Story Title: Razor

Chapter Title: I Need to Know, I Need to Know Tonight

Pairing: Lit

Rating: T (for now); some language

Summary: Future Lit; Rory's trying to get a foot in the door in the journalism world and she's dragging Jess along with her against his will. If past performance is the indicator, he wants to avoid any contact with her; professional or otherwise. Story and Chapter titles taken from the Foo Fighter's song, Razor off In Your Honor.

She hadn't really fallen asleep. She'd foolishly thought that if she laid still enough for long enough, she could trick her body into enough comfort to fall into at the very least a fitful sleep. Once she saw the sun breaking through the buildings out his hotel suite's window, she could find a slip of blank piece of paper in her bag and leave him a note, thanking him for the use of his couch.

She didn't really want to check the clock again. She knew it would only tell her that at most three minutes had passed since her last vigil. Her body was literally itching to move, begging her to get up. She was never this restless at night. Normally that honor when to Logan. He moved until he literally passed out. Or maybe he just drank too much. She'd had her fair share of alcohol tonight, but apparently not enough to make her pass out. Only enough to make her agree to spend the night at her ex-boyfriend's hotel room and to dry out her mouth until it felt like she had been drinking sand instead of martinis. She refused to think about whose behavior was actually worse.

One more look at the clock over the mantel, and she gave a swift sigh of frustration. She pulled back the blanket he'd given to her before disappearing back into his bedroom and let her bare feet meet the floor. Not wanting to wake him up as well, she stumbled through the dark to the kitchenette and proceeded looking for a glass.

"Looking for something?"

His voice was groggy and his hand was in his hair when she turned in surprise. "Just a glass."

He flipped on the light over the stove, so as not to blind them both, and reached past her to the one cabinet she hadn't gotten to yet. "Here."

"Thanks," she smiled sheepishly. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't."

"Oh?"

He shrugged. "I was writing. Then I heard you banging around out here, and I figured you were prying."

She cocked her head. "Why would I pry in the kitchen?"

"Why would you keep shoes in your stove?"

She smiled. "That wasn't me. That was my mother. I'll have you know my kitchen is only used to store food. Maybe the occasional book," she admitted.

"You know, if you'd just taken my bed, we wouldn't be up in the middle of the night talking about what you keep in your kitchen."

"I'm already intruding—I wasn't going to rob you of your bed, too."

"I've been at the desk. I sleep there more at home than I sleep in my bed anyway. Both of which are more comfortable than that couch."

"The couch was fine," she assured him. "I was just thirsty."

He opened the refrigerator and handed her the orange juice. "Want eggs?"

"Oh, you don't have to," she began.

"I'm hungry. And you're a Gilmore. Would you rather have pancakes?"

She yawned. "I have to choose?"

He rolled his eyes and began unloading ingredients from his refrigerator. "Can you at least make yourself useful?"

"If you show me where you keep the coffee, absolutely," she agreed.

"Middle of the pantry," he pointed with the carton of eggs.

"So, you cook?" she asked conversationally, not really thinking as she watched the ease with which he maneuvered around the small kitchenette.

"What did you think I was doing all that time at Luke's?"

"Making his life miserable so he'd let you off early?" she tried with hopeful sarcasm.

He smirked as he thought for a moment. "Besides that."

"I've never actually seen you cook."

"Well, I guess you're in for a treat, then."

"So, it's edible?" she continued to watch him carefully, as if he might slip some arsenic or vegetables into the mix.

He cracked another egg expertly and expelled the contents into a hot skillet. "Who do you think taught me to cook?"

"Luke?"

He nodded. "He took pity on me. He came to visit when I was about five and saw I'd been living on peanut butter and jelly for about a month. Lizzie isn't really a cook. Even when she was around, rarely was anything she ever attempted to cook edible."

"You've been cooking since you were five?"

He nodded. "And I've yet to poison anyone."

She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the counter, watching him as he worked. She could see the lean muscle of his arm flex as he slid the spatula under the first pancake and flip it up out of the pan and smoothly onto the other side. He was wearing a white t-shirt, which she assumed he'd thrown on before leaving the bedroom, and flannel pajama pants. Much more casual than her now wrinkled cocktail dress. She'd been so pleased with how she looked hours before—when she believed Logan would be on time to stand by her side. She'd bought the dress knowing he'd love it, envisioning the evening she wore it being one that was filled with him whispering softly to her how much he couldn't wait to get her alone and get her out of it. But in the end, she hadn't given him the opportunity to even whisper a single word to her tonight. His eyes had begged for forgiveness as he'd walked into the room, but she'd crossed her arms and told him that she had to go without meeting his eyes again.

"You sure you don't want to change? I have plenty of extra clothes."

She looked up at his face now, blushing a little to realize that not only had she been staring at his body, but he was reading her thoughts. "I'm fine."

"That's a pretty fancy dress. I'd hate you to spill something on it."

She shrugged. "Doesn't really matter."

He raised an eyebrow. "You look good."

She raised a hand to smooth her hair. She'd taken it down when she'd laid down, and her dress was a crumpled mess. "I do not."

He didn't argue with her; rather he scanned her body with his eyes with a hard, but appreciative look. Like he'd seen a lot of women, too many to care normally. He'd seen her before, but he always made her feel like he was seeing her with new eyes. She told herself that he was probably just curious, as she was, what had changed over the years. Though the years had only been kind to him she noticed yet again. A surge of guilt flashed through her.

"You do, too."

He simply nodded. "Wanna grab a plate?"

"Oh, yeah," she turned around, grabbing two plates and holding them out as he flipped food onto first one, then the other. "Looks amazing."

"Me or the food?" he smirked, teasing her.

She narrowed her eyes in disgust. "The food."

"Ah. You weren't clear."

She suddenly remembered how much she hated it when he smirked like that. "Shut up and eat."

"Yes, Ma'am."

She turned and looked for a table with two chairs to sit at, and when she turned back around she saw him leaning against the counter, shoveling food into his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"You told me to eat," he reminded after he swallowed.

"You don't sit at a table?"

"It's habit," he took a swig of orange juice. "I don't have one at home."

"So, you sleep at your desk and you eat standing up at your counter?"

"I can see how your article will be going now."

She blanched. "This isn't on the record."

He put his fork down and wiped his mouth. "Rory."

"What?"

"Something has to be on the record, and soon, because while my agent doesn't mind writing this room off as an expense night after night, I can't stay in New York indefinitely, waiting to do an interview. I have to get back to my life."

"Right," she looked down at her untouched food. Something she should have done a few hours ago as well. This was supposed to be work, not a stroll down memory lane.

"This isn't like you, being so unprepared."

"I told you, I didn't have any notice, no time to research. I would have today, but I had to get ready for this party, and," she began her list of excuses.

"Do you not want to interview me?" he cut to the chase.

"No, it's not you. Though I know you don't want to be interviewed."

He sighed. "Okay. We just have to get this over with."

She nodded hesitantly. "All right."

"What's it going to take?"

She looked down at the food he'd prepared in his hotel kitchenette, which looked like something she'd grown up eating at Luke's diner. Suddenly another wave of nostalgia hit her, and she knew that her lack of progress on this assignment had nothing to do with first-time jitters, a lack of warning, or Logan's behavior at tonight's party.

"I haven't seen you in years," she admitted.

"Yeah."

"And sometimes, when I look at you and you're just sitting there, talking to me like no time has passed," she hedged and dared a look into his eyes.

"Just say it."

"I have questions, Jess. There are things I want to know, and they're getting in the way of all the professional questions. The ones I have to ask but don't really care about the answers to."

He nodded. "So, ask."

"What?"

"Whatever you want to know."

She wasn't sure she believed him, but more than that, she wasn't sure she wanted to really know the true answers to all of these questions. She'd been able to make up her own resolutions all these years, and frankly, she was afraid she'd be more comfortable with the ones she'd postulated.

"Just one condition."

She should have seen that coming. It wasn't like him to be so open, so selflessly giving. He wanted something in return. "What?"

"It goes both ways."

It seemed too easy; after all, he'd been the one to do all the leaving without explanations in their past. "Okay."

She wasn't sure it was okay. She was fairly sure this wasn't the way to get to the real interview. But she didn't have an alternate solution, either, so she dug in.

"So, you went to California to see you dad?"

He nodded. "He came to Stars Hollow right after I found out I'd failed out."

"Wow."

"I didn't really have anywhere else to go. Luke kicked me out when I said I wouldn't go back."

"Oh. I'm …," she began, but he shook his head.

"Don't apologize. You didn't know."

"I know, but I always felt like if I'd known, I could have done something."

He shook his head. "I had to go. It didn't have anything to do with you."

"Why didn't you stay out there?"

"In California?"

She nodded.

He shrugged. "I didn't go out there looking for my dad, at least, not in the way you might think. I wasn't looking for a parent, just something that wasn't here. Someone I couldn't let down."

She bit her lip. "You never let me down, Jess."

"Yeah, I did. I promised to take you to prom, and I couldn't."

"You were going through a lot, some stupid dance is hardly," she protested.

"Tell me you weren't hurt."

"I didn't know what was going on," she refused.

"Tell me you didn't think I was the most insensitive prick on the face of the earth," he prodded.

"Fine! I really wanted to go, but more than that, I really wanted to go with you, which is why I was really upset. I could have gone, found some lame date at the last minute, but I didn't. I stayed home, watching movies and eating pizza with Mom."

"I'm sorry," his voice was sincere and he did the thing where he half made eye contact, as if waiting for her to accept his gesture. All it did was enrage her.

"No! You don't get to be sorry, not now," she said, feeling more heated than appropriate after all these years.

"Why didn't you go home tonight?" he turned the tables on her, calmly, taking her off guard.

"What?"

"Clearly you're still pissed at me for things that happened when we were eighteen," he began. "You couldn't have been happy to see me when I walked into your office yesterday. Something must be going on if you came here with me instead of going home to someone else."

"He broke a promise, that's all."

"Bigger than not taking you to prom?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she moved her eyes away from him altogether.

"He's rich?"

She looked up at him. "Why do you assume that?"

"Well, if Seymour Hersh shows up to parties thrown by his father," he began, "he's either rich or really damn talented."

"He's both," she defended, since he'd made either option sound as if it'd been dealt to him by the devil himself.

Jess simply raised an eyebrow. "So, you figure two out of three isn't bad?"

Rory crossed her arms, feeling sideswiped. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Jess shook his head. "Nothing, forget it."

"No," she demanded. "Tell me what you meant."

He looked up at her, softly again, as if feeling preemptive remorse for the words he was about to say. "Does he care about you at all?"

"Of course he does! Just because we have one misunderstanding doesn't mean--," she was cut off by his voice, louder and more confident than hers.

"I don't care how fucking pissed you got at me, no way would I let you leave a party dressed like that to meet another guy—for work or not. It's three in the morning, has he even called to see if you're okay?"

"He knows I can take care of myself. And he trusts me."

"Do you trust him?"

The look in her eyes gave her away. No matter how much she protested, her initial response was loud and clear. "We have a … very complicated relationship."

He shook his head. "It's not complicated. You either trust him or you don't; he's either there for you or he isn't."

"What do you know about any of this anyway?" she boiled over.

"What?"

"You're all talk, Jess! It must be easy to sit up there on your high horse and tell me how things are supposed to be, but where was all that when we were together? You never told me anything, let alone the truth. How are you supposed to build trust like that? And as for being there for me? What a joke," she shook her head.

"We're not talking about me."

"Let's shall," she cocked her head. "Have you ever had a functional relationship?"

His gaze challenged hers. "Define functional."

"Have you ever been with someone you loved and trusted?"

"Yes." He hadn't hesitated, and the way his eyes met hers instantaneously caused an unnerving shock through her system.

As much as the news shocked her, she didn't want to back down or show him how much it affected her. "Is that what you based the book on?"

He paused this time. "Yes."

"So, you met her in California?" she asked, feeling in her gut that it wasn't the case, but it was the only line of questioning she felt comfortable following at the given moment.

"I don't want to talk about her."

"You already shared her with the whole world, Jess. You're going to have to talk about her; no reporter in their right mind wouldn't ask."

"Yeah, but you want to know a lot more than everyone else."

She swallowed. It was true, which she hated, but there was no denying it. "You told me to ask whatever I wanted."

"I never said I'd answer."

She didn't let that comment hinder her. She was finally getting somewhere, and even though she was lying to herself thinking it was for the interview and not for her. "Is that why you left California? It didn't work out?"

"I told you, I don't want to talk about it."

"You think I can't handle you telling me all of what really happened to you?"

"The thing is, I could explain all of this to you, what really happened between when I left Stars Hollow and wrote the book, but I honestly don't think you'll be satisfied with what I say."

"Why is that?"

There was a longer silence as he thought about his answer this time, one in which she grew more and more uncomfortable in the fact he might actually reveal the identity of the woman he was so clearly in love with.

"Do you believe I loved the girl in the book?" he asked, leaning in to her.

"Does it matter what I think?" she asked nervously.

"It's just a question."

"In my personal or professional opinion?"

"Are they different?"

She took a step away from him. She couldn't trust her own reaction right now. "I should get going. Logan's going to worry if he wakes up and I'm not there."

"Rory," he sighed.

"This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have come here. I appreciate your letting me stay," she began to edge back, to protect herself.

"So, that's it?"

She nodded. "I really need to go."

"I'm going back to Philly tomorrow," he informed her, not threateningly, just matter-of-factly.

"I'll talk to my boss, see if he can assign someone else. Maybe someone can come to you or do it over the phone," she offered.

"You're just giving up?"

She was desperate to flee at this point. As much as they'd talked, there was too much unsaid between them and too much she had come to accept should remain unspoken between them over the years. Hearing him say the book was inspired by some other woman would be too hard to hear, but hearing she was the one that his tragic hero worshipped so much would be harder still. She needed to go back to her life, the one that might be frustrating at times, but was tangible—something she'd never been able to say for her relationship with Jess.

"Jess, please."

"I guess you really have changed," was all he said before walking to the main door and waiting for her to gather her bag. She didn't look at him as she stood in the doorway, stopping just shy of putting her designer shoe over the threshold into the well-lit hallway.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said, causing her to look up at him wide-eyed.

She smiled softly. "I loved it."

He just nodded and watched as she walked down the hall. She didn't look back, but she knew he was watching her as she didn't hear the soft click of his door shutting until she'd stepped onto the elevator that would take her down the to lobby and back to the life she'd been on track for before she read Jess' book.