title: Watercolors of the Past
disclaimer: Let's just say that if I owned GG, things would be drastically different. Starting with more Michel! And Milo, of course.
notes: I have the greatest reviewers on the face of the earth! Hands down, you are the best! And I should treat you better! I know, I said this would be up soon. But I lie. Unintentionally, but it happens. The thing is, I kept thinking of things to add to this; then it wasn't flowing, and I had to do some major editing. But, finally, Lit!Fluff, but with a teensy bit of plot. As promised.
chapter.seven: we lay between the sheets
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The three-hour train ride proved to be the longest three hours of her entire 21 years. Longer than the entire 21 years themselves.
She had managed to re-read his book twice, but once she moved onto Edith Wharton, the words bled together into an indiscernible gray. She decided that her ability to focus depended solely on him, and so she picked up The Subsect and began it a fourth time.
Once they finally pulled into the station, instead of jumping for joy, Rory fell into a panic. Over three hours and she hadn't even begun to think of how she was going to greet him. How she was going to act. They hadn't even really picked a place to meet; why didn't she think to pick a place to meet? Now there was the possibility of having to amble around aimlessly, becoming completely lost in a place she'd never been before.
All of these thoughts raced through her mind at warp speed as she was ushered off of the train, unseeingly conforming to the masses as they made their way into the station. Everyone had a place to go, it seemed, as they ebbed and flowed around her in waves. Rory stood in a dream-like state, watching people – glimpses of people – spiraling around her.
He caught sight of her blue eyes in a sea of bodies that came in from the last drop off. Lifting himself off of the windowpane, he took a few steps forward, trying to get a better look.
Her body stayed motionless (the only stationary one in the room) as her head moved from left to right, taking in her surroundings. Detached would be the only way to describe her stance, as if she was wandering in from a memory.
She was the still point of the turning world.
It was as she was making her second sweep of the room that she caught sight of him. Suddenly, she lit up, no longer looking out of place, no longer seeming like a hazy mirage.
Any uncertainty she had of how to greet him vanished as his smile reached her. That addicting smile, that magnetic smile. In true movie-like fashion, she dropped her bag at her feet and ran to him on impulse, no hemming, no hawing. She couldn't have planned a better greeting.
Jess stumbled as her body crushed into his, her slender arms wrapping tightly around his neck. He only hesitated for a fraction of a moment before pulling her even closer to him, placing soft and sweet kisses in her hair, on her cheeks.
Pulling back only slightly and making sure to keep a firm hold on his body, she smiled up at him.
"Hi," she grinned, unable to even attempt to mask her excitement. Without waiting for any kind of reply, she pulled herself up and gave him what was meant to be an innocently chaste kiss, one appropriate for public places (such as train stations). Instead, he cradled her face in his hands, pulling her closer still, massaging her lips with his, positively devouring her.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was supposed to be feeling self-conscious, but he pervaded her thoughts and pushed any hesitation she may have had out of her psyche as burning blue flames began to take over her body.
It was then that he pulled away, leaving her feeling dizzy and on fire. Lips still parted, she quietly gasped, discreetly trying (and failing) to get her bearings.
Apparently, he was facing a similar problem as he buried his face in her shoulder, clinging tightly to the sides of her shirt to steady himself.
She fleetingly wondered if she was going to have enough energy for this weekend.
She then ignored the thought as she realized she didn't care.
- - -
The drive to his apartment was tense, but in a good way, the best way. Electricity crackled and sparked between them, making the air think and heavy.
Hot. Hard to breathe.
His hands gripped the wheel tighter and his knuckles turned white, the blood pooling around them making his fingers a chunky pink. She found herself examining those hands, strong and stead on the wheel, confident in their movements. Her thoughts wandered to how they felt against her body. Running along her curves and kneading her flesh in the most delicate of ways. Feeling eyes upon her, she turned her view to his face, having been caught in a rather inappropriate daydream.
Not that he would know that.
Still, she looked down quickly, then back at him through heavy lashes. Even though he knew she was continuing to watch him, he had to keep his eyes on the road, allowing her an unobstructed view of his profile. The tan skin of his forearms peeking out from his rolled-up sleeves. The tight, sinewy muscles of his upper arms visible underneath the thin cotton. The vein gently pulsating in his neck, the strong line of his jaw, the hopelessly sexy curve of his lips.
The copper glitter of his eyes.
As they reached a red light, he was able to turn his head slightly to meet her gaze, and she smiled shyly.
The car was rolling again and she turned her line of sight to the window, attempting to take in the sights of a new city. Desperately trying to pull her attention away from the tingling feeling that was currently vibrating throughout her body and settling between her thighs.
It didn't seem to work.
The world drifted past her in a blur as she tugged at her shirtsleeves. She couldn't focus on anything and she was afraid she was going to pass out. Rolling down her window, she shifted in her seat.
He noticed out of the corner of his eye and smirked.
- - -
It didn't take them very long to pull up in front of his building. Rory got out of the car slowly and on shaky legs, afraid she wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs to his place. But he was suddenly beside her, her bag in one hand, the other outstretched to take hers. The skin-on-skin contact, although minimal and seemingly non-sexual, sent a shiver through her whole body.
When asked if she was okay, she attributed it to the cold, late-October air.
Jess knew better, but didn't say anything.
"So, this is it," she stated, rather than asked, once they were inside.
Nodding, he led her to the left. "Yep."
"I like it," she decided as they began their ascension of the stairs.
He agreed, sending her a sidelong smile. "Me too."
After two flights and a short hallway, they were at his door. Reluctantly letting go of her hand, he fished out his keys and unlocked the door in on deft movement.
Upon entrance she was overwhelmed by the sight. Wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Every single inch overflowing with novels.
"Oh, wow," she exclaimed, completely in awe.
He set her bag down by the door and followed her gaze. "Oh. That."
"I love it," she gasped, moving closer, wanting to inspect each and every volume.
"Yeah?" He followed her as she moved closer to the books, almost against her own will.
She nodded approvingly. "Yeah."
Still not quite believing that the haven before her was real, she turned to face him, eyes wide with wonder. "How in the world did you…" she trailed off, not able to finish any sort of coherent thought.
Shrugging, he smirked, biting his lower lip. "I work for a publishing company," he offered as way of explanation.
"Have you read them all?" she questioned.
"I honestly don't know," he chuckled, amused by the fact that after all this time and in light of everything they were (or weren't), she was more fascinated by the books than she was by him. Despite the display at the station and the tension during the car ride, she forgot it all at the spectacle before her.
(It was the Rory he remembered.)
After flipping through a few choice volumes, she was finally able to tear herself away from the books. Turning her full attention to Jess's smirking form, she suddenly felt awkward, again not exactly knowing what to do or say.
Cocking her head to the side, she offered a sweet-sounding and drawn out, "So."
He took a few extra steps towards her and gingerly took both of her hands in his, pulling her flush against his body.
The blue flames begin to well up inside of her again as she felt the heat from his body so close to her. He leaned in slowly, just grazing her lips with his at first, teasing her, testing her. It was a game of touch and go for a few seconds before he relented, capturing her mouth.
The kiss was achingly slow.
His touch, achingly soft.
The next detail that broke through the haze was how soft his bed was. How they got there, she wasn't sure, but she felt like she could fall into it forever. Their clothes were off (she didn't remember that, either) and his lips were permanently attached to her skin. Moving lower, neck, breasts, lower, stomach, bellybutton, lower still until the blue flames were replaced by a white light and she couldn't breathe.
The light broke and cracked and faded but the flames still remained and then he was inside of her, enticing them to burn even hotter. Her lungs burned and breathing was becoming increasingly difficult to do.
Blue turned to white hot again, but he was right there with her, letting her cling to him, fingernails leaving marks on his skin.
The light fractured once more, leaving splinters in her brain that made her skin prickle and tingle. That deliriously lovely numb feeling took over as he collapsed on top of her, whispering hushed and unintelligible languages into her ear.
She'd never heard anything sound more beautiful.
- - -
They spent the rest of the evening nestled securely in the cocoon of his bedroom (her new favorite place in the entire world). It was small; his bed on one wall, another bookshelf on the other. But that closeness made it that much more intimate, that much more safe.
They played underneath the sheets, laughing, touching, kissing, talking. Talking about life, books, years; the years since their last tragic encounter, since their last good day.
Jess expounded on the details of his move to Philadelphia (he had to admit that he loved it), of writing his book (brainstorming had begun in California), even of other ideas he had yet to put into written words. She listened attentively to each syllable, turning them over and over again in her mind before tucking them away to be remembered forever. Letting herself become completely absorbed by pitch and intensity of his voice.
In an ironic twist of fate, it was Rory who was more reserved at first, more uncomfortable with opening up to him. He waited patiently, hanging onto her every word intently as the events slowly unfolded. She was less inclined to go into detail, but after his heartfelt admissions, she felt obligated to. And so it came to light: Logan, the boat, community service. School. Her mother…
He let out a low whistle when she was done. "Dean, huh?"
She cut him off, speaking rapidly. "Don't say it."
"Don't say what?"
"Just…whatever it is that you want to say. Please don't say it," she pleaded quietly.
He nodded, stroking her arm with a simple, "Okay."
"I've made a lot of bad decisions in the past few years, huh?" She paused only momentarily, not really waiting for a response. (What could he say?) "God, it's embarrassing to talk about. I hate having to tell you this. You probably think I'm a horrible person."
"Never." Shifting to pull her even closer to him, he placed an earnest kiss on her forehead. They lay together for a few more moments, her body slung lazily over his. He absentmindedly continued tracing short stories all along her arms in sloppy cursive while she simply breathed him in.
"You probably think I'm a fake and a phony and I can't even begin to imagine how disappointed you are that I let myself get sucked into all of this," she continued. "There; something you and my mother can finally agree on."
"I don't think that, and I highly doubt Lorelai does either," he reasoned.
"You didn't see her, Jess. You didn't see her face. That look…god, I went my whole life without seeing that look. It's just been the past few years. I've had to see that disappointment so many times."
He opened his mouth to respond when she went on.
"The clock's gone."
Her sudden outburst caught him off guard, and he didn't attempt to mask his surprise. "What?"
"The clock's gone and the furniture's gone and everything is a new color and I don't know how to work the coffee pot and…" she paused, taking a deep breath. Squeezing her hand reassuringly, he waited for her to go on. Sighing, she continued, her voice taking on a softer tone. A simple kind of sad, really. "It's like she tried to erase me from that house in every possible way."
"Ror-"
"She got a dog," she groaned miserably, snuggling into his shoulder. "She replaced me with a dog."
His hand moved from her arm to her hair, gently massaging her scalp with light touches. "That is not true. You gotta realize that she was lonely, too."
"I know. I just want things to go back."
"So does she."
He would have promised her that they would, but they both knew it would be false, empty. As much as he wanted to be able to, there's no way that he could assure her that point of 'normal' would be reached again. There's no way he could have assured her anything, really. It was beyond his reach to make it come true.
He would have, though. He almost did. In that moment of her laying next to him, ivory against his olive skin, auburn hair across his shoulder, cornflower eyes so full of desperation. He would have promised her the universe.
(And what's more is that he would have found a way to give it to her.)
- - -
The sun felt different here. Warmer. That's the first thought that floated into her head the next morning as the serpentine rays cast a gentle glow across her face. Squinting against the bright, she threw her arm across the queen mattress, not finding a body but only the warmth left behind. Groggily she sat up, sleepy eyes scanning the room. He wasn't in sight, but his t-shirt was and she reached for it, fingering the soft cotton. Slipping it on over her head, she then pulled her hair into a ponytail and padded slowly out of the bedroom.
The smell of bacon assaulted her as soon as she entered the hallway. Smiling contently, Rory leaned against the doorway, watching him move expertly around the kitchen. Making breakfast. Making her breakfast. The concept was all too foreign to her. None of her previous lovers ever went to such trouble.
A full pot of coffee stood steaming on the counter. Scrambled eggs were sizzling on the skillet; waffles lay on a plate to the side. He was dicing strawberries. The sight made her fall even more in love with him.
She fleetingly wondered if he just had strawberries lying around, or if he snuck to the store this morning to get them. She wondered if his favorite color was still that deep, dark hunter green. She wondered when he got that tattoo on his arm, what it meant. She wondered how he learned to make a quarter disappear with the flick of his wrist, or how old he was when he heard his first Clash song (she was seven).
She wanted to ask him all these things, all these crazy things, while he stood there in the pale morning light. She wanted to know if he loved her, if he always would, if he'd always be that big bad beautiful boy she fell for so many years ago. She knew he'd answer her, but she didn't pose these questions because she didn't need to.
He'd do anything for her, he'd be anything for her. Not that she'd ask him to, but there's a certain sense of comfort in that knowing.
Pushing off of the doorframe, she moved around the counter to the coffee and poured herself a cup. He noticed the slight movement out of the corner of his eye but didn't take his gaze off of his task. Rory sat at a barstool, resting her elbows on the tile and taking a cautious sip of the dark liquid, careful not to burn her tongue.
"Morning," she grinned.
"This'll be done in a minute," he replied distractedly.
"This is a lot of food," she breathed.
"Well, I wasn't sure what you'd want, and I didn't want to wake you up, so I just made everything I could think of." He looked up at her, smiling now, shrugging his shoulders.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, she set her coffee down. "You didn't have to go to so much trouble."
"Sure I did," he decided absently, setting the knife down. Leaning over the counter, he smirked at her dazed expression. "Morning," he whispered, greeting her with a soft kiss.
I want to wake up to this forever and ever, she thought, deciding not to say it out loud. Not yet, at least.
Kissing her again, he stepped back abruptly, a light bulb going off behind his eyes.
"Before I forget…" he began, retrieving something from behind him, out of her line of sight. "Here. I got you a present."
"A present?" She took it carefully between her hands, turning it over slowly in detailed examination. "Mr. Mariano, you spoil me."
He rolled his eyes, turning back to the coffee pot and pouring himself a cup. "Just open it."
The gift was rectangle and thin, light in her hands. Simple red paper concealed its contents, wrapped precisely, square corners.
"Did you write another book already?" she teased.
Shaking his head, he sent her a playful glare. "Not yet."
Curiosity overwhelming her, she carefully tore the paper at the edges, almost regretful that she had to ruin the small work of art.
"Oh my god," she gasped.
It was a book all right.
"I thought that would come in handy in these next few weeks."
"You have got to be kidding me."
A beautiful smirk adorned his face as he kept his attention on the sizzling breakfast before him, not looking at her, not answering her.
"Are you mocking me?"
He shook his head, still smirking, as she opened the cover, peering inside. Notes of his small precise handwriting decorated every page she flipped through. "You've read this."
"I may have skimmed."
"Oh my god."
He pointed the spatula at her, shocked at her disbelief. "Hey, there's some good stuff in there."
"I cannot picture you sitting down to read Who Moved My Cheese?."
He took on a Southern accent and turned to her with a cocky grin, "I'll have you know I've done a lot of self-actualizin' these last few months."
"You really read it?" she asked quietly, skeptically, silently hoping. (Why she was hoping, she didn't know.)
He visibly deflated, shoulders sagging in defeat. Cocking his left eyebrow upwards and scratching the back of his head, he nodded slowly. "You're never gonna let me live it down, are you?"
Smiling, Rory looked back to the book. That (maybe not-so) silly book. The fact that he shared this with her, the fact that Jess Mariano admitted to not just reading, but actively reading a sort-of self-help book, was a fact that she was going to take seriously.
"How old were you when you heard your first Clash song?" she asked suddenly.
Eyeing her curiously, Jess opened his mouth to question her outburst. After a moments contemplation, however, he decided against it and instead answered, "Nine or ten, maybe."
"Oh," she smiled. "Oh."
- - -
"Is it in there?" she grinned hopefully.
"No."
"How 'bout there?" she tried again. "Is it there?"
"Nope."
Gesturing wildly, she exclaimed, "What about-"
He cut her off, laughing quietly. "That's a Starbucks, Rory."
"Is that a 'no'?" Her face fell as she turned her gaze away from the window, searching his face for an ounce of seriousness.
"I thought we were going out to dinner," he smiled warmly, gently squeezing her hand. She scooted closer to him across the big bucket seat of his car, resting her head on his shoulder.
"We are. But I still want to see your book – you amazing book, by the way – in an actual bookstore," she pouted.
"How about this," he began, slinging his arm around her shoulder. "We go to dinner, then, afterwards, maybe I'll show you somewhere that may or may not have the book."
"Your book," she corrected.
He nodded reluctantly, "My book."
"Isn't that fun to say?" she beamed in excitement, kissing his cheek.
He didn't get a chance to reply as she moved from his cheek to his neck, leaving purposefully wet kisses all along his jaw line. He let out a guttural groan in frustration and tried to turn his head to kiss her back while keeping his eyes trained on the road. Failing miserably, he gave up, letting Rory continue her assault on his neck.
"We could always skip dinner," he suggested. "I mean, I don't need to eat. Do you? Honestly." His voice continually got higher as she nipped at his earlobe, letting her hands wander to his thighs.
She ignored him for just a few more seconds before pulling herself away and shifting back to her side of the car, just out of his reach. Laughing softly, she tilted her head in a contemplative manner. "Just because we have amazing sex doesn't mean we can make a relationship work."
Startled by the situation's sudden change in tone, it took Jess a second to respond. "You're right," he realized.
"What I mean is, I'd like to try," she clarified, adding, "If you want to." Her hands folded and unfolded in her lap nervously. She studied them, not able to make any sort of eye contact.
"There is that whole distance thing," he trailed off, not sure of what to say. Not sure if this was really feasible. (He wanted it to be.)
Looking up, she angled her body to face him, mentally compiling her list of reasons why this could work. Why it had to work. "It's only three hours."
"Three hours, fifteen minutes," he corrected.
"I know how to work a phone," she said confidently. Sensing his hesitation, she went on, "We can do this, Jess."
"School should be your top priority right now," he reasoned.
"I can do both," she explained. "I can, I can handle it."
"Rory."
Her forehead furrowed together in confusion. "Do you not want this?"
"What? Of course I do."
"Then why are you fighting it?" she practically shrieked.
He pulled the car into the parking lot of the restaurant and killed the engine. Taking off his seatbelt and turning to face her, he took a deep, frustrated breath.
"Rory, listen to me. I know that this can work, okay?" Her fears began to dissipate as he continued. "I can do weekends, I can…I can swing more work in Hartford. Anything. I just want to make sure that you're…" he stopped, not sure of the right words to use.
"I can do this," she desperately tried to convince him. "I'm ready. I can handle school. I can handle school, and my mom, and…I need this." She was thisclose to saying I need you, but she refrained out of fear that they already resembled the quintessential definition of doomed lovers. No need to contribute to it.
"Okay," he nodded slowly, silently considering her words. "If you're sure, then okay."
"Okay," she repeated.
Relieved, he sat back and exhaled deeply. Noticing the tension leave his features, she slid a little closer to him. "You had me worried there for a second," she admitted.
"I had me worried, too." His head fell to the right, lips turning up in a small smile. "Hey, girlfriend."
She smiled back, kissing him quickly before offering, "Hey, boyfriend."
"Let's eat," he suggested, sitting up straighter.
"Yeah," she smiled, already planning Thanksgiving and Christmas. If she could get signed up for the winter semester, she'd start school in January. If she was too late, the spring term began in March. She could stay with him for a while, maybe. And she could find an internship in Philadelphia for the summer.
She could do this.
(According to him, she could do anything.)
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notes: There you go! Sorry it took so long. Thanks for being patient with me, and for taking the time to read! If you have the time, please drop me a review; suggestions and storyline ideas are always welcome. I don't have the rest of this planned out too specifically yet, so I'd gladly welcome some fresh perspective. Thanks again, guys!