A/N: Okay. So I had an epiphany, and I know where this story is going. Unfortunately, there's only going to be a couple more chapters as of now, so get ready for many turns of the plot. Reviews?

Disclaimer: Ugh.

Rory laughed, filling her cup to the brim with coffee. It was the elixir of life, after all. The phone was positioned between her ear and her shoulder, and she was struggling to bring her drinks and snacks back to the couch.

"Nomph," she said, holding a bag of Oreos between her teeth.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"Yes."

"No."

"Ha!" she said triumphantly into the phone.

"I mean, yes!" Jess's voice was light and clear, even considering the distance of the call.

"You said no," she sang.

"I meant yes."

"You saaaaaiiiidddd noooo-ohhhh!" she sang louder.

"Oh my God, Rory."

"I'm not going to give up," she said. "If you think I'm going to give up you are seriously delusional, Jess."

"Colplay is alternative," he stressed.

"It is not."

"It is!"

"Is nawwhh-ahht." she whistled.

"Whatever," said Jess, in what she recognized as his I-have-no-more-come-backs-so-I'll-turn-monosyllabic-now voice.

"Yeah, yeah, James Dean," she quipped. "You just know I'm right."

"Whatever," he repeated.

She smiled, then noticed the red lights that flashed numbers on the clock next to her coffee cup. She sighed. Over the past two weeks, those numbers had become her enemy.

Every day, she would go out with Logan to whatever cool new place that they had to "check out" in town, always bringing a book along, usually Jess's. She new Logan wouldn't notice that she was sitting in the corner, engulfed in the story of the life of her ex-almost-love. She checked in every couple of minutes, exchanging a few quick words about the "great atmosphere/food/people" of wherever/whatever/whoever they were sitting/eating/meeting. It all was starting to blur together.

Then, just like an owl or a bat—something that only emerged at night—she would crawl on the couch, telling Logan that she had some work to do, and spend hours talking to Jess. It had grown to become her favorite time of day, her favorite thing to do, those talks.

And they didn't just talk about Coldplay, either. They talked about work, and movies, and music and books. They talked about Charlie Sheen and Willy Wonka and The Distillers. They talked about life, and Stars Hollow, and Prague and Rome and Fez. But mostly, they talked about nothing and anything and everything. And they talked about it together.

The only thing they didn't discuss—it was kind of off-limits or something, an unspoken agreement—was their relationship. Which meant nothing about Logan or marriage or—she winced—love. They didn't need to define their friendship, if that's what it was, to each other or anyone else. For now, they were what could've been, and, for now, that was enough.

"Hey," she said, quietly. "It's getting late."

"Huh."

"I have to go."

"Huh."

"I don't want to go," she admitted.

"Then don't," he said.

"But I should," she said.

"Then go."

"You're not making this easier, Dodger," she laughed.

"Dodger?"

Her eyes widened. That wasn't Jess's voice. She slowly turned around, hoping with all her might that it wasn't who she thought it was. But who else could it be?

"Dodger?" Logan repeated; her entire body suddenly felt like silly puddy.

"I have to go," she said into the phone, even though she knew Jess had heard what was going on, and probably knew what it meant.

She took a deep breath and turned to face her husband.