A/N: Finally! An Update!
So sorry this took so long … Life upheaval and familial mourning to blame. I didn't really have any inspiration to write. Hopefully this won't be terrible. Thanks for sticking with me, and especially to the people who have reviewed and PM'ed me to encourage. It really does mean a lot.
-break-
Jess' fingers worked across the keyboard of his laptop like a machine, eyes unblinking, staring at the screen full of hyperbole, metaphor, idiom … he hated all of it. It was too trite. Too pathetic. And yet, he continued. He had to. To do anything else right now felt insane. He felt insane. Scratch the 'felt', he was. Dragging both his hands through his matted, dark hair, leaning back in frustration from his laptop in his chair, he read his last paragraph and slammed the lid of his computer in sheer annoyance. Bullshit, all of it.
He wasn't even under any pressure to write. His second book had been doing well, even though he was still self-publishing through Truncheon. Some major book stores had stocked it. One even put it on that 'recommended by staff' section at the front and wrote a flattering review to sit below it. He was under no pressure by his workmates to churn out another, and here he was, hating himself, literally tearing his hair out because all he could write were love notes.
In fact, love notes were too kind. Fitzgerald wrote love notes. He did not. He wrote self-hate and apologies.
Jess felt sick. He lay his forehead on the lid of his laptop and waited for it to pass. He felt his emotions were all too real, sometimes, manifesting physically. Sickness. Pain. They had been common occurrence to him since he could remember. After a while, he became stony. This uncaring, selfish thing that his own mother hated enough to send away from home. This uncaring, selfish thing that his own uncle gave up on. This uncaring, selfish, chipped shoulder, typical teen who was 'so misunderstood' that he himself had given up on. Until her.
He opened his laptop again, opening another word document and started again. All of his main characters, she was at the heart of. It made his own heart ache to write, but wasn't that a wonderful thing? To ache and create perfect worlds for her?
He wondered if she saw herself in his books. He tried to tell her, when he delivered his first to her personally. He wasn't sure she really got his meaning, already this whole other person – someone she'd become without him. Wonderful, but different.
On the drive back to Stars Hollow, she had suddenly become herself again. Having woken up on his chest again that morning, she had become the girl she had been. Forgotten was the night previous, she laughed and sang lyrics to L7 and Anti-Flag and Jeff Buckley and Of Monsters and Men and she laughed. She spoke of literature, and of memories of Stars Hollow. Of memories with him. Sometimes her eyes grew sad as she turned to look at him, and then she giggled again, telling him another story not necessarily related to what she had just said.
He had never met anyone like her. So gentle and strong.
When he had pulled up to her childhood home, she didn't move, staring at the closed white door. Jess had turned off the engine and stared with her. Eventually she turned to him, and spoke quietly. "Walk me?" as she used to when they were teens.
Jess always refused when they were kids, terrified he would run into her mother and receive yet another tongue-lashing. But that day, she looked so sad after being so happy on the trip. He silently got out, reaching the other side of the car before she could open it. She accepted the hand he offered her, and she stepped out, fixing him with a determined look, she raised her t-shirt a little to expose her left hip. There were fingerprint bruises on her pale, perfect skin, and then there were tears in her eyes.
"Nothing happened," she told him through her tears, "But he scared me. I've never felt so terrified in all my life, Jess."
Those bruises would be long gone now, but they were cauterised painfully into Jess' memory. He had never felt to outside himself in those seconds he stared at the reddish-purple marks on her skin. He reached for the hem of her t-shirt and obscured the marring from view, before catching a few tears and kissing her forehead. She was smiling by the time he pulled away. He asked her why.
"You care," was all she said. With those words, Jess felt like she'd shoved a knife in his gut, and twisted. Like there was ever any doubt that he cared? She still doubted that.
Jess' fingers stilled on his keyboard again as another wave of sickness took over.
"You look green, Mariano." When one of his flatmates had entered the room, Jess had no idea. He spun in his chair to look at him. It was Chris. "What's up, man? Seriously."
Jess shook his head. "Nothing. Just can't get anything out of here," he said, roughly tapping his temple.
Chris looked at him dubiously. "Take a break," he suggested with a shrug. Like it were that simple.
Jess glowered at him. "How about I suggest that the next time you get pissed off that a painting isn't going the way you want it?"
"Point taken," Chris replied seriously. He picked up a box from the living room that he'd obviously come up to retrieve. "Seriously, though, Jess. Me and Matt are both worried about you." And with that, he went back downstairs.
Jess sighed at the space Chris had vacated, and looked back to his computer screen. One day, he'd be able to say, out loud, what was wrong to another human being. For now, a warbled mess on a page would have to do.
He had woken this morning with a feeling that today would be the day that she called again. She hadn't so far. And Jess couldn't tell whether he was disappointed or relieved. He'd left her smiling on her childhood home porch, kissing her cheek as he went, a ghost of a laugh still in her eyes. He hoped that she was still like that, somewhere.
They hadn't spoken since that day. Jess felt weird about phoning her, and she obviously didn't want to talk to him. He hoped she was okay.
-break-
He woke to his phone buzzing again. He opened his eyes calmly, before hitting the button and placing the phone to his ear.
"Mariano."
"Did I wake you?"
"It's fine," he said honestly. "You okay?"
"I just missed talking to you," she said simply, as if they had just spoken last week, and not a month and a half ago. "This is nothing like last time, don't worry."
"Good," he told her honestly, pulling himself up to rest against his headboard.
"I am sorry for that, you know. Asking you for help after hurting you so badly the last time we saw each other." She was referring to Truncheon's Open House night.
"Let's not talk about that," he said gently.
"Which time?" she said, sadly.
"Ror'," he chastised.
"Hm," she uttered quietly, "I love when you say my name like that. Reminds me of when I was frivolous and stupid, and you were trying to reign me in a bit."
"Dampening your spirit?" he asked, laughing a little at the way she put it.
"Trying to protect me from it," she corrected. "I miss you, Jess." Jess wasn't sure what to say to that. He stayed quiet, and she continued. "Tell me true things," she requested, her voice growing soft, as if tired.
Jess audibly exhaled into the receiver, before saying to the tired, sentimental woman, "There are about 7.2 Billion people in the world, and we are just two." She hummed softly. "The word 'Pennsylvania' is misspelled on the Liberty Bell," he smirked, and she laughed. "About two thirds of people on Earth have never seen snow."
"That's sad."
"It's true," he told her.
"I believe you," she said. "It's still sad."
Jess listened to her tone, and knew from it what she'd wanted to hear in these true things. But before he could muster up the strength to say the most true thing he knew, she spoke again.
"Jess," she said, nervousness distilling through her words like sunlight. "I wrote a list of things that I'm sorry for, and … could you listen to it? Please?"
Jess dragged his free hand through his dark hair, making it stand off his forehead, closing his eyes. "Rory," he began, but she cut over him sharply.
"Please, Jess. Just listen."
Jess stayed silent, but the pain in his chest was clawing at him.
"For the Open House, I … I wasn't trying to do what you thought I was trying to do. I've never been that cruel in all my life, and I hate that I did it. I hate it most because I saw what it did to you, and … I'm just so sorry." Rory paused, taking a shaky breath, before continuing, "For how I was when you brought me your book. And for Logan. For comparing you to Dean. For caring so much about what my Mom thought of you. For ..." she cleared her throat, her voice really wobbling when she said, "When you came to Yale -"
"Don't," Jess half-growled.
"Was that the worst thing I did to you?" she asked, tears definitely in her voice when she spoke. "I just … I couldn't let myself be hurt again. I needed normalcy … I needed -"
"Dean," he bit. Rory stuttered. "Listen, I get it. I deserved to be punished for what I did to you. I ran and hurt you, and hurt everybody. You shouldn't be sorry for it." His voice was calm this time, and he could hear Rory sniffling. "You could hurt me in a thousand ways, Rory. I'll never be lost to you."
Rory was definitely crying now. "That's so wrong," she moaned.
"But it's true," he said, rubbing a hand across his face, making his cheek tinge pink.
"I miss you," she told him for a third time.
He took a breath, before saying, "Rory, even when I didn't know you, you were missing from me. I'll miss you until I die."
He listened to her cry, hating it. "You know how sorry I am, Jess?" she eventually.
"So long as you know how sorry I am," he told her.
"Goodnight, Jess."
"Goodnight, Rory."
He listened to the dead line tone after she hung up, staring up at his ceiling bathed in the silver light from the moon until his phone disconnected.
He stayed awake.
-break-
A few days later, Jess received a text.
If you're ever in New York, I got a job at the Times. I've got a crappy apartment and everything. Imagine me living in the Big Apple!
He texted back, smirking. You're such an out-of-towner. Congratulations, Rory. What's the post?
If you'll believe it, I got a regular column in the Book Review. Want to know which article got me the job? Send me your email.
Jess typed back his email address, hoping secretly that it was Hemingway. He laughed a little to himself at the thought of Rory reading Hemingway when they were kids, and her face twisting at his use of language and use of women. Like Rand was better, with a lead female character like the tragic Dominique Francon.
It took a few minutes for the email to pop up on Jess' phone. He almost dropped it when he opened it.
'The Subsect – Jess Mariano.'
She had reviewed his book. She had lovingly reviewed his book, lacing her language with thinly veiled nostalgia and admiration.
She had written, below the article – 'Perhaps this is nepotism, but I don't care. You deserve recognition and the acclaim this novel demands. You are a beautiful, intricately complicated person, Jess. You can portray the human spirit and condition like nobody I have ever read – and you know as well as anyone how very much I have read in my lifetime. Your mind is something that should be shared with the masses, and I think The New York Times Book Review is the place to do it.
The only thing I'm missing is an Interview.'
Jess would deny, later, that he had tears in his eyes. His fingers had found her name on his call list before he realised what he was doing.
"Hey," she answered, her voice full of the smile he knew she was wearing.
"I don't know what to say," he said, almost choking on his words.
Rory laughed. "You've said all you need to, just from that sentiment," she said, warmly. "It won't be my first article – I want to build up to it, if that's okay?" He was silent in awe, and she laughed again. "I've always dreamed of working for The New York Times. It just seems right to give you your dream, too – even if you've never admitted it to me – since you helped me in getting mine."
"I'll admit anything you want, now," he said, guard all but gone from his voice, where it always was. He was floored by her.
She laughed like a bell, and he couldn't help but smile with her, joining her in laughter. "Anything?"
"Within reason," he corrected, too late as she pointed out.
"What really happened to your eye when you met my Grandmother?"
Jess covered his face with his free hand, laughing still. "How can you still not let that go?"
She was still laughing as she said, "Because Luke told me the truth, and I'm really worried about the ladle-ing birds decision you made." Jess groaned, and laughed with her, totally happy for the first time in a long, long time. "Can I get that interview?" she asked, teasingly.
"Anything you want, Gilmore. Anything you want."
"Next weekend? I'll come to Philly. I want to see Truncheon again."
"Sure," he smiled, immediately excited to see her. "Can I show this article to Chris and Matt? I want to shove it in their faces."
"Sure," she laughed.
All the fears that Jess had built up over the years of Rory seemed to be filtering away. It was miraculous, really. He knew he loved her – he had always known that, from their first meeting. But it was difficult to realise just how unprecedented Rory Gilmore really was. The fact that she would do something like this for another person – she really was inexplicable. Beautiful. Transcendental. Metaphysical. She was everything to Jess. Everything that made sense. And no sense at all at the same time.
"I can never thank you enough for this, Rory." His voice was serious, and Rory sobered immediately.
She said, "You got me back to Yale. You made this possible. You never have to."
"I'll never stop trying to," he said, definitely.
She sighed, not unhappily. "I'll call you later in the week?"
"Please," he said, still in awe of her.
"Bye, Jess."
He smiled into his receiver, his heart practically bursting, wanting so badly to tell her he loved her – but now wasn't the time. There had never been time. Instead, he said, "It's never goodbye for us, Ror'. See you," and ended the call, grinning like an idiot.
He emailed Chris and Matt the article, and heard one of them cry out from downstairs a few minutes later, before thundering could be heard on the stairs. Jess grinned a little brighter.
-break-
A/N: Sorry, shorter than normal, but at least it's a start to get back into writing this. I'm not expecting it to be a particularly long story, but I'm pretty sure there'll be at least another few chapters after this one.
The books referenced in the last chapter, if anyone is interested, are -
They had ran away from Mechanical Hounds together - Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
They had taken soma with their fellow Alpha-Plussmen together - Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
They had waited for Daisy - The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
They had lead the Liberal Rebels – One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Márquez
They had missed Temple's train – Sanctuary by William Faulkner
They had awoken in the morning to be arrested for no reason – The Trial by Franz Kafka
They had slit their wrists and jumped from a second storey window – The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides
They had visited with the Uprighters and the Slouchers – Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer
They'd taken part in the psychedelic movement with The Merry Pranksters – Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test by Tom Wolfe.
Points where they're due to you all for guessing correctly.
Thank you again for sticking with me. It's greatly appreciated. And encouragement is obviously required, so please, please review.
