Disclaimer. Not mine, so sue me if I'm using 'em. 88 belongs to Sum 41. Guns of Brixton belongs to the Clash. We Are belongs to Ana Johson...and maybe to Spidey 2. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Lewis Carroll

A/N: Loving the feedback more with each passing day. I'm bumping the rating up, just to be on the safe side. Tell me whether it's right or not.

In my Gilmoreverse, but I believe wherevere there might be intelligent life thriving, 3 AM is not the perfect time to quote books. Hence, Jess Mariano and Rory Gilmore will resume literary banter in the morning.

Chapter 6: We Are Two Brixton Prisoners.

3 AM

Books lay discarded and forgotten by the side of the slumbering, emotionally drained couple. They aren't properly sleeping, more like weaving in and out of drowsyness. Morpheus' tyring of being elusive, sleep comes a little more easily, although in short spells that do little for the ultimate purpose or resting. A stirring, a lingering kiss on tingling skin, and chocolate eyes drift open to search for sapphire ones, and upon completing the quest proceed to the quelling of the worry in the owner.

"You're still here, aren't you?" I'm still here. She's still here. We're both still here.

Huh.

Somehow, he's been fearing she'd taken flight during the night, untangling herself from the cocoon weaved of silence, feelings, music, words, thoughts that they'd weaving about them since the afternoon.

He shouldn't have.

I shouldn't have.

"Afraid I wouldn't be with you when you woke up?" The question is asked lightly, drowsily, but the undertones it carries aren't easily dismissed.

I'm right here, Dodger. See me, touch me, kiss me. Not pulling a Chris, or a Jimmy. That conversation, that particular outburst hurts like an open wound. But an open wound halfway through healing process, at least where it concerns her. That's progress, isn't it?

Jess Mariano is fighting a loosing and futile war to salvage some part of his ego.

"Yeah. Pretty much." Huh. Why on earth did I just admit to that?

It's too late to hold fortresses. Somehow, somewhere, both have abandoned defense mechanisms, ignored strategies and dismissed armies. There is no second-guessing moves and motives, there is no scheming and planning taking place. Whatever might be coming will be concerning love, not battle, and even Jess Mariano and Rory Gilmore know when put weapons in their rightful storage place, never to be seen again.

The CD is still going on in the background. As it rolls around to the end, it is Jess who wanders over to the stereo in order to choose the musical selection, and he sifts through Lane Kim's patented mix-burns slightly amazed at the sheer amount of music Rory owns. That girl really has too much time on her hands. Rory finds herself thinking yet again. It is her turn to scrutinize minutely Jess, and her eyes roam him freely, absorbing his sulky beauty, made even more apparent by the lack of rest. At some point, he has pulled off his shirt.

They are still, to some extent, held captive, both longing to exchange manacles, chains, lock for freedom. Or exchange their current prison for another they would willingly enter, shackled to each other and entangled to the point of no return. A way out. Any way out would do.

"Though nothing's gonna change
I hope someday you have it all"

She belongs to a golden cage, but it is torturous none the less.

He lays, bound in obscure secret chambers, and it is slowly killing him.

Together, they are faced with high brick walls and steel barriers. Wherever they turn, there is something blocking their escape routes. Every sound uttered their way is an accusation disguised as suggestion, opinion, harmless conversation. They know it isn't so.

"If we could all depend

on what we know"

Flashback

"How could Jess get me hurt?" Jess wouldn't hurt me. He's practically me, male version. With the hard city edge.

"I don't know, hon. In the short amount of time he's been here, he's managed to make a lot of enemies" Namely, me. Because if he enters the equation while you're growing up, you'll change... you'll stray.

"I'm sorry, when did I move to Salem?" This is insane. This is witch-hunting. She of all people should understand. She should be able to see what he hides, the way he talks to me... Then somewhere asmall window opens,and a little light seeps through. She doesn't trust me. She doesn't trust me around him.

"People are concerned about you, you know? You're young and naïve and you think that everyone has some good inside if you give them a chance" People. Me and Dean. 'Cause Jess'll influence and you'll be slipping through my grip, and you'll no longer be the Rory I know. 'Causeyour boyfriendfeels your relationship is unraveling in front of his eyes as we speak. 'Cause we see what you aren't even aware of hiding.

"So you're saying that Jess is no good?" I happen to think he's the best thing that happened to Stars Hollow in... Oh... Forever. She startles herself with this thought, and makes a hasty, guilty correction. Well. Since Dean. Of course.

"I've known guys like Jess. He seems cool because he's got this dangerous vibe and this problem with authority and he's seen a lot of Sylvester Stallone movies." And he thinks he can sail through life with his badass attitude, his chip on his shoulder, his horrible comments. He thinks he can steal you away.

"Oh my God." Sylvester Stallone? Have you looked at him? He's... Tiny... Oh, Mom... there is the Jess he will never show. The boy that loves Hemingway, and writes on Howl. The boy that worries whether you like a certain pizza topping, and is willing to forsake half of it so you can eat it. The boy who will destroy a snowman so you'll be able to win the competition. Is he the dangerous disaster-waiting-to-happen you are so set on shielding me from? I'll keep him, I'll risk it, thanks for the advice though... Still... Sylvester Stallone?

"But guys like this get into trouble which, if you hang out with them, gets you into trouble and I don't want you to get into trouble." He's like ayounger, angrier, enhanced version of Chris. He's Chris 2.0. Look at me Rory, this is what happens when girls like you trust themselves around people like Jess.

End of Flashback

"'Cause I feel like a prisoner

trapped inside this broken world"

What is the world made of? For all she knows she isn't holding in place with her actions. For all she knows, Jess isn't doing any holding either.

The late hour, the lack of sleep, Jess' mere presence in her room, Morpheous's teasing games... she could blame her actions on each of those, but she already knows that, come morning, she'll be holding herself accountable. She also knows she will not regret a single word, thought, or gesture brought forth throughout this night.

She's sitting up, half against the headboard, half propped up against Jess' chest, one leg dangling off the edge of the bed, the other bent at a righ angle, with Jess's finger traveling lightly up and down the distance between her knee and her hip bone. That feather like touch is enough send her blood coursing through her arteries at an unhealty rate. His other arm is wrapped around her at the waist, lightly tickling her side. She finds herself interlacing fingers with him, pushing herself so she's sitting completely on his lap, her back still to his chest, and bringing his hands to the hem of her shirt. His lips burn her delicate skin as they travel up her neck, and breath tickles her ear as he asks her to stop him if she feel uncomfortable. The song on the CD switches to We Are.

"See the devil on the doorstep now,

my oh my"

She can barely manage to nod, as his hands smoothly slide under her shirt, caressing her skin, drawing little circles around her elegant navel, exploring the uncharted territory they are finally allowed to cross. The tips of his fingers teasingly draw lines along her side, and she doesn't know whether her body is flinching, or responding to excitement, or fighting the tickling.

"Time is ticking and we can't go back

my oh my"

His lips shower kisses all over her neck. His hands climb the stepladder of her ribcage, rib by rib, until they manage to skim her breasts, and she jumps.

"You keep watching from the picket fence

you keep talking but it makes no sense

you say we're not responsible but we are"

He stops, looking at her expectantly. Her next actions leave him bewildered, to say the least. She turns around to straddle him, fixes her sapphire on his chocolate eyes, desire darkening, deepening gazes and, holding it till the last possible moment, bends to the familiar texture of his lips. This, however, isn't what sends Jess reeling.

It is, rather, what she seems to be intent on accomplishing: his arms are drawn under her shirt again as she guide his fingers up her tummy, around the sides of her torso, releasing them to rest on her nipples.

She shivers.

"It's all about power then"

Is this what it feels like? She just about gives up on rationality.

It is the way her legs move, so she's wrapping them around his waist, trapping him.

And for the life of me, why should I be wanting to escape?

"Breaking the rule

breaking the soul"

It is the way they are kissing.

It is the way her hands are doing some wandering exploration of their own, racking up and down his spine, sending small electrical jolts to his sinapses.

His turn to shiver.

It is the way their hips start motions on their own accord, no permission given, sending both hurtling straight into sensory overload.

It is the feel of skin on skin, as her shirt is pulled out the way.

Oh, God.

Coherent thought has long left the building, leaving behind just enough common sense to stop, were Rory to say so. But right now, she doesn't.

"We've never been so many

we've never been so alone"

Flashback

"What do you think is gonna happen?" Oh, I get it. I'm going to take the town princess and turn her into a regular Nancy. I'm going to shatter her. I'll be the end of her.

"You know what I think is gonna happen" Don't make me say it. Hell. Don't even let me think about Rory and you doing something more than hand holding. And that is even too much...

"No I don't. Tell me. Tell me what I'm gonna do to her" God, Luke, look at me. I'm... a pile of mush. I'm not in on this for the sex. You don't take on a Gilmore and jump her bones. Doesn't work that way. You don't pine for a year just so you get her in bed... You don't sit in your room, hoping you'll catch a glympse of sapphire blue. Or hoping she'll call you to discuss books. You don't spend 90 bucks on a basket and all your spare change on long distance calls. You don't stay up all night at a stupid marathon so you can look at her. You don't worry about her while she's in the hospital you put her in, or on the bus leaving New York she's taking 'cause she came to see you. You don't know how hard it is to restrain yourself from holding her until she relaxes and kissing water from her face while she's standing there, soaking wet and panicked. You don't miss her like crazy because you know what it feels like to kiss her and she won't let you near her again. You don't know how rotten you feel while playing with another person's feelings, while all the while someone's toying with yours. None of that happens if you're only in it for the sex. I'm not gonna do anything to her.

Jess startles himself out his internal tirade enough to listen to his uncle and his absurd reasoning.

"You're not gonna do anything to her because when you're at her place, there's Lorelai, and when you're here, there's me, and when you're out there, there's Taylor." One more word, Jess, and I'll be throttling you. Don't you even mention doing anything to Rory, the very idea makes me nauseous. And that is the only time I'll ever say something positive about Taylor.

"Romeo and Juliet had warring families and they still managed to do a little damage, you know?" Star-crossed lovers. Huh. He likes the comparison.The image fits. Hicksville CT in its entirety will be watching. Luke and Lorelai first and foremost. They'll all be trying exta hard to convince her that there's something wrong in her decision making process, and the outcome of said process, namely choosing me over Bag Boy is wrong. This relationship is going to throw a lot of people off. Some might have to reconsider life-long held beliefs, change creed, swap sexual orientation.

His bitterness bites the back of his throat as his thoughts turns frommushy happyness to resentful anger.

"Well, as soon as I catch you in a pair of tights, I'll get worried. Until then, do your homework" So there. Nothing is going to go on. We can all calm down and go about our own business. Lorelai won't panick, Rory won't get hurt, and Jess will keep his hands off of her. And please, spare the mental image of my nephew in tights, along with all the others. He's obnoxious enough.

End of Flashback

Oddly enough, Jess finds himself whispering to Rory all about that conversation. As he alternates kisses to her lips and breathing to her ears, she smiles at him, her eyes now merry and untroubled. He even manages to give her a somewhat edited version of his thoughts at the time, which has her laughing, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her shaking body pressed to his.

"Oh God..." she catches her breath "You are a pile of mush." She smiles broadly.

"And if these words leave this room, I'll deny them to my dying day" He deadpans, but can't help first smirking, then giving in to the small smile playing on his lips.

"So, how's Egypt this time of year? Will you take me on a trip there?" She snikers as he attempts to glare at her, failing miserably, her laughter once again contagious and irresistible. He watches as she puts her shirt back on, hiding the sight that threatened to drive him out of his rational mind.

The Clash make a token appearance with the Guns of Brixton. Bittersweet memories wash over them, as each separately recalls that infamous evening.

"I'm sorry." he breathes in her ear. He caresses the wrist the cast used to be on, places a tender kiss on her swollen bottom lip.

"You can crush us

you can bruise us

but you'll have to answer to

oh, the guns of Brixton"

Rory's grip on reality slips for a very brief second, as she feels herself tumbling through the White Rabbit's hole. She almost expects to find herself seated at the Mad Hatter's table, having a Merry Unbirthday party, or looking for the Cheshire Cat. She resists the urges to thumb through her books, to see whether they say the same things, whether words and letters still hold the same meaning, hell, whether the words are still there.

Jess Mariano said I'm sorry to me. Jess Mariano. Huh. He should know it's not his fault. He should know I don't hold him responsible.

She does neither of those things, though, takes no action in no direction whatsoever. She contents herself with reciprocating the kiss he is giving her, and to lay herself once again next to him on the bed, his arms holding her in their gentle, safe embrace. His words take their rightful place in the cocoon weaving process.

"I'm sorry" he breathes out again. Mariano, what is wrong with you tonight? What are apologizing to her for?

Her words echo his thoughts to the last letter.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"For all the crap I've been pulling lately." He states simply. Great. Just great. The Pile of Mush makes his presence known once again.

Rory sighs and shakes her head.

"Let me get back to you on that." She states seriously. "I don't know if I love you enough to accept an apology." Great. Just great. Way to ruin everything. Then she remembers what transpired a few hours previous, heck, a few minutes previous, and simply waits, curious as to what his response will be. She has acknowledged and accepted her love for him. Now it is going to be his turn to flirt with acceptance and acknowledgement.

"Whoa, there, go back a second." You, stop beating so damn hard! I can't fucking hear myself think.

The pounding in his chest does not subsize.

"To what?" She replies innocently "Let me get back to you on that?"

"No, after that" Come on, Blue Eyed beauty, I need you to tell me.

"Accepting it?" She teases him.

"Before that" He groans, annoyed with her antics. Scared shitless is more like it.

"I love you?" She places it timidly in the air surrounding them.

"Huh". Oh. God. Rory Gilmore said I love you to me. Rory. Gilmore. Mariano, snap out of it. Say something, anything.

"Huh?" Dodger.

"I love you." There. Said it. The world is officially turning upside down. Tomorrow Luke will be drinking coffee, Lorelai will be eating salad, and my mother will have a brain.

He places his words in the air surrounding them, next to hers. They mingle. They breed. They form threads. The cocoon keeps weaving itself around them, its innocent shrouding separating lovers from the rest of the night, their universe different and secluded from the rest of the cosmos. Tangled thoughts and secrets, words and emotions, feelings and music, gestures and printed sheets of paper. It belongs to them, and only to them, for it is woven with their thoughts and their secrets, their words and their emotions, their feelings and their music, their gestures and their printed sheets of papers.

"Better." She drawls out, before kissing him. Gotcha. Mine

Morpheus has long stopped playing his tricks. As they finally relinquish their minds to slumber, arms around each other, they also relinquish the burden of their emprisonment. She'll walk out of this night with her halo a little crooked and a little tarnished, instead of it being shiny and straight. Her feathers will be ruffled instead of smoothed out on her wings, and her gown will show wrinkles instead of the usual perfect fit. He'll walk out of this night with his sword securely in its shear instead of steadfastly held in his hand, his shield will be trailing by his side instead of being held in front of him, his armor will be missing pieces and showing chinks in place of its usual integrity.

They are breaking free of their self-constructed prisons.

She no longer is an angel. Gone is the town's princess, Star's Hollow Sweetheart.

He no longer is a warrior. Gone is the town's hoodlum, Star's Hollow Rebel Without a Cause.

"Goodnight Dodger."

"Goodnight Rory."

Morpheus stakes claim to them as they breathe those last four words to each other. The emotional storm seems to have subsized.

A/N: check the bio. I promise it's worth it, since I hate author notes on the actual fic.