A/N: Given how weak the last chapter was, I decided to make it up to all of you by giving you two.

Also, "wampeter" and "karass" are from Kurt Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle, which is a brilliant novel everyone should read at least once in their life. It seemed befitting of Jess, as did the The Plague, and Fight Club, which are also masterpieces and deserve your attention. But onto the story...

Laurence was an intimidating guy. At a towering 6"2 and covered in tattoos, he stuck out like a sore thumb in most situations. His temper and sarcasm would have made him the stereotypical "tough guy", but, as an art major, this was easily diffused in casual conversation.

For Jess, Laurence was the wampeter of his karass in New York City. Most of his high school friends had either gone to jail, or been reduced by self-perpetuated angst to some other, equally undesirable fate. Jess, having no desire to join them, took up almost any job to avoid this, one of which ended up being a night-shift janitor at NYU. It wasn't his proudest, or favorite job, but it kept a roof over his head. And Laurence, who would often paint in one of the lobbies he was designated to clean, provided decent company.

Through Laurence, he met Mena. At the time, Laurence was dating a horrible journalism major with an affinity for sadism by vapidty. Mena had been her roommate, and one of a few friends. Once in awhile, they would stop in to visit Laurence and tease him about his latest stroke of genius.

Jess had no qualms, even in the beginning, about Laurence being less than his favorite person most nights. The guy could be intolerably arrogant, especially when it came to his talent, but Jess could appreciate that he at least had ambition and the resolve not to become a starving artist. The relationship had been good for them both, with or without Mena.

Before he had moved in with Mena, he had lived with Laurence, so it was convenient enough for him to just move back in. They lived in relative symbiosis, each leaving the other to their own business until it was time to engage in something resembling social. Then, they could go out together, most often with their respective girlfriends, or, barring that, some of Laurence's buddies from NYU. Jess appreciated the latter the least, but sometimes, he needed to get out of the house enough that it didn't matter.

They hadn't gone out once, though, since Jess had moved back in. Twice, Laurence tried to drag Jess out, but he really didn't see any reason to pretend to be amused.All Laurence was really hinting at was that he needed to get laid, even if it was mindless. Jess didn't feel like it would solve anything, though, so he dodged out of it and stayed in to read Camus instead.

Nothing puts your crappy life in perspective quite like The Plague.

Eventually, Christmas time rolled around, and the calls started coming in for Jess. "Lily would love to see you," Jimmy said. "Oh, Jessie, come back for Christmas," asked his mother. "I understand why you wouldn't want to come back," Luke offered.

The calls had become so frequent, so insistent about his time, that he eventually stopped picking them up. That is, until he recieved one from Lily directly. Jess had absolutely no desire, or money, to visit his family in California, but relented to a visit from Lily for New Years. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with a thirteen-year-old, especially given that Laurence would probably fill the apartment with drunk, half-naked art majors, but given significant pressure, he was sure he'd find out.

Other than that, though, Jess resolved to spend Christmas alone. He wasn't religious to celebrate, anyway.

Laurence made his third attempt to pull Jess out of his denied depression and otherwise anti-social behavior on Christmas Eve, but he wasn't having any of it. Besides the obvious aversions, the "getaway" would have been to Laurence's mother's, who was terminally ill with breast cancer and a horrible cook. Jess refused this invitation, too, and planned on spending Christmas alone with a case of beer, Fight Club, the movie (although he would never admit he liked the movie just as much as the book), and some Jewish sandwhich from across the street that he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

Half-way through his sandwhich and being informed that "he was the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world," someone knocked on his door. He paused the movie, but didn't bother to put down his food, suspecting that Laurence, who had only left about an hour before, had forgotten something, aside from his apartment key, which was sitting on the kitchen counter.

He unlocked the door and twisted the knob just enough to let it open partially. "You forgot your apartment key. It's on the counter," he shouted, returning to the couch to watch his movie. No one came in, though, and Jess was left with a sinking feeling that he had just opened the door to some psycopathic seriel killer. It wasn't the worse thing that could happen tonight, but it definitely wasn't on his list of things to do, though.

He moved off the couch to grab a cast iron pan, for all the good it would do, off the pot rack Mena had insisted on buying, and then couldn't be bothered to take with her. He managed to do it stealthily enough there was only one tell-tale clang aluminum and then quietly approached the door.

Of course, the peep hole was covered, so he was left to take aggressive action. He would look back on this moment and wonder why it didn't occur to him just to shove the door close and lock it, but it didn't, so he fingered the door handle before ripping it open, wielding the pan like a baseball bat.

"Oh shit," he grumbled as Rory stumbled forward and bumped her head on his elbow. She had been leaning on the door, writing a note on the piece of paper she had taped over the peephole.

Rory swore herself, much to the surprise of Jess and put a consoling hand to her forehead. "Do you always greet visitors that way?" she bit sarcastically.

"No, just ones who cover up my peephole. You should feel lucky. I could have hit you with the pan." He shook it menancingly in his left hand and pushed the door open a final few inches to let her in. "I'll give you some ice," he offered, although there was nothing friendly about his town.

"You watch too many cartoons," was all she had to say as she walked in and took a seat in one of the chairs at the kitchen table.