Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

by someone5

Lit, Post Season 4. Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running to.

9. Eight: Life with a Gilmore

Title: Losing Left and Right, Finding In Between

Summary: Never in a million years did he expect to find her on his doorstep. Her, of all people. And truth be told, she never expected that it would be him she was running to.

Disclaimer: Don't own the characters. Credit for that mess goes to AS-P and The WB.

Notes: First and foremost, I want to thank all of you for your kind reviews! You guys are awesome. :) Your words just brighten my day to no end. ;) So, as a token of my gratitude, here is chapter eight! Took me long enough...

Essentially, this chapter and the last one were going to go together, but it got too long. Ergo, I spilt them up; this one takes place a week later. Anyhoo...

Remember, this is post-season four. Meaning, Emily and Richard haven't technically split up yet. Hint, hint. ;)

Chapter Eight: Life with a Gilmore

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The sun was setting over the city when Jess pushed through the door that evening. It had been a long day, his clothes wreaked of exhaust, his boss was a continual jerk (especially after Jess had taken his impromptu week-long vacation), every muscle in his body ached and he wanted nothing more than to grab a beer, bitch about his day, and debate as to whether or not he could muster up enough energy to hang himself from the ceiling fan. It was his typical 5 o'clock feeling, as it had been for the past four and a half months, since he took the job as a messenger and met Mr. You can sleep when you're dead! Rhoades.

However, as he dropped his bag next to the door and took off his jacket, that feeling was overpowered by something else. The light in the kitchen. The silent images flickering across the TV. The sound of the radio, playing...was that Tina Turner? He rolled his eyes, but couldn't suppress the smirk that played on his lips.

He wasn't alone.

Ironic how now that he actually had someone to bitch to, the urge suddenly lost its immediacy.

He remembered now. The five o'clock feeling of the last four months had drastically changed in the last two weeks. Since she got here.

"Hey you," her eyes caught him lurking in the doorway, watching her move inexpertly around the kitchen.

He pulled himself up off the door jam and moved forward, kissing the side of her head as he maneuvered to her left to get a glass of water. She kissed his cheek, then his mouth, not giving enough him time to respond, resulting in the most adorable pout, then sigh, that she had ever seen. She smiled in spite of herself and leaned against the counter, watching his adam's apple bob as he downed the glass of cool water, then his muscular arm as he set the glass down, then his eyes as they trained on her.

"How was you day?" she asked, smiling, as she moved past him, tooling around the kitchen, finishing up the chores she had assigned herself.

He shook his head. "Shitty," he replied as he rubbed his eyes. "Yours?"

"Hmm?" she turned to face him, "Good. I finished unpacking."

"Did you have enough room?"

"Well, we had a bit of a book issue, so I had to house Hemmingway and Kerouac under the bed."

He shot her a sidelong glance and patented smirk. "Sure you did," he nodded, rifling through the fridge. "Make any calls?"

When she didn't respond, he thought maybe she hadn't heard him. He pulled his head from the refrigerator and looked over his shoulder, making eye contact and offering her a small, albeit reassuring, smile.

"Actually, I didn't have the time," she offered, taking the three steps it took to get from the kitchen to the living room.

"Oh," was all he said as her now seemingly drained body collapsed on the worn sofa. He closed the fridge door and moved over the one of the cupboards. After a few moments, he moved to the next one.

"I thought you were going shopping today," Jess questioned teasingly, hoping to ease the tension that had settled in the room, looming like a black cloud above her head.

It worked.

"I did," she assured matter-of-factly, obviously proud of her own small feat.

"All we have," he turned to her, "are Poptarts and Nesquick."

"That's half of the food pyramid right there," she grinned madly.

"We don't even have milk for the Nesquick. Or a toaster for the Poptarts."

"Eww," she scrunched up her nose in disgust, contemplating. "You can't have cold Poptarts. We should go buy a toaster."

"Rory, we need food," he reasoned.

"Welcome to life with a Gilmore."

"So, I shop next time." It was a statement more than a question, but he was smiling nonetheless.

"You should go tomorrow," she eyed him, shaking her head dramatically, "There's no food in this place."

He turned away only because he didn't want her to see the look on his face. The one of pure happiness. Or contentment. Excitement? A mixture of the three? His senses were overloaded and he found himself unable to control the betrayal of his eyes. His lips. Always curved upwards.

He figured he was finally going insane.

Considering who his mother and father were, he decided it was about time.

He joined her on the couch, a bowl of stale popcorn in his right hand. She shifted slightly, a motion meant to allow him more room; a sweet gesture, albeit unnecessary, as it was impossible to comfortably fit two people on the pathetic excuse of a cushion, the fabric (worn to almost nothingness) stretched tightly over the frame.

She was flipping through a magazine now, her Technicolor eyes skimming the pages, not immersed, but involved nonetheless.

When the remote was picked up off of the coffee table and the radio changed stations, settling on a softer ballad, the lyrics almost indiscernible, her eyes stopped moving as she instead strained her ears.

Jess put the remote back down and popped a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth. Her grin pierced his peripheral vision, that contagious grin, the one he found himself reciprocating (reluctantly) whenever she presented him with it.

"What?" he asked, his tone defensive, not quite sure what was coming.

"You changed the station."

"Tina Turner and Rod Stewart; back-to-back," he argued, his eyebrows raising higher with each word. "I honestly didn't think you'd mind."

"But the station you left it on is currently playing Elton John."

Jess nodded, "Rocket Man." More pieces of popcorn found their way to his mouth.

"You're telling me that Elton John is a better alternative?"

"Don't you think so?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't think you would."

He replied with another smirk, an introverted one, meant for himself moreso than for her.

It had only been a little over two weeks, but already she was amazed by the little things. The little things you pick up on when you're living with someone.

Especially a boy someone.

She had always lived with her mother; she grew up knowing all about her quirks and tendencies:

She covered her mouth when she yawned.

She curled the left side of her hair first.

She loved Metallica.

She always laughed at the end of Blazing Saddles and always cried at the end of Love Story.

And she always would.

It was all she had ever known, so, obviously, none of it took her by surprise.

But things were different with a boy, she was learning. Especially this boy. In the short time that they had been back together, she had learned more about him than she had known through the tenure of their two year friendship/flirt-ship.

Jess can't read before going to bed. He gets too immersed in the book and won't be able to sleep until he finishes it. Incidentally, Rory always reads before going to sleep. It calms her down; helps her relax.

After taking a shower, he uses his hand to carelessly wipe away the condensation on the mirror, making a space just big enough so he can see to shave. She takes a towel and wipes down the mirror, corner to corner, leaving a streak-free surface.

He squeezes the toothpaste from the middle.

So does Lorelai

And now, Elton John.

(Not to mention Wham! She caught him whistling "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" just yesterday. He'll never live it down).

Turning to him, she smiled a secretive smile, one he didn't quite understand. But he didn't mind. It was nice to see her smile; it was nice to see her.

It was nice to assume that she was smiling because of him.

Yes, he liked to think that.

He smiled back before kissing her sweetly, slowly.

She tasted cool.

He tasted like popcorn.

But she didn't care.

(He liked Wham, but she didn't care.)

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Lorelai had played out this night in her head nonstop for the past week. It was like a horror movie, on repeat and never ending, always with the same outcome.

Even in her subconscious, she couldn't escape the gravity of the situation; this morning she woke with the latest dream still vivid in her memory. Granted her imagination ran wild at times, she approached the door this evening certain as to how the scenario would play out.

It was simple, really. She would tell her parents about Rory's departure, and they would lock her in the basement, the ultimate eternal damnation, declaring that she was in no way fit to be a mother, let alone a functioning member of society.

And there she would sit for all eternity, her only contact with the outside world being the three times a day when her meal (bread and water, of course) was sent down the service elevator. She would never get to see Rory again.

Or Luke.

Or coffee.

Or Luke's coffee.

Come to think of it, she never did finish watching Win a Date with Tad Hamilton (for good reason). But now eternal damnation was a possibility. And now she would have to spend the rest of her life wondering how it ends.

This nightmare was on her 'worst-case scenario' list, but when it came to her parents, she knew from experience that that was the one that usually played out.

(Even with this in mind, Lorelai found it surprisingly easy to ring the doorbell tonight. Fate is funny in a twisted way.)

"Lorelai. You're late. Postponing the inevitable?" Emily greeted, raising one eyebrow questioningly.

"Actually, it wasn't intentional this time," Lorelai offered sincerely, a tone which went right over her mother's head.

"I see Rory isn't with you," she eyed the porch behind her daughter, "Is she still feeling under the weather?"

"Hmm?"

Emily took Lorelai's inquiry as an affirmation and continued, "It's a shame she's still ill. We missed you two last week at dinner," she called over her shoulder, talking at Lorelai rather than to her, as they made their way to the sitting room.

"Oh, yeah," Lorelai nodded dumbly, "So, where's dad?"

Emily waved her arm, "Waiting in the pool house. He refuses to step foot in here until the last possible second."

"Sorry you guys are still fighting," she shrugged as she sat down, sinking back into the cushions, exhaling deeply.

Her mother paused, surprised, "Thank you." She paused again, thoughtfully, before recovering, "Although I'm not sure I believe it after that scenario you pulled at the inn."

"I thought it might help. Rory really doesn't want to see her grandparents break up, you know," Lorelai argued lamely.

Emily nodded, "I figured as much."

Silence descended upon the two as both sat deep in thought. The calm only resided in the room for a few moments before it was chased away by the maid.

"Ma'am," she offered tentatively, "Dinner is ready. Should I send for Mr. Gilmore?"

Emily waved her off flippantly, "If you must."

Lorelai smiled, an image of a regal, less-abusive Joan Crawford drifting through her mind. Emily led the way to the dining room with, Lorelai noticed, an almost condescending spring in her step. It screamed "I know something you don't know."

But that was impossible. She didn't even know about the Rory situation yet.

Or did she?

No, she couldn't know. She didn't know.

Did she?

Lorelai internal debate was cut short when her father took his seat a the head of the table.

"Hello Lorelai." (She jumped.) "Emily," he greeted his wife curtly.

"Richard." Her tone was equally cold and Lorelai swore on her life that the temperature of the room dropped at least ten degrees. She pulled her shrug tightly around her body.

Richard looked around, realizing for the first time that they were, in fact, short one person. "Now, where is Rory?"

"Still under the weather," Emily offered.

"Well, that's a shame. You two were sorely missed last week at dinner."

"Has she told you if she's thought anymore about Europe?" Emily turned to Lorelai, her voice baring a tone that bordered on excitement.

Lorelai smiled kindly at the maid as their food was placed before them before answering. "I haven't really got a chance to talk to her lately."

Her mother's semblance of a smile wavered for a moment. "I see. I suppose I'll just have to call her then. I'm making arrangements." The corners of her mouth were tugged upwards again as she continued, "I was able to book a room in this lovely Chateau in Paris. Oh, I'm just so thrilled that we're going."

"Mom, she hasn't said yes yet," Lorelai reasoned.

"Please, Lorelai. Who would pass up a free trip to Europe. In style, I might add."

Richard nodded, "I have to agree with Emily here. This is such an opportunity for her."

His wife smiled, taken aback. "Thank you, Richard."

"She's already been to Europe once. Remember?"

"Oh, please," Emily rolled her eyes. "That little excursion you two went on hardly counts."

"It does, too."

"I'll just wait until I talk to Rory myself," she continued.

Lorelai shifted uncomfortably. The opportunity was there. Right there. The door had been opened for her; all she had to do was step inside. Tell them. Now.

"Wow, these vegetables are great, mom," she smiled.

Mission Failed.

Richard nodded, "New maid, Emily?"

His wife met his smirk, "Aren't you just charming."

"Really, there are amazing," she persisted. "What's in them?"

"Vegetables, I'm assuming."

"And these little red things?"

"For heaven's sake, Lorelai, I don't know."

"Maybe they're red peppers. And the pea pods; look at this color. Isn't this a great color?"

"I'm not sure. You'll have to excuse me; it seems I'm not as proficient with vegetables as you are."

"Why Emily, I was under the assumption that you knew everything about, well, everything," Richard piped in.

Emily's mouth opened to retort, but Lorelai beat her to it, motioning excitedly to some sort of cauliflower-y looking substance.

"What about this here? What's this?"

"Lorelai, for the love of god, what is it with you and the food!" Emily threw her fork down in frustration.

A silence bore down on the room, the three occupants looking expectantly at one another. Emily picked up her fork and began eating again, an unspoken command for the others to do the same.

Richard and Lorelai picked up on the signal and complied.

"Do you suppose that Rory will be well enough for me to call tomorrow? We really should finalize our plans." She wiped the corner of her mouth with a delicately embroidered napkin. A napkin, Lorelai thought bitterly, that most likely cost more than her house.

Granted, she wouldn't expect anyone to pay more than five bucks and a pack of Slim Jims for the Crap Shack, but that was besides the point.

It hit her then, why she didn't know. She was an adult. A grown woman. She owned her own home; even if it's nick name was the Crap Shack, it was still hers. She had a job, an inn, another place that was hers. And she had done it by herself. These people didn't own her. They had nothing on her whatsoever.

Why was she so afraid of them?

"Lorelai, I asked you a question."

Deep breath. Moment of truth.

"You can't...call Rory, mom."

She did it. (And in that moment, she was invincible.)

Emily's head shot up. "And why not?"

"Because there's no way to get ahold of her." Lorelai nodded proudly (she was invincible!) and returned to her vegetable medley.

"What are you talking about, Lorelai?"

"She's not in Stars Hollow," she shrugged.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Emily sighed in frustration.

She went on a vacation herself. It looks like she won't be able to go to Europe and stay in Chateau's and spend money like it's going out of style with you she thought angrily.

"Lorelai, we deserve an explanation." Richard pushed his plate away and loosened his tie. A gesture that showed he meant business.

Emily continued for him, "Was she even sick last week, or was that just another one of your-"

"Mom, stop. Rory...she...just...took off."

"When?"

"Almost two weeks ago."

Richard's head turned sharply, "Two weeks!"

"And you're just now telling us," Emily shrieked.

Why was she so afraid of them?

Oh, yeah. Because they're scary.

"I was waiting for her to call," she stumbled, "which she hasn't," she added dumbly, "so I would actually have something to tell you."

"Something to tell us? Other than that my granddaughter has run away from home? What happened Lorelai? How could you let this happen?"

"How could I-"

Emily cut her off, "Is this by any chance school related?"

"No."

"Did you two have some sort of fight?"

"No."

"Then why would she just up and leave?"

Her mother stared at her accusingly, the question hovering over Lorelai's head like a black cloud of shame, of blame, of inadequacy.

Turns out she wasn't invincible. 'Cause something in her broke.

"To see Jess! Okay! All I know is that she's off, somewhere, in New York, looking for Jess!"

The cloud dissipated. The inadequacy remained.

"Jess." The word jumped off her mother's lips, as if she was disgusted to have it in her mouth for but a few seconds.

The inadequacy grew.

"The Jess. The Broken Arm Jess. The Black Eye Jess. The 'There's Raisins in the Salad' Jess?" She spat every single syllable in Lorelai's face. Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Richard's voice merely held disappointment, "Lorelai, how could you-"

She stopped him, "How could I what, dad? Hmm? How could I let this happen? How could I let her go? I didn't just sit there as she walked out the door, okay! I came home, and she was gone."

"Then how do you know where she went?" It was almost a statement, as if she didn't expect an answer.

Or as if she already knew it.

"There was a note. She left a note."

The irony of the situation hit them all instantaneously, a whip crack, short-sounding, but loud, startling.

No one commented on it.

"Well, we have to find her," Emily reasoned.

"What?" Your fault, your fault, your fault.

"We'll have the best private investigators in Connecticut searching day and night until they find her."

"And then what, Mom! She's 19 years old! She's an adult! You can't just drag her back here!"

"We can't just do nothing either!"

"We don't have a choice," the stoic man at the head of the table spoke quietly.

"Richard."

"Lorelai's right. She's an adult. She made a choice, albeit a poor one. We must respect her decision." His tone was one of finality, of certainty.

"We don't even know if she's alright," Emily cried. She turned her attention back to Lorelai, "Don't you even care if she's alright?"

"Of course I care! She's my best friend and I don't know why..." Her voice broke.

"You don't know why what?"

"I don't know why she would do this. She tells me everything. We talk about everything. She took off without a word or a warning and all I got was a lousy note!"

Emily smiled smugly. Lorelai knew what was coming.

"Hmm. That sounds vaguely familiar. Doesn't feel good, does it?"

Why was she so afraid of them?

Oh, yeah. Because sometimes they were right.

Lorelai unconsciously wiped her eyes. She stood up slowly. She pushed the chair in noiselessly. She mustered up the courage to look both of her parents in the eyes.

Richard.

Emily.

She spoke clearly and emotionlessly. "I'll show myself out, thanks."

No one went after her. No one even stood in an attempt to look like they were considering going after her.

As her heels clicked on the hard wood, and then the cement, all she heard (besides her blood pounding in her ears) was

Your fault, your fault, your fault.

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Lorelai was calm. Eerily calm. Her breathing was unhurried, her heartbeat normal. Her pupils weren't dilated, her palms weren't sweaty. She was collected and focused; focused on getting home.

But home to what?

No daughter. No husband. No boyfriend.

Hell, not even a goldfish.

She slowed the Jeep down as she neared the stop light. The one stop light in Stars Hollow. She didn't remember passing the Welcome sign. She didn't even remember getting off the freeway.

She paused only momentarily, a 'rolling stop' as they were called. She turned right. She stopped in front of the diner.

The chairs were up, the legs making linear shadows along the floor and windows. She could see Luke behind the counter meticulously separating the days receipts.

Upon reaching the door, she hesitated. He hadn't seen her yet; she could still bolt. But for the first time in her life, she didn't want to.

Heaving the door open with a sigh, the bell tinkling loudly in the dead space, she made her way inside, marching right up to the counter wordlessly and taking a seat.

Luke looked startled at her silence, but relieved. Relieved to see her? Or relieved that she was, in fact, being quiet? She really wasn't sure.

"I went to my parent's house tonight," she began. "I told them that Rory left. Oh, and it's all my fault."

Luke came around the counter, taking a seat next to her. "I don't-"

She cut him off, "I should've just gone in, told them the situation, and left. But nooo. I had to drag it out. I had to stay for cocktails and dinner, and oh god! The vegetables."

"Lorelai-"

She cut him off again, going into full-on rant mode, "I mean, I was going on and on about this vegetable medley with peas and carrots and I was saying how good it was-"

"You hate anything green," he was able to interject.

"I know! I do," she agreed adamantly. "And this was no exception, 'cause it was gross, but I couldn't stop talking about it, and eating it, so I was complimenting the food and eating the food; it became this ritualistic type thing, compliment, eat, talk, eat-"

"Lor-" he tried.

"-and I was just shoveling in these disgusting, cold vegetables while my parents alternately threw barbs at each other, but, of course, my mom took a break to interrogate me and I cracked and told them."

"How bad-"

"So bad. 'Cause this is my fault. I should have done this, and I should have done that, and I should have married Christopher, because I'm sure if I had that it would have altered our future and somehow effected the events of the past four weeks, and not only would Rory be here, but my parents wouldn't be on the verge of divorce, because I'm sure that's my fault too, you know-"

"It's not-"

"And then my mom wanted to hire Veronica Mars to find her-"

"What does that mean!" Luke yelled.

The lights above the counter buzzed. She had never noticed that before.

They both sat, staring at each other, both remembering what transpired between them weeks before.

Lorelai was the one to break the ice.

"We kissed."

"I know."

She looked down. "We kissed, and Rory left, and I became Ralph Waldo Emerson, only I don't have a Pulitzer Prize winning book to show for it." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, visibly deflating before his eyes, "God, did Emerson even win a Pulitzer? I don't know."

"Me either," he offered, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, Luke." She looked at him now, the bluest eyes boring into even bluer ones.

"Oh. No problem," he stood, rubbing his hands on his jeans. Embarrassed that he had even kissed her in the first place, disappointed that she didn't feel the same.

She saw the shift and reached out for his hand. "No, no. I'm sorry that I've left you high and dry for two weeks."

Looking at their entwined fingers, he nodded understandingly, "You were going through something."

"Wanna know a secret?"

"Hmm?" he asked, sitting back down.

"Even if Rory hadn't left, I might have avoided you anyway," she stage whispered.

He smiled. "Really?"

"I just got lucky with an unstable kid leaving town around the same time I was going through my own little mental...thing." She smiled back. "It gave me a great excuse to hide from the world without consequence."

"I'll have to try that sometime."

She suddenly felt shy. She was a grown woman holding a grown man's hand, and she felt shy.

If she felt that when they were fully clothed, she could only imagine how she would feel when...

"I'm glad we kissed." She was sincere. "Are you glad we kissed?"

"Well, I did kiss you," Luke stated.

"Right," she stumbled. "So that would imply that you were happy about it."

"Pretty much."

"Unless, of course, it didn't meet your expectations, in which case you wouldn't be so happy about it because this dream you had of me and what a great kisser I am are now gone forever. So?" She looked at him hopefully.

"So, what?"

"So, was I a good kisser?"

He paused.

"Eh, mediocre."

Her eyes widened dramatically, "Mediocre?"

"What can I say? You win some, you lose some."

"Now you've gone and hurt my feelings."

He shook his head, "Lorelai, I was kidding."

"Oh, it's too late for apologies, mister. But, if you give me coffee and the promise of a date, I may forgive you."

He looked away, nodding thoughtfully. His eyes found hers again and he tightened his hold on her hand. "I can do that."

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It was late in New York. Or early, depending on how you chose to look at it. He was sleeping soundly, curled up next to her, holding her tightly (the way she loved). She was still awake, tracing the cracks in the ceiling. Reveling in the feel of him, naked, next to her (the way she loved). As content as she was, her mind churned restlessly. Remembering the excitement of her day, astounded that she had forgot to tell him, she angled her face and kissed his nose.

"Hey," he said.

She jumped, "You're awake?"

"Seems like I am." He pulled her closer.

"Guess what?" she almost shrieked.

"What?" he mimicked her tone.

"I'm gonna get a job tomorrow," she grinned.

He cocked his head quizzically. "Good luck with that."

"I am," she argued adamantly.

She saw the wheels start turning as his brain began to work overdrive and the guilt spread across his face.

"Ror, I..." he looked away, "I don't want you to feel like you have to work."

"But I do," she stated.

"No, you don't," he stated abruptly, turning away, trying to signal an end to the conversation with no such luck.

"Jess, there's no way we can afford this place with just you working." She continued, "Besides, what else am I suppose to do all day?"

He fumbled for the words, "You don't have to-"

"I want to."

His brain screamed School! What about school! but he was too much of a coward to actually vocalize it. Too afraid that if he did, this snow globe that they were living in would break.

Too afraid that if she heard those words, she would realize the reality of her decision.

Too afraid that she would realize how crazy this is.

Too afraid that she would leave.

That he still wasn't good enough.

...the last part he knew to be true.

"Jess." She broke through his thoughts and unknowingly addressed his fears, "I'm here for good, okay? That means making a life for us," she gestured between them, "putting down roots, so to speak. That means you..." she poked his arm.

"Home..." she held out both hands in a true 'ta-da' fashion.

"Job," she finished, tilting her head ever-so-slightly to the right, trying to make him meet her eyes.

He did, and immediately gave in. "Though I admire your enthusiasm, it's gonna be a little harder than that," he offered lamely.

She nodded furiously, "I can do it."

"I know you can."

"Plus, Laura said she'd help me."

His thoughts drifted to their (in his opinion) overly-friendly landlord with the good-intentioned, yet stubborn personality. If there was anyone knew everyone in this city, his best bet would on her.

"Well then, there's nothing stopping you, now is there?"

"Now that's the spirit," she grinned (that contagious grin!) and kissed him softly.

Ignoring the cracks in the ceiling now, she tucked her head down against his chest, safely nestled underneath his chin.

Safely...

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Notes: More threes, Luce! lol. Again, thanks to everyone who has reviewed this. This one gives me trouble, so it's extra satisfying when I finish a chapter, especially if you all like it.

Please review. Just drop me a quick comment! It's only take you a minute. Literally!

Either way, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.