"Remind me again why I'm holding a poptart to my eye?" Jess grumbled, indeed holding a frozen pop-tart to his eye.

Rory was about ready to duct tape his mouth to the table just so he could stop his ungrateful yammering, "Because we're out of steaks."

"And ice bags, for that matter."

"Not all of us are blessed with the privilege of having sacks of frozen water at arm's reach. Now shut up so I could glue your ear back onto your head in peace."

He managed to hold it in for an impressive twenty seconds before "Last time I checked, the bandaid isn't supposed to be floating around in the blood."

"It's not my fault you bleed like a stuck pig."

And in a way only a stuck pig respond with, "It's not my fault your band-aid looks like something someone could easily fit up their ass."

"Oh yeah? Wanna try?"

"If you would just get bigger band-aids--"

"If you would just get yourself a mute button…"

And in a flutter of leather and bleached blond hair went Billy Idol…"Shoot. Bandaid fell off. Hey, get me another one will you?"

Who was he kidding? "Just so I could listen to you complain about my lack of appropriate medical supplies? Thanks, but no thanks."

He paused to stare at her incredulously, "I'm bleeding."

"You should have thought of that before you decided to abuse my treasured Billy Idol band-aid."

"Good. I can't sit through 'Mony, Mony' once without clawing my ears out."

"Hm. I'll keep that in mind if I ever decide to blindfold and drag you to Billy's unplugged concert."

"Billy-lover."

"Elvis worshiper."

She'd eventually gotten him another band aid, that of which she'd smoothed over his forehead in tender loving care, but not before accidentally jabbing him with the blunt side of her scissors. Jess remained eerily quiet throughout the entire tirade. Half because Rory had moved her face in close proximity with his, and half because he was suspecting she was really getting serious about duct-taping his mouth shut, "Your hair looks good like that."

His statement was met by a glare, whereas she had obviously misinterpreted his words for sarcasm, "Shuddup. Just because I refuse to spend 23 hours in the bathroom admiring my reflection and running gelled gunk through my head does not mean--."

"I was being sincere," he cut in, exasperated with her lack of faith on his part

The shock was evident, seeing as she was staring at him as if he had sprouted twenty heads off his neck. There was really only one plausible explanation for this, "Are you drunk?"

Scowl, "Forget it. Your hair's a mess, and I said nothing."

"You said nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Watch that nose, Pinnochio."

"You know," he said, expertly maneuvering himself about the mishap, "I have a theory on that, I say Disney thwarted the entire concept of the nose thing. Personally, I think it was a completely different body part that started growing when he lied because face it, as stupid as it seems, having your nose stretch isn't nearly as embarrassing as having your groin expand 5 times in under 10 seconds."

She winced reflectively at his crude statement, "Gee thank you for that. There goes another Disney movie I won't ever be able to watch again."

He still owed her for the time he pointed out The Little Mermaid may as well had been soft core porn. And that was in 2nd grade. Welcome to the age of corruption.

"So," she started slowly, "Are you going to tell me who this you've been reenacting Scarface with?"

A bitter chuckle escaped abruptly through his lips as she shot him a questioning glance, "It's less Scarface, more Boston Massacre."

Unfortunately, her question would remain unanswered due to the fact their enlightening conversation was cut short by the blunt shriek of Jess' beeper. A sign that couldn't have been too great considering is triggered a hasty, "Oh (insert swear word here)" from the bleeding stuck pig lying on her bed.

"Yes I know," she supplied in response to his excessive cursing, "Technology can be very frustrating. Damn whoever slaughtered the constant society."

Jess didn't seem to hear her, seeing as he had dropped the frozen pop-tart and was well on his way towards her window, an expedition that was halted abruptly when a confused and wildly affronted Rory choose to plant herself in his way, "Whoa there pigeonfoot, where do you think you're going?"

"Do you have a car?"

If there was any doubt in her mind that Jess was the most afdhadbflbafdsf being on the face of the earth, this overrode it.

The heads have sprouted again, "What?"

"Do. You. Have. A. Car."

"Well that's what the hunk of shiny metal parked in the driveway goes by."

"Great. I'll return it to tomorrow morning."

She failed to stifle the scoff protruding from her throat, "Ha… Oh wait, sorry. You seriously think I'll let you parade around in the only form of transportation I own?"

"Right. Because being seen in your lovely coated-with-bugs-on-the-windshield motor vehicle is the sole purpose of my existence."

Her mouth dropped, she could've taken the time to point out his own car was lying splitside in the middle of a junkyard ready to be crushed and distributed as aluminum soda cans for the rest of dehydrated American, but she chose to settle for an irked, "Excuse me but my windshield is perfectly spotless."

"Oh, well the sixty different species of fruit-flies splattered upon it beg to differ," Jess was obviously reaching the end of his short-lived patience as confirmed by the fact he was now running his fingers through his heavily gelled Elvis personating hair in agog agitation, "Are you giving me the keys or not?"

"After that enlightening statement about my beautiful windshield?"

"I'm sorry. Your windshield is spotless. The dead bugs stuck on it are merely figments of space and time glued together to make it seem like an immobile piece of crap. Forgive me."

"Well when you put it that way…" she uttered sarcastically, pausing wittingly for a moment before questioning, "Where are you going?"

"This is ridiculous…"

"Supermarket, Grand Canyon, outer space? Give me a hint here."

He sighed impatiently, and, as Rory noted with self-congratulatory, with an undertone of defeat, "A couple towns away. There's an… argh. It's a party."

The mere image of Jess interacting with actual people was enough hilarity to keep Rory happy for the rest of her living breathing thinking years, "A party? You?"

"Believe it or not I'm not going there to relive Saturday Night Fever," he replied dryly, not oblivious at all to the fact she was enjoying his discomfort a tad too much, "So are you giving me the keys or not?"

Despite her inner-Jeremy Cricket shrieking 'NO! NO! NO!', Rory reluctantly removed the keys from her bag. Well, rest in peace Jeremy. She wasn't that stupid, "I'm driving."

It was now her turn now to sprout twenty heads, Jess squinted at her in not exactly the most attractive way, "What?"

"If you think I'm going to let you of all people drive around in my precious greased lightning, you need a new brain. No wait actually you need a new brain anyways. So you'd need a new brain in addition to your new brain."

"That makes complete sense," was his cantankerous response as he set to work on pushing open her window, "So princess, should you roll out the holy breach in the wall first or should I?"

OOOOO

"I thought you said you knew how to drive," Jess grumbled, accelerating the vehicle in a way that caused Rory to bump her head on the ceiling despite the constricted seatbelt holding her back. That of which was obviously not doing it's job considering the state of mind, so to speak, her commiserable head was in.

"I do. Just not very well," she stuck her hand above her scalp to avoid the impact sure to come from Jess' fast though more furious if anything driving. The guy was the epitome of road rage, "In fact the only reason I got my license was because I think my mother offered the instructor a lap dance. Whether or not he could her up on that I'm not sure, I had my ears covered at that point." She furrowed her eyebrows, having just brought up a belated subject, "Jess?"

"If you tell me there's gremlins poking out from the side of the road one more time I swear to god…"

Her gaze drifted uneasily to the unfamiliar terrain outside the glass pane, the true extent of the potential apostasy on her part of this situation settling in as she shifted apprehensively in her seat, "I think I should've told my mom first."

"You left a post it note. And a letter explaining the post it note. And another post it note in the bathroom explaining the letter explaining the post it note. Believe it or not, I think she'd have gotten the message."

"Then I should've asked for permission." Jess shrugged at that, remaining unfazed despite the sound of her head hitting the bug- glutted window in contrition, "Ugh! I'm a bad daughter."

"No, just sixteen," he replied offhandedly, the majority of his attention focused on the sluggish car in front of them, "If anything, Lorelai should be grateful she conceived a kid who would go so far as to develop a conscience in this time of— Jesus Christ can that stupid car go any slower?"

Rory barely raised her head from its seluded spot on the window, "We had a system. Of all my teenybopper years I've never felt any urge to send the red flags of rebellion off and in this fairly small amount of time back from Hartford, I've managed to shatter that system and possibly massacre any overbearing trust my mother has or will ever have in me," she turned abruptly to a distracted Jess, who was preoccupied with his timely task of urging the car in front of them to burst into flame, "Good god, we'll never be able to watch Thirteen ever again without an undertone of awkward resentment."

"Rory. Shut up."

"But I—

"For pete's sake, you're sixteen. You're bound to give in to some old prepubescent heresy sometime," and as quick as it came, his attention had been averted, "For the love of god!" And there goes Jess' head, popping out the window, "The speed limit says fifty-five, grandpa!"

Reminding herself to ask Jess about any history of medical illness, Rory grabbed hold of his shirt and managed to yank him back in before the Jess-dubbed 'grandpa' could sue for hoodlumism, "Whoa there Jack Nicholson, anger management says happy hour is from four to six."

"Shame. I need my cocktails," Jess grumbled half-heartedly, turning abruptly into a street corner.

And alas, Rorys' inferior reflexes failed to protect her skull from another round of assault through the roof of the car, "Ah! Okay well then you may want to lay off the cocktails and settle for some nice aroma back therapy."

He didn't seem to hear. Or it wasn't a long shot that he might've just ignored her, "We're here."

She stared openly at the slightly Adam's Family-esque otherwise homely looking house. Half expecting eerie silhouettes of delirious party goers bounding about the windows that never appeared, "Awfully quiet for a party."

"Did I say party?"

Agh. Her gaze swiveled accusingly towards his direction, "Yes."

"Oh. I lied."

She was surprisingly not surprised, "Okay," a beat, "Uh, Jess? Exactly how long are we staying?"

"Just a minute or two. I just have some business to take care of."

"Oh. Well then you still owe me gas money," still holding her throbbing head, she'd pushed open the door and was in the midst of sliding out when it became evident that a restraining order by the name of Jess had an iron grip on her arm and was in the process of pulling her back in a way that caused her to yet again whack her head on the ceiling, "Ow! Jeez, what are you doing?"

"You're staying in the car."

Somebody here obviously hadn't been acquainted with a little term called free will, "Excuse me?"

"I don't want to spend my Monday mornings digging up your pretty little head."

"Yeah well, I'd taken up baton twirling in the 1st grade. I think I could manage a couple thugs, Jess Mariano," she was getting rather annoyed at this point. This wasn't 1748. Sexism had already taken it's drastic nosedive and when a guy told you to stay in a car, you sure as hell weren't going to listen.

Jess was well aware of this now. The fact he had fallen forward to smack his head on the dashboard repeatedly confirmed this.

As an attempt to salvage the rest of his remaining brain cells, Rory managed to grab hold of his shirt and halt him from his journey to deficiency, "You're going to set off the airbag."

"I'm going to need you to do something for me," was his muffled reply.

Aha. Apparently she was a little late in her rescue for his expedition to brain damage, "What?"

His head popped up to eye her warily, "I need you to do something for me."

The hold on his shirt was released, "Okay, forget the airbag. You can continue hitting your head now."

Realization seemed to strike him a little late. Probably because of the severe loss of brain cells banging your head against the dashboard results to, "Oh jeez-- it's not dirty. If that's what you're thinking."

"I'm not thinking anything," she insisted profusely, "Because I won't be doing anything."

"Just--" his failure to form a coherent sentence had triggered him to bang (dirty) his head once more against the dashboard, "Ugh. Look, would it help if I explained a few things?"

She'd actually been thinking more along the lines of attacking him with pepper spray, but that worked too.

"There's a teacher that lives here. He and I have some unresolved issues."

Not following entirely, "… Unresolved?"

"Unresolved," he confirmed.

At least she knew now who the crown for king of vagueness went to. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"It's not that big of a deal. It's… okay. I'll let you get out of the car if you just—

"You'll let me get out of the car?" Well it was unanimous. Feminism was dead as a doornail, "I could very much get out of a car without your permission, King Henry, because I realize opening a door and sticking your legs out is so arduous of a task."

Averting his desperate grab for her sweater, she very much proved not only that she was completely capable of removing herself from a car, but was quite impulsive when she was angry.

Jess trailed after her, finally succeeding in snagging hold of her long enough to say, "For god's sake will you listen to me before you go completely postal and shoot everyone in the mailroom?"

"That depends. Does everyone include you?"

"Agh," The blend of frustration and stress was clearly not a good sentiment for Jess, who after realizing he no longer had the dash-board at heads' reach, proceeded to use Rory's shoulder as a replacement.

She stopped him. She did more than that actually, with a tight grip on his shoulders she proceeded to shake the living daylights out of him, "Snap out of it! At this rate, brain tumor can't be far behind," loosening her grip, Rory cast a pointed glance at the house, "But before then, could you please maybe tell me why we're expediting your teacher's house?"

His voice was nearly incoherent due to the fact he was somehow obliged to bury his face in her shoulder, but the word, "No." really isn't that hard to catch.

Annoyance, "Tell me or I'll ring the doorbell."

Muffled, "He's not home."

"So what are we doing here? Were you going to bust all his windows, streak around his living room flinging toilet paper, and write 'I am Andy Dufresne, this is my redemption' on all the walls?"

His head lifted off her shoulder, "He has my tape."

"Can't that wait till he's actually home?"

"Nope," he gestured towards the bushes. The possibly spider ridden bushes, "Look, you don't have to stay in the car. Just sit there and wait for me, okay?"

This piqued her very much, but the idea of being stuffed facefirst into her own car piqued her even more. Plus she figured she could get back at Jess by sneaking a spider down his shirt later, "Fine."

"Unless you want to stay in the car."

"Oh no. Bushes are great," ignoring the spiky branches poking at her legs and the invisible bugs creeping across her neck, of course.

He started towards the house, before his overwhelming distrust at the situation finally settled and he turned around to say, "So you're just going to sit there, right?"

"Oh no, I might just let myself breath once in a while. Just for the sake of oxygen." And staying alive.

"Listen, if you see anyone coming, headlights pulling into the driveway, throw a rock at that window right there. I might need a precaution."

"Just call me Thomas Beckett," was her response, more concerned with brushing off the humungous looking arachnid crawling up her arm than with the truthliness of her words. She probably should've put more thought into that statement. Because as Jess picked and disappeared into the back door, a car had indeed pulled into the driveway. And there he was, Jess' teacher, who currently still preoccupied sitting inside his vehicle mouthing the words to 'I Wanna be Sedated.'

It was around that moment when Rory realized there was a slight problem, being that she really wasn't Thomas Beckett and her aiming was a devastating negative zero. Her futile attempt for the latter had, in fact, ended up missing by a good 10 yards, "Oh jeez," she muttered, watching the man walk up the porch, "Jess, you might be in trouble here."