A/N: Thanks for the great reviews guys! I really can't tell you how much I love you guys for those.
**Disclaimer: I own a Discman, a shelf full of books, and this laptop. I don't own anything related to this show. And even if you do sue me, all you're getting is the Discman and the books because there's no way in hell you're getting my laptop.**
A Whole New World
by Angel Monroe
Chapter 6: Just Friends, Right?
Rory had waited for him for three hours. For three hours, she'd sat at the bar of the restaurant on 7th, drinking soda and checking the clock. Sam, the bartender, had said that Jess was supposed to be there at five. That was when his shift was supposed to have started, but five had come and gone. At eight o'clock, she had finally given up on him, nodding her thanks to Sam as he waved sympathetically. Jess wasn't coming.
Her worry getting the best of her, she found herself on the fire escape outside of his bedroom window. Glancing inside, she saw him lying askew on his bed, still in his clothes. She saw the furrow in his brow as he turned in his sleep, and she wondered what he was dreaming. Silently she kicked herself for letting him leave her apartment earlier. She had tried to go after him, but John had held her back, telling her to give him space. Still, she really didn't think he should be alone in this.
After watching him there for a while, Rory reluctantly pulled herself away from his window. He seemed to be safe right then, and she really needed to get back before she gave Aunt Grace her second heart attack of the day. Besides, the events of the day were starting to take their toll on her. She felt fatigue crawling over her as she let herself into the apartment. Mumbling a hello to her cousin and aunt, she stumbled to her bed and collapsed into a cataleptic slumber, dreaming of drugs and death and things no seventeen year old girls should ever have to deal with.
Some time in the early afternoon, Rory stirred from her restless sleep. Slowly opening her eyes to the light flooding into her room, she didn't move for a few minutes. She just lay there, still dressed in jeans and a button-up blouse. Her hair was in a wild disarray and she felt the beginnings of a crick in her neck. Worst of all, she couldn't push the remnants of her dream from her mind. Flashes of Keith and the rest of the guys lying on the ground, their eyes gaping open in the cold devastation of death, plagued her consciousness. This was not a good day so far.
Pulling herself out of bed, she stumbled across the hall into the shower. Letting the almost scalding water roll over her, she tried to ease away the tension in her shoulders and back. Still, the memory of the dream and the events of the previous day made it impossible for her to relax. And the concern she still had for her friend was still prevalent in her mind.
Drying and dressing quickly, she went out into the living room, but both her aunt and her cousin were already gone. There was a note on the counter saying that they were going to work and they hadn't wanted to bother her. They would be home at their regular times, and no, Jess had not called or come by. Rory's face fell at the last part.
She pondered what to do next, but only a second before she decided to look for Jess. He was her friend. He was her only real friend in New York besides John, and he was in pain right now. He had helped her with her feelings about her mom just by offering his ear and a shoulder to cry on, and she wanted to be the same support for him.
Exiting the apartment, she decided to check his room first. Climbing onto his fire escape, she was almost surprised to see him there, reading a book on his bed. Though at first he looked his normal self, she could tell he was troubled. Every few moments, she saw his eyes lose focus, dropping slightly so he was staring at empty space. Then they quickly righted themselves, as if refusing to admit to that they were troubled in the first place.
A little timidly, she knocked lightly on the window. Looking up a little startled, his face softened a little at the sight of her. 'Is that a good sign?' she asked herself as he opened the window, 'Or should I be concerned about repressed feelings and all that?'
"Hey," he greeted her quietly, a twinge of surprise in his otherwise blank voice.
"Hey," she replied biting her lip worriedly.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice devoid of his usual wit or sarcasm despite the lightness of his comments. "I mean, on my fire escape. You seem to have a thing about them, don't you?"
She smiled sadly. "I was kinda worried about you after last night," she replied, her eyes searching his for any sign of trouble. "You ran out of the apartment like you were being chased, and I didn't know where you were. I stopped by your work to try to talk to you, but you never showed."
"I just walked around for a while," he explained, his eyes on the floor as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I needed to clear my head. When I got home, I just crashed. I don't think World War III could have woken me. Sorry I had you worried." He looked up at her when he said this, and she could tell he was being very serious and very sincere.
"It's okay," she assured him. "I just don't want you to shut me out. It's a lot to deal with, and you shouldn't have to deal with it alone."
"Thanks," he said. He seemed to snap out her gaze, only now realizing that she was still sitting on the fire escape. "You wanna come in?" he asked.
"Sure," she said sliding in through the window.
They stood still for a moment, only about a foot apart, before Jess turned away to close the window. There was no breeze or anything, but the noise of the city was making his head hurt. 'Funny,' he thought, 'it never really bothered me before.'
He sat back down on his bed, motioning for her to do the same. They both sat cross-legged facing each other, neither quite knowing how to continue.
"So," Rory said finally, "you wanna talk about it?"
Jess looked up at her, a little surprised at the abruptness of the statement. It was a simple question, but the answer was more complicated. "I don't really know what to say," he told her. "I mean, they were my friends. What else is there to say?"
"Whatever you want," she replied. "I'm not going to push anything out of you; trust me, I know how irritating that gets. I just want you to know I'm here to listen if you want me."
"Thanks," he said, "but I don't really want to talk about it, not just yet."
"No problem," she said, and a comfortable silence ensued. "So, is your mom home?" she asked him, unable to come up with anything else to say.
Jess sighed tiredly, looking down at nothing. "She probably stayed over at her boyfriend's house. She didn't come home last night."
"She didn't call or anything?" she looked mildly alarmed by this, but his expression remained even.
"She never does," he replied as if it were an everyday occurrence. "She usually shows up after a day or two. I don't really worry about it anymore."
Rory really didn't know what to say now. She had never had to worry about whether or not her mom would be there when she woke up. It was never an issue. The thought of a mother leaving her kid alone for days without a simple phone call seemed so abstract to her. She had a brief flash of Jess as a small child crying alone on his bed because he couldn't find his mother. Pushing the thought from her mind, she finally found her tongue.
"So," she said keeping her voice light, "do you want to do something today? Coffee, the park, the bookstore, whatever you want."
He looked up at her, a slight spark in his eyes. He could tell that she was trying to cheer him up. "You really need to develop a life outside of me," he teased her.
"Well," she said in mock hurt, standing up and heading back towards the window, "if you don't want me here, I can always . . ."
He stopped her by grabbing her hand. She turned back, a tiny satisfied smile playing across her lips, and she was caught by the sincerity in his eyes. "I never said I wanted that," he told her, but then the mischievous spark returned to his eyes. "I just meant that there a lot more reputable people in this city that you could hang out with."
She shook her head. "You think I care about reputable?" she teased putting her hands on her hips and trying to keep a straight face. "If I cared about reputable, do you think I would have ever danced with you at that party? I mean, anyone there could tell just by looking at you that you would be a bad influence."
He had a look of total astonishment on his face. "That was not very nice!" he declared, though she could tell he was trying not to smile. "You're really asking for it."
"What am I asking for?" she asked, still suppressing a giggle.
"This," he replied grabbing her hand again and pulling her towards him. Caught off guard, she fell over his foot and onto his lap, their faces only inches apart.
The smile disappeared from her face as she stared into his chocolate eyes. For a second, she thought he was going to kiss her. Did she want him to kiss her? She didn't really know. Her mind wasn't really working at the moment.
Before she could react, he began tickling her, his fingers moving rapidly over her sensitive stomach. "No!" she screamed between hysterical giggles. "Stop! Please, no more!"
"Take it back," he said never letting up. "Take it back."
"I take it back!" she screamed trying to catch her breath, but he didn't stop. "I take it back!" she screamed again.
"Not good enough," he said still not letting up.
"Okay, okay," she giggled. "You're great, you're wonderful, you're the best hoodlum in the history of hoodlums, now stop!"
He paused, pretending to think. "I guess I can accept that," he said releasing her.
She rolled onto the floor, leaning against the bed to catch her breath. "You're evil," she told him between deep breaths.
"I know," he replied grinning down on her. Then, "So, I really don't feel like going out today. Do you wanna stay here and read with me?"
"Sure," she smiled when her breath began to come more evenly. "I brought the book you gave me yesterday." She pulled The Chronicles of Faerie out of the purse she had dropped by the window.
"Have you started it yet?" he asked her as he went to his bookshelf to pick a book for himself.
"No," she replied sitting on the bed where she had been before. "I didn't really have time to last night between looking for you and sleep."
"Sorry again about that," he said glancing over his shoulder at her, his expression apologetic. "I was kinda messed up."
"I understand," she replied, her eyes showing that she truly did. "I just hope you can come to me next time."
"I just might," he said turning back to the bookshelf. Pulling out a copy of one of his favorite classics, he turned back and sat in his previous position. After a pause, he looked up at her again. "You don't mind the notes I put in the margins, do you?" he asked.
"No," she replied. "I like to know how you look at the book. Gives me a new perspective."
"Good," he smiled and opened his book.
Rory turned to the first page of 'The Hunter's Moon,' the first book of the trilogy. The first paragraphs depicted a dark-eyed young man looking into a muddy river. Her eyes caught on the next paragraph and the note written next to it.
She read: 'A shudder passed through him as he regarded his surroundings: concrete towers, crowded streets, the blare of traffic. How could they live this way?'
Still, she was drawn more to the words written in the margin in distinctively masculine pen strokes: 'Sometimes I don't even know. We do what we must to get by in a world where trust is won with a credit card and love does not exist.'
Rory read over the words several times, each one biting into her. This was Jess. This was how he thought, what he believed. It was such a sad perspective. 'Is this what you learn in the big city?' she asked herself. 'There is no love. There is no trust. Does he really believe that?'
She stole a glance up at him, and found him looking back at her.
"Was there something you wanted to ask about?" he asked.
"No," she replied quickly, looking back at the book. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes away from those words. Finally, she closed the book, looking up at him again. "Do you really believe everything that you write in the margins?" she asked.
"Most of the time," he replied looking curiously at her. "Why? Which one are you referring to?"
She opened the book to that page, pointing him to the words in question. "Do you really think that love and trust don't exist?" she asked him, her eyes full of uncertainty.
He was silent for a moment, considering the question. When he finally spoke, his words came slow and measured, his voice soft and serious, "When I wrote that, I was in a very bad place. I really wasn't sure of anything in my life, especially those two things. To answer your question, I have somewhat learned to trust since then. But love is another thing altogether. I've never been in love, and so I couldn't tell you if that's real or not."
"I understand," she told him, and he looked up at her for the first time since she'd asked. His eyes were questioning, as if asking her how she could possibly know about that kind of thing having come from her background. "My parents thought they were in love," she explained, "but when she got pregnant at 16, they went their separate ways because my mom didn't want to get married and follow the plan her parents had for them. They were so in love, and still are in some ways, but it didn't really mean anything in the end. Because of that, I grew up never really knowing what love was. I couldn't even say it when . . ." She trailed off, realizing how personal she was getting.
"When what?" he seemed to be listening intently.
She sighed, knowing what she was probably getting herself into. "My boyfriend," she said finally, not looking at him. "He told me he loved me awhile back, and we split for a while because I couldn't say it back."
"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically.
"We got back together at the beginning of the summer," she told him, "because I told him I loved him back, and I thought I did, but . . ." She trailed off again, just thinking.
"You don't have to talk about it," he said turning back to his book. "I understand."
"I just . . ." she sounded so frustrated, so upset, that he had to look up again, ". . . Why do some guys act so sweet and wonderful one moment and then so impossible the next? It makes my head spin."
"What happened?" the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
She paused, knowing that if she answered right away she might say something she didn't really mean. "I didn't tell him why I was leaving because no one outside the family was supposed to know," she said calmly. "So when I told him I was going, he blew up at me, accusing me of not caring about him and neglecting him. He didn't even notice that I was upset. He just went off on me like I owed him an apology."
"He shouldn't have," Jess said sincerely. "It sounds like he had a temper."
"He did sometimes," she replied, her eyes dark as she studied the pattern of his comforter. "After we got back together, he was so possessive. It was like he wanted to know where I was every second of the day. I wasn't supposed to have a life outside of him. I just don't understand why guys get that way."
"Not all guys do that," he said a little defensively. "It's just that some guys ruin it for the rest of us."
"I'm not accusing you specifically of anything," she said, a little amused by his reaction. "I was just saying."
"You better not be," he said, his humor coming back to him. "I'd have to start tickling you again." He put down his book, leaning toward her menacingly.
"No," she said backing up, a wide grin on her face. "No! I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't!"
Backing away from him, she almost fell off the bed. Her giggles were cut short as she began to tumble backwards onto the hard carpeted floor. At the last second, he grabbed her arms and pulled her up again.
"You okay there?" he asked her, still smiling mischievously.
"I'm fine," she said shortly, but a smile peeked through. "Thanks for catching me."
"No problem," he replied, and they both returned to their books.
Two hours and many pages later, Jess glanced up at Rory over the top of his book. She was so engrossed in her book, he didn't think a nuclear bomb could have fazed her right then. He loved to watch her read. She was so intent, so focused. He had never met a girl his age who could get that much pleasure from words on paper.
"What?" she asked, not taking her eyes from the book. "Why are you staring?"
"I wasn't," he said slightly embarrassed but not showing it. "I was just thinking about how you look when you read."
"What do I look like?" she asked raising an eyebrow.
"I dunno," he chuckled. "You look at the pages like a woman in Tiffany's looks at jewelry."
"I do not!" she said throwing a pillow at him. "I just get wrapped up in the story. You were right, this is really good. All of the Irish folklore and geography integrated into the story is really cool."
"It is," he agreed. "I like how it describes everything like it really is, like the old ruins and stuff. It really grabs you."
"I would just love to get my hands on some of the food!" Rory laughed.
A thought came to him then. "Have you eaten anything today?"
"Not really," she replied. "I grabbed a granola bar on my way out of the apartment, but that's it."
"You hungry?" he asked.
"Yeah," she admitted. "I'm kinda starved. I didn't even have my coffee this morning."
"Are you dying yet?" he joked standing up and offering her a hand. "Come on. I'll make us something."
"Okay," she smiled taking it and pulling herself up. "What do you have?"
"Let's see," he said leading the way to the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a box of pancake mix. "Will this do?" he asked.
"Perfect," she said, thinking back to Luke's again. Just then, she spied the coffeemaker. "Do you have any coffee?"
"Sure," he said pulling a bag out of the same cabinet. "I assume you know how to make it."
"Of course," she replied.
While Jess made pancakes, Rory made coffee. When they were done, they sat down at the table and ate together.
"Oh my gosh!" Rory said taking a bite. "This is so good! It's almost like Luke's!" She began wolfing down the pancakes like there was no tomorrow.
"I'm glad you like it," he chuckled taking his sweet time.
He watched her, soaking in every move she made. It was so strange, she was so different from any of the other girls he had met, and he guessed that was why he liked being around her. It was a change. Most girls he'd been out with had barely touched their food in front of him, afraid of looking bad. She didn't seem to care how she looked, and she looked all the better for it, as she ate eagerly. It was very peculiar.
As she took a sip of coffee, Rory felt her pager vibrate. Taking it from her pocket, she read the message there.
Hey, you awake yet? –John
"It's John," she told Jess. Yes I'm up, she wrote back. I'm having lunch with Jess.
How is he?
He seems okay. she replied
I'm glad. Where are you?
His apartment.
Oh really? Rory could almost see his raised eyebrow.
Yes really. I came to see if he was okay and he made us breakfast.
I see.
What does that mean?
Nothing, I didn't mean anything by it.
Rory looked confused at her pager, as if he could see her expression.
"What is it?" Jess asked, noticing the look on her face.
"Nothing," she replied. "John's just being John."
Is there a problem? she wrote John.
No, I was just wondering if he was behaving.
John, we're not like that. He was really frustrating her. Why was he reading so much into this?
You guys have spent the last three days together. Are you sure he knows that you're not like that? His reply perplexed her. She was pretty sure Jess just thought of her as a friend, even if she had thought about him in different ways. He had said some really sweet things to her before, but she figured it was because he felt more comfortable talking to a girl about that kind of sensitive stuff. Wasn't it?
We're just friends. she told him again.
Whatever you say. I was just checking in.
I'll see you back home later.
Later.
Bye.
Rory sent her last message and put her pager away.
"What was that?" Jess asked her. Throughout the entire interaction, he had been watching her, and she'd seemed to grow more and more disturbed with every minute.
"Nothing," she told him again, her expression slightly agitated. "John just wanted to check in."
"Then why are you upset?" he asked.
"I'm not," she replied quickly. When she could tell he didn't believe her, she sighed, "I guess something John said just got to me a little. That's all."
"Oh," Jess said. "Care to share?"
"He's just . . ." Rory sighed. ". . . He's reading way too much into us hanging out. He keeps making insinuations."
"What kind of insinuations?" he asked, his expression even.
"He acts like just because we've been hanging out a lot lately, then there has to be something else going on." She seemed so frustrated by this thought, like she couldn't figure out where it was coming from. "I mean, we're friends, right?"
"Right," he replied looking down at his plate. He really didn't want to look at her when he said that. He didn't want her trying to read his eyes.
Sure they were friends, but he couldn't deny that he liked her. It wasn't anything he couldn't control, but it was there nonetheless. She didn't seem to notice, and that was exactly how he wanted it. He couldn't expect a girl like her to be into a guy like him. She was just hanging out with him because she didn't know anyone else in the city.
Rory didn't seem to notice his internal conflict. She was too busy with her own. 'We're just friends,' she told herself for the hundredth time. 'That's all he wants, so that's all I want. He could have girls way more experienced and way less neurotic than I am. I'm just John's cousin to him, and I fully understand. So we're just friends.' One hundred and one.
"I dunno," Rory said taking another sip of her coffee. "I just don't understand where people come from sometimes. But I guess it's his problem, not mine."
"Right," Jess said absently.
A sort of awkward silence settled over them for a few moments before Jess stood up. He took his and Rory's plates into the kitchen just to do something. As he ran water into the sink, filling it with soapy water for dishes, he tried to calm the beating in his chest. He hated not being able to tell her how he felt. He had never had to hold back before, but for some reason, he was almost nervous around her.
"I'll help you with that," she said coming up behind him.
"That's okay," he told her not turning toward her. He didn't want her to see what he was thinking. Every time she looked into his eyes, he felt like she could see through him. "I can get it. If you want, you can read in my room while I do these."
"Okay," she said not sensing his discomfort. "Call me if you need me." With that, she just took one last sip of her coffee and walked into Jess's room.
She picked up her book from where she had left it and sat back on the bed. Leaning back against the wall, she opened to where she had left off. Pushing Jess out of her head, she tried to lose her confusion and uncertainty in the story. Still, he kept popping up in the back of her head. 'We're just friends,' she told herself for the one hundred and second time.
Out in the kitchen, Jess was going through a similar thought process. 'Should I just tell her?' he asked himself as he washed their plates. 'Should I just get it out in the open and let her react however she wants?'
"No," he objected aloud, shaking his head as if he were actually talking to someone. 'What if she ran?' he went back to inaudible conversation. 'What if she just walked out and didn't turn back? I don't think I could handle that.'
He had met her less than four days ago, but still he felt as if she were a part of his life. She was a good friend if nothing else. He could tell her things he had never shared with the guys just because she didn't share their same disposition. She hadn't grown up here, and so she brought a different perspective to the equation. He liked that, and he didn't want to lose her because of his stupid mouth.
He looked down and realized that he had been washing the same plate for the past five minutes. 'God, get a grip man,' he told himself rinsing and drying the dish.
Finishing the rest of the dishes quickly, he walked back into his room. The sight before him brought a small smile to his lips. Rory was stretched out on her stomach on his bed. She was facing away from him, her head resting on her crossed arms. She was asleep, her even breathing like music to his ears. He couldn't help wonder what it would be like to lay down beside her, to kiss her lips and watch her smile in her sleep.
'Dammit, shut up!' he told himself. 'I'm not going there.'
Getting his hormones under control, he picked up his book and walked out into the living room. He knew that if he stayed in the room with her, he would probably end up doing something stupid. Thus, he sat down on the couch and began to read again, a faint smile lingering on his lips. It seemed so strange to him that there was a girl lying completely vulnerably on his bed, and he was sitting out here reading.
'What is she doing to me?' he asked himself. 'You would think the Tinman was growing a heart.'