said nonchalantly before stretching her arm to the center of the table and grabbing the bottle of syrup.

"Yeah? Great, huh?"

"Yep," Lane affirmed, taking another bite of food.

"So, you've recovered from yesterday's crisis then?" Lorelai quizzed, glancing at Lane.

Lane paused, her fork mid-air. "Oh. Yeah," she mumbled around her mouthful of food. "I was just being a drama queen. Courtney Love has nothing on me. I feel horrible for messing up Rory's plans," she finished, sending an apologetic look to Rory.

"Is there anything I can do?" Lorelai asked.

"No, thanks. I guess I just thought I had dealt with the whole Henry thing, but apparently, there was still some residual resentment. I mean, he didn't even have the courtesy to break up with me in person. Stevie Wonder better get with the times and change his song to 'I Just Called to Say, I'm Breaking Up With You'."

"Doesn't quite have the same ring to it," Lorelai pointed out.

"Anyway, I'm definitely over it now. I just want to forget it ever happened."

"In that case, consider it forgotten," Lorelai agreed, glancing at Luke as he approached the table.

"Can I get you anything else?" he asked.

Rory just shook her head, unable to make eye contact with him.

"No, thanks, Luke," Lorelai replied. "I think we're set."

Luke nodded and glanced at Lane who was now nervously shoveling food into her mouth. "Lane?"

"Oh," Lane swallowed. "Actually, I only have about two seconds before I have to go. But thanks."

Luke nodded and walked away.

After he left, Rory looked up and watched him make his way around the counter. It wasn't until he'd moved just past the curtain to the upstairs apartment that her gaze turned to something – to someone – else. In an instant, her heart careened to a screeching halt, and the queasy feeling in her stomach was replaced by the strange feeling she'd felt in the apartment the day before. Afraid she might keel over from a heart attack, she silently willed her heart to start beating again, at which point it switched gears and started pounding relentlessly.


Taking in the crowd, Jess glanced around the diner. Reaching the Gilmores' table, his eyes found hers. Instinct kicking in, Rory immediately looked away and tried to focus on the conversation at her table. Now paying attention, she realized with relief that Lane was saying her goodbyes and standing to go. Rory immediately leapt up as well. "I'll walk home with you."

"Okay," Lane said, sending her a curious look.

"I'll see you at home?" Rory directed towards her mother even as she grabbed her coat and inched towards the exit.

"Sure. See you at home," Lorelai agreed, barely able to finish the sentence before Rory disappeared out the door.

After Rory left, Lorelai turned her eyes to the teenage boy behind the counter. His eyes were still focused on the door, despite the fact that it had clicked shut several seconds before.

He didn't know she was watching him. For the first time in his life, he wasn't astutely aware of his surroundings. All he knew was that Rory had been there, and now she wasn't. She'd disappeared before he'd even had time to process the fact that he'd seen her. And she'd done so voluntarily. She'd done so intentionally.

Rory had been gone for nearly thirty seconds before Jess turned his eyes from the door. Lorelai had watched him intently the whole time. He'd had a faraway look on his face, a sad look. For a brief moment, Lorelai had felt sorry for him. If anyone asked her later, she'd deny it, but for the first time, some small part of her began to acknowledge that Rory wasn't the only one who might get hurt.

Stubbornly forcing the thought away, she watched Jess scan the diner for Luke, then slip back upstairs undetected. Smirking a little at his skilled maneuver, she took a last bite of waffle, picked up her jacket, and walked over to sit at the counter.


"What was that all about?" Luke asked a minute or so later, after he returned to the counter to fill a customer's order.

"What?"

"Rory, bolting. I'm amazed her chair's still upright."

"Ah, that was about Jess."

"My Jess? Did he do something?"

"Probably," Lorelai shrugged.

"If he did something, I want to know. He's my responsibility."

"I wouldn't go bragging about that if I were you," Lorelai quipped, taking a sip from the cup of coffee Luke had set in front of her.

"I'll talk to him. Where is he?"

"He went back upstairs."

"What?" Luke asked, exasperated. "He's supposed to be helping down here! Will you watch things for a second?"

"Why?"

"I'm gonna drag him back down here."

"Give it a minute. I promise it'll still be fun later. How was the apartment shopping?"

Luke was slightly taken aback by Lorelai's nonchalant attitude, but, since everyone seemed to be visitors from the Outer Limits today, he let it go. "Uh. Okay. I didn't go with that place."

"The one with the walls and the floors and the light? Why not? It sounded great. Is it because I couldn't come give you a second opinion? Don't tell me I made you lose your dream apartment!"

"You were worried about Rory not coming home," Luke dismissed. "And it wasn't my dream apartment."

"It was. You're distraught."

"I'm not distraught," Luke disagreed.

"Your eyes are all watery, and your lip is quivering… Carpe diem, Luke! Seize the day! Follow the dream!"

"I don't even think I want to move," he admitted.

"What? You have to move. Remember the tiny television? The lack of privacy? Jess's blaring music?"

"The commute to work," Luke added.

"What are you talking about? What commute to work?"

"The one I'll have to make if I move."

"Okay, but Luke, that makes you a normal person."

"I've never commuted to work, and I'm still a normal person."

"Don't get carried away!" Lorelai teased. "Normal is a strong word – one I don't think you're quite ready for. And how long could your commute possibly be? It takes ten minutes to walk from one side of town to the other. Not even ten. Nine and a half."

"Which is nine and a half more minutes than I had to commute before."

"We're looking at your dream apartment," Lorelai stated. "I'll go with you today."

"She wanted an answer yesterday," Luke reminded her.

"She was bluffing, so you'd make a snap decision. There's still time."

"I don't thin-," Luke hedged.

"Call her. Make the appointment. We'll go when I get back from the Inn," Lorelai interjected firmly, grabbing her jacket. Luke started to protest, but she ignored him and waved goodbye as she headed out the door.


"I am so sorry about that," Lane apologized as she and Rory walked towards her house. "We had a whole plan, and I completely blew it."

"You didn't blow it," Rory disagreed.

"Oh, I blew it! I was supposed to be all depressed and moody and pining for Henry, and instead I was devouring your waffles."

"Okay, you might have blown it a little."

"I'm sorry!"

"It was a bad idea in the first place. Not only was I making you lie, but on a Sunday, right after church. We might as well have been standing on a mountaintop golf course holding an umbrella under a tree."

"Even so, I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven."

"So how did the whole book thing go this morning? Mission accomplished?"

"Mission half-accomplished."

"Man, it's not our day today," Lane complained.

"I'll say."

"So, assuming my Razzie-caliber acting performance didn't already tip Lorelai off, what are we gonna do about those books?"

"I don't know. My mom has an anniversary party at the Inn today, so she'll be gone all afternoon, but I promised Dean I'd take him to a matinee to make up for yesterday. I wouldn't be able to get them until afterwards, and by then, my mom will be home."

"Then I'll get them!" Lane volunteered, excited. "I can slip away from my house at some point, grab the box from the diner, and use the key from the turtle to get into your house. Then, I'll just bring them to your room and hide them in your closet, a skill I've finely honed; Lorelai will never know."

"The box is heavy."

"I'm stronger than I look," Lane protested.

"Really heavy."

"Please let me do this for you. After this morning, I have to redeem myself."

"I'm the one who caused this mess," Rory reminded her.

"And I'm your friend, which, by law, means that I'm there to help you clean it up."

"By law?"

"Carole King is gospel."

"I can't argue with that," Rory smiled.

"I really missed you," Lane said seriously, glancing at Rory.

"I missed you too," Rory answered, understanding what she meant.

They walked the rest of the way to Lane's in silence. When they reached her sidewalk, Lane turned to Rory. "You'll have your books before the night is through."

Rory nodded, and they headed opposite directions.

"Hey Rory," Lane called out from her porch.

"Yeah?" Rory called back, turning to look at her friend.

"'Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose'," Lane quoted. "'And most times you choose between the two'. It's gospel. I'll talk to you later."

Rory smiled and, thinking about what Lane had said, headed home.


Book in hand, Jess lay on his bed and pretended to read. He would've preferred to actually be reading, but his mind didn't seem to want to focus. Nonetheless, pretending to read was better than actually doing anything else. He continued to stare at the page even when he heard the door to the apartment open and close. Even when he felt Luke standing to his left.

"What are you doing?" Luke asked, a slight tinge of anger in his voice.

"Reading," Jess said drolly.

"Is that for school?"

"Is that a joke?" Jess asked, rereading a sentence for the twentieth time.

"If it isn't for school, put it down and come downstairs."

"Are you encouraging illiteracy, Uncle Luke?"

"I'm encouraging a work ethic."

"I've never really been a big fan of ethics. But thanks for the encouragement."

"What did you do to Rory?" Luke asked bluntly.

"Excuse me?" Jess said, finally looking up at his uncle.

"She's upset, and Lorelai thinks it has something to do with you."

"Of course she does," Jess mumbled, turning back to his book.

"What does that mean?"

"It means she hates me," Jess said with disinterest. "Rory could stub her toe, and Lorelai would find a way to blame me for it."

"Lorelai doesn't hate you."

"If you say so," Jess retorted. "But you might want to ask her sometime before you make bold statements like that."

"Did you do something to Rory?"

"Not that I know of," Jess answered, turning the page of his book even though he didn't, for the life of him, know what had occurred on the one he'd been 'reading'.

"Not that you know of? So you could've done something?"

"According to Debbie Gibson, anything is possible," Jess replied.

"Debbie Gibson? Who's that? Some ex-girlfriend of yours?"

Jess rolled his eyes. "She's the anti-Christ of the 80s pop scene."

"And you're quoting her?"

"Sorry, thought you might be a fan," Jess quipped.

"Your mom told me to watch over you."

"I know. It was very June Cleaver of her. Except for the whole abandonment thing. But, you know, nobody's perfect."

"You're right. Liz definitely isn't perfect."

"Glad we agree on something."

"But I'm trying here, Jess."

"Trying to what? Turn me into an 'after-school special' success story? 'Cuz if you are, let me just tell you right now, it's a lost cause."

Luke looked at his nephew, at a loss. Everyone had been telling him for months to give up on him. But, truth be told, he wasn't quite ready to do that yet.

"You know what, Jess?" Luke said calmly, adopting what he hoped was a convincing fatherly voice. "I'm just gonna trust you. Let's see how far that gets us. Now come downstairs and get to work."

Without looking back, Luke left the apartment. Jess lowered his book and just sat for a moment, mulling what Luke had said. Trust. Not a word he heard everyday. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then, he stood up and headed down to the diner.


Her moment of truth at hand, Lane boldly walked into the diner and looked around for Rory's box. Locating it in a far corner, she smiled and hurried over. It didn't look that heavy. Just lift with the knees, isn't that what they always said? Lift with the knees or you throw your back out. Sounded simple enough.

Rolling up her sleeves, she knelt down, wrapped her fingers under the box, and lifted. The box moved about a fourth of an inch off the ground, then immediately fell back down with a thud, smashing onto her fingers. "Ow! Ow!" Lane exclaimed, jerking her crushed hands out from under the box and shaking them in the air. She looked down at her fingers, expecting to see a gnarled mass of disfigurement, but thankfully, they looked normal… just a little red.

Ignoring the pain, she decided to rethink her strategy. In a second attempt, she crouched down and wrapped her arms around the perimeter of the box as though she were giving it a giant bear hug. When she was pretty confident that she had a good grip on it, she started to lift again, but this time the weight of the box pushed her backward, and her legs slipped out from under her, sending her tailbone straight into the floor. "Ow!"

Four strategies and three more unsuccessful attempts later, she was finally standing fully upright, the box weighing heavily in her arms, trying to work up the energy to turn towards the door.

"Are you sure those belong to you?" a voice asked suddenly from directly behind her, causing her to startle and lose her grip on the box, sending it plummeting back to the floor where it narrowly missed her foot by mere centimeters.

Angry, she glanced back at the intruder and saw Jess's smirking face. "I think you dropped something," he teased.

"Oh, you think?" she retorted grumpily. "I've been trying for ten minutes to lift that box."

"I know. It's like watching Sisyphus come to life."

"I'm glad you're finding it amusing," Lane said sarcastically, glaring at him. "Did you ever consider offering to help?"

"I'm in charge of the diner, so unless you were just planning on carrying it from one side of the room to the other…"

"You can go away now."

"Where's Rory?" he asked.

"At the movies," Lane answered, eyeing the box in attempt to remember which of her many strategies had actually worked.

"Huh," Jess accepted. He watched as Lane tried the previously failed third strategy. "Didn't work the first time either," he said as the box smacked into the wall and tipped over onto the floor.

"You're just Mr. Helpful, aren't you?" she snipped, kneeling to gather the scattered books. "Where's Luke?"

"Prostituting himself for a place to live."

"What?" Lane asked, looking at Jess with wide eyes.

"Getting a new apartment."

"You're moving?"

Jess shrugged.

"Wow! I can't imagine Luke living anywhere else," she said absently before trying unsuccessfully to lift the box again. "I give up!" she declared. "This box is immovable."

"There's no such thing."

"What?" Lane asked, glancing at him.

"Immovable. There's no such thing."

"Didn't you used to not talk?" Lane asked, turning back to the box.

"No, I always talked. Just not to you."

"I'm flattered."

"Name one immovable object."

"Go away."

"People have wasted hours wondering what would happen if an irresistible force met an immovable object, but the situation isn't even possible," Jess explained. "Nothing's immovable, and nothing's irresistible."

"Your charm is proof of that," Lane remarked.

Ignoring her, Jess continued, "The definition of immovable is something that can't be moved… ever."

"Like this box."

"Except I could move it," he reminded her.

"Then move it! I'm begging you! Give it a go!"

"And the definition of irresistible is something that can't be resisted… ever."

"Does this conversation seem ridiculous to anyone but me?" Lane asked.

"So an irresistible force can never meet an immovable object because neither of them could exist in the first place."

"Thank you for that pointless knowledge, Bill Nye," Lane said, giving up on the whole lifting-with-the-legs idea and trying to hoist the box up from a standing position.

Sighing, Jess reached down and effortlessly lifted the box. "Here," he said, setting it in her arms and holding it steady while she got a firm grasp on it.

"Finally! Thank you," she said gratefully, heading towards the door before the box had another chance to slip. She made it about halfway before she felt the slow, aching burn in the muscles of her forearms. She paused and looked at Jess. "I'm gonna kill myself if I carry this home, aren't I?"

"There's a good possibility."

Lane nodded and released the box, sending it crashing to the ground. "In that case, can I just get a Coke?" she asked, walking over to sit on a stool.

Jess nodded and stepped around the counter to get her a drink. As he filled the glass with ice, Lane watched him intently. Jess turned back around and saw her staring at him. "Problem?" he asked, setting the glass of Cola in front of her.

"It's weird to hear you talk in full sentences."

"I can stop," he offered.

"That's okay. I'll get over it."

Jess nodded. "Don't worry. It probably won't happen again anyway."

"That's kind of what I figured," Lane said, smiling.


"Remind me again why I'm doing this?" Luke asked grumpily, as he and Lorelai turned up the street.

"You're living in what could easily be classified as a big walk-in closet with a sullen teenager and a TV the size of a spitball."

"Ah. Right." He frowned and glanced up at the street sign. "Ever since I was a kid, I've wondered what happened to A Street?"

"Huh?"

"This street… B street," he emphasized. "There isn't another street in this town named after a letter of the alphabet."

"Well, that's because B's a special letter."

"It is?" Luke asked skeptically.

"Sure. Lots of great words start with B. Bamboo, for example. Baboon. Bling-bling. Bugle. Bagpipe!"

"That's your defense? Bagpipe?"

"You're gonna deny the wonder of the word bagpipe?"

"If bagpipe is such a great word, they should've named the street Bagpipe Street."

"And neglect all of the other worthy instruments?" Lorelai asked, aghast. "What about poor Mr. Guitar? Or Mr. Saxophone? The beloved triangle? And the tuba? The tuba gets no respect."

"Tuba Street?"

"See, no respect."

"Is there any way I can win here?"

"Probably not. Especially if you're planning on belittling Mr. Electric Bass next."

"Electric Bass Street?"

"Sort of has a punk rock/lake chic ring to it, doesn't it?"

"But it neglects the other fish," Luke mocked. "What about Tuna Trail?"

"That's the spirit! Alliteration and everything. I think you've found your calling. We're here," she pointed out, pausing to pull open the door to the building.

"I couldn't be happier," Luke said flatly.

"See, I told you you'd have fun."

"Mr. Danes," the real estate agent greeted him, a wide smile on her face. "I'm so glad you decided to take another look. Oh, and this must be your wife," she continued, extending her hand to Lorelai. "Hello, I'm Mary."

Luke started to protest, but Lorelai shot him a look and shook Mary's hand. "Yep, that's me. Mrs. Danes. Mrs. Dana Danes."

"Well, it's a pleasure," Mary smiled. "Shall we take a look at the apartment?"

"I think we shall," Lorelai answered, following behind Mary as she led them down the hall.

"What are you doing?" Luke whispered irritably, hurrying to walk beside her.

"Couple discount," Lorelai responded.

"There's no such thing."

"Oh, there is!"

"Fine. And the fake name?"

"Well, I don't want her to be able to track me down after we defraud her."

"Great. That's really great," Luke muttered.

"C'mon, Luke, Jess is a 'pretty boy', but he can't exactly pass for me. Okay, maybe with a designer wig and the right amount of makeup, but it'd still be—"

"I'm leaving," Luke interrupted, turning to head for the door.

"I'm kidding," Lorelai said, grabbing his arm. "I just like to see your face get all red. Oh, and the way the veins in your neck pop out like they actually want to strangle me on your behalf…"

"Maybe I should let them."

"Married life makes you really surly."

"We're not married."

"Oh, right. I forgot. You're always surly," Lorelai smiled. They waited as Mary unlocked the door to the apartment and then stepped inside. "Oh, wow!" Lorelai exclaimed, glancing around. "You weren't kidding when you said it was gorgeous."

"I never said that," Luke disagreed. "I never said that," he repeated, looking at Mary.

"He couldn't stop gushing. It was like he'd finally found somewhere that felt like home. Didn't it, sweetie?"

"I never said that."

"He hides his emotions, but deep down, he's all warm and fuzzy right now."

"That's what we like to hear," Mary said happily. "Feel free to take a look around if you like."

Lorelai nodded and wandered around the apartment with Luke trailing behind her. After she'd walked through the last room, she turned to him. "This apartment is great."

"It's too big."

"No such thing. Have you seen 'MTV Cribs'?"

"I don't need two bathrooms."

"Need I remind you of Jess's undying love affair with his hair gel?"

"I like being on the bottom floor."

"Huh. I never pegged you as someone who likes to be on the bottom," Lorelai teased. Getting no response from Luke, she frowned. "It's a lot more fun when Rory's around to say 'Dirty!' The top floor is quieter."

"Fine. Then you tell me what's wrong with it."

"Nothing, Luke. It's great. It's light and airy. It's got good windows but not too many so that the sun bakes you in the afternoon. You're close to work, which I know has become a huge concern for you."

"I don't know…"

"C'mon, Luke, you and Jess will kill each other if you stay in that place of yours."

"Yeah, but who knows how long he's even gonna be here."

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No, but you never know."

"No, you don't, but I think his mom sending his stuff is a pretty good sign."

"And even if he does stay, it'll only be another year, and then he'll go off to college or Attica or whatever, and it'll just be me again."

"As appealing as that idea sounds, you can't let the future decide what you're going to do now. Live in the moment! This apartment is great."

"It's not awful," Luke reluctantly admitted.

"You like it."

"It's okay."

"You like it," Lorelai sang.

"Stop."

"Fine. Let's go find Mary."


"Okay," Mary said as they stood outside the apartment office. "I'll just pass your application on to the owner. As soon as we get his approval, we can move on to the next step."

"Sounds great," Lorelai agreed, glancing at Luke. He looked pleased. "So you'll call and let us know?"

"As soon as I know," Mary nodded. "Oh, in fact," she said, glancing at the main door. "What perfect timing! Here comes the owner now!"

Lorelai and Luke both glanced towards the door and saw Taylor Doose approaching.

"Where?" Lorelai asked, looking past Taylor for a sign of the owner.

"Right there," Mary answered. "Hi Taylor!"

"Taylor?" Lorelai and Luke said at the same time.

"Luke, I was just at the diner looking for you," Taylor greeted him. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," Luke retorted, shooting daggers at Lorelai as if this were all her fault.

"Don't be silly," Mary chimed in. "Mr. and Mrs. Danes are applying for an apartment."

Taylor eyed them suspiciously. "Mr. and Mrs. Danes?"

"Oh, yeah, it's just a little joke," Lorelai said quickly, dismissing the discussion with a wave of her hand. "So you own this place, huh?" she asked, changing the subject.

"For two months now," he said proudly.

"Wow. I had no idea," Lorelai remarked.

"I own ten of Stars Hollow's magnificent residential properties."

"Wow."

"And now, after the proper investigation into his financial and personal history, it seems I may be able to count Luke Danes among my tenants."

"No, you won't," Luke said abruptly.

"What?" Mary asked.

"Rip up the application."

"But, Mr. Danes…"

"Rip it up! Now!" Luke said firmly, emphasizing the veracity of his statement with a downward jab of his finger.

"Mrs. Danes?" Mary said desperately, looking to Lorelai for help.

"Do what the man says."

"But…" Mary hedged.

"Now, Luke, don't be so hasty," Taylor reprimanded. "My properties are ideal homes. The level of quality control is unsurpassed. For example, at all my properties, we measure the grass before, during, and after mowing to attain a perfect inch and a half height, which is both pleasing to the eye and good for the grass. In addition, I perform routine safety inspections of each apartment on the premises to ensure…"

"Rip it up," Luke said again.

"But," Mary hesitated, thinking about her lost commission.

Before she could say anything more, Luke snatched the application from her hand and tore it into tiny pieces.

"Well, now that was uncalled for," Taylor said, looking at Luke with clear disapproval.

"Believe me, it was called for," Luke answered as he headed for the door.

"Luke, wait! I still need to speak with you," Taylor called.

"It can wait."

"Well, in that case, I'll just petition the town council about that sign of yours."

Luke paused and turned back to Taylor. "What are you talking about?"


"I can't believe Taylor owns multiple apartment buildings in this town, and I had no idea," Lorelai stated, shaking her head in disbelief.

"He's going to buy the flower shop."

"I know. He's quite the entrepreneur."

"The flower shop right next door to the diner."

"I heard."

"And turn it into a collectible plate store."

"Luke, the conversation is moving forward. Try to keep up."

"All day, every day, he'll be in there. Right next door. With those obnoxious plates. Mocking me."

"Don't worry, my pretty. I'm sure only the Wicked Witch plate will mock you."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny. I mean, of all the apartments."

"I can't let this happen," Luke mumbled to himself.

"We could go on a treasure hunt for One-Eyed Willy's fortune. How do you feel about Baby Ruths?"

"That's not such a bad idea."

"A fan of the Baby Ruth," Lorelai observed, nodding thoughtfully. "You do realize it has sugar and calories, don't you?"

"I have some money saved up," Luke continued, ignoring her.

"What?"

"I'm going to buy the building," he said matter-of-factly.

"What? What building? The apartment building?"

"The flower shop."

"Luke, that's insane."

"What have you been saying all day? Seize the day! Follow the dream! Live in the moment!" he threw back at her.

"Ok, if you're quoting me, you've definitely lost it. And since when has owning a flower shop been your dream?"

"Since I found out Taylor was going to buy it."

"You don't even like flowers."

"I don't like Taylor."

"Yes, but not liking Taylor doesn't necessarily mean you should become a florist."

"We're going to the bank."

"The bank isn't open on Sundays."

"Kirk owes me a favor."

"A building costs a lot of money," Lorelai reminded him.

"Doesn't compare to what living next to Taylor could cost me."

"Okay, good point."

"So I should buy it?"

"I didn't say that. Although…"

"Although what?"

"It might not be such a bad investment."

"What do you mean?" Luke asked, looking at her hopefully.

"Well, since Taylor owns most of the apartment buildings in town, it looks like you can't move. If you bought the flower shop, you could expand Luke's. Or you could rent the place out and make some extra money."

"That might work."

"Open your very own collectible plate store," Lorelai continued. "Or not…" she said quickly, seeing the annoyed look on his face. "But, before you decide, I think you should wait a day. Consider your options."

"I really hate collectible plates," Luke repeated.

"I know," Lorelai said sympathetically. "Everyone knows the only collectibles worth getting are the dolls."

A look of horror flickered across Luke's face, and he looked at her desperately. "Please tell me that's a joke."

"If only I could…"


"So, he's buying it?" Rory asked.

"I think he is," Lorelai admitted. "I tried to talk some sense into him, but I think I may have talked him into buying it instead."

"You never have been Ms. Practical."

"Hey, I resent that."

"You would've starved me for a pair of new shoes."

"That isn't true," Lorelai disagreed.

"It isn't?"

"They'd have to be boots before I'd even consider depriving you of food."

"Oh. Right."

"So, how was the movie?"

"Exactly like it was the first twenty times I saw it."

"They really need to make that into a 'choose your own adventure'. Spice it up a bit."

"You're telling me!" Rory agreed.

"But you had fun?"

"Yeah, I had fun."

"And Dean?"

"Dean is just fine. I apologized with Sour Patch Kids, so he had no choice but to forgive me."

"Try to remember the power of the Sour Patch Kids the next time you and I fight."

"I'll do my best," Rory promised, nodding seriously.

"But if you don't pick out the green ones first, I'm changing the locks," Lorelai warned her, rising to grab the now-ringing phone.

"But it's so cute how your face contorts," Rory teased.

Lorelai glared at her and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"The kitchen faucet is dripping," a very familiar, very French voice whined across the line.

"Ooh, this sounds like a dirty phone call," Lorelai crooned, mouthing the word 'Michel' to her daughter.

"Very funny. You know who this is."

"Well, the voice does sound familiar. Dad, is that you?" Lorelai teased.

"This is serious."

"Mom?"

"In two seconds, I will hang up this phone and allow the kitchen to flood. One…"

"Fine, Michel. What's wrong?"

"The kitchen faucet is dripping."

"Then, tighten it," Lorelai told him.

"With what?"

"Uh, a wrench, I guess."

"Impossible," Michel declared.

"Why?"

"I do not touch filthy tools."

"Wow, you're just leaving yourself wide open with that one."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. Call the plumber."

"It's Sunday," Michel reminded her.

"Well, Frank owes us a favor. He'll come in."

"Frank owed us a favor until the Plafferts caused their toilet to overflow during Monday Night Football. Frank no longer owes us a favor."

"Damn those Plafferts!"

"Indeed," Michel agreed.

"Well, how urgent is it?"

"Very urgent."

"Is the faucet trying to outdo Old Faithful?"

"What is Old Faithful?"

"A giant geyser in Yellowstone Park."

"I have no idea what that means."

"Is it shooting water all over the kitchen?" Lorelai asked, trying to remain patient.

"No, I suppose not."

"Is there any water on the floor?"

"None that I can see."

"Is there any water in the sink?"

"A little."

"Define 'a little'."

"There are drops."

"Michel, I'm pretty sure this can wait until tomorrow."

"No, it cannot," Michel disagreed.

"Why not?"

"Because I will quit."

"Over a faucet?"

"All it does is drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. The noise echoes through my ears. It will drive me mad."

"The kitchen is all the way across the room and behind a wall."

"I can still hear it."

Lorelai sighed. "Do you want me to come to the Inn and fix the faucet?"

"What a wonderful idea," Michel drawled. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"This dripping better sound like a sonic boom."

"Oh, it does."

"I'll be right there," Lorelai assured him. She hung up the phone and glanced at her daughter.

"Apparently, the faucet is dripping, and it's going to drive Michel mad."

"We wouldn't want that," Rory smirked.

"I have to go to the Inn."

"That's okay. I still have a little homework to do, so I wouldn't have been much company anyway."

Lorelai sighed sadly and dragged herself to the door. "You won't even let me pretend I have something better to do."

"You know," Rory remarked. "You never did get to try that rubber band on the faucet trick. Today might just be your day."

Lorelai's ears perked up, and she looked at her daughter. An evil grin slowly spread across her face. "I've heard rubber bands can actually fix drippy faucets."

"Huh. Better give that a try," Rory smiled.

"I think I just might," Lorelai said slyly. "Don't study too hard."

"I won't," Rory promised, watching as her mother hurried out the door and practically ran to the jeep.


Amused, Rory shook her head and stood up to head to her room. She was about halfway there when the phone rang. She walked over and picked up the receiver. "Michel, she's on her way."

"Rory?"

"Lane?"

"Oh, thank God it's you! I've been trying to call you for the past couple of hours, but I kept getting your answering machine. I couldn't exactly leave a message because your mom might hear it, so I just kept trying. But I was worried your mom would answer, and I wouldn't know what to say."

"You could've tried 'Is Rory there?'"

"Oh, yeah. I guess I didn't think of that," Lane admitted, pausing.

Rory smiled. "What's wrong?"

"Have you been in your room yet?"

"No, I just got home a little while ago."

"I'm so sorry," Lane apologized.

"Why?" Rory asked as she hurried to her room and looked around. "It looks fine."

"Have you checked the closet?"

"No," Rory said. She walked over and pulled open the closet door. "It looks the same."

"Exactly," Lane sighed.

"I don't think I understand."

"Your books, Rory. I couldn't get them."

"Oh."

"I tried, but you were right. They were really heavy. I personally think that they're immovable, but then Jess went into this whole lecture about how there's no such thing as immovable, or irresistible apparently. It was completely bizarre. But anyway, I couldn't lift them. I'm so sorry."

"You talked to Jess?" Rory asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah, sort of. I guess. Is there any way we can still get those books?"

"U-huh," Rory said, a little distracted. "I'll just go get them. My mom had to go take care of a drippy faucet at the Inn, so she should be gone for a while."

"Oh, thank God! I was so afraid I ruined the plan again."

"You didn't," Rory assured her. "You've been great."

"Thanks, Rory. Okay, I'll let you go get your books. Remember, lift with the knees."

"Thanks, Lane."

"Bye."

"Bye." She hung up the phone and, frowning, stared into her closet as though silently willing the box to appear. It didn't. Admitting defeat with a sigh, she grabbed a sweater and headed out the door.


When Rory arrived at the diner, she found a good-sized rock propping the front door open. The air had gotten warmer as the day had gone on, and a light, evening breeze carried the smell of fresh flowers and newly revived grass throughout town. A lot of people were welcoming spring in through their open doors; apparently, Luke and Jess were no different.

Soundlessly, Rory climbed the steps and peered in through the open doorway. Jess was sitting at one of the diner tables, reading a book. The place was deserted. The closed door not obstructing her view for once, Rory paused and watched him, fascinated by the way his fingers curled gracefully around the edges of the book, holding it open. Slowly, she moved her gaze from his hands to his face, trailing the angle of his jaw until her eyes came to rest on the slight smile he didn't know he should be hiding. She immediately wondered what he was reading, but the book was positioned in such a way that she couldn't see the cover. Finishing a page, Jess moved his hand to turn to the next and, at the same time, out of habit, glanced towards the door.

"Hey," she said softly, trying but failing to sound casual.

"Hey."

"I came to get my box," she explained as she walked the rest of the way into the diner.

"Good luck with that. Lane wasn't very successful."

"I know. That's why I came."

"Huh."

"Anyway," Rory continued, shifting uncomfortably. "Don't let me interrupt your book. I'll just grab it and get out of your way." Without waiting for his response, she hurried past him towards the box.

Jess closed the book and shifted in his chair to watch her. She knelt down and began shifting the books into a level surface inside the box. Twice, she tucked her hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture.

"You're nervous," he stated.

"What?" she answered, not looking at him. "No, I'm not."

"Well, it is a lot harder to avoid me when the diner is empty."

She glanced at him. "What are you talking about? I'm not avoiding you."

"If you say so."

"I'm not."

"Then I must be imagining things," Jess sarcastically conceded.

"So what if I am avoiding you? You stole my bracelet."

"I didn't steal your bracelet. You dropped it, and I picked it up. I guess next time, I'll just leave anything you drop right where it is, and it can be lost forever."

"Fine," Rory said immaturely, turning back to the box.

"Do you really think you're going to be able to lift that?"

"I carried it yesterday, didn't I?"

"No, I carried that box yesterday. Yours was a lot lighter."

"I think I can handle it," she assured him. Satisfied with the book arrangement, she wrapped her fingers under the box and stood. As soon as the box was off the ground, it rubbed against her already-swollen and bruised arms, causing her to wince and set it back down.

Jess was about to make a sarcastic comment, when he saw her push her sleeves up and rub her arms. Catching a glimpse of mottled purple, he stood and walked over to her. "What the hell happened?" he asked, lifting one of her arms to examine the bruise.

"The other box beat me up," Rory said honestly, causing Jess to smirk slightly.

"Do they hurt?"

"No, not really," Rory lied. Jess ran his fingertips over the bruise, and she winced again, causing him to give her a skeptical look. "Okay, maybe a little," she admitted.

Jess nodded knowingly and turned back to her arm, trying to think of some way to help. When he was a kid, and he hurt himself, his mom had always kissed his bruises or his cuts, and they'd instantly felt better. He knew now that it was something all parents did… some kind of psychological trick, but back then, he'd thought it was pretty magical, like with one touch she could take the pain away. It was one of the few things Liz used to do right. She'd burn the toast and drop dishes as soon as she pulled them from the cupboard, but she'd always been able to make the pain stop. The neighbors used to think it was adorable when little, four-year-old Jess would toddle over to his mom after falling and repeat, "Kiss it! Kiss it!" over and over until she did. But, Jess remembered, one day, her special healing magic just disappeared.

Jess was five at the time – it was a few months after Jimmy had left – just long enough for him to realize that his dad wasn't just at the store or away on business. He was gone. Jess was tearing through the apartment at lightning speed, so focused on the way the wind felt against his face that he didn't realize he wasn't paying attention until he ran headfirst into a wall. He'd fallen to the ground, dazed, tears brimming but not yet spilling. Liz had seen the collision and quickly called him over, pulling him up into the comfort of her lap. She'd examined his head for any serious injuries, then, smiling reassuringly, she'd placed the gentlest of kisses on his forehead. When she'd pulled away, Jess had seen the sad look on her face, and he couldn't understand why it was there. She didn't have to worry; he was going to be okay. Seeing the small frown on her son's face and the look of concern nestled deeply in his beautiful, brown eyes, Liz forced another smile, but, without warning, a single tear escaped her eyes and tumbled quickly down her cheek. She'd furiously wiped it away, but it had been too late. It was at that moment that Jess realized his pain wasn't gone. It had just shifted to a different place – a place deep inside him. No matter how many more kisses Liz gave him – no matter how many girls he kissed– the pain never went away.

But now, feeling Rory's soft, warm skin in his hands, he looked at the bruise on her arm and thought, maybe, if he just took a chance, a kiss could finally take his pain away.

He let her arm slip from his grasp.

"You should put ice on that," he said carefully.

"Okay," Rory answered quietly. "Thanks."

Jess nodded.

Rory paused as if weighing what she should say, then said quickly, "And thank you for picking up the bracelet. I'm glad it isn't lost forever."

"You know, if you aren't careful, you're gonna get lost in there."

"In where?" Rory asked, confused.

"That web of lies you're busy weaving."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rory dismissed, kneeling beside the box again.

"You lie to Dean, you lie to your mom, and, judging from Luke's quiz this morning about whether or not I know who this box belongs to, I suspect you've been lying to him too."

"What about you? You lie to everyone," Rory accused, standing back up.

"If you lie enough, you reach a point where you can't even figure out the truth anymore. You're better than that."

"So are you."

Jess shrugged and looked away. There was a long silence; the only sound in the diner was the flapping of the blinds in the wind.

After a while, Jess turned back to her. "I need to finish cleaning up."

Rory nodded, not wanting to end things this way again. The last thing she wanted was to have to avoid him again tomorrow. "What were you reading when I came in?"

"Oscar Wilde."

"The Importance of Being Ernest?"

"Is there anything else?" Jess asked rhetorically.

"Nothing worth mentioning," Rory smiled. "But you should try Salome. It's his attempt at a tragedy."

"Okay," Jess agreed. "Are you really going to be able to handle that?" he asked, referring to the box.

"I'll manage," Rory said firmly.

"Okay then," Jess accepted. He walked around the counter and, grabbing a rag, started wiping it down. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rory pick up the box, wince, and start towards the door.

"Hold on," he called after her. She sent him a look that clearly said that if she stopped now, she might not be able to make it home with the box. "Just one second," he promised. He turned around to face the back counter and started to scoop something into a plastic bag. Then, wrapping a clean cloth around the bundle, he walked around the counter and set it on top of the box. "For your arms."

Rory glanced at the bag and recognized the lumped contents as ice. "Thanks," she said, smiling gratefully.

"Try not to permanently maim yourself."

"I'll do my best," Rory assured him before stumbling out the door. Jess watched to make sure she at least made it to the sidewalk, then, kicking the rock out of the way, he closed the diner door.


Making it home at last, Rory dropped the box on the porch and pulled open the front door. She tried not to think about her aching arms as she slid the box across the wood, through the house, and into her closet. Sighing, she grabbed the ice from the box and walked towards her bed, melodramatically collapsing on top of it as soon as it was within reach. She lay completely still for a while, then, no longer out of breath, she pulled herself to an upright position and dragged her textbook onto her lap. Immediately, her arms began to throb, so she threw the book aside and snatched up the bag of ice. Holding it to her arm, she felt instant relief.

After a few minutes, she pulled the ice away and examined her arm, her eyes falling on the leather bracelet. She settled back against the pillows and ran her fingers over it, looking again at its imperfections. Slowly, her eyes journeyed away from the bracelet and up her arm to the place where Jess's hand had held her steady while he tied the leather around her wrist. Then, they moved a little higher, remembering how he'd absentmindedly stroked her skin while examining the bruise on her arm. Soon, her eyes drifted shut.

Outside, by the gazebo, under the sprawling tree, the town troubadour strummed his guitar, watching couples strolling home, hand-in-hand, across the grass while the lights in town went out one by one. Softly, he sang, the words floating along on the spring breeze and vanishing into the night.

"Funny how I feel

More myself with you

Than anybody else

That I ever knew.

I hear it in your voice,

See it in your face.

You've become the memory

I can't erase."