Story Title: Razor

Chapter Title: I Hope I Get the Chance to Say Goodbye

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 stared out the tinted window, watching famous landmark after famous landmark come in and out of view as they moved past. Traffic was moving, but not well, and if she'd felt any better she would have suggested they just get out and walk in order to make better time.

Rory glanced to her right, at the man in the tux who seemed unable to remove his cell phone from his ear. She knew it couldn't be helped; after all, if a day went by without his father calling to either check up on him or test his patience and verbal sparring skills, they would probably be checking the hospitals for the older man. It wasn't like she needed extra attention tonight anyhow. She was already conditionally nervous; if she won, then she'd have to give a speech that she never had gotten completely written, and if she lost, she would have to speak to a million people about how she was just honored to be nominated for her work, which was only partially true. She had a competitive nature, after all, inherited from her mother, and she desperately wanted to win, with all the pros and cons attached to the honor.

It wasn't that she had something to prove, exactly, but winning a prestigious writing award would help soothe her mind as to her own merits. Most people would assume that achieving the level of valedictorian from a prestigious preparatory academy and going on to Yale and their journalism school to graduate with top honors were more than reason enough to land her such a great job at such a young age. But she couldn't help that her choice of boyfriend—the handsome blonde with a custom suit sitting next to her in the back of this limousine—made her question her merits. So much of what she'd achieved had come about by favors; not only because she had met the 'right' people, but those people offered her chances in order to sway either her or someone close to her.

Winning this Pulitzer, for which she could still barely believe she was a contender, would do wonders to quell her fears. To his credit, her boyfriend had been especially, and unusually, attentive for the last few weeks. Her missing night, the one that she had spent in the bed of her ex-boyfriend—the one whom her potentially prize-winning piece was about—seemed to wake Logan up. For once, it was her turn to disappear and not give an explanation. She had never offered one, and he hadn't asked. What he had done was turn his phone off during dinners. He brought her flowers, himself, at work. He had most recently whisked them off for two weeks in the Caribbean, for some much deserved rest and relaxation in order to celebrate her nomination.

It had nearly been enough to take her mind off both that night with Jess and the fact she was up for the biggest award she could ever dream to win. The worst part was that she would give up her chance at winning for another night with Jess. Clearly two weeks in paradise had not been enough to push Jess from her thoughts.

Jess… she hadn't heard from him at all. No calls, no emails, not texts. It was as if he had disappeared off the face of the earth, rather than going on book tour. The website his agent had set up for him had listed the dates and places he'd been appearing, and she checked each day to see where his success had taken him. She pictured him trying to find small, hole-in-the-wall type restaurants in each city, doing his best to blend into the local color before showing up at the independent book stores that he'd no doubt fought his agent over, instead of being booked at the normal chain stores. She smiled as she envisioned him doing his damnedest not to scowl at the crowds that had come to hear him read, to ask him the same questions in every city. She wondered how inventively evasive he would be when they asked about Carissa—her literary doppelganger.

As the car finally pulled to a stop in front of the Low Library at Columbia, she realized that Logan had stopped talking on his phone and his hand was reaching for hers. She looked down at their joined hands, and she tried to ignore the sense of nausea that swept over her. She felt guilty in that moment, like so many before, as she found herself thinking of Jess while Logan was nearby, or worse, touching her. Her mind kept flashing back to that night, in Jess' hotel bed; to still feel his skin on hers, to taste him on her tongue. She felt heat creeping up her neck as a blush covered her cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked with a sure smile. His confidence was at once his best and worst feature. "Don't be nervous, just remember, it's an honor just to be nominated," he said to break the tension.

"No. I know. It's just…," she bit her lip and looked up at the staircase that led to the majestic building. "I'm okay. Let's go."

XXXX

Logan had been pulled away for what seemed like the hundredth time, leaving her to sit at the table and read over the program. They were still waiting for lunch to be served and the speakers to start—it was officially a mingling period, giving attendees time to arrive and rub elbows. Not a person in the room didn't know a Huntzberger from across the room, and many wanted to do business at any opportunity. She was, at best, a recognized name, but by only a fraction of the crowd. Instead she sat and smiled graciously as a waiter came by to refill her water.

Realizing she knew the order of the afternoon's events by heart, she glanced over the printed names of the nominees in each category. Her own name of course leaped out of the page at her, under Feature Writing. What she hadn't noticed the first time, however, was another familiar name under Fiction. There it was, in black and white type—Jess Mariano. Instantly she stood, trying to see better through the crowd of elegantly dressed people to filter out the very familiar face. The one face she could still picture, his eyes closed as she pulled away from their last kiss.

The only thing he'd had to do was to ask her to stay. It didn't matter where he wanted her to go, as long as it was with him, she would have done it that last night. She'd all but begged, after all, giving him every opportunity. Since he'd come back into her life as their careers intertwined, there had been a buzz under her skin. Each encounter left her frazzled, but invigorated. By the last night, mixed with the frustration she'd been feeling with Logan and the niggling insecurities about her work, she found herself unable to keep all the questions and long-held feelings for Jess back any longer. Gone were the musings of her teenaged self—the one that went breathless at the thought of being intimate with him. Now her adult self knew the realities of said carnal activities; and she was at a loss for which was harder to live with.

As he turned from his companion, she caught the sight of his jaw-line, and immediately began to cross the room, not aware of anyone else. He either wasn't looking for her or didn't know of her presence, though he looked up at her just as someone else caught her arm, just twenty feet shy of her target. Her breath caught in her throat as he looked from her eyes to the man now whispering something in her ear.

"Sorry. The rest of the night is all about you," Logan assured her.

She smiled half-heartedly. For as many times in the past she wished they could be left alone at these types of gatherings, she now was hoping that either his phone would ring or someone else just couldn't wait to talk with him alone. She resigned herself to returning to their table when suddenly there he was, right in front of her as her boyfriend's arm snaked around her waist.

"Congratulations," he said, his tone even despite his eyes playfully twinkling. She swallowed hard. She knew that look, and she wasn't sure she could take it tonight. She missed him too much, and she could not crack in front of Logan. She owed the man more than that. If Jess had wanted her, then she would have found a respectable way to talk with him. But she refused to be the woman who duped her significant other, making eyes at her lover right under his nose.

"Thank you," she nodded, looking instantly away.

"Are you familiar with her nominated work?" Logan asked Jess, prolonging her escape.

Jess smirked. "I am. It was quite an inspiring piece, I thought. You really got beneath the surface of that guy, told his story with a point of view that most people would have missed."

"My girl's very talented," Logan smiled.

"I can't say otherwise," Jess agreed.

"Do you have a speech prepared?" Rory asked, revealing his role as well.

"You're a fellow nominee?" Logan nodded. "What's your poison?"

"Fiction," Jess and Rory said at once.

"Anything I've read?" Logan asked.

Rory shook her head. "You haven't read it, but you can borrow my copy if you like."

Logan nodded. "Sure. Hey, good luck and all that. We should probably get back to our table," he said, and turned without realizing that though Rory was following him, her hand in his, she was looking back at Jess. Jess simply gave her a nod and watched as she disappeared back into the crowd.

XXXX

As it turned out, she could see his table from hers despite it being on the other side of the hall, and her attention was drawn there instead of listening to the speakers go on about whatever pieces had moved them in particular, be it from this year or years past. Rory surely had read anything they were referencing and was far more interested in sneaking glances across the room.

"Hey, who was the guy that wrote about the endangered birds that nested in orange trees?" Logan asked, his phone out under the table and a screen open.

"What?" she whispered back. "Uh, I can't remember. I need to go to the restroom. It'll be a while before they get to my category," she said, to which he simply nodded and went back to typing on his phone.

She took one last glance at Jess, who seemed to be stoically staring at the podium. She snaked her way back to the main doors, out into the hall, and pushed her back into the cool stone of the hallway. She wasn't sure why she had to leave the room so suddenly, but it felt good to take a few deep breaths and not feel so confined. The confusion, mixed with a good dose of panic, however remained. She closed her eyes and continued gasping full breaths of air until she felt her heartbeat slow from a thundering drum to a pulsing ache.

"Everything okay?"

She opened her eyes, though she didn't need to in order to identify the man who had stepped out of the banquet hall. Her hand went over her heart, to either dull the noise or to protect herself further—both seemed valid reasons.

"I'm just nervous," she stretched the truth. He didn't need to know his presence had increased her anxiety ten-fold. As if he couldn't guess without her informing him of that fact. It was no secret between them that her control level bottomed out when he was around. In fact, he was the reason she was keeping secrets.

"We are sort of the underdogs, huh?" he leaned against the wall next to her. "Can't say it's unfamiliar territory to me."

"Shouldn't you be in Akron or Sacramento or something?" she asked, despite she knew full well the night before he'd been in Chattanooga, at a small store called Twice Told Tales.

"Turns out when you get nominated for a Pulitzer, your agent deems that worthy of taking a night off from the road to put on a fancy suit and lose graciously."

"You look nice," she said, instantly wishing for her words back.

He smiled, his lips widening slowly across his face. "How nice?"

She rolled her eyes. "Stop it, Jess."

"You look beautiful," he countered.

"Thank you, but," she halted when he swiveled to stand in front of her.

"You look tan. Vacation?"

She averted her eyes. "The Caribbean," she acquiesced.

He let out a low whistle. "So you didn't tell him?"

She looked up sharply. "Why would I?"

"If I recall, you're the one that started this, Rory. You're the one that came to my bed, not the other way around."

"Yeah, well, clearly that was a mistake."

He narrowed his eyes. "You don't seem to be the type of woman who makes the same mistake twice. Are you sure you want to define it that way?"

There went her breath again. "What would you call it? You think it was a good idea?"

"I think there are necessary evils. You know that. Just because it didn't lead us anywhere doesn't mean it wasn't inevitable."

"That sounds like a fancy way of saying that I can't resist you," she frowned. "Little bit of fame went straight to your head, did it?"

He leaned in. "Can't you?"

She stiffened as she felt her body want to give into his closeness. She could smell his after-shave; she could feel the heat of his body. It would be so easy to kiss him right now, not to mention so wrong and so risky—but that isn't what stopped her.

"Relax," he said as he drew back. "I'm not going to be the one to tell your boyfriend about what happened."

"I wasn't… I mean, that's not," she struggled with her words. "Why are you out here?"

He shrugged. "You just seemed in a big hurry to get out of there. Aren't they announcing your category soon?"

She looked back at the door. "I should get back," she said, her words full of hesitation.

"Don't let me stop you."

She looked up at him, feeling near tears. She couldn't behave this way. She was much more rational than this. She feared if she kept putting all these feelings aside, she'd explode, and no doubt in a place that was most inconvenient. She certainly hadn't been able to stop herself the last time she was alone with Jess. In order to minimize the collateral damage, she should do the grown up thing and address what might be juvenile concerns.

"Is this really how it has to be?" she asked.

He cocked his head. "Rory."

"No, really. We're just going to keep running into each other randomly, saying nice things to each other in front of other people, and then fading into the background until the next time? Is that what you want?"

He sighed. "Isn't it easier that way?"

"Easy? Is this easy for you? Because it isn't for me! I think about you, Jess, all the time. I can't stop, not since," she bit her lip. She took one last look at the doors that would lead her to the main hall before taking his hand and leading him down the way to the first door she found. It opened into a small conference room, one of many in the library, darkened and, most importantly, not in use.

"Rory," he said after she leaned into him and kissed him. His hands were on her shoulders, keeping her at bay. It wasn't the reaction she'd expected. Though, with no forethought, that wasn't saying much. "You're right. We can't keep doing this," he said.

She moved to sit on the edge of a long table. Realization that it might be easy for him to end this, if it wasn't what he wanted, hit her hard. It was entirely imaginable that she was the only person that had been so traumatized since they'd last parted ways. It was more than possible that he hadn't spent every night in a different hotel room wishing she was there to help him acclimate. He'd never stuck around in the past, why would she assume things would be different now?

He took a step toward her, resting his hands on her knees. "Look at me. Come on, Rory," he said, taking one hand up to her chin in order to lift her face.

"You want to say goodbye. I understand," she said, a single tear falling down her cheek.

He kissed her cheek, where the salty tear had slowed in its path. She searched his face, surprised at his action. It was sweet, heartfelt even. Their interactions had been intense and passionate, but this was soft and genuine instead of hard and needful.

"Actually, the way I see it, we have three options," he began. Instantly hope spread through her. At least, that he had given thought to the situation they had found themselves in. "And each has its own set of problems."

"Problems," she shook her head. "Jess, I don't want to cause you any problems," she began.

"Will you just shut up and listen to me?" he said, "Because I have means of quieting you, if you can't."

She noticed the glint in his eyes, and forced herself not to smile. "Fine."

"Like I said, I see three options. First, we keep this up, but I have to admit, it's exhausting. Having to sneak into rooms and hope that your boyfriend isn't the observant type, all for a few kisses or a night if we're lucky," he shook his head. "Not my favorite option, though it does a have a few perks."

"Perks?" she asked, wondering if that's how he would describe having a near-nervous breakdown, which is what her emotional state had been like of late.

"You know," he said, grazing his fingers down her cheek, continuing slowly down the bare skin of her neck, not stopping once he met the contours of her chest. "Perks."

She blushed. "Noted. Stolen glances, that kind of thing."

"I prefer the stolen kisses myself," he said, proving his point by taking his free hand to cradle the back of her head, drawing her in to press his lips against hers. If he was trying to torture her with these measures, he was going to succeed.

"The second option," he murmured in her ear, "is that you uproot your life, dump the rich boyfriend who takes you on fancy trips, put your career in a major setback, and we try our damnedest not to screw this up on our own."

If he was truly making a plea for her to choose him, she couldn't be sure. Right now it seemed so hypothetical, and until it was him laying it out on the table for her, she refused to truly envision it. Though to be honest, when she pictured it, it all seemed too perfect.

"The issues from that, I'm sure, are obvious," he continued.

"Our being together?" she reiterated.

"It's not that simple, Rory. No matter how it feels now, when we're like this—you have to dump on the reality. Breaking up with this guy, who I'm sure on some level you care about, or else you wouldn't still be with. Your career wouldn't be over, but it'd take a huge hit once his father got word of your split. These guys never just roll over and accept defeat, even if they don't try to take you down," he guessed, what she took to be correctly. Logan, though not insanely possessive, wouldn't just let her walk away with no explanation. "And that's no small thing to put aside."

She nodded. He was right, perhaps, but she didn't want to admit that. Not right now. Not when there was still a third option.

"Lastly," he sighed. "We say goodbye."

She frowned. "Goodbye?"

He stepped back. "Because honestly, it's the smartest thing to do. It eliminates all the wondering, the hoping, the tension. Should we run into one another, we know that we don't have to be cordial or wonder if the other person is up for the chase. We just don't bother. It's like we're in a room with total strangers. We move on."

Panic set in once again. Her heart was in her throat, and she knew that they were running out of time. "Can you do that?"

He shrugged. "I'm not saying any of the options will be easy. But we have to decide. Damn it, Rory, I just need us to agree. Even if we agree to disagree. I can't keep seeing you and pretending that I don't want to touch you, wondering if you hate me or need me. I just want the questions gone."

She closed her eyes. She could not decide this now, in the few moments before she had to return to the awards ceremony to find out their other fates. "I…," she began, but she'd never been good at snap decisions. "I need time. You're right, we do have to decide, but I'm not ready," she looked at him pleadingly. "Unless you want to choose."

"You can't put this gun to my head. My life isn't going to change much, no matter what you decide. If you want to be with me, then you can't be with him. If you don't want to be with me, then I'm not going to live my life differently. The only thing I can't abide is the secrets. It was one thing, back then, but now… it's not who I am now. I'm no saint, but it's too damn hard. I'll take the first option off the menu, which leaves you two. If you want some time, you know where to find me."

"Wait," she cried out as he turned for the door. "I can't make one decision and know it's what we both want. I need to know what you want."

He crossed back to her, grabbed hold of her and kissed her. It was a kiss that shook her; it had depth and impact like an earthquake. She would feel it's aftershocks for some time. She held on tight to him, wondering if he could save her. It was all she could do, to ride it out, and reciprocate in kind. When he paused for breath, his forehead rested against hers.

"It's an honor just to be nominated," he said, giving her a smile before straightening up.

She reached out to fix his tie. "After all these years, I finally got to see you in a tux."

"Good things come to those who wait," he said, grabbing the door to hold it open for her. She straightened her dress, ran a hand through her hair, and walked out into the hall. "Just do me one dignity. Don't make me wait so long. Getting over you, it takes…," he stopped, searching for words. This man was never short of sufficient nomenclatures.

She stopped next to him. "I know. Trust me, I know."

They heard her category being called through the heavy doors they were paused in front of. "I guess I should get back in there."

"Good luck," he nodded.

"You too," she said with all sincerity, as she walked back into her surreal reality, back to the table next to the man she had arrived with, ready to be handed a certain fate. Her turn to choose the consequence the next part of her life would come soon enough—she decided to relish the moment of letting someone else decide, no matter the outcome.