Post Script Chapter 6: finally, a gilmore girls fanfic

When he finally does find her, she's barely in a state to be told apologies. Oddly enough she smells strongly of tequila and limes. Her breath hums happily over him, and suddenly he wants to kiss her. But then she stumbles over her too-high heels and suddenly he forgets. She reaches out so that he can catch her, but he's already two steps ahead of her.

"I'm – drunk," she states, smiling wildly.

He laughs under his breath, because in all his years of knowing her, he's never seen her quite like this and he's not particularly sure if he completely likes it or not. So he doesn't answer her. Instead he nods to the bartender, telling him to cut her off, the bartender winks his eye in return. He walks her from inside the smoke-filled bar and out into the cool air of the night. She's stumbling, but he's protecting her.

"Hello," she says, as if just noticing him.

"Hi," he says, struggling to keep her upright.

"Where are we going?" she asks, borderline flirtatiously.

"Home," he states simply.

Her weight pressed against his body is somehow soothing. He finds it altogether empowering and he nearly forgets why she's like this in the first place.

"I'm sorry," she says.

He almost let's go of her, but instead grasps her firmly.

"Rory don't."

She bites her bottom lip for a moment and continues.

"I don't want – to – go – home," she says. He could have sworn there was a flicker of a mischievous smile somewhere in there, but he thinks perhaps he might be hallucinating or is it just wishful thinking?

"I'm sorry," she says again to no one in particular. She's always the one saying sorry and it's never her fault.

"It's alright," he tells her as they walk on. Her heels clank against the sidewalk loudly. They cross the street, nearing her house. He releases her as they walk up the pathway, but she's tipping again. He reaches out to catch her but she falls into him. Actually it's more of a crash and suddenly she's brushing her lips against his. He wants to pull back and really he should but he can't. He just can't. She's the one breaking the contact, and he expects confusion and anger in her eyes, but they're shiny and glazed and he realizes in her current condition their encounter won't be remembered in the morning.

"Goodnight Rory," he says stepping away from her, as she sways slowly.

"Jess--," she slurs. "Don't leave. C'mon I'm sorr---y just don't leave me."

"You just need to sleep this off," he says trying to choose his words carefully, but she's pulling at the sleeve of his jacket.

"Do you want to come in?" she asks. Does he? Yes. Will he? No. But there's no point in trying to explain that to her.

"Look Rory, I really should be getting home. You really should sleep this off," he says drawing attention to her complete state of disarray.

"Why?" she asks.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says turning away from her readying himself to nearly run away.

"You're acting like this…Like you don't care."

"It's how I am, get used to it, everybody else already has."

"But you- you're not like this. Are – you?" she asks him dumbly. Then her eyes get wide, and she suddenly remembers why she walked into the damn bar and started shooting back shots in the first place. Somehow it always comes back to him.

"You're an asshole," she states simply.

He doesn't waste energy trying to refute it, so instead he simply hangs his head and stares long and hard at his shoes.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. His statement has a sobering effect on her, because for a moment her eyes twinkle lightly and they're back to being friends again.

"I forgive you. But – I only forgive once."

He nods; he doesn't have the heart to tell her that if she only forgave once, he would have been gone a long time ago.

The music of the party blasts loudly in his ears. And then suddenly she's falling into him. Crashing actually. And it takes his momentous reflexes to catch her just in time. Her breath hints at a shot or two of something alcoholic. She's smiling flirtatiously at him, something she never did soberly, unless provoked. She reaches up to kiss him, but he feels her tongue slip inside his mouth and suddenly the virginal girl standing in front of him, feels somehow just a little sexier. Suddenly it takes all of his strength not to reach out and pull her closer to him. He knows she's different. He knows this is different. He knows because with any other girl he would take advantage of the situation, but with her, the thought never even crossed his mind.

Something inside of him aches to be with her. He could never begin to comprehend the complexity of their relationship. He remembers something from science. A law of physics or something like that. For every action another thing happens. She pushes, he pulls and yet they're always stuck in this same old mess.

The next day she doesn't hear from him. She can't say she's surprised. Clark is nonchalant, she knows he's not the sharpest pencil in the drawer but he's not blind either. He asks her what's wrong but she gives her usual response. Pause. Smile. Say "Nothing". Kiss. Repeat as necessary.

His lack of snide comments worries his boss so much, she sends him home early. A stack of mail awaits his arrival in his mailbox. Bills. Bills. Magazine Subscription. And then he groans as he sees a letter. The handwriting doesn't seem familiar yet he hasn't been one to look pointedly at another's penmanship. Nonetheless he throws all such things aside as he lies on his own overstuffed couch.

The next day he finds himself on her doorstep. He has to tell himself he won't beg. The last thing he wants to be is desperate.

"Hi," he tells her astonished face as she opens the door. He holds out a bag for her. She reluctantly grabs it and as soon as it opens a grin a mile wide spreads across her face.

"You know the way to a girl's heart," she says stepping aside, to let him in.

"It's through her taste buds."

She laughs and pulls the chocolate from the bag.

"Oh my god, you have chocolate cake in here," she screams. It takes every muscle in his body not to reach out and touch her face. Her smile spreads further, if possible, across her face. Something which makes his heart jump for a moment.

"Fresh from Chef Mariano's kitchen."

"No!"

"Don't act too surprised."

"No way!" she says almost kid-like.

"It's dark chocolate Duncan Hines, not Betty Crocker. And the icing is Nestle. Just how you like it."

She's inches away from kissing him. But she doesn't and for a moment she's reluctant to say anything.

"Jess," she says finally. "I'm glad I know you."

He turns to her, dumbly. Wondering what words could possibly be appropriate.

"Me too, Rory." He tells her. Me Too.

a/n : oh my goodness I feel like a horrible writer it's been monthSSS. That's right as in more than one. Since I've updated. (bad writer, bad). But anyway I have wonderful excuses for not writing. 1. school (stupid ap classes) 2. basketball (I'm tired) 3. friends (I love my friends) 4. job (have to pay for a car somehow). Anyway this chapter is something I created to perhaps get some creative juices flowing.

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