Disclaimer: Alas, still nothing's mine.

A/N: Okay, here goes another chapter. WARNING! - The third part of this chapter is the most M stuff I've uploaded so far. In my opinion it's not as graphic as most M fics get, yet it does include some openly sexual content. So, if by any means you feel offended, please skip. AGAIN, THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M. What happens in the second part will be referred to in later chapters (in less detail, of course), so you'll be able to follow the events even if you skip it :)

'Did you bring paper napkins?' Paris asked.

'Yeah. I put them up in the shelf,' Tristan nodded while taking beer cans out of a plastic bag to put into the fridge.

They were in Rory's kitchen, using Paris' key to let themselves in and prepare the place for the surprise party while Rory was still at work.

'Which shelf?'

Tristan closed the fridge and turned. He stretched up on his toes, opening the shelf above Paris' head. For a moment he was hovering over her, his chest slightly brushing her cheek. She looked down, backing more into the counter, met by the sight of his lower stomach baring under the raised hem of his shirt. She blinked apprehensively, willing her cheeks to not turn red. Embarrassment was for losers. The next moment he was stepping out of her personal space, unaware of the moment that had transpired.

'Here,' he nudged her hand with the napkin pack when she didn't take it at first.

Tristan frowned at her stupor, studying her.

'I still think the stripper would've made a nice change, bring some life to the party,' he offered.

'What?.' Paris zoned back in, blinking.

'You suddenly turned serious,' he smirked.

Obviously that warranted some stripper reference. Jeez, Dugray.

'You realize bringing a female stripper to Rory's birthday party wasn't gonna cut it for her, right?' Paris sighed.

'I haven't specifically said it had to be a female stripper.'

Paris gave him a look. He shrugged.

'Like you don't think male stripping is embarrassing,' he said in his defense.

Paris rolled her eyes, then glanced at her watch.

'I'm gonna go take the boys. Try not to mess anything up till we come back.'

'Can't make any promises,' Tristan smirked, taking three oranges from a bag and juggling them in the air a couple of times faking almost dropping them to the floor before putting them in a bowl.

Paris shook her head and took his car keys from the kitchen island.

'Remember to take good care of my baby,' he called after her as she put on her shoes in the corridor, referring to his Audi.

'I'll stroke the leather salon for you,' she said before opening the front door, ignoring his 'Be gentle' comment just as she closed the door behind her back.

She rung the doorbell and waited.

He opened the door, surprise written over his face at the sight of her.

'Rory.'

She folded her arms before her chest, regarding him silently.

'Hey. Ehm, happy birthday,' he said, running a hand through his hair.

'You didn't come,' she said, the slightest hint of accusation grazing her voice.

'I...' he opened his mouth but didn't finish, pausing with his palm squeezing his nape. He hung his head down and let out a sigh, as if he was losing a battle he'd led with himself a couple of times already. 'I wasn't sure it was a good idea.'

She narrowed her eyes.

'You were invited right?'

He raked his teeth over his lower lip and put both hands into his jeans pockets. Then moved to the side, creating space for her to walk in.

She regarded him. Bare feet. Threadbare white cotton tee. Darkwash faded jeans. He didn't look harmful.

She walked inside, passing him by, and entered his apartment. She paused as she found herself into his living room. There was a single lit night lamp by his couch. An open book, put face down over the coffee table.

'I didn't wanna crowd you,' his voice sounded behind her, a trace of apology in his tone. 'I know how much you hate surprises so I... didn't wanna push anything.'

She looked around. The furniture was simple and rather basic. It was mostly colored in dark brown hues, reminding her of the shade of his eyes in dim lighting.

'I almost came, you know?' he said with a small self-ironic smile. 'I even considered bringing a flower.'

She arched an eyebrow, watching as he ran a hand through his hair. It wasn't short anymore, growing fully after the surgery. It covered his scar. You couldn't tell it was there. Unless you knew, that was.

Jess took a deep breath in and then let it out. Then stuck his hands deeper into his jean pockets, seemingly not knowing what to do with himself.

'Decided against flowers,' he shrugged. 'Always had a feeling this shit was so overdone.'

He sucked on the inside of his cheeks, rocking on his heels slightly. Then met her eyes with a rather shy look on his face.

'Got you a present, though. I...' he lifted a hand to point his thumb towards the adjacent room. 'I'm gonna go get it.'

Rory watched as he made his way into the other room. He was going out of his way to be more open and talk to her. Really talk to her. He, Jess Mariano, King of the Vocally Challenged. He'd never been less guarded, more exposed.

She followed him stopping at the doorway. A small rectangular package was lying on the night table next to the bed. A book.

'Why are you so patient with me?' she asked behind him.

She had thought it wouldn't matter, it was too late anyway. But she was wrong and it did. It did matter.

He turned to face her, surprised.

'Are you kidding?. Oh. You're not.' he adjusted his features so that they conveyed more seriousness. 'Well, let's say I meant what I said and I'm all in. Really all in.'

Because you taught me how. Because being all in means letting your guard down and opening up. Being all in means trust and devotion. And the only way to do this was to believe the one you love was worth it. And Jess knew that beyond doubt. But, obviously, she didn't. Hadn't he made himself clear? He would do anything it took to make it better between them. He would be patient. How would he not? Was she doubting what he had said, that he was really back and giving it all he had? She obviously did. And he couldn't blame her. Why are you so patient with me. Jesus, Rory. Why wouldn't I?.

'Because I discussed it with my therapist and then gave it some serious thought. And I came up with this extraordinary resolution to all of our problems. Works like magic. Every time.'

She arched an eyebrow waiting for him to quit playing smartass.

'Wanna know what this new extravagant way of working through shit is?' He looked at her square in the eyes and his eyes were bright with emotion. 'It's called talking. I never was one for talking much. God's my witness, spilling my guts in front of you these days is giving me indigestion but what the hell, if you're willing to be patient with me, I'm gonna try harder until we're both satisfied with the results.' He licked a lip, bracing himself. 'I still wanna make you insanely happy. And I'm still figuring out how.'

She pressed her lips together, looking up at the ceiling, as if asking for some divine help. Too late though.

'Hey,' he made two steps and stopped right before her. 'Hey... Don't cry. Babe, please.'

The endearment made her freeze. He had lifted a hand to wipe her cheek with his thumb. When he made contact with her skin, it was all there - everything she had tried to shield herself from. She felt a sudden surge of panic and drew back quickly as if he'd burnt her.

Jess stood before her, his hand still frozen midair, features stilled in apprehension. He was consciously willing himself to wait. She was about to make a decision and both of them felt it.

Rory's heart was beating erratically. Her limbs felt stiff. Her skin was covered in pins and needles and she felt a dull buzz in her ears.

She tried to analyze her feelings at the moment but it was so confusing. What she felt didn't make sense. She was so drawn to him, his gravity pulling her, solid and familiar. He was the only one who could soothe the wounds he had freshly cut open. Yet, at the same time all she wanted to do was turn all of her self-preservation instincts on and run. Run and hide until she's safe. She used to feel so safe with him. Until he broke her heart, repeatedly. Now she didn't feel safe anymore. What happened to the way they used to be?

Their eyes locked and she felt the buzz in her ears become louder. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her hand and made a step towards him. He waited, holding his breath. She stepped closer, still feeling light-headed, ready to run at the smallest sign of danger. Her fingertips touched his cheek. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. She slid her fingers down his cheek, feeling the slight graze of his scruff, lingering at his jaw. Her look paused over the ticking vein over his neck. She slid her fingertips, tracing it. His pulse quickened under her touch and she felt the panic withdraw, giving way to excitement.

Slowly, her palm continued its exploration down his shoulder. Over his tee-covered pecs. He was bulkier than she remembered. Not in a heavy, bodybuilder kind of way but more in a way that felt like he was stronger.

He felt good. She allowed the thought to surface in her consciousness. In a purely physical way, he felt incredibly good.

She wet her lips. Like a drug kicking in, his presence pulled her in and she wanted more. All of her senses were alert, all nerve endings straining to drink him in.

She could hear his irregular breathing because he was breathing through half parted lips, eyes still closed. His hands were closed in fists by his side, seemingly restraining from doing anything that could break the spell.

She moved to his right side so that she aligned herself beside him and lifted a hand to trace the scar over his ear. She let her fingertips rest over the indented area. She stood like this, feeling the stream down her cheeks run faster, salty streaks pooling at the corners of her mouth before running down her jaw and neck. She studied his scar. It was so strange to have something so physically small mark such huge change in their lives. It wasn't a measurable period. A time period implied it could be over. And what happened would never be completely over, its shadow everpresent between them. The place where a bullet had entered. The place where it had been extracted. All in all, what was left of it amounted to less than an inch. An inch that had turned their lives upside down. Where did they go from here?

Her look moved on to the ticking pulse over his neck. She leaned in, inhaling. The hairs at his nape stood up.

He was so... alive. He was right here in front of her, alive and vibrant and full of bubbling anticipation. His presence was electric. It was such a beautiful revelation. Ever since he came back, she'd been unconsciously waiting for him to disappear. But he had made it out of the surgery alive. Still was. Right here before her. This was the first time him coming out of this sound and whole started to feel real.

Feeling bolder, Rory wetted her lips and slightly touched them to his pulse spot. She heard Jess suck in a breath. She moved to stand before him.

'Rory...' his voice sounded gravelly. 'Wha...' he swallowed hard. 'What are you doing?'

She realized she had started pushing him with her palms so that he was moving back until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed.

She made a step back and found him looking at her, his eyes turning a deep shade of brown.

She met his look and chewed on her lip, hesitating.

'I'm not sure yet,' she said then, as if weighing her options.

She saw the genuine question in his eyes. He looked unguarded, clearly affected by her proximity. And then she realized she knew exactly what she wanted. Her palms slightly pressed against his chest, insisting. He followed her lead with suppressed reluctance, letting her push him onto the mattress, leaning back against his palms. She could see he was having an internal battle, wondering if he should stop her. She stepped between his legs and leaned forward, taking the hem of his tee, tugging up. He looked up at her like hypnotized, his chest rising and falling quickly. She bit on her lip, feeling self-conscious, her fingers still closed around the cotton of his tee.

He looked at her with wide eyes. As if he was trying to figure her out.

She'd stilled, waiting.

He dipped his head a little so that he caught her eyes. Then he lifted his arms, helping her pull the tee over his head.

Her pulse picked up. She climbed on her knees over the bed and he pushed himself further back, making room for her. She sat on her heels and her eyes roamed his frame. He was so alive, she thought again. She felt more and more drawn to the life he exuded. She had been dead for so long. Somehow, his hope silenced the noise of her doubts. Could hope transpire? Could it transfuse so that she would start to feel it, too? She had been so lonely. So afraid.

Jess leaned back over his elbows and willed himself to stand still, his knuckles going white as he kept his hands balled by his sides.

The look in her eyes was intense, blue sparkling with desire. He swallowed with difficulty. Could you die from too much anticipation?

Rory reached a hand to touch him, tracing the hollow of his neck, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Her palm moved down his chest bone, pausing at his abs. He had a well-defined six pack now. The muscles tensed beneath her fingers. She traced the outlines of his abs, letting her fingernails slightly graze the taut skin. He shivered.

'If you keep doing this,' he said in a husky voice, 'I feel obliged to warn you that it may be over before it's begun.'

And I'm gonna embarrass myself like a dorky teenager. Is that what you're aiming for?

He made an effort to smirk to lighten the mood but faltered as she pressed his shoulders down until he was lying flat on the bed. Both her palms slid down his chest reaching his waistline. She started unbuckling his belt. His breath hitched. And then her fingers were closing over him.

'Jesusfuckingchrist,' he hissed.

For a moment his mind went blank. Then her hand moved and he caught her wrist, leaning on one elbow.

Their eyes met. Through the lusty fog that was quickly clouding his brain, he managed to force himself to really look at her. And then he knew.

He let go of her wrist and rested back, rubbing his face with both palms.

'You're gonna be the death of me,' he muttered but was cut short, his eyes rolling back into his head.

She wasn't ready to trust him with herself. It was too soon, her open wounds too fresh. She couldn't trust him yet. He had to do this first. He had to trust her with himself if he ever wanted to stand a chance for winning back what he'd lost.

He saw it. She had missed their intimacy too. But she wasn't gonna let him show his affection. She didn't believe his affection, too afraid of the tumult it brought along. She was only willing to take as much as she was ready to, only taking if she could control just as much she got. He surrendered, leaving himself at her mercy, praying he'd at least have traces of sanity left after tonight.

TBC