Disclaimer: See, if I were Amy, this is how an episode would go. As anyone who's ever seen "There's the Rub" knows that it doesn't work this way, the deductive process ought to lead you to deciding that I'm not Amy.

Author's Note: Yay for reviews! I'm still not happy with the writing style, and I have to apologize for wanting to post this so badly that I haven't even given it five minutes to settle, but...I'm enjoying thinking about it, at least, so pretend it's a good read. I figured out how to enable anonymous reviews, so...wahoo, everybody review me?

smile: There's a reason the end of the second chapter 1 rushes...you're absolutely right, but it is what I meant to do. Call it time lapse dreams on Rory's part, or something. :)
OnLoveInSadness: There are supposed to be two Chapter 1s. :) Look for a second Chapter 2 at some point, too...

Right, and now on to the chapter.

Chapter 2: Phantoms
(2:16)

Rory is having the loveliest dream. She is dreaming that she has the house all to herself, to watch TV and do laundry in her pajamas, order Indian food, and go to bed early. She knows it is a dream because she doesn't even have homework to do, and she can spend whatever free time her night offers rereading Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet and beginning Northanger Abbey, the only Jane Austen she hasn't yet touched.

It also has to be a dream because as soon as she has settled down in front of the television with her laundry hamper, the doorbell rings. She's willing to bet that it's Jess; lately, her nightmares have been revolving around them (she firmly quashes the thought that she is all too ready to have these "nightmares").

It's Paris, so the dream ends and she wakes up to an hour of electrochemistry in the company of a stressed-out overachiever. It's not as bad as it could be; Paris will leave soon and she'll get the house back to herself.

Then Jess arrives. Maybe Paris was just an unusual nightmare, because this absolutely has to be a dream--a care package that might (just might) be Jess's idea, a goodly amount of flirting over cold French fries, Paris offering to leave. Rory can almost forgive them both for interrupting her alone night (and she's sure grateful to Paris for getting her to put on some clothes before Jess saw her...the thought of Jess seeing her in her pajamas gives her some images that are very nearly nightmare).

But she's finally absolutely sure she's awake when she realizes that she's terrified of what will happen if she's alone with Jess (more exquisite nightmares) and that she's sure Dean will be terribly upset, so she asks Paris to supper. They discuss Kerouac, Bukowski, and Austen, and Rory's pretty sure that this is a day worth dreaming about later on.

When Dean calls, she's terrified and sick of the alternation between dream and nightmare (she ignores the fact that she has mislabeled Jess as "dream," his staying to supper as "nightmare"). She evicts her supper guests as efficiently as possible, nevermind how lame the excuse "It's getting late" sounds to everyone's ears.

Jess asks: "Do you really want me to go?" (She doesn't; she does; she knows she doesn't...God, why can't she just say yes and get on with it?)

She settles for a compromise. "I really...want to avoid a fight with Dean." Jess sighs, nods his assent, picks up his coat.

Half-way to the front door, he calls out "Ow!" and stops.

Rory, impatient, nervous, asks, "What?"

"Ooh! I think I just twisted my ankle. I better go lie down."

She stares at him, annoyed, for a moment. She can push him out the front door (and get some good physical contact in, the traitor part of her that thoroughly enjoys Jess-nightmares points out) and send him away, ending the lovely night and saving peace with Dean. On the other hand, she can clearly see Dean coming up the sidewalk as she sends Jess out the door. What a scene that will make. (And, her mind adds optimistically, if you hide him somewhere, the night won't be over yet...)

"Fine," she says. "Get in my room, hide in my closet. But I'm warning you, if you make as much as a peep...I'll put you on the Machine!" She shoves him through the doorway (two Jess-experiences for the price of one) and shuts the door. Paris, for once, is being helpful and stacking the cartons of food and shoving them in the trashcan.

Right on schedule, Dean rings the doorbell. Rory smooths her skirt down, takes a deep breath, and answers the door with as genuine a smile as she can muster. The thought of Jess in her room, waiting for her, reading her books--oh God, she told him to hide in her closet! she has clothes in there!--makes an uncomfortable lump in her stomach.

She kisses Dean perfunctorily and follows him to the kitchen. She relaxes a little: he's brought mocha ice cream, but Paris is standing guard over the overflowing trashcan and she is reminded of exactly who is ensconced on her bed, ruining her pristine copy of Franny and Zoey.

"Dean, you remember Paris, right?"

"Hi, Paris." Dean nods and eyes Rory in a way that is meant to say, Please get rid of Paris; this would be a perfect time to exercise my newly increased lung capacity. Rory ignores him.

"You brought me ice cream!" She tries to muster up some enthusiasm. "Paris, you like mocha, right?" She turns away from Dean's half-annoyed look and rummages in the drawer for three spoons.

The only positive side to this situation, as Rory sees it, is that Paris is restraining herself (barely) from running circles around Dean with the conversation. They discuss women's basketball, something none of them know very much about, leaving nice long pauses for eating ice cream.

Once Rory has scraped the bottom of the carton--as close as she will get to licking it with her boyfriend and worst enemy-and-sometime-close friend watching her (and Jess stroking Colonel Plucker and smiling over thoughts of her just beyond the closed door)--she turns her most Rory-like smile on Dean and says, "That was really nice, Dean. Really. Much better than I thought. Nothing ruined. Promise. Come on, let me walk you out." Dean restrains his irritation and follows Rory out the door.

She firmly ignores the half of her brain that is remembering Jess nightmares and lets Dean kiss her for a good minute before pulling away. She smiles again and says, "'Night, Dean," then lets him leave.

Paris coughs delicately as Rory returns to the kitchen. "I should...err...let you get back to your alone night, " she says. Rory doesn't question how she has conveniently forgotten the Jess-flirting and the fact that Jess (a boy! ...not just a boy, Jess) is in her room.

She says, "Thanks for coming, Paris, it was fun! Please, please, please don't stress too much; I promise you'll do fine on the quiz. Really."

"Yeah, I guess so," Paris manages with a small smile. She collects her belongings from the living room and heads out.

Rory waits until she hears Paris's car crunch out of the driveway before opening her bedroom door. She is greeted with: "Geez, what does he do, make you use a scuba tank?" She blushes.

"I don't think you're one to talk, Jess Mariano," she says, offering him a hand up from the nest of her covers. He finds the nearest bookmark (Elijah Wood, on her nightstand) and lays Franny and Zoey down on top of the sheet.

He's studying her, and she finds she can't quite meet his gaze. But she can't let go of his hand, either.

"Read with me?" she says, to break the silence. He picks up Salinger again, and she digs Rilke out of her backpack with her free hand. Then she leads him to the living room and to the couch, hoping he'll ignore the...unmentionables...strewn across the floor.

No such luck. When he mentions that he didn't even have to pay the cost of eBay, she wrinkles her nose and drops his hand to smack him. She finishes sorting her laundry very quickly, then carries it all to her mother's room before starting the white-T-shirt-with-writing load.

Jess has made himself comfortable on the couch, so she crawls onto the other end and opens her book, tangling her bare feet with his (she doesn't question what happened to his shoes).

She wonders what happens next and realizes that it doesn't matter: all the shadows in front of her belong to her traitor-self, which has taken over her body. Half of them involve kissing Jess (on the couch, up against the table in the entryway, against the washing machine, by the bookshelves in her room)...a few of them involve worse things than kissing Jess. All of them involve the heat of him against her--as it is right now--and a small smile on his face--which is there right now.

None of them are nightmares.