Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing...
Summary: Rory Gilmore has been running her grandfather's publishing house for a year now. She is surprised when she gets a phone call by her mother's ex-boyfriend Luke who asks her a certain favor. Starting from there, her life starts to alter rapidly. AU
A/N 1: Regards (if any) should go to LitLove who inspired this in the first place, and to my wonderful, wonderful beta - Ara May... you make it worth it, ladies, for which I'm truly grateful!
A/N 2: Okay, guys, I know I'm taking my chances a bit too far, but not only did I 'kill' Lorelai, but I also changed the title of Jess' first book /'quotes' of which are given in italic and surrounded by '...' /. If this could serve any defense, I'm not making random changes, I've got a point /I'd even say a point, phew!/. Hope it meets the expectations;) But even if it doesn't, well, sorry for wasting your time, I guess... And yet...
I always hope you enjoy.
...
You know, sometimes I see you. I recognize a profile in a crowd, hear someone's laughter two streets away, and it's you. Not you you, but a bit you. 'Cause you're there. Here. You're still a bit everywhere.
I learned to tap dance. Remember how ridiculous I always thought those tap dance lessons you took were? Do you know that the average age of people attending those classes is fifty-seven years four months? I do. Calculated it, during one of the breaks. No kidding. Fifty-seven years four months, and only because Mister and Missis Burnsteen had brought their granddaughter. Who's nine.
Sometimes I tap dance. In the living room. Or in the corridor. But mostly in the living room. Did you know the acoustic between the sofa and the TV is quite better than the one in the kitchen?
...
Rory licked a lip and turned another page, sipping from her coffee.
...
- Don't look at me like that.
- Like what.
- Like you've got chalk in your mouth.
- Okay.
- Do you... Do you have feelings for me?
- I don't think there is a single feeling that I don't have for you.
...
Time went by and Rory stifled a yawn, throwing a glance at the Cartier on her wrist. A quarter to midnight. Cinderella wasn't late because of a dance. She was late because she had found a book in the castle's library she just couldn't put down.
She turned another page, making a mental note to order a more comfortable sofa for the Gilmore library first thing tomorrow morning.
...
It's easier for heroes. It's easier for tiny little suckers, them, heroes. 'Cause they do one thing right. One thing at the right moment. A moment hardly convenient for them, but they do one thing right. Make one decision. One by one. One step at a time. No rush, no fuckin' tiny obstacles. Big things, big obstacles, big heroism, big deal...
I swear my heart was scraping the sky. That cherry blossomed afternoon, a quarter before supper, my heart was scraping the sky, leaving those puffy white lines, slowly turning purple as the sun went down.
Sometimes you feel ridiculously happy. And sometimes you survive it and heal afterwards. 'Cause the safe way to see happiness is when it's gone, in the rear view mirror. The sky cracks open every time I try to breathe that cherry blossom out, it cracks along white-and-purple lines.
And that's why it's easier for heroes. They do one thing properly. Ordinary people have to do right every day. That's why I could really use a chance at the being heroic thing. Because heroes are told they're doing okay, and ordinary people aren't. Yeah, guess heroes are often told that far later than they needed to. Sometimes too late, I s'ppose. But ordinary people aren't told. Ever. At all.
And I relive it. Every night. And there, in my head, I save her. I save her every time. A thousand different scenarios, but I always save her.
...
'Now, come on, were you reading some really sad book?'
Rory snapped out of the pages and took a breath in, then let it out shakily. She blinked three times, her eyes still fixed on the same word, regaining her cool. It took her less than three seconds to put a stone-like expression on and pin him to the book shelf behind him, cold blue turning colder as she looked up from the sofa.
'Your working time is past gone, I think,' she said evenly, putting the book down and crossing her hands before her chest, the sides of her palms sensing the wild thumping of her heart against her ribs.
There had to be a law against library creeps. She would have to add one to the contracts.
What was the guy's name, again? Something Italian. Mer... Mur... Didn't it rhyme with Soprano? Aargh, couldn't she just call him Luke's nephew and get it over with? And what was he doing here, in her firm's library, at this hour?
She narrowed her eyes, waiting for his answer.
'Coming to work early and that's what I get? Huh. I was rather hoping for a promotion,' he smirked with a one-shoulder shrug.
'You weren't coming to work,' she shook her head and rolled her eyes dismissively. Her eyes fell on the book cover. Mariano! Right. Jess Mariano. Library Creep Jess Mariano.
'Written by Jess Mariano,' his smirk grew wider as he stepped closer to the small table where she had put the book down. 'Must be quite something to keep you until four,' he added with a provocative quirk of his dark eyebrows.
Cocky bastard.
'Hemingway? Really?' Rory challenged, nodding at the book in his hand, crossing her long legs as she rested back in the sofa. 'Looking for a cure of insomnia, aren't we?' she suggested bluntly, giving him a look that usually made most of her employees wish to be insects, scattering out of the room.
'Huh. And hit a dead end. Both of us.'
You really are going to get as much of the situation as you can, aren't you? Okay, so I was reading your book. Bite me.
'I believe you mentioned something about work,' she said and took her book (well, his book, technically, whatever), making herself comfortable on the sofa, fighting a smirk at the corners of her lips.
Score, Hemingway!
'My working time hasn't even started,' he pointed out with mock innocence, obviously finding their conversation much more amusing than going back to his cubicle.
You can't be for real, can you?
'Are you still here?' she bobbed her head to the side, eyebrows high, her voice somewhere between command and irritation.
'Okay, okay. Jeez.' He shook his head and walked away, a smirk still lingering his lips.
The bastard was getting on her nerves and giving her the creeps... But he knew how to write. Her eyes fell back on the book in her lap.
'Nostalgia for Dummies'. Written by Jess Mariano.
There was something about his book. It wasn't like anything she had read before. It didn't remind her of anything, yet it reminded her of everything, felt so damn familiar. An indistinguishable feeling of recognition she couldn't place anywhere in particular, but that simply floated over the pages.
At first, when Stacy handed her the book and Rory read the title, she thought it was a bit lame. Not very, but lame enough to make her expect some pseudo-deep philosophically crusted crap, 'musings of the wondering mind', 'lullabies for a broken heart' or something flimsy like that. People crying their hearts out while taking a hot tub or socializing over a glass of Martini on a charity event. But it wasn't. His book wasn't any of that. Not this way. It was nothing she had expected, yet it somehow got too deep, hit too close. And she couldn't tell why.
Maybe it was just... real. The characters, the emotions in it were somehow correct, they rang true, and in a way, that got to her.
'I don't wanna hear anything other than 'Yes, Rory',' Rory began before she had even approached Stacy's desk.
Her voice was low and even, which could mean only one thing. She was gonna explode any second now.
Stacy took a deep breath in and kept it for a little longer before letting it out slowly.
'My office,' Rory hissed as she passed by, and flashed through the glass doors of her office.
Stacy followed reluctantly.
'Stacy, you've been working for this firm for how long, fourteen years?' Rory began in a cold, rigid voice, leaning forward, palms resting flat over her desk.
Stacy kept silent, crossing her hands before her chest self-consciously with a stoic grimace, waiting for her boss to spill the beans. Being Rory Gilmore's secretary needed deep understanding of human nature and unearthly patience. Stacy wouldn't be working here for all these years if she didn't have both. She knew Rory would be bitching around for a while, pouring out all venom and stuff, but she had never been unfair.
'You know where I'm coming from now, Stacy?' Rory's voice cut like steel, unwavering. 'The board of directors has just massacred me for taking a certain bank credit so that this firm could get the extension we've been trying for in the last three years,' she continued. 'For making such a decision and keeping it from them.'
For a moment Stacy's jaw dropped. This was big.
'Rory...'
'Don't. Don't you ever try to deny it,' Rory hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously. 'I need to hear it from you. How did it happen? What did he use to get to you?'
'What?' Stacy blinked, feeling as if she had just missed some crucial part of this conversation.
'Don't pull this act on me, Stacy!' Rory raised her voice and her finely manicured fist thumped over the bunch of files on her desk, making Stacy flinch and straighten up even more. 'For God's sake, should it have been him? Of all people, of all greedy, manipulative directors, should it have been him, Stacy?'
Stormy, unsettled blue sought bay at amber.
Stacy's throat felt dry.
'Rory, I didn't...' her voice quavered. 'Do you really believe I would... Jesus, Rory!'
'There was no way he found out without your help,' Rory shook her head slowly and her hand felt for the swivel chair behind her as she sat down. There, for a brief moment, Rory Gilmore, Queen of Publishing business, looked like a helpless child unable to finish a puzzle. Then the moment was gone and blue turned ten degrees colder, a finely outlined jaw tightening.
'Well, obviously, he found a way,' Stacy said firmly, lifting her trembling chin, getting ready for this fight, because this was gonna be a tough one.
'Oh, damn it,' Stacy huffed as she saw him on the roof, smoking a cigarette. She turned to her side to wipe her eyes before she looked ahead again.
'Hey yourself,' Jess acknowledged her with a slow nod, not really sure what was happening.
He studied her face. She was clearly upset, a strand of her carrot colored hair stuck to her damp cheek, her mascara smudged, amber eyes unusually shiny. She surely wasn't looking for company when she climbed up here. But then again, if she decided to walk back into the office, there was no way she would be surrounded by less then a dozen of people, everyone trying to make her tell what's going on, as to ensure another fun ride on the firm gossip train first thing tomorrow morning.
Stacy seemed to have reached to the same conclusion herself, because she took in a slow breath and walked over to the other end of the safety rail.
'Didn't know this was the designated smoking corner,' she said sulkily, her voice marked by irritation.
'It is,' Jess affirmed seriously and took another drag of his cigarette, narrowing his eyes. 'The other corner was already taken for Crying Your Heart Out sessions,' he added with a nonchalant shrug.
Stacy's lips shifted, reluctant at the beginning but then growing bolder into a smile.
They stood silently, each of them looking ahead at the street traffic and neighboring rooftops, before she turned to look at him.
'Can I join your corner?' she asked in a considerably more friendly tone.
'Sure as hell I'm not joining yours,' Jess smirked, giving her a sideways glance.
She moved to rest her elbows on the rail next to his.
'I think I just quit.' Stacy admitted stiffly.
'Huh.'
'Won't you ask me why?' she threw him a half-amused sideways glance.
'I know why,' Jess shrugged, blowing out a small smoke circle.
'Oh.' She held back a chuckle.
Sure you do, weird smart boy.
''Cause she's a bitch,' Jess stated simply, lifting his smoke before his lips, making her lips still in a silent 'Oh.'
'And you're not,' he elaborated before taking another drag, narrowing his eyes.
'And you know that, too,' Stacy smiled and shook her head.
'That's because I'm omniscient,' he pointed out wisely.
'I adore her,' Stacy admitted thoughtfully, her voice traced by a certain kind of sadness. The one you've got when you've tried too hard for too long. 'She's the closest thing to a friend that I have.'
'Yeah. Quitting makes much more sense now.'
'And she could be a cutthroat bitch.'
'Hey, I thought you adored her,' Jess chuckled.
'I do.' Stacy swallowed hard and it was probably the smoke of his cigarette that made her eyes tingle. 'I just don't like her anymore.'
I'm sure I saw something beyond Mary Sue and Gary Stu in your work. You see, you've got a story. A good story. But beyond that, you need some hell good writing to measure up to this story, and you need characters. Explore the characters, give them some dimension, at least two of them, actually, see how far they could get in search of...
'Boss alert,' Matt rolled his swivel towards Jess' desk. Jesus, this guy had to stop doing this, it was starting to get on Jess' nerves.
Jess' fingers paused over the keys of his laptop and he breathed out through his nose. This review was giving him a hard time even without his ginger-haired colleague messing with his personal space that counted to less than a hundred square feet.
'False alarm, she's gone,' Matt chirped, winning a withering stare.
'There's been some speculation,' Chris' swivel chair somehow materialized next to Jess's, 'that Evil Overlord is preparing to take over,' Chris informed with a meaningful nod. 'Ever heard of Mitchum Huntzberger?'
'Oh, you're so gonna love Rory if you meet Mitch, she's Little Red Riding Hood, when compared to him,' Matt shook his head knowingly. 'He's the rudimentary evil in publishing business, if you get what I mean,' he pointed out in a low voice.
'They used to be partners with Rory's grandfather,' Chris took on, 'but then Mitchum made the epic fail when he lost some really huge deals and Richard became King of the Castle.'
'When he lost his daughter, Rory's mother, he took on Rory's education, so that she could become Her Highness one day, which she managed pretty well, until now...' Matt trailed off, making a hand gesture in the air to add an air of suspense, or at least he hoped so.
'But Mitch has always been there, lurking in the shadows,' Chris finished with a nod, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully.
'Are you guys trained how to finish each other's sentences?' Jess huffed sarcastically, closing his eyes, rubbing his temples with his point and middle finger.
'Look,' he continued diplomatically, 'you're both breathing my air, and,' he raised his point finger as they opened their mouths to reply, 'before any of you initiates another fascinating fill-me-in conversation, there is a pretty serious chance that my 'I'll buy you coffees if you don't piss me off' offer expires. So, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me...' he finished mock apologetically, bobbing his head to the right in an indication for them to go back to their desks.
Matt and Chris gave him a dirty look and moved back to their working places. Jess had established some kind of routine with those two. It was a little similar to yo-yo dynamics, and could be summarized in two main steps. One, they came and buggered him while trying to update him on office gossip. Two, he told them to piss off, sometimes trying to bribe them into leaving him alone with some food or coffee (once he used a stapler, trying to scare Chris back onto his cubicle, but was that guy tough...).
Of course, he would rather die than admit it, but that first day, two months ago, Matt had been right. In a way. Jess was starting to get used to that office mythology thing, it somehow drew you in, no matter how much you initially hated it. Hating it while being in the center of it all, well, it just grew on you.
'Have you ever thought that maybe she just don't have what it takes?'
Mitchum and Logan Huntzberger were standing in the middle of Mitchum's office, facing each other fervently. Father and son, both of them sure that the other is utterly mistaken.
'You really don't get it, do you?' Logan sighed, making a nervous gesture with his left hand. 'Literati is her. It's Richard and it's her. Never been us.'
'I can't believe you are so blind not to see what great opportunity this is for you. For us. Are you afraid of taking more responsibility, Logan?' Mitchum narrowed his eyes, well aware of his son's disability to show courage and grow a backbone.
'This is a mistake,' Logan shook his head wearily.
'You're unbelievable,' Mitchum's voice rose an octave higher, his face getting dangerously red with each next word. 'How is getting control over one of New York's major publishing companies a mistake, eh? Logan?'
'It's everything she's got!' Logan's voice rose, too, wavering with indignation. 'This is wrong.'
Suddenly Mitchum's laughter filled the room. Logan gave him a weird look.
'You...' Mitchum snorted, trying to keep his breathing regular despite the laughs, 'you actually care about that pretentious bitch, don't you?' he shook his head disbelievingly. 'Well, my son, you'll change your mind once you see the real face of a Gilmore. Gilmores don't have friends, Logan. Remember my word.'
'I know, I know, but can't you tell them next time that my laptop lacked an 'l' and I had to fill in the blanks somehow, so it all should be read as 'Luck, luck, luck!'?'
'What's wrong with you?' Rory's eyebrows knit scornfully.
'I was just saying what everybody thought,' Jess put his hands up in defense. 'I don't even know why you insisted that I was present on this meeting.'
'Because she came in here, ready to sue... which she most probably will, after your little fiasco,' Rory crossed her hands before her chest in disapproval.
Jess' hands made a semicircle in the air.
'She's just another whined up, loaded socialite who thought she could be the next Bushnell. I was just being honest.'
'You were being an ass,' Rory clarified.
'Huh, what do you know, I'm a complicated man,' he countered, pacing to and fro before her desk.
'Still an ass.'
'Okay, then, I'm a complicated ass,' he huffed, giving up. Then he paused, grasping a certain shift in her expression.
'Wait a sec...' he narrowed his eyes in a moment of enlightenment. 'You wanted me to be an ass, so that you could wash your hands with me and not have to tell her all that crap yourself!' he pointed a finger at her, catching her a little off guard before she could compose her features back into a dismissive grimace.
'Oh, don't go ballistic,' she rolled her eyes, but Jess slapped his forehead.
'Jeez, you really did, didn't you?'
Crazy, bossy, manipulative...
'Behind every great good cop is an even greater bad cop, Watson.'
... devious...
'Come on, now, cubicle,' she chirped, her voice suddenly a cheerful timbre.
'Huh?'
'Cubicle, or you're gonna be grounded!'
He looked at her like she were crazy. She gave him a dead-serious look right before she laughed. He gazed at her dumbfound for a second before he chuckled himself. Her voice sounded different when she laughed. It was actually contagious. Made her look more full of life and more... human.
Jess shook his head and left the room, wondering if maybe Snow Queen Gilmore could turn out to be more than what met the eye. He remembered something he had come across lately, while looking through a Danish fairytale anthology, 'Sometimes cruel, sometimes kind. Like winter. In most stories she seems to like cute young male mortals.'
As he got into the elevator, he let out a low chuckle. Snow Queen. Huh!
'Some day I'll find myself a good girl and marry her,' Tristan said, sitting at the foot of the bed. His voice was sullen, a little nostalgic, maybe.
Rory continued dressing up in front of the mirror, her look fixed on her loose dress strap.
'What do you think,' he asked, but it wasn't a question, really. He knew the answer. Just needed to hear her say it.
Rory paused, her fingers at the zipper bottom. Then she drag the tag up, her fingers draping along the silky fabric of the dress.
Her eyes caught his in the mirror before she turned around and made a step towards the bed, lifting a palm to his cheek.
'You're a great man, Tris,' she said softly, 'and you deserve to be happy,' her eyes kept his as he looked up at her, a glint of hope crossing his face. 'When the time comes, I'll give my congrats.'
I won't be that girl, Tris.
His face fell. Just a little, because he wasn't really surprised.
'I'll say how happy I am for you,' she continued calmly, methodically. Like closing a deal. 'And I will be. But I'll make a fine excuse and won't be present at the wedding. But I will be. Happy for you. I will.'
Mitchum Huntzberger stood by the window of his office and sighed contently.
'Norma,' he bent over the speaker phone on his desk, 'Prepare to pack, we're gonna be moving much sooner than I'd planned to.'
Let me know what you think?