A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this up. I was distracted by the release of Year in the Life, but ultimately was inspired by the new episodes to continue with this story. Whatever your opinions about them (and believe me, I have many STRONG opinions on the subject), the new releases were still exciting to watch and reminded me why I fell in love with the Gilmore Girls in the first place.
Brace yourselves, this is a long chapter! Reviews are life, and are greatly appreciated as always.
Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, nor any of the show's characters.
Chapter 7 – Too Many Admirers
As it turned out, Rory's first briefing was better than satisfactory. The corps wasn't that hard on her, and there were no big, controversial topics to comment on that week. And after that, it was like ripping off a bandage. With three briefings now under her belt, her nerves were under control, more or less, and she was able to settle into the job and let a few things be delegated.
Angie had pencilled in a phone call with Lorelai on Wednesday morning, and Rory was extremely grateful. They hadn't spoken for nearly a week, and while it wasn't a record, it seemed like far too long without a mother-daughter chat.
Just after 10:00am, Rory swung her door shut and dialled the number for the Dragonfly. It rang three times before the receiver was picked up and then apparently dropped on the ground. The clattering noise made her hold the phone away from her ear, and in the background she could hear Michel swearing under his breath in French.
"Bonjour, Hello. Dragonfly Inn."
"Hi Michel. Having some problems?"
"Who is this?"
She sighed. "It's Rory, Michel."
"I'm sorry, qui?"
Rory closed her eyes and gave in to the exasperation that naturally came with talking to the Frenchman.
"Rory, Michel. You know, the owner's daughter? And I'm sorry I haven't gotten you White House passes yet. It's just a little early to be asking for favours at a new..."
"Ohh, Ro-ry! So nice of you to call. I wasn't sure you'd remember all of the little people that helped you on your way up."
She laughed to herself at the sweet and bitchy tone of his voice. It was a little early to be so cranky, even for him.
"I could never forget you, Michel."
"Of course not, cherie. Like Celine, I am one-of-a-kind. But you know this."
"Yes, Michel. Is my mom around?"
"Who can say? She runs in, she runs out. I cannot keep track of such a flighty woman."
Rory could almost picture him waving his hands around as he imitated Lorelai's movements.
"Could you maybe look for her?"
"Absolutely not."
"Michel, please? As a favour, for me?"
"I am a concierge, mademoiselle. I am not a bike messenger. It is not part of my duties to race about the property looking for your wayward mother, who may or may not be sitting in front of the coffee maker, waiting for it to chime and complete her life once again."
"Please?"
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No."
"I'll send you some White House post-its. They have gold eagles on them..."
He sighed in his condescending French way. "Fine. I will look. One moment please."
Rory tapped her fingers on the desk blotter, biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt not to laugh.
"No, she is nowhere."
"You didn't really look, did you?"
Michel snorted. "Of course I looked."
"No. You put the phone down on the desk, and pretended to look."
"How dare you suggest that I did not do what I said I was going to do?! I would never…"
"Gold eagles, Michel. Shiny ones. In multiple sizes." If she had to pull out the big guns, then by golly she would.
"Why look, here is Lorelai now. Lorelai, it is Rory. Always such a delight when she calls and ties up the front desk line, which was installed for paying guests."
Rory listened as her mother reminded Michel that he could quite easily be replaced by someone who worked at the Motel 6 in Woodbury, before she came back on the line.
"Hello, favourite daughter."
"Hi, Mom. What's responsible for the extra long baguette that's shoved up Michel's..."
"Children's festival is in town this week."
Rory nodded, putting her feet up on the file box next to her desk. "Ah."
"So the inn is booked full of families."
"Well, that'll do it."
Lorelai huffed. "He's been unbearable for days. I'm thinking about giving him a long weekend just to get him out of here."
"Or..."
"You have another idea?" Her mother sounded intrigued.
"You could always see if you could get the mascot costume from Stars Hollow High. Tell him he either turns his frown upside down, or he gets to entertain the kids as a… beaver?"
"I thought it was a gerbil."
"Porcupine?"
"Marmot?"
Rory snickered. "Do you even know what a marmot is, Mom?"
"Do you know what a marmot is?"
Ok, so maybe she had a point. Lorelai laughed, and Rory imagined her wiggling her eyebrows in victory.
"Hold on, we'll get to the bottom of this. Luke!" Lorelai put her hand over the phone, but as usual Rory could hear every word of her mother's strong voice. "Luke! "
"What is Luke doing there?"
"Oh, just fixing a couple of things for me. Loose door handle, squeaky drawer in my desk. You know, handyman things."
"Ah, sure. Luke is definitely handy."
"You can say that again!"
Rory groaned at her mother's double entendre.
"Luke! What is the high school's mascot?"
Rory heard Luke answer back, grumpy but ever patient with her mother's craziness.
"The what?"
"The high school mascot. It's something small and furry right?"
"Are you serious?"
"Of course. Rory and I are having a disagreement. You can settle it for us."
"Lorelai, the mascot is a Minuteman. You know that. You sewed a new costume for the school a few years ago."
"Are you sure? I don't think I remember sewing anything Revolutionary."
"I'm very sure. And I know this because you made me model it for you."
Lorelai erupted into giggles so loud, Rory had to hold the receiver away from her ear again.
"Oh my god! I remember that! You were so unhappy in those tights that you willingly offered to go and get TJ to take your place."
Rory took the opportunity to jump back into the conversation. "And TJ would be a good replacement, why?"
"Because TJ loves tights like a kangaroo loves basketball. Duh."
Rory just rolled her eyes.
"So, Mom. Is this a bad time?"
"Sorry what, sweetie?"
"Do you have time to talk now, or are you going to continue to torture your handyman?"
Lorelai laughed again under her breath, and then she too closed her office door so that they could have a quiet minute to talk.
"Ok, Luke's gone off to annoy Michel. What's up?"
"I thought you might like to hear the latest in the saga of Rory vs. the Old Boys Club."
"Ooh yes, do tell."
"Well, the insults are apparently no longer veiled."
Lorelai whistled softly. "So the gloves are coming off, hmm?"
Rory closed her eyes and took a breath. Just thinking about her recent interactions with the Deputy Secretary made her blood boil.
"Honestly, I think even Grandma would be proud of the way he can twist a conversation to make me look bad."
"Careful, hon. The Grand Master will not appreciate being unseated."
"Oh, she's still out in front, don't worry. But Perry the Weasel is coming up fast."
Lorelai snorted. "You're calling him Perry the Weasel? That was the best you could come up with?"
"Better than butt-faced miscreant," Rory muttered under her breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. I purposely didn't return a call for a statement from the Post because it's something that the President is going to address directly in his speech tomorrow. So of course they went to Perry, because he and the reporter are of a similar 'vintage'. He implied that I was 'prone to forgetfulness' and then apparently made a joke about how I'm 'unable to manage without my NEW FANGLED PHONE'. Can you believe that?!"
"That WEASEL!" Lorelai mimicked.
"Don't make fun. It was serious insubordination."
Her mother was still giggling. "I know, I know. It's just funny because I picture him saying it in a Yosemite Sam voice while playing with his mustache."
Rory rubbed the tension headache forming at the back of her neck. "Yes, his mustache is ridiculous. I believe we've already exhausted that line of mocking."
"Oh, no. There is much more mocking to be done on that front."
"ANYways. I have to do something about it. I'm just not sure what, yet."
Lorelai sobered slightly, and considered the problem. "Well, you could always call in the Grand Master herself. I mean, they're both so venomous, if they're actually in the same room together maybe they'll cause a rip in the space/time continuum and we'll kill two birds with one stone?"
"I don't think that's possible, but I will definitely be using that as my happy thought to get to sleep tonight." Rory laughed in spite of her elevated blood pressure, and was again glad that she had found time to call her mother.
"Well, then my job here is done."
Angie knocked softly on Rory's door at exactly 10:30, reminding her that other business was waiting.
"Sorry, mom. I've gotta run."
"Oh fine. Go back to your big, important job. I have to Google how to make a marmot costume anyways."
Rory giggled, knowing her mother might actually follow through on the idea. "Poor Michel. Talk to you soon."
"Ok. Bye, love."
"Bye, Mom."
She ended the call and rolled her eyes again. She missed her mom, and Luke, and the crazy town that had raised her. But she was quickly learning that the White House was just as nutty.
"Come in, Angie."
Angelique walked in briskly with a mug of steaming coffee and the day's mail.
"You're still smiling. Good call?"
Rory rolled her head back and forth, trying to ease the knot in her muscles. "My mother is always entertaining. Hey, what do you know about marmots?"
Her secretary looked at her oddly as she contemplated the question. "Um… they're small and furry?"
"Exactly. Ok, good. I'm not the only one in the dark about our furry friend, the marmot."
Angelique just laughed and turned to leave. "Chief booked some time with you at 10:45. Very last minute. Didn't say what it was about."
Rory nodded, absentmindedly flipping through the stack of correspondence. "My office or his?"
"He's going to call you, apparently."
She did take notice at this strange request. Denis' office was right down the hall from hers, and as far as Rory knew, he was here today. Why on earth would he be calling her rather than walking over in person?
Angie noticed her surprise. "Want me to call his office and get an idea of what he wants to discuss?"
She considered it, knowing that her secretary had good sources in the building. The call was only 15 minutes away, however, so she wouldn't have to wait long to unravel the mystery.
"No, that's fine. If Denis wants to call, I'm sure he has a good reason. When's my next appointment?"
"Not until 11:30. Martin wants to stop by and make sure you're on the same page about the speaking points for POTUS tomorrow."
"Sounds good. Maybe grab the take out menu for that sandwich place he likes? I doubt we'll be finished before lunch."
Angie nodded, letting herself out and shutting the door behind her.
Rory set aside two letters that needed written responses before the end of the day, and tossed a few pieces of junk mail into the recycling bin in the corner.
At the bottom of the stack was a nicer envelope she was beginning to recognize and look forward to. She smiled a little, then even wider when she realized she was enjoying his continued attention and their friendly, if somewhat curious, correspondence relationship.
Her letter opener made quick work of the outer envelope. She was also very pleased to note that, despite his reputation as a poor communicator, his handwriting continued onto the back of the single sheet inside.
Rory,
Indian food, hmm? I would say I'll send the matches to deal with that situation to your office, but I'm sure that would be frowned upon in this world of intensive security. You should probably give me your home address instead, just to be safe – particularly if that book store is as good as you make it out to be. I might want to stop by and check it out some time.
Hopefully you're already feeling like a Press Secretary Superwoman, at least more so than the last time we spoke. I caught your second briefing online, and you looked like a force to be reckoned with – until that idiot from Huffington Post asked about the President's opinion of Bono. I was impressed that you kept a straight face, even though you were probably still picturing him in his underwear. (Tighty-whities, I'm betting.)
Alright, so – to burn that horrible image out of my brain, can we please discuss that new (old) Harper Lee piece? What do you think, early draft of 'Mockingbird' or sequel? We could argue both sides, but I'm leaning towards the idea that it's a window into her writing process. How often do you get to see the first draft of a masterpiece? I think the reason I like it is because it feels more real, more raw somehow - not so precious and perfected. Don't get me wrong, the original was ground breaking, but I always secretly thought it was a bit contrived. (And yes, I can see the irony in a man who makes his living largely as an editor espousing a writer's need to stay true to an original draft.)
But enough about my biased opinions; have you read anything worthy lately? Please say yes. Despite your strange leanings toward political nut-jobs (present employer excluded), I value your opinion slightly more than my business partners who prefer the angsty, literary equivalent of Fiona Apple. I seem to recall we were of the same opinion when it same to self-absorption in authors, which they clearly have no similar aversion to.
Actually, as I grow older and wiser (?) I'm noticing that finding someone you're so mentally compatible with is rare, indeed.
My agent is making noise about a short book tour next month to drum up interest in the paperback release of my latest (god knows why). I'm just hitting major East Coast cities, so I'll probably be in DC at some point. Maybe we can get together and catch up?
I'll have my people call your people when I have some firm dates. And by my people, I mean me, because writers don't have people. Except for you – because you're kind of a big deal now.
-Jess
Rory felt a blush rise on her cheeks and noticed she was tapping her toe under her desk.
Was Jess flirting with her?
She giggled to herself and read the letter again, just to be sure. Yes, there was definitely something different about his tone this time. If it was anyone else, she wouldn't give it a second thought. But this was Jess, who was always very much aware of what he wrote and how it came across.
And he wanted to see her when he was in town. There was never a question in her mind that she would accept his invitation. She wondered what he was like now, if he wore the same Chuck Taylors and still left his hair wild.
She shook her head at her own foolishness. Of course he didn't. They had both grown up since they last spent time together. It was silly to think that he would stay frozen in time, just the same as she remembered.
She didn't often let herself examine those particular memories too closely. If she looked from a distance, the rose coloured glasses would stay in place and she could remember him just as she liked: a brilliant but tortured, passionate loner who rarely let anyone but her see behind his curtain. Closer scrutiny however, revealed the painful parts of their history as well, including the ones that she herself was responsible for.
The desk phone rang, and Rory folded the letter in half with a sigh, securing it under her paperweight.
"Rory speaking."
"Boss, I've got the Chief on the line for you. He's calling from an internal extension, but it's not his office."
She could hear Angie's implied question. Why is he calling you from somewhere else, and what the heck is this about?
"Curioser and curioser. Put him through."
Rory took a deep breath and listened as the line clicked in her ear.
"Hi Denis."
"Rory, hey. Sorry for the cloak and dagger stuff, but we've got a bit of a situation. Could you come and meet me?"
"Um, sure. Where am I going?"
She could hear voices in the background, and paper shuffling. Wherever her boss was, he wasn't alone.
"I'm in the security office on the second floor."
"The Secret Service operations office? Okay. You've definitely piqued my interest here, Chief."
He huffed and cleared his throat. "Again, sorry. I was trying to keep it confidential for you."
"Should I be worried?"
"What? Oh, no. No. I'll explain everything when you get here."
"Ok. I'm coming up now."
Rory hung up the phone and rubbed the back of her neck again. What the hell was going on? She grabbed her notebook and walked out past Angie, who looked eager for information.
"Gotta go meet the Chief. I've got my phone, so I'll call if I'm going to be late for Martin."
She didn't wait for a response or the additional questions she knew would be coming from her secretary. The stairwell was just around the corner, and she ran up the steps quickly, which did nothing for her racing heart.
Upstairs, the West Wing was never in the public eye, so rather than the historical opulence of the main floor, it resembled instead a slightly upgraded government office building. Beige walls and greyish-brown carpets gave way to offices and the occasional nest of cubicles.
At the end, on the left, the door to the Secret Service suite was open. Rory tried to calm her stomach and stepped up to the receptionist, who seemed to be waiting for her.
"Ms. Gilmore, right this way. Mr. McDonough and Agent Wells are expecting you."
She was led past the half wall into a small conference room where the two men were already sitting. They rose to greet her, and over the Chief of Staff's shoulder she could see grey façade of the Eisenhower Executive building across the street.
"Thanks for coming, Rory. We thought meeting here would be less conspicuous than us barging into your office."
The other man, who she could only assume was Agent Wells, moved to shake her hand.
"Jermaine Wells, ma'am."
He must have been a football player, Rory thought to herself as his hand engulfed hers. He was easily 6'4" and what she guessed was 275 lbs. of solid muscle. His grey suit strained at the shoulders, and she didn't even want to contemplate what that bulge was under his left arm.
His smile was warm, however.
"Nice to meet you."
Rory settled herself in the chair across from theirs, and Agent Wells opened a file folder, pulling out a single sheet of paper.
"Ms. Gilmore, this arrived in this morning's mail, addressed to you."
He slid the sheet across the table towards Rory, and her heart nearly stopped. There inside the plastic, protective sleeve was another letter from her stalker.
She had seen enough of them to recognize the format; a short message, arranged like a poem, in an old dot-matrix printer font on tractor feed paper. Pretty much untraceable, the Atlanta police had told her when they first started arriving.
Rory steeled herself, and glanced at the letter.
Lorelai Leigh,
You think that you have gotten away,
From all the truths I have to say.
As you know it has always been my intention,
To garner more of your worthy attention.
And though you have moved on to Capitol Hil,
My affection for you grows stronger still.
I grow impatient to see you again.
Your faithful admirer,
-N-
She visibly shuddered and sat back from the table. Agent Wells slid the sheet back into the folder, probably hoping to spare her any more discomfort.
"Any mail without a return address automatically gets opened by the mail room. They notified the Secret Service immediately once it was read, and I got the call about a half hour ago. Now, I know you spoke with an agent about this issue before you started, but I wasn't sure if anyone else in your office knew, so I thought it best to do this away from the staff."
Rory nodded at Denis, still too shaken to open her mouth.
"I have to get back to my office, but I'll leave you in Agent Wells' capable hands." He paused beside her chair until she looked up at him.
"If you need anything, you know where to find me."
The Chief looked concerned, which worried Rory even more because he had a reputation of being unshakable in a crisis. He laid his hand on her shoulder for a minute before leaving and shutting the door behind him.
Agent Wells pulled out a yellow, legal pad and began writing notes, the clicking sound of his pen bringing her eyes up to him once again.
"Are you ok to answer some questions, Ms. Gilmore?"
She raised an eyebrow. "It seems you're about to ask me some personal questions, so it's Rory. Please."
He smiled a little at that, his bright white teeth contrasting sharply with his dark skin.
"Only if you call me Jermaine."
At her nod, he continued.
"Okay, so I just want to go over things from the beginning if that's alright? So I can be sure I have all the facts straight?"
"That's fine."
"You've received letters like these before?"
Rory nodded, letting her mind search back in time. "Yes. The first one came about 3 weeks after I started at CNN."
"And how many have you gotten, in total?"
"4, so this one makes 5."
Jermaine wrote a few notes on his pad, and then looked up to her again. "Have they all looked like this?"
"Yes. The paper, the font, the format of the message – all the same." Rory's shoulders gave an involuntary shiver.
"And the Atlanta PD investigated?"
She nodded again. "Detective Transon looked into it, but he said the letters were untraceable. They never really threaten anything overt, per se, so there wasn't much else for them to go on, I guess."
He sighed, and jotted down a few more words. "Well, I'm going to get the evidence transferred here anyway, so we can have a second look. But they're right that there's no direct threat. It's just a creepy poem, for now."
"Right. It's not even a good poem…"
Agent Wells chuckled and put his pen down. "Look, there isn't technically anything for me to investigate, but that doesn't mean I'm going to drop it. This building is a tight knit family. We take care of our own."
Rory couldn't quite force herself to smile, but his assertion helped her relax a tiny amount.
"Staffers don't usually get official protection details, but we take on security issues on a case by case basis. As of now, you're on my roster."
"I'm sorry, your what?"
He grinned at her. "Consider me your personal security advisor."
She shook her head, not really understanding. "But you said yourself there isn't anything to investigate."
"That doesn't mean we can't make sure you're as safe as you can be."
Jermaine sat back, unbuttoning his blazer and giving Rory a glimpse of his gun holster. She raised her eyebrows, but his smile drew her eyes back to his face.
"You just moved to DC, right? Still live alone?"
"Yes."
"Have a deadbolt on your door? On the building's main door?"
She frowned a little. "No."
"Have a security system in your home?"
"No, but…"
"Ok, so that's something we can improve on."
She sat up a little straighter. "I don't think I really need…"
"Rory, you have to take this seriously."
"But he hasn't threatened me!"
Germaine shook his head, but his expression remained firm. "I know. And I'm not trying to scare you, but something about this bugs me. And in this job, I've learned to trust my gut."
She slumped back into her chair, defeated. "A security system, huh?"
"Yes."
"Are we talking Fort Knox, or can I still walk around without having to dodge laser beams?"
He smiled again, and Rory found herself smiling back.
"You won't even notice it's there, I promise."
"Okay."
"I'd like to come and do an inspection in person, if that's alright?"
Rory's head was still swimming with all of this new information, so she just nodded.
"I'm on shift until 7 tonight. I could swing by afterwards, or we can set another time?"
"No, no. Tonight works, I guess."
He frowned a little, examining her face. "You ok?"
"It's just a lot to take in. I mean, I wasn't worried before, but now it seems like something real, something… scary."
"Don't worry. Your apartment is about to become the safest one on the block." Jermaine's grin was back, and while she was still on edge, it did ease her mind that he seemed capable and confident.
She turned back to him as they walked out of the conference room. "I'll still be working at 7, so just come by my office to remind me it's time to leave."
"Will do. See you later, Rory."
Her mind felt blurry as she returned back down the nondescript hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, she heard Perry's voice, and did an abrupt 180 degree turn to avoid him. Another confrontation with him was the last thing she needed this morning. The outside door was directly in front of her, and she punched through it into the Rose Garden without much thought.
The cold air brought her to a halt, and she tugged her blazer tighter around her shoulders. After a few deep breaths, she felt more in control and sat down on one of the stone benches to think about her new situation.
Someone was officially stalking her.
Before, she could convince herself that it was just an overzealous fan; someone who didn't realize how creepy their messages were. But they had followed her to a new job, in a new city. And the poems had only gotten more disturbing. No, this clearly wasn't just a super fan anymore. Add that to the Secret Service taking an interest, and her anxiety ratcheted up even higher.
She considered Agent Wells, and his 'gut feeling' that this wasn't someone to mess around with. He seemed very confident in his ability to make her safe, like a big brother taking care of a bully. But this protector carried a gun, and looked like he could tear a person apart with his bare hands if the notion struck him.
And he wanted her to have a security system installed. It wasn't a bad idea, really. Coming from a small town as she did, however, it seemed like a much bigger deal. Sometimes she still had to remind herself that she lived in a big city, where you couldn't leave a key under the frog by the front door.
And he just had to make that observation about her living alone. It had never bothered her before, but being reminded of it, in a personal security sense, made her bristle. She could take care of herself… couldn't she? All of a sudden, she wasn't so sure.
Rory pulled out her phone, instinctively needing to talk it out with someone. She had her mom's contact open in an instant, and nearly pressed the call button, but something held her back. Lorelai had enough to worry about without a medium-sized freak out from her. And her mom would be even more concerned because she couldn't be there in person to make sure her daughter was safe. Rory didn't want to load more worry and responsibility onto her shoulders, if she could help it. Besides, she was a grown up now. She could handle this on her own.
I grow impatient to see you again.
Rory pulled her jacket even tighter and hugged her arms around her own shoulders. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get that line out of her head. It implied something terrifying, something that made her shiver just thinking about it. She had met this person before. Somewhere, in her daily life of interacting with people, she had come face to face with her stalker. And they just blended into the crowd.
She toyed with her phone as two hot tears streaked down her face. She realized that she was scared, genuinely scared of some faceless, nameless, talentless poet who seemed determined to mess with her mind. Even though it was probably selfish, she seriously contemplating calling her mother again. Sometimes, no matter how grown up they were, people just needed their mothers.
Her thumb flicked through her contacts, with no real intent, thinking and re-thinking, until she came to his name. He had told her to call anytime. And this certainly qualified as anytime. She cursed herself as it started ringing, thinking it was foolish to call him, particularly about this.
After three rings, she heard his impatient voicemail greeting.
"This is Jess. I'm busy. Leave a message."
She cleared her throat, and desperately tried not to sound desperate.
"Hey, it's Rory. Just had a crappy morning and wanted to chat – not a big deal. Yeah, so, talk to you later maybe. Bye."
When the call ended, she dropped her face into her hands.
Just breathe deep. Everything is under control. Deep breaths, in and out. In and out.
Her phone buzzed in her hand, startling her out of whatever relaxation she had achieved. When she noticed who was calling, her heart leapt, but she decided to ignore the feeling for right now.
"Hi –"
"What's wrong?"
Jess' scratchy voice cut her off, and made her think that maybe she'd woken him up.
"Nothing. What do you mean?"
He sighed in annoyance. "Do you remember that time your mom went away with Sookie for the weekend, and you called me at 2am because you thought you saw someone in the back yard?"
Rory gulped. "Yes."
"That's what your message sounded like just now. So spill."
"I, uh," she licked her lips, trying to find the words. "It's not a big deal, really. I just have a stalker, it seems, and.."
"You have a what?" He certainly sounded awake now, his voice taking on some of the urgency she was feeling.
"A stalker. It's kind of funny, actually. I mean, I guess celebrities have them all the time." She knew her voice was brittle, but humour was the only defense she had left.
There was a beat of silence from his end, and Rory chewed her bottom lip.
"Yes, you're definitely a big shot now. Went and got yourself a new stalker."
She laughed in that tense, awkward way people do sometimes, when emotions get to be too much to handle. But she was grateful that he had played along. Even when they were kids, he had always seemed to understand when she needed a laugh to get through difficult times. He let her quiet down before speaking again.
"Are you ok?" She recognized from his tone that he was very serious, and somehow his concern relaxed her a little.
"Yeah, I guess. I have to put in a security system at my new place."
"That's a good idea."
"I know. It's just… how can an alarm make me feel more scared than I was before? Aren't alarms supposed to make you feel safe?"
Jess sighed again, and she imagined him running his hands through his hair like he used to when they debated something. "In theory, sure. But if their existence makes an abstract fear more concrete, I can see how you'd feel that way."
Rory smiled. "Damn you and your logical thinking."
He chuckled under his breath, sounding tired. "Isn't that why you called?"
"No. Yes. I guess."
"You're very decisive today, Ror. No pro/con lists lying around to help you out?"
She closed her eyes, trying to pretend she was on a warm beach somewhere, or at a café with a book in her hand – and preferably talking to Jess about anything other than her security problems.
"No. This kind of caught me by surprise."
"Yeah, well – I think that's generally the stalker M.O., you know?"
They laughed quietly together, and she could hear him shifting position, like he was lying down.
"Did I wake you up?"
"Maybe. I admit nothing. And besides, I'm a writer. Everyone knows we do our best work at night. I'm allowed to sleep until noon if I want."
She smacked her own forehead. "Shoot! It's noon already? I'm late for my next meeting."
"That's fine, Gilmore. Wake me up and then ditch me. I can only take so much of this abuse, you know."
She sat up straighter on the bench and tried to rub some feeling back into her legs.
"Thanks for the chat, Jess."
"Anytime. I said it, and I meant it. You feeling better?"
Rory stood up and crunched her way along the gravel path back to the West Wing door.
"Yes. And that feeling might even continue until the Secret Service comes over after work to make me feel inadequate about my apartment's security."
He laughed again, and for a brief second, she allowed herself to imagine him lying in bed, warm and cozy in rumpled sheets.
"So call me again tonight, if you want."
Her breath caught in her throat, his deep voice tangling with the images in her head until she was warm in spite of the brisk weather.
"I won't be annoying you?"
"Don't ask stupid questions. Now get back to work."
She grinned, not caring that she probably looked silly. "Get back to sleep."
"Done."
"Bye."
She heard the smile in his voice too and they both ended the call at the same time. As she let herself back into the building, it occurred to her that maybe he had been trying to distract her, rather than make her feel better. Whatever his methods, it worked. Her steps were light as she walked back to her office and her busy day.