A/N: Sorry! I'm so sorry. I'm unfairly inconsistent with my updating, and as a reader myself, I know how frustrating that can be. So if you're still with me, I'm so incredibly appreciative that you are. Thank you for reading. Seriously.
Also, NETFLIX, YOU LEGEND.
Now on with the chapter … finally!
-break-
Jess followed her almost instantly. He threw Maeve a look to tell her he'd be back to pay, leaving his jacket behind, and followed Rory outside into the freezing cold. She didn't stop, or turn around when she heard his hands batter the door open behind her, nor did she stop when he called her name.
"Rory!" he shouted again. He followed her further, against is better judgement. "Rory, come on, I'm not doing this again."
She spun on the spot, maybe fifteen feet ahead of him. "I'm not asking you to follow me – I didn't then, I'm not now."
Jess' insides boiled. He held his tongue for what felt like centuries until his blood came down to a slow simmer. He took a few steps towards her, and she crossed her arms over her chest – protectively, comforting herself. Jess calmed down, watching her familiar body language. She was insecure. She was distancing herself from him. He understood that.
He watched her as he refused to take the hint, taking more steps towards her so he was six feet away. "Why are you trying to push me away, Ror'?" he asked, his voice quiet, dissonant with the street surrounding them. He was shivering, the cold air attacking exposed skin – but he couldn't feel it, concentrating too hard on the woman in front of him. He was picking her apart, and she knew it. She looked down at the floor avoiding his probing gaze. Jess took another step towards her and watched as a tear fell from her cheek, wetting the breast of her red coat. He bit his bottom lip, hard, trying not to reach out for her. He shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets.
Eventually, she lifted her head to show him her blue eyes glittering with tears. She rolled her eyes at herself, then closed them, squeezing out the tears and letting them roll down her cheeks.
"I don't know, Jess." Her voice was desperate – he just didn't know why.
Jess shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair. "Rory, I don't know what to do for the best, here. I'm …" His voice trailed away when more tears fell from her eyes. He felt as though someone had just punched a hole in his chest. He didn't know if it was him who was upsetting her, or it was her own thoughts. Not knowing what was going on in her head was killing him. "Please, talk to me. Just talk to me."
Rory looked up at him with her tear-filled eyes, biting her lip, her arms still crossed over herself like a shield. She looked so vulnerable. He couldn't bear it. She watched him for a moment, before she croaked, "You're freezing, Jess."
His eyes didn't break contact with hers as he said, "My jacket is inside."
"Go get it," she told him, looking towards the bar half a block away.
He half-shook his head. "As soon as I turn around, you're gone. I need you to talk to me, Ror'. You're worrying me. You're worrying your Mom and Luke. Please, just ..."
She shook her head. "You'll get hypothermia."
"Better tell me soon, then." She almost smiled at that, half-laughing. He smirked. "Come on," he said, reaching for her hand. She let him take it.
"You're like ice, Mariano," she said, attempting to warm up his hand between two of her own.
He didn't let her know that by the mere touch of her hand on his, he'd warmed several degrees. He cringed internally at the thought.
"Well, you will run outside and try to kill me, Gilmore," he rebutted.
"That was the plan," she mockingly conceded. He smirked at her a little more, and she smiled, wiping the rest of her tears away from her cheeks. His eyes followed her movements, wondering how it was fair that she was as beautiful as she was. He bit his lip in thought before he gently tugged her towards the door of the bar. She looked at him in reproach, not wanting to go back in.
"You can wait outside. I just need to pay our tab and grab my jacket."
"Grab the bottle, too," Rory told him when they reached the door. "I want to see Jess Mariano drunk."
He chuckled as he let go of her hand to go inside. "Not as much as I want to see a drunk Rory."
He crossed the entryway to their table and grabbed his coat along with the bottle, before moving toward Maeve behind the bar.
She was looking at him judgementally. He didn't really care for that. "Thanks," he mumbled, throwing down several bills to cover his tab.
"So, did Bambi bolt?" she asked, a little unkindly.
Jess laughed without much humour. "You don't know me very well, so … I get the judgement. Let me correct it. She," he said, pointing towards the door that Rory stood behind, raising his voice a little, "Is and always will be the best thing to ever happen to me. Without her, the world was shit. Everything in my life that's worth anything came about because of her. I think that just about justifies my tolerance for every minor psychotic episode and every major freak out. I have loved her since I was seventeen years old. Bye, Maeve." And with that, he walked out.
He pulled on his jacket, its leather instantly warming him. She laughed when she saw it, pulling the belt. "I can't believe you still have it."
"I've always said that punk rock is like Hotel California."
She laughed some more, "Now, that is a mixed simile if I ever did hear it."
Jess smirked, moving the bottle of whisky between his hands awkwardly. "Are we drinking this on the street, or …?" he asked uncomfortably, not wanting to look her in the eye for a moment. He wasn't sure what she was going to suggest, but he didn't for a moment expect the words she said next to come out of innocent Rory Gilmore's mouth.
"You can say no, but … my place?"
-break-
Jess watched her, swilling the drink in her hand around in the glass, her cheeks blushed a dusky rose. She was laughing, carefree and blithe, her eyes closed with mirth. He couldn't even remember what he had said to evoke such a beautiful, poetic counterpoise. All he could do was watch as she unfolded in front of him, leaving him awestruck and fixated. Seconds passed like minutes, as he sat there and wondered if she tasted as good as she did the last time they kissed. His eyes followed her lithe form as she shifted in her seat at the discomfort in her abdomen from laughing so hard, the music produced from her still strong in his ears. He couldn't help his soft, open, wistful smile in return.
Her hand found his knee for less than five seconds, to steady herself in her cachinnation, but those five seconds streched out in Jess' mind.
She was like poetry. Epic, illustrious, fierce, wracking poetry. Jess had never been a particular fan of poetry in his youth, always impatient to get to the point, but now he appreciated it as the art form it was – the art form of agonising over emotions, bathing in them, tearing yourself apart with them, breaking your own bones with them. She was his poetry. He was bathing in her. Tearing himself apart with her. Breaking his own bones.
Bllinking hard at the thought, he caught Rory staring at him, taking a drink from her glass. She was smiling, her blue eyes that he'd spend weeks, months, years even, trying to describe in an accurate, justifyiable way keeping ahold of his – much akin to how her heart kept ahold of his, too.
He felt the pain in his chest that he always felt, aching down to his fingertips, his face remaining an immobile, carefree smile. Her eyes flicked away from his, looking awkwardly down at her drink, her cheeks intensifying in hue. He felt like he was getting a break from staring into the sun. His vision blurred, panic settling to his stomach for seconds, before raising back up to his chest when she spoke again, turning those eyes back onto him.
He took another long drink from his glass. He was drunk. So was she. He found her fascinating, drunk and not. He found that where he knew her very well, the person she was now, where different, was just as beautiful as the girl he'd known in Stars Hollow. She was still this intricate, sensitive thing. She still spoke in the thoughts of the authors she loved, but her new understandings of the world made her portray them slightly differently in her voice. She still had her unique way of processing the world around her in her thoughts, but her experiences since her teens had changed the conclusions subtly. Drunk, she betrayed herself, allowing him to see all that she was in a less confined state. Soberness, she had disciplined herself for some reason. He was relieved that she was still this beautiful, unique being that Jess had thought was wholly ephemeral to someone like him, once. Meant as a temporary experience to teach him that not everyone and everything was a disappointment in life; not everyone was going to hurt him; not every experience was going to turn bad. Now, he toyed with the thought that … well maybe she was never meant to be temporary.
He internally shook his head at his hopefulness. He wouldn't allow himself that hope. He couldn't.
"Where are you in your mind right now?" she asked, smiling softly, stroking the back of his hand which lay between them on the back of her couch.
He didn't answer her directly, and shifted his hand from under her touch. "Just wondering why Hemingway's anthology is on your bookshelf," he deflected teasingly. She laughed.
"He was a favourite of one of my professors," she told him. "They're actually the ones you bought me."
"The ones you told me you burned in some kind of sacrificial offering when I asked you if you'd read them?" Jess laughed. Rory pulled a guilty, teasing face, then joined in his laughter.
"That was a bit of a 'Fahrenheit 451' lie wasn't it?"
"It made my flesh crawl at the thought, to be honest. I never bought you another book. Well, except when I gave you The Subsect."
Rory laughed, and asserted, "Liar," she smirked. "You slipped several rather large tomes into my bookshelves after that."
"I never knew you were capable of such euphamisms, Miss Gilmore," he smirked right back.
She laughed again, blush highlighting her embarrassment again, before settling back against the couch cushions, and allowing her eyes to relax slightly, taking him in as he watched. Her hair was mussed and beautiful against the pillows. Some unknown force gripped him near the navel, and he took another heavy drink of whisky. Thoughts like that one were not going to be at the forefront of his mind – no.
Apparently, though, Rory was not down with his plan of supressing thoughts, as she spoke again. "I wanted you to be my first, you know."
He looked at her, feeling agonized. "I know," he told her, just-about still able to speak as the flood of emotions he'd been holding back from that time overwhelmed him again. She nodded, obviously trying not to cry. Jess reached for her hand, threading his fingers with hers in an attempt to comfort her. "There's no use in wanting to change history, Rory. Honestly, take it from someone who's made enough mistakes to have tried."
Rory shook her head, sentimentally. "No, Jess. You only made one mistake." Her eyes were soft, and Jess' heart gripped tightly – painfully.
"One?" he asked apprehensively.
Tears sprung to her eyes, and she laughed in embarrassment. "You didn't say goodbye." The tears spilled from her eyes, and Jess clung to her hand, the pain and shame transcended from her words, and spread savagely through his body like fire.
"You're too kind to me, Ror'."
She shrugged, still smiling through her tears. "Someone has to be."
No. She hadn't changed at all.
He struggled for several moments, unable to process her altruism for a second. He didn't deserve that from her. He didn't. "Come here," he croaked, eventually, pulling her slightly towards him, asking her with his eyes to come into the space between them. She did, her face serious when she placed one hand on his cheek, stroking the skin there, before sliding it into his hair softly, smiling, like she always had when they were a couple. His eyes closed in remorse and bliss. It was sickening how much pleasure he got, just from her simple touches, her beautiful being, her philanthropic words.
He wondered whether he'd ever really be happy unless he kissed her again as her head rested on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling as though he was holding his own heart inside his ribcage.
He would never not be in love with Rory Gilmore. It was a thought he'd admitted to himself many times. And he was glad, in a way, that this was true. It made it real. A proper, life consuming, soul-soaking love that would live with him his whole life. Once, he'd questioned his ability to have such emotions for another person, and then … then he'd met Rory Gilmore.
His hands splayed on her back, holding her to his chest, caressing her skin. He smelled her hair subtly, dipping his face, trying to steep himself as much as possible in the sensory rapture she presented by being in his arms again. Her warm breath on his throat made him swallow in effort not to kiss her.
He needed another drink.
-break-
Jess awoke with a start to a ringing phone. He sat up, immediately wincing in pain, his neck having cramped. Taking in his surroundings, he was confused for a moment, before realising he was still in Rory's apartment, on the couch. Rory was nowhere to be seen. Jess groaned, dragging a hand over his face.
It was his own phone ringing, but he couldn't locate his jacket. He finally found it down the back of the couch and retrieved his shrill phone from the pocket, opening the line and pressing the screen to his ear.
"'lo," he grunted, still trying to wake up properly. His hangover was setting in.
He heard Chris laugh. "You sound as bright as a button."
"Shut up," Jess grumbled.
"Where the fuck are you?" Chris asked, laughter still in his voice, a quiet hope somewhere in his tone, also.
"I'm … heading back to the hotel now." He thought better of it than to tell his friend that he was in Rory's apartment. He didn't really want to explain himself right now.
"Did you get lucky, Jess?" Chris teased.
"Shut up," he told him firmly.
Chris continued laughing. "I'll take that as a 'no', then. No one is that grumpy after getting laid."
"You're an ass," Jess sighed. "I'll be back in about half an hour." He clicked his phone off, and glanced around the living room again, trying to find a sign of Rory. Listening, he couldn't hear the sounds of a shower, or anything in the apartment for that matter. He ventured through, trying not to snoop. He checked the kitchen, hoping to find her sipping coffee.
He did find coffee, but Rory was not there. She'd left a note on the coffee machine, and on the cup beside.
'Sorry Jess, I had to leave for a work thing and didn't have the heart to wake you up. You looked so peaceful. Love, Rory x', it read.
And on the cup, 'I needed four to get out the door – I assume you'll be the same. Help yourself x'.
He smiled softly, before pouring himself a still-warm cup. Peaceful was not something he ever thought he was as he slept. In fact, for many years he couldn't fall asleep without music playing to block out all of his self-destructive thoughts and nightmares. He sometimes still had to turn on his music system to get to sleep. He was surprised he was able to fall asleep next to Rory.
Actually, on second thought, he really wasn't.
He left after the second cup, and after spashing water on his face from the sink. He rinsed his cup out, and hers, and cleaned the carafe too, so it was ready for her to switch on when she got home.
Jess felt something like relief that she hadn't bolted, she had left for work. He felt even more relief that he hadn't bolted. He had managed to get closer to her than he had been able to do in years. He felt happily settled for the first time in an age – only being able to feel that he was unsettled now that he was on the other side of the coin.
He wrote her a note on the back of one that she wrote him, and left it beside the coffee maker as she had done.
It read, ' "Too often, we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around." - Leo Buscaglia.
You turned mine around.'
Jess faltered while placing the note down. He hated that he had missed his opportunity to really talk to Rory, instead filling the night with jokes and flirting, but at the same time, he wouldn't have wished for anything else. His heart was much lighter today.
The matter remained, of course, that Rory was not happy. So unhappy, in fact, that she wasn't speaking to her Mother. Not consistently. Not as she had always done. He had to understand why, if nothing else. Of course, ultimately, he hoped to get the mother-daughter team back together, because one without the other really just wasn't complete.
He left the note, knowing that Rory would search for hidden meanings within it. There were no hidden meanings, though, in Jess' eyes. All his meaning was right there on the page. He loved her. He just loved her, simply and without limits.
The door clicked locked behind him, and he caught the subway back to the hotel.
-break-
A/N: Well, that's that. Hope you enjoyed them not fighting for a change. It's still heavy with the emotional, but I think everything always was with these two. Everything was full of meaning, and that's why I love them together.
Eventually we'll get around to Rory's disquiet. I'm really trying not to write in Rory's point of view too often as I want to figure it out through Jess. That might not make much sense … Hmm.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please take the time to review if you did. It really does motivate me to write when I know people are waiting on an update.
Love you all.
Eutony x.
