A/N: Wow, wow, thanks for the feedback. I really appreciate it, and am so glad that you all enjoyed this. For the person who was wondering about the story title: it's a really good song by Trapt. Once again, thanks to Arianna for being helpful and sweet. And to Becka for saying the sweetest, nicest, most wonderful things that make me blush and smile like an idiot. Thank you.
Chapter Two
"Did you know that Dean got married?" Rory asked.
"Yeah, I saw him buying groceries for his wife at Doose's. Apparently my witnessing the event jeopardized his manhood, and he assured me they were for her."
"Oh." She paused, too many words swirling within her head. Her thoughts collided and broke apart, and she scrambled to fit them together again, fix the logic. She needed that net of reasoning to catch her right now. "I don't understand why he got married so young."
There was no answer from Jess. He was staring too hard at her to formulate a response. His eyes had finally adjusted to the lack of light, and the shadows of her face had turned into tangible features: the fluttering of her eyelashes, the slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth, twisted in uncomfortable conversation, lips pursing together when she was struggling with what to say next.
"I think he still has feelings for me," she said quietly.
He frowned, because Dean was supposed to be a safe subject now that he had married himself off. This was not safe.
"And do you still have…" He trailed off, the thought too absurd to comprehend.
"I don't know," she responded.
He felt a sudden movement, as if his body had jumped off the mattress, hurtling toward the ceiling, before falling back down to its rightful position. But it had only been an interior sensation; he remained perfectly still.
"I don't think so."
"Why the sudden need to play the sharing game?" He inquired, a hint of contempt in his tone.
"I'm just trying to sort things out." Her voice was subdued, weak, and right there he decided to shut his mouth and let her say whatever she wanted.
"Did you know my grandparents are separated?"
"Shit. No."
"My grandmother is living in a hotel," she paused, the idea seeming too ridiculous floating in the darkness around them. "I just don't understand how after so much time, it could just end."
"Things happen."
"Not after thirty-five years of marriage. It's scary. No one's safe, it can happen whenever. Things just… fall apart."
"And things get put back together," he assured her.
"But they're separated. It's like the beginning of the end."
"Or maybe it's just a precaution."
Rory looked up at him, tilting her head on the pillow. She shifted beneath the covers so she could lie on her side and actually face him. Her legs bumped his on the small mattress, and she quickly pulled away, bending at the knees, so she was no longer touching him.
"You think they can fix things?" She asked, desperately wanting an idealistic response, a promise he couldn't make.
She sounded much too young then, making him feel some kind of fucked up version of guilt that he could not pinpoint the reason for. Hesitantly, he reached out and touched her lightly, traveling up the underside of her arm. The area was too sensitive, allowing his fingertips to emit electricity that traveled to her heart, before making a detour and landing between her legs.
She was trying to sort things out. This was not helping.
"Yes," he replied easily. As if there was no other logical answer.
After a moment of silence, he took a chance and leaned down to kiss her. She found herself immediately responding despite her doubt. His mouth tasted like cigarette smoke and California, last summer's sun bleached into his skin and lips; experiences still untold. He tasted good. A butterfly of excitement went wild in her stomach, and for the first time since her agreement to run with him, she felt that she had made the right choice.
"I love you," she said suddenly, because she could, because they could. She needed to know that what she did, what she was doing, was okay, that there were reasons to back her up. She wasn't doing this for nothing.
He didn't say it back, but she didn't even care because he kissed her again, and she swallowed his words. They were warmer than she expected. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her tens of thousands of thoughts slowing, until eventually it was all mute noise in her head. Later, she fell asleep, her hand on his upper arm.
He could barely sleep at all that first night, alone with her in his apartment, lying on an old mattress on the floor. He had been embarrassed to bring her here, only because he thought it'd spark an unwanted reaction — this, this was what he was offering her?
He had managed to convince his two roommates to spend the night at a friends' place. He would have sprung for a motel of sorts for him and Rory, but he had finally begun the delicate task of thinking ahead. Conserving money was the way to go right now, if he really wanted to get a new apartment, furnish it, and provide for her and himself. It was a terrifying thought: the two of them on their own, and it was all up to him. Arriving at her dorm earlier tonight, asking her to run… run with him! Leave everything behind! What had he been thinking? It had all popped into his head as he spoke, and he couldn't control the onrush; it just came out. He had needed her to understand that this time would (could) be different, this time would be good.
And she had said yes. He still didn't know why. But for now, the fact that she was lying next to him was all that mattered. Eventually, his mind hitched on to the sound of her breathing, rhythmic and slow, and it put him to sleep just as broken pieces of sunlight began to creep into the room.
He managed around two hours of shut-eye before he woke up to an empty bed, and a climbing fear that she had slipped away in the middle of the night. These first few days were vital; she wasn't entirely comfortable in the city, with him, with the idea. He wished she had thrown herself a hundred percent behind the decision, but it didn't happen. He had to get past that though. If he did this right, she would stay. And she wouldn't regret it.
Once he had rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and sat up in bed, he saw her standing on the other side of the apartment, staring out the window. It was a constant production outside, the scenery never changed, but there was a continual parade of new characters and different situations. She watched quietly, her gaze pensive. As soon as he stood though, she snapped out of her haze and looked over at him.
"Hey."
"Hey," he replied. With a pang, he noticed the time. "I've got work today. Soon."
"Oh."
"But I'll be back this afternoon. You can stay here while I'm gone. There's food in the fridge and I've got a bunch of books lying around."
"Sounds good," she nodded. But she looked almost frightened. He didn't want to leave her alone; it was too soon. He knew she would be fine here. There was only a marginal fear that she would head out into the city and get lost, or return to find herself locked out. More though, he thought she'd go out to explore, and then never come back.
He hoped this was a temporary feeling. He didn't want to doubt her presence every time he saw her, or had to leave her.
"I don't have to go. I've never taken a day off, it wouldn't matter."
"Don't break your perfect record for me. It's fine. I will be fine."
He considered her for a moment, before finally relenting, accepting that he wasn't going to win this. "My roommate Greg'll be back a little later. He looks scary, but is actually irritatingly nice."
"Okay."
"He will try to make awkward small talk."
"I'll just give him my withering stare and scare him off," she answered.
He smirked at her response, enjoying the light air to her comment. He then noticed that neither of them had moved, that this entire conversation had taken place over the span of several feet. He decided to remedy that immediately, and headed over to where she leaned on the wall by the window. She didn't move away, instead waiting for him to come to her. Nothing new there.
"We'll eat out for dinner," he explained. "And I'll start looking for an apartment this afternoon." He waited for some kind of reaction, wondering if the full force of what they were doing had hit her yet.
"Sounds good."
He nearly frowned at her uninterested attitude, as if she was taking this all in stride. He was supposed to be the enigma of the relationship, yet today he was having a tremendous amount of trouble decoding her words and actions. She had woken up opaque and wooden, although there had been evidence of that last night. She had kissed him back, had said that she loved him too, but then there was her voice, small and unsure: I'm just trying to sort things out.
"You want my cell number?"
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Don't let strangers in no matter what candy they claim to have, and don't set any fires. I got it."
He took another step forward, letting his left hand land on her arm, his right on her cheek. She leaned into him, hiding her face in his T-shirt. Relieved, he skimmed the side of her face with his lips, and as a response, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She allowed herself to melt into him, hoping that what he proposed wasn't so out of the question. Simultaneously, another part of her was blocking out Stars Hollow, her mother, and her grandparents. She would have to call soon.
He dressed with her facing the window, smirking at the blush he knew to be on her cheeks. When he was ready to go, he took one last, long look at her, trying to will her with his mind to just wait this out. It'd be worth it in the end.
"I'll be back," he promised.
"I'll be here," she promised.
It took him three days to find an apartment, a relatively short time for someone who had just begun looking. It was all a matter of luck, the stars aligning, fate deciding to stop screwing him over. A friend of his had decided to move in with his girlfriend, leaving behind a vacant apartment with Jess's name on it. The rent for May had already been paid in full, and a few pieces of furniture had been left behind — less for Jess to buy. A loveseat and an ancient TV set sat in the living room, a dresser lived alone in the bedroom, and a table stood in the kitchen, positioned awkwardly off to the side, near the permanent objects of the sink, double counter, refrigerator and stove.
"Huh. He took the chairs, but left the table?" Jess wondered out loud, standing in the kitchen, surveying the scene. "We'll have to get a couple of chairs and a bed, but I think that's all we need right now."
He turned in time to see Rory leaving the bedroom. He shot her an expectant look. "What do you think?"
"It's nice." Her voice was hollow, noncommittal.
"We need chairs and a bed," he repeated. "Then, kitchen stuff, sheets, blankets…"
"Can we do that first?"
"What first?"
"The bed," she clarified. "Can we get that first?"
He caught on to her train of thought quickly. She didn't want to sleep on the floor. "Yeah. We can buy it today, and I'll get overnight delivery. So tonight…" He trailed off. "We'll get pillows and a blanket."
"Sounds good."
"Bed, sheets… anything else you want today? After, there's this corner market down the street," he explained, gesturing behind him, overcompensating. "We can buy some food."
"Are you going to cook dinner?" She seemed mildly amused by the thought.
He smirked, trying to encourage her mood. "Yup."
"Will you show me how?"
"Sure." He paused. "I've got some money saved up. I worked at Jimmy's —"
"Who's Jimmy?" She cut in.
The bottom of his stomach dropped out. "My dad," he replied. God, she didn't even know his name. Please, don't let this be a reminder. Don't let her get mad.
"Oh."
With a lack of a response, he continued, "I worked at his hot dog stand over the summer. He had a tendency to overpay me. Then, he gave me this huge end of the summer bonus. Guilt and abandonment issues pay well."
"Child support," she supplied. "He owes years of it." She paused. "I've got money too. In the bank, I mean."
"Last resort," he nodded. He pulled a key out of his pocket, and handed it to her. "We'll have to make a copy, too."
"Let's go." A ripple of excitement ran through her voice. They had things to do now, tasks to complete. This was what she was good at: structure and a schedule.
They emerged in the hall, and he turned to shut the door behind them. When he faced her, he was surprised to find her wearing a startled look. "Is this really going to work?"
"Yes." That was the answer lately. That was what she needed to hear.
It took a few days before they were fully settled in. For one of those days, Rory had been noticeably absent, going back to Stars Hollow for the test run of her mother's inn. She had returned to the apartment late the next night, deflated and worn; her mother had been too busy (read: angry) to say more than three words to her. The guilt had followed her back to the city, and she had gone straight to bed, her conversation with Jess limited. He had felt bad, because he knew it was more than her mom, but her grandparents too, and maybe even some of the townies. He never allowed himself to fully grasp how much she had left behind to come with him. The off-balance emotion would eat him alive.
She had come back, however. That was what he dwelled upon. That was what mattered in the end.
One night during their second week, he sat on their new bed, smoking a cigarette and staring at the wall. He strained his ears for the muffled sound of the shower running, but he could no longer pick up on it. Seconds later, the door opened to reveal Rory, dripping wet, wearing only a towel. She looked embarrassed to see him, although she had known he'd be in there. There weren't many places to hide in the apartment.
He stood up to leave, so she could dress alone, but she stopped him. "You don't have to go. But can you…"
He nodded and returned to his previous position, his back to her. The silence that fell was pure torture, because in the void, he knew she was behind him, undressed, and it was taking all of his willpower not to turn around and look at her. Her feet made wet, sloppy sounds on the hardwood floor, as she walked to the dresser to remove clothes for the night. He took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray he kept on the floor, on his side of the bed.
Searching his head for something to say to break the quiet, he was surprised when she spoke first.
"Tell me about California." It was the request that had been lodged at the front of her mind since he had entered her life again. This was what would lead to the rest of her unanswered questions. She wanted to get to Why?
"It was hot," he said. "The beaches were a nightmare during the day, too many rubber skinned I-still-don't-have-a-dark-enough-tan beach freaks. But it was great at night."
"You went to the beach at night?"
"Sometimes. It was weird walking it with absolutely no one around," he explained to the wall. "It was quiet. Just the sound of the ocean."
"It sounds nice."
He was quiet for a moment. She clenched her fist, waiting, willing him to keep going. He couldn't stop now. She needed more.
"I saw you over the summer."
She looked up at his back, startled.
"You were in the sci-fi section at this one bookstore, classic lit at another. You served me coffee in this café on the boardwalk."
She stared at the bed, trying to mentally separate the threads of the blanket to form a hole big enough for her to disappear through. An unfamiliar emotion surged within her, before she recognized it as the feeling she used to get when he was around her. With the two of them just sitting on her couch, watching TV, reading, talking. She glanced back up at him.
"I missed you too."
At her words, he began to turn around, slowly so she could give a shout of warning if she was not yet decent. She remained quiet, allowing him to do a full one eighty. She sat down on the bed, so both of them were at opposite sides.
"Why'd you leave?" Nothing like cutting to the chase.
"Do you know what it's like to have everything fall apart all at once? And you want fix it, because you're so god damn tired of the mess, but you have no idea where to even start?"
"So you left?"
"I had to."
"No, that's where you're wrong. You never had to leave. I could have —"
"I needed to go and just… clear my head, figure some stuff out…"
"And you couldn't say goodbye to me first?" She made a move to get up. His hand immediately shot out and grabbed her wrist.
"Rory…"
"How could you just let me walk off the bus? You told me you'd call me. Yeah, thanks a lot."
"I didn't know how to tell you," he admitted.
"How about: Goodbye? I'm leaving without trying to resolve anything, see ya later!"
"If I had told you, you would have asked me to stay."
"Of course I would have, you were my boyfriend. So what?"
"I would have stayed."
She looked down at her lap, biting her lip. She couldn't pinpoint whether it was anger, hate, or love that was radiating off her body. It might have been a mix of all three.
"I didn't want to," he added. "Everything would have only gotten worse."
"You never called or wrote or anything. You made me want to hate you."
"You were supposed to. It would have made things easier."
It hurt. It hurt way too much. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away before he could see them.
"Did you mean it?"
"Mean what?"
"Any of it. All of it." Did he miss her? Did he love her? Could she really count on him now?
He sighed, eyes back on the wall, trying to see through it. He was looking for something, a picture, a sign, evidence of what was to come.
"Yes."
For the first time since they had left, she was the one to initiate the kiss. She crawled across the bed, and kissed him timidly, letting his words sink in. He pulled her closer, trying to keep himself in an upright position at the same time. Both lost their balance, however, and she landed partly on top of him. He rolled them over, so their positions were switched, and she reveled in the feeling of his full weight against her. He kissed her neck, and she squeezed her eyes shut, concentrating only on where to put her hands, and the sound of his breathing.
They were doing this all wrong: apologies came first, then understanding, and finally rebuilding. Both were jumping through the motions, straight to the end. It was way too fast, but really that was the whole point.
All thoughts of stopping died at formation, as they slipped beneath the sheets, still stiff from the cardboard packaging material. She kept her eyes closed, losing herself in the sensations, the rhythm. The part of her that should have felt upset and alone, making love to a boy who had broken her heart while she was miles and miles from home, never reared its ugly head. Instead, she found herself pulling him as close as possible, breathing hard against his neck, kissing him with an intensity she had never felt before.
When he lay down next to her, she immediately rolled into him, trying to cling to something solid, afraid she'd be sent hurtling off into orbit. It was too much, the build-up, the release, the feeling; it wrapped around her, tight gauze that balled up in her chest. He drew his lips across her temple, and she shut her eyes again, waiting for the cold calm of his kiss to fill her.
She barely remembered falling asleep.
Rory woke up first, a tingling in her body startling her. She moved to face him, but found him turned away, still asleep.
She slid across the mattress, careful not to shake it, and pressed her face into his back, letting the faint scent of sweat and soap fill her nose. She inhaled, letting it out slowly, trying to get her mind around the night before. In her head, the images replayed themselves, leaving her light-headed and excited, but somewhat nervous. More nights like that could lie ahead of her if this lasted, if this really worked out. If she trusted him. He would be there; he had said he would, promised she could count on him.
She was finally beginning to understand this. Him. Maybe this would work. Maybe this would last.
Slipping her hand over his side, she leaned further into him, but the movement roused him awake. She inched away to give him room to turn.
"Hi," she said, the single word full of uncertainty, embarrassment.
"Hey." A small smile twitched at his lips.
"Can I make breakfast?" She asked stupidly, not wanting an awkward silence to fall, unsure of whether or not either of them was supposed to mention last night.
"Only if I can stand behind you and make sporadic comments, so the food is edible."
His smile was contagious. It spread to her, lighting up her face, and she moved closer to him. She rested her head on his chest, his heartbeat thrumming in her ear.
"Sounds like a plan," she said, making no move to get up.
"Yeah," he muttered, his fingertips spinning small circles on her shoulder, "it does."