Watching the Watchers – Chapter 2
Summary: As Luke struggles to bond with his nephew, Jess' resurfacing past may cause more of a problem than either one realises.
Disclaimer: Since the last chapter, I have not come in to ownership of the delightful characters of Jess, Luke Rory or anyone else from the Gilmore Girls.
A/N – Ok, so there's a little Rory in this one but make the most of her because that's it, folks! Seriously, I don't envisage this being a very long fic so all things in proportion and all :-) . Thank you SO much to everyone who took the time to read and review. I hope I responded if you left a signed review and to Lit needed – thanks for reviewing. Sorry there won't be much R/J but there is a little snippet of them in here and there'll be a hint of L/L next chapter. But I'm not a good romance writer, I'm afraid. And to Christie – thanks for your review. I'm really glad you liked it and I hope you enjoy this, too.
Again, some spellings are of the UK variety – please be warned :-) And there are a couple of swear words, just to warn you, but nothing major.
"So did you and your mom enjoy your prize?" As he walked, Jess zipped his jacket up tighter under his chin and shoved his hands in his pockets: his gloves had a hole across one thumb but his pockets were still holding fast. The young man could not fathom how biting the wind seemed to be and how quickly the temperatures seemed to have dropped. He was almost tempted to give in and ask Luke for an advance to buy a new coat but stopped himself, just in time. He didn't mind saving money, he certainly had no problem spending it (whether it belonged to him or not) but the one thing he hated, was being in debt. From beside him, Rory graced him with a mischievous smile and elbowed him, playfully in the ribs.
"You know, my mom and I strongly suspect foul play may have been involved in the procurement of our victorious title?" It had been a lucky chance that he had spotted her as she walked, laden down with last minute festive goodies, on her way back to her house. Jess had absolutely no idea how she and her mother could consume so much food but he was beginning to learn that the Gilmore clan was a law unto itself.
So he now walked with two large, brown grocery paper bags under both arms, filled to bursting with cookies and ice-cream and whipped cream and generally things that would give Luke a hernia, while Rory held the third. He was actually getting kind of used to this, this chivalry thing. Well, he silently amended, he could get used to it for Rory Gilmore. Anyone else would have been left scrabbling by the side of the road, desperately trying to balance tubs of Ben and Jerry's and cans of soda.
He discretely watched her as she pushed one long strand of hair behind her ear, and tugged her woolly hat further down on her head. Her blue eyes seemed to shine with an even brighter azure glaze in the frozen temperatures. He smiled, transforming it into a smirk when her gaze turned sideways to meet his.
"And your mom was bothered by that prospect?" he questioned. Somehow, he doubted it. Rory shrugged and smiled.
"Heck no! A victory is a victory – we wear our laurels with pride." And on saying so, she stuck her chin out and held her head high. Jess chuckled.
"I'm sure you do. If I walk you all the way back to your house, will you show me your laurels? I bet they look good." Immediately, the rosy blush spread across her cheeks and she lowered her head, casting her eyes down. Jess grinned: it was so wonderful to be able to embarrass her like that – she looked adorable when she was. However, it was Christmas Eve and he didn't want her angry with him so he moved on.
"You know, traditionally you should also ride round town in one of those sleighs dragging the body of your opponent behind you." They paused at a roadside as a Station Wagon trundled past and he was relieved to see her head come back up and her expression relax in to a smile.
Rory's eyes widened, in excitement. "Yes!" she enthused, " And the town would all cheer and wave and some would fear us. And they would erect a giant marble arch in our honour!"
"All hail," Jess added, nodding his head. Then she sighed.
"Alas," Rory informed him, with mock solemnity, "the mysterious snowman builder has left town, never to be seen again."
The traffic eventually cleared and they set off across the road, mindful of the icy patches. Jess tutted and shook his head, taking her arm suddenly, to guide her over a particularly nasty patch of ice, which was difficult to do with two bags of groceries in his arms.
"Ringer," Jess informed her, knowingly.
She turned to him and laughed. "That's exactly what my mom thinks!"
"Oh God," he groaned. "Tell me I'm not starting to sound her like her!"
They were now heading up her garden path and Rory paused, with her key in the front door. She turned around and fixed him with a wicked smirk.
"Well that's it. You're definitely not seeing my laurels now." As she turned back to the door, she silently savoured the look of surprise that had crossed his face, if only for a fleeting moment.
He followed her in, once the door was open, kicking it shut behind him. "So where do you want these?"
"In the kitchen would be great, thanks," she informed him, leading the way in case he needed an invitation. In fact, Jess almost felt like did need one. The last time he had been in this house had been at his infamous welcoming dinner where he had given off possibly the best first impression he could have hoped for. Lorelai's frosty command to stay out of her fridge, in Jess' mind, extended to stay out of her whole damned house. But he didn't mention this to Rory and, rather hesitantly, followed her in to the kitchen and dumped the bags on the wooden table.
Rory took off her hat and shrugged out of her coat. A moment of silence ensued. She began to shuffle her feet, nervously as Jess simply stood, in her kitchen, looking at her, all dark eyes and tousled hair.
"So," she began, aware that words were needed. "Do you want to…stay for a cookie or something?" He laughed but not unkindly. She still felt her ears tinge a little pink at such a Martha Steward suggestion. Rory was suddenly very aware of Dean's absence.
"No thanks," he informed her. He dug his hands into his pockets, the gesture making him look much younger. "I should be getting back."
"Oh," she answered, ashamed by how relieved that made her feel. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Luke starts listening out on police frequencies for liquor stores that are being held up if I'm gone too long."
She laughed. "Well, okay then. Do you guys have any plans tonight?" She walked, half guiding half ushering him to the front door. When they reached it, she held it open for him as he passed in front of her.
"Not that I know of. Fill the napkin dispensers; clean the oven – the suspense just has me tingling."
At that moment, a loud, bustling noise brought both teenagers' attention to the path ahead of them as Lorelai Gilmore came bounding towards the front door, mouth already babbling.
"So, daughter of mine, I have got the best movie ever so I hope you've got the…" Then she stopped, at that moment noticing Jess. He turned to face her, his expression schooled into neutral disinterest, outwardly nonchalant, inwardly wincing.
"Oh," she exclaimed, lightly. "Jess. I didn't know you would be here. Today. Christmas Eve." Her smile held a question very clearly within it.
Jess looked to Rory, whose mouth had opened without sound, and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "I was just leaving." At that, Rory seemed to find her voice.
"We kind of over-did the pre-Christmas goodies – not in quantity," she hastily reassured her mother – "That's not possible. Just in bulkiness. Jess saw me struggling and helped me carry the bags back home." Her mother's expression softened, though a hint of mild curiosity remained.
"Well," the elder Gilmore started. "That was…very nice of you, Jess."
"S'okay," he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze for anything longer than a second.
"Yes," Rory continued, sensing the lingering awkwardness. "He helped me unpack."
"I just put them on the table," Jess cut in, quickly.
Lorelai appeared amused at his obvious discomfort. "Oh. Okaay. Well, thanks again, Jess." Grateful at finally hearing a dismissal in her tone, Jess took his leave. He darted past both Gilmore women and was off down the path like a shot.
He paused on the sidewalk and turned to give Rory one last, short wave. She waved back as her mother called out. "Give my best to Luke."
Best of what? He thought to himself with a smirk but just nodded once before leaving the Gilmores to their junk-food feast and movie and heading back home to Luke's.
Inside the diner, Luke placed the last chair up on the last table then turned the Open sign round to Closed. He had never closed up so early on Christmas Eve before but with his nephew around, particularly on his first holiday with him, Luke wanted to make some kind of an effort with the Season. He would close the next day as well, though he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with the pair of them. How did you entertain a seventeen year-old nephew at Christmas? Take him to a show? Go for a walk? Attempt to get his drunken sister on the phone to actually talk to her son? Actually, he decided, he would scratch that last one.
Luke turned his thoughts to that night. Jess was still out somewhere and the absence of blaring sirens in the street continued to give him comfort. He had tried harder with the tree, this year. It was bigger and not a scraggly one picked out at the last minute from the Discount section. After much persuasion, he had even managed to convince Jess to help him decorate it and after a long, hard twenty-five minutes the tree ending up looking…very much like a tree that two guys had reluctantly agreed to decorate. There was tinsel, some baubles – even a string of lights. Digging around the bottom of the decoration box for some kind of a star, Luke could only come up with a bedraggled looking angel to put on the top. He couldn't even recall where it had come from. Jess had simply treated him to a withering look and point blank refused to put it on the tree. Luke didn't push it.
The bell above the door rang and Luke looked up, for one minute suspecting a hungry Gilmore could not resist a last minute round of pancakes, despite the Closed sign. He was relieved then when Jess pushed his way through the door, stamping his feet to get some warmth back in to them.
"Lock it behind you, would you?" Luke called out. Jess turned back to the door and did as instructed, sliding the bolt over with a solid click. "Where have you been?" his uncle wondered.
"Out." As he walked over to the counter, next to Luke, the older man was surprised to see his nephew silently grab a dishcloth and start to wipe down the counter. Sometimes the kid did things like that, Luke thought to himself: little acts of thoughtfulness that he never asked to be acknowledged, he just did. Maybe he wasn't doing so bad a job with him, after all? In fact, Luke pondered, he had been surprised by how much he had come to take his nephew's presence for granted: how much, despite the boy's attitude and his own grumbling, he really was enjoying having him around.
He knew the townsfolk didn't agree with him but even they were beginning to come round – some of them. Slowly. If only Jess would let them see the side of him that he was getting to see: the kid with the witty and quick sense of humour; the kid who, in some way gave a damn about how you were; the boy who in all honesty and whether he realised it or not, just wanted someone to depend on and not let him down.
But, Luke realised, the boy had far too many walls built up around him to let people close enough to see those things. So, with a sigh, he let the notion go.
"Out where?" he pressed.
Jess rolled his eyes as he rinsed the cloth under the tap and hung it out to dry. "Just out. Around. Taking in the view. Perambulating. Is that okay?"
"Uh huh," his uncle muttered. "Well I think we're done down here. Can you get the lights in the kitchen while I do the ones out here?" Jess nodded and once they were plunged into semi-darkness, they both made their way carefully up the staircase and in to their apartment.
Immediately, Jess grabbed a soda then went to his mattress and sat down. His book was in his hand before Luke had even shut the fridge door. Shaking his head in disbelief, Luke popped the lid on his beer and took a swig. He came round to flop down on the couch with an over-exaggerated sigh. Jess glanced up, irritably from his book and then glanced back down again.
Noticing this, Luke smiled. He took another deep swig of his beer, swallowed then let out a loud, satisfied exclamation. Again, he could see his nephew's eye twitch as his fingers carefully turned the page. It was a book he must have read a hundred times judging from the folded back paper cover and the curled pages but Luke had never seen anyone treat a book with such respect as his nephew did.
Pulling the footstool closer, the older man then proceeded to stretch out lazily, propping his long legs up and muttering a string of relaxed, nonsensical sounds and words just like his grandfather used to do as he settled down to read the papers.
At that, Jess threw the book down in his lap. "What!" he demanded. "What do you want from me?"
From the couch, Luke opened his eyes, smiling and feigning innocence. "I'm sorry. Did you want something?" Jess glared at him, hotly.
"Well you're huffing and puffing and making it impossible for me to concentrate so you must want something." Luke gave in and chuckled.
"Oh, okay. It's just that your head is always buried in a book whenever you're in this apartment and since it's Christmas Eve I thought we might practise that little known art of conversation." Jess looked at him sceptically and Luke could see the protest forming on his lips. However, just as he was convinced the boy would take up his book once more, Jess surprised him by closing it and placing it beside him.
He folded his arms and looked at his uncle as if to say: happy now? And Luke was. Mostly.
Jess shrugged. "So?" he asked. "What do you want to talk about?" And when put on the spot like that, Luke suddenly didn't know and was starting to feel a little ridiculous. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, obviously straining for something to start the ball rolling. It wasn't meant to be this hard to talk to your family, damn it! From over on his mattress, he heard Jess sigh, irritably.
"Well let's see you think of something!" Luke challenged back, turning sideways to get a better look at him. But Jess was shaking his head.
"Nu-uh. You're the one who wants this scintillating conversation so you get to start it."
"Don't think you can annoy me into letting you just go back to reading your book," Luke shot.
"Never dreamed of it," Jess countered.
"Really?"
"Absolutely. I'm just sitting here, waiting for your pearls of wisdom."
"Stop being a smart-ass," Luke declared, throwing his hands up in the air.
Jess smirked. "See? We're having a conversation already."
Now it was Luke's turn to roll his eyes. "This isn't a conversation. It's an argument." Jess cocked his head to one side.
"Same difference with us," he remarked and though he had meant for it to be casual, Luke could detect the underlying bitterness tingeing his words.
"Well not at Christmas, it's not," Luke declared, with a firm resolve. Looking pointedly at Jess, he patted the seat beside him. For all of Jess' horrified reaction, he might just as well have suggested the boy cut his hand off. "I am not having a conversation with you half way across the room," Luke insisted.
The teenager shook his head, frowning. "I'm not sitting on that couch. You'll want me to start sharing and talking about my feelings and crap like that."
Luke just shook his head in exasperation. "Heaven forbid! Now park yourself on this couch, sharpish." With a put upon sigh, Jess heaved himself up from his mattress making Luke all the more aware that he really needed to get the kid a proper bed. He'd have Social Services on his back soon for lack of due care. Traipsing across the room, Jess deposited himself in a huff next to his uncle. And there they sat, side by side, in silence.
Jess took a sip of his soda while Luke twirled the bottle round between his fingers.
"So," he began.
"Shall we see what's on the TV?" Jess interrupted. Luke shot him a glare before he remembered it was Christmas Eve and he was trying not to glare. Or frown. Or shout. Damn, this conversation was going to be limited.
"No," his uncle insisted. "We are going to talk," and he emphasised the last word, nudging Jess with his elbow. Jess scowled and moved along the couch as far as he could. "Now," the older man continued. "Do you have anything special you want to do tomorrow?" Jess responded with a one shouldered-shrug and a teenage non-committal noise. Undeterred, Luke pressed on. "Come on, Jess. Work with me here. I'm trying, you know? But I don't know what you like to, you know, do at Christmas."
Seeing his uncle's genuine concern and insistence, Jess relented, just a little. Turning to face him, Jess waved one hand dismissively in the air. "I don't do anything."
Luke's face crinkled in confusion. "What? Nothing?"
"That would be what the word implies."
Luke gave an uneasy laugh. He half suspected his nephew was telling the truth and that made him very uncomfortable. "Come on, Jess!" he insisted. "You have to have something you and Liz usually do. Maybe…something you guys have for dinner? Or…or a movie you usually watch?"
If he couldn't see him with his own two eyes, Luke would never have known his nephew was seated mere inches away from him. The boy sat motionless and silent, staring blankly ahead and for once Luke didn't really want to press him to talk. He was suddenly aware of having babbled too much and asked the wrong question. In fact, Luke sincerely hoped the boy wasn't going to respond because he had a suspicion he wouldn't want to hear the answer.
Eventually, Jess' reply was quiet, hard and even. "There are plenty of things we do but they're not exactly traditions I want to keep going." And Luke nodded, slowly.
"Okay," he said and Jess was grateful that was the extent of his answer. "So let's see what's on the TV." And picking up the remote from the side table, he switched it on. Uncle and nephew then spent the next three hours in amiable company, flipping channels and eating snacks.
Jess remained silent for the first hour, not saying a word, not moving a muscle, his face pinched and his eyes hollow. Whatever was going through his mind bore no relation to the festive movies and Christmas specials playing on the screen. It pained Luke to watch - a tight, binding pain, sharp in the middle of his chest - and the older man resolved that by the end of that evening, three things were to have happened: Jess would eat something; Jess would edge his way back to the centre of the couch and Jess would smile. Talking would be a bonus but he wasn't going to push his luck.
By the time they had finished their television marathon and an exhausted Jess had been sent off to bed, Luke had achieved all four.
As the older man cleared away the evening's mess with a proud chuckle for his astounding parenting abilities, he paused to quietly turn the music off by his sleeping nephew's bed and dim the lights.
When the battered Dynasty pulled into Stars Hollow, out of state plates barely visible under the dirt, the driver was pleased to see the streets deserted. There was no time, night or day in New York when you ever had the roads to yourself. But she had been right – this really was the epitome of the quaint little small town. Glancing down at the sheet of paper in his gloved hand, the man squinted and then looked up at the street ahead of him.
"Right where she said it would be," he muttered, watching the small diner's sign swinging gently in the wind. The whisky burning in his stomach, combined with the chemicals already in his bloodstream gave him a sense of fearlessness and adrenaline, which coursed through his body, charging his muted mind with random bursts of energy. The fact that he had managed to navigate himself all the way to Stars Hollow without a single collision, was truly a Christmas miracle. He swung the car to the side of the road, kerbing it onto the sidewalk and pulling on the handbrake with a resulting screech.
He glanced at his watch. It was late but he didn't care. He'd been driving all night and the sooner he could get this over with and get back home, the better. The little punk would probably be asleep by now, but tough shit. If Liz wanted him back for Christmas morning – though he assumed that was likely the alcohol talking, more than the mother – then she'd have him.
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More to come when inspiration strikes.