DISCLAIMER: I own neither the show nor the characters of the Gilmore Girls. Just the messed up way in which I am portraying them.

"What the hell?" came the annoyed voice from the back of the packed storeroom.

She turned her head towards his voice, trying the door at the same time to no avail.

"Rory?"

"Yeah, see, Luke well, he told me to come in here, he said—and then he just--," she rambled, cutting off in mid-explanation, gesturing to the door.

Jess made an exasperated face, moved between her and the door, brushing against her as he moved to the door, and tried the latch himself. She stepped back, folding her arms over her chest and glared at him. She knew when a door was locked, and she was no weakling. He tried the door, banging on it a couple of times in frustration and turned to face her, his back resting against the secured door.

"It's locked," he grumbled.

"You don't say," she bit back.

"Hey, I'm not the dumb one that got tricked by teenagers," he cocked his head to one side, noting her standoffish stance.

"So, you're not standing in the locked room with me? Face it, we both got tricked."

"Why would they lock us in here?"

"Uh, probably because we're driving them nuts."

"I'm not driving Luke nuts. I'm not acting any differently because of . . . this," he said, gesturing between them as he moved away from the door.

"Really? Well, then tell them to open up, 'cause obviously we have nothing to talk about," her tone was filled with hurt, he didn't care that they weren't together any more? True, she'd said stupid things, hurtful things, but she hadn't meant them. If he would just listen to her, he'd know that. But he didn't care enough to listen.

He sighed, and looked around for a piece of paper and a pen. He found some ordering forms and scribbled a note on the back of it, and slid it under the door.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm fulfilling your request," he answered shortly.

"You seriously think we have nothing to talk about?"

"Isn't that what you just said?" he asked, obviously strained, looking into her eyes for the first time since he stormed off her porch.

"I was being facetious," she rolled her eyes. She moved to sit on a box that was the perfect height to perch on. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, and she held his gaze.

He looked down as the paper was slid back under the door. He picked it up, read it and moved to bang on the door again, this time yelling.

"You're going to pray for child's protective services when I get out of here!"

He received no answer, and he gave the door one more open handed smack before turning back to Rory, paper still in hand.

"What does that say?"

He held out the note for her to read. She took it from his hand, trying not to touch the skin of her fingers to his. She saw his scrawl, requesting 'Unlock the door or die a slow painful death when I get out,' causing her to smile. She noticed Lorelai's neat handwriting underneath it in response, 'You stay in until you work it out. No half-assed attempts will fool us.'

She set the paper down on the box next to her, and watched as Jess moved back to the corner where he had been when she fatefully joined him. She didn't move, she just looked at him in amazement.

"Uh, Jess?" her tone impatient.

"What?"

"Are we going to talk?"

He set the book down that was in his hands to be sorted rather abruptly, startling her almost, and looked up at her. He moved back over to her, now standing just in front of her and crossed his arms over his own chest as if to mirror her body language.

"Is that a no?"

"Do I look like I want to talk? 'Cause you're not looking too chatty right now yourself."

"We don't have much of a choice, now do we?"

He sighed loudly and threw his hands up in the air. "Fine, talk."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. You want to talk. For all I know, this was all your idea."

She actually had the urge to throw him into the wall. She couldn't believe he would think that she for one second would want to be in this situation. First of all, it was too sitcom-y for her taste—every single show had been using variations on the lock the two in the small enclosure since I Love Lucy. Second of all, she hates confrontation. And this is as confrontational as it gets. Words escaped her; she was growing so mad she could barely see straight.

"MY IDEA? You can't be serious, you're grasping at straws! If anything, you orchestrated this!"

"Now you're delusional," he said, pointing a finger at her.

"No, you're the delusional one! You heard part of one conversation and you go off running with things that just aren't true in your head!"

He moved even closer to her, taking her now pointing hand at the wrist and using it to draw her up against him. He lowered his voice, speaking barely above a whisper; almost what Rory thought it would sound like if Jess could really growl.

"Tell me what part of what I heard you say wasn't complete," he dared her.

She could barely breathe; he was so close she felt as if he were using up all the oxygen in the room so there was no more left for her. Everything felt huge around her, as if she were shrinking down to the size of a grain of sand. She wanted to tell him it had all been some sort of bad dream, but she knew in her heart that he had heard her. There was no magic word she could say that was on the end of the conversation to make it better.

"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper, hoping against hope that the tears she could feel forming wouldn't fall. She closed her eyes, in an attempt to hold them in, but she felt the wetness thick between her eyelashes.

She opened her eyes as his grip loosened on her wrist and she felt him pull her to him into a hug. His arms wrapped around her, his hands running up and down the length of her back.

Meanwhile, in the apartment above the diner, Lorelai was making herself comfortable on the couch, pulling her legs up Indian style underneath her. Luke moved to the refrigerator and pulled out orange juice, opening the carton and putting it to his lips without a single thought.

"Ew," came the feminine voice from behind him. He paused, turning to look at the look of disapproval on her face.

"What?"

"What if I wanted some? That is so disgusting!"

"You want some orange juice?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, no, but that's not the point!"

"You just said--," he pointed out.

"I just meant that by drinking from the carton, you're ensuring that no one else can have any at any time!"

"It's not like I have some communicable disease," he rolled his eyes.

"It's still gross."

"It's just like kissing someone. Are you saying you've never kissed someone?"

"Of course I have," she sighed.

"And is that gross?"

"Well, no," she reasoned, still not wanting to admit he was right.

"So, kissing Tristan isn't gross, despite the fact that he's probably had his mouth in plenty of--,"

"HEY!" she cut him off, waving her hands before clasping them over her ears and shaking her head like a child.

He moved to sit next to her on the couch and pulled her hands off her ears. She looked at him warily and put her hands in her lap.

"So, kissing me would be gross, is what you're saying."

"Of course I'm not saying that," she sighed. She figured this can't go well—she was digging herself a hole that she won't escape from. She looked over his face, wondering if this could possibly end with his lips brushing hers, his hands in her hair, her moving over to—No, she has to stop his. This is a silly argument to pass the time while their caretakers battled it out downstairs.

He noticed the far off look in her eye, and wondered who she was thinking about. Whoever it was it pretty lucky, to get that dreamy look to wash over her. He didn't want to press this, but seemed almost unable not to.

"Oh, come on, you'd rather be off with him than here with me," he said a little too bitterly.

She looked at him, realizing that not only was Lane right, but he was actually practically admitting it himself. At least, that's what his tone was conveying to her. He was hurt that she would want to be with Tristan more than him.

"Why would you care if I were with Tristan?" she said, finding it difficult to swallow, but very necessary. She moved her hand to twirl a lock of hair that fell below her shoulder, quickly catching his eye then flitting back down to her lap.

"I don't care," he scoffed, looking at her as she glanced up at him.

"You don't care? Then why did you ask?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"I just, wondered, that's all," he said, "I mean, you are dating him, aren't you?"

"I was, sort of. I'm certainly not seeing him exclusively," she admitted.

"Oh? You looked pretty exclusive the other night," he said, trying now to appear uninterested.

She sighed, knowing this was going to be a long night, both for her mother and for her. She had no idea the confusion her mother too was facing.

Rory was confused, but let Jess hold her. She continued to let the tears out, surprised at how free she felt to let out her insecurities while he held her.

"I'm sorry, just, please don't cry," he urged her, roaming his fingers slowly and steadily up and down the length of her spine. She sniffed a few times, and moved back to wipe the moisture from her cheeks. She looked at him, noting he looked calmer, as if she had let out both of their frustration with her tears.

"What I said, to Lorelai, I said out of fear. I was wrong to say those things—I don't want this to be some fling, I want," she started, obviously having grabbed his attention. He stood at the ready, not quite looking like he believed her, but at least he wasn't shutting her out. Not that he could hide from her, but he could certainly make this a lot harder.

"What do you want, Rory?" he was pleading with her using just his eyes. His voice was very calm, not wanting to upset her or make her crawl back into her shell of fear.

"I want to take this slow, I don't want to make any mistakes," she said, closing her eyes, not wanting to push him away, but not ready yet to let him in permanently. She just knew that the day with him this angry with her had felt as if someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. It was more than apparent that what she felt for him was love. Or at least the beginnings of that emotion.

"What kind of mistakes?" his voice still soft and even, he moved back closer to her, placing his hands on her hips lightly.

"I don't want this to upset Lorelai, I don't want it to end our friendship, I don't think I could stand it," she said quietly. The silence in the room was deafening, she was desperate for him to say something, anything.

He thought for a moment, wanting to phrase his words correctly. He leaned his forehead against hers, their eyes glued together.

"You know what I'm not hearing you say? I'm not hearing you say what this would do to you. That you're afraid of how this might hurt you," he said in the most non-accusatory manner he could muster. He traced a finger down her cheek, running it lightly down her neck and coming to an eventual rest over her heart. He lightly poked her there, causing her to visibly swallow, and look from his finger to his eyes.

Back upstairs, Lorelai was facing Luke now, one leg tucked underneath her, one hanging down to meet the floor. He was right, the last time he saw them together, they did disappear into her room and the sexual tension between them was insurmountable. But she'd realized that that was all there was with Tristan. Sexual tension. Lust. No real feelings, no real mutual enjoyment of each other outside the carnal frisking of the other. She could never go to Tristan to help her ensnare her mother into a confrontation with Jess. They wouldn't be able to converse long enough to formulate a plan.

"Well, I've realized something since the last time you saw me and Tristan together," she admitted, biting her lip as she looked at him.

"What's that?"

"I just realized that he doesn't really know me."

"What?"

"Tristan, he doesn't know me. And I don't know him. And no matter how much time we spent together, we never seem to come out on the other end knowing anything more about the other person. I mean, personality wise."

"What does this have to do with kissing?"

"I guess what I'm saying is that I'd rather have it all, I mean, find someone who I can talk to when the kissing stops," she explained. "You know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," Luke agreed, looking into her eyes in that way he had that made her melt. She felt like her bones had liquefied, leaving her unable to move the way she wanted to. She couldn't move as he inched closer to her, his hand hesitantly behind her on the couch now. All thoughts of why they were here, the events that led up to this very moment disappeared—all she knew was that his lips were moving towards her own at an achingly slow pace. She breathed in deeply, looked hopefully into his eyes and leaned into him, as he finally moved his lips against hers for the first time.

Jess' finger was on her heart, and his words were nothing but truth. He was right, she had to admit it to herself, and to him.

"Of course I'm afraid of getting hurt! Why wouldn't I be afraid of it? It always happens, and if we get any closer—this past day is proof that I'm already too involved in this not to have it hurt. If we get closer, if we continue on like this--," she worked it out in her own mind.

"Can I say something?" His finger was replaced with an open palm. She'd never felt so vulnerable, so naked. His touch on her gave her clarity, but a sort of hyper focus on him. All she could focus on was his words. She nodded, eagerly awaiting the wisdom she was sure he would spout forth making her world complete in a way it had never been before.

"Even if we stay together, get married and live happily ever after, I'm still going to end up hurting you," he said almost regretfully. She looked into his eyes, blue swirling around her iris like waves, wondering how to respond to this. He smiled, wanting her to understand fully.

"Life isn't about being blissfully happy all the time. No one person can give you that, and no one person should have that kind of responsibility. As much as I want to see that smile grace you features, I know that sometimes we're going to fight, and sometimes it's going to be even better than I could have ever imagined it. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

She smiled, knowing full well what he meant. She nodded, bringing her hands up onto his shoulders lightly.

"Does that mean you want to be with me?" she ventured, searching his eyes for the answer she so wanted so much to hear. She felt her breath hold as all she could feel was his hands on her, and the palpable silence filling the room.

AN: Writing time is becoming a luxury thing for me lately, just want you to know it might be slightly longer between updates for a little while. We might be moving, which will suck, but I'm not quite done with this, as if you couldn't tell with the cliffhanger ending to this chapter. Thanks to everyone who is reviewing, it's always wonderful to hear that people are reading and what you think!