AN: I had almost forgotten about this story until anettbianka made a little request to read chapter two. I know it's been forever; I'd suggest rereading the first chapter if this one seems iffy.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, all the rights belong to Amy Sherman-Paladino; I do not own the chapter title, it belongs to the artist Cat Power.

Chapter Two: The Fate of the Human Carbine

Rory locked the door behind her on her way inside, turning the deadbolt and shrugging off her jacket. It was her second date with Dean in the past week. They'd gone to his place for dinner and then he'd taken her out for ice cream. He had walked her home, all seven blocks, and kissed her goodnight. She still wondered if it was Dean who didn't know how to kiss or her.

The porch light had been left on, a fact that had interfered with her concentration during the kiss; any of her neighbors could look out their dining room window and see Rory Gilmore fumbling on the front porch with her boyfriend. She tried to keep it brief, pecking him on the cheek and promising to meet up the next day for coffee.

She could see the blue glow of the television from her place in the hallway. Rory was almost certain that her mom and Luke both had to work, seeing as it was a Wednesday, so she wandered into the living room to investigate.

Jess was lying sideways on the floor with the remote less than an arms length away. His close and only friend, Lex, sat on the couch with her jacket thrown over the arm. Over the pitch of the crackly audio system she could hear them talking. An old rendition of A Clockwork Orange fumbled through the speakers, the sound quality less than stellar due to age. Rory didn't find their movie choice unusual; she'd seen Jess' worn copy of the book, margins filled and pages dog-eared. It was the type of novel that he would be drawn to, Rory evaluated, Jess loved anything about corrupt governments, and sixties literature.

Lex was braiding her honey-colored hair thoughtfully while watching the film. "This book is unreadable," she nodded her head to the copy she had apparently borrowed. "At least part one."

Jess, it seemed, was tired. He yawned. "Burgess practically invented a new language for the book. Read it a few more times."

"I could barely get through it the first time. Although, I might use it for my book report. I have a feeling that Mrs. Landon will be easily impressed."

Jess snorted. "That woman wouldn't know good literature if it spit in her face."

"Are you calling yourself good literature, Jess?" Lex kidded.

Rory interjected their conversation by broaching a question. "Hey Jess," he rolled over and greeted her. "Do you know when the other half of the family unit will be back?"

"Lorelai will probably waltz in just after nine. Apparently she's got a group of Chinese businessmen to attend to."

"Right," Rory toyed with the hem of her sleeve. She turned from Jess and Lex to make the long trek upstairs.

It was at that moment, with her pale hand on the railing and the German sequence pictures spaced evenly along the wall of the staircase, when she felt indescribably, enormously lonely. The house was old and creaking, the boards in the stairs gave slightly under her feet but not enough to cause alarm. Luke had adopted a phrase for the aging carpentry when he had started the renovations, a term that he'd picked up as a kid working in his father's hardware store: singing boards. Rory traced the off-white chair railing that had been added sometime in the twenties, the color had been duplicated and painted over only a few years before. She kept her ears off the conversation Jess and Lex were having downstairs.

She was exhausted. Tired and slightly achy, Rory wanted to crawl into bed and pull the quilt past her thin shoulders. But she needed a bath, a long one. It had always been her policy to at least shower before bed.

The bathroom that she shared with Jess could only be reached through their separate bedrooms. She flicked the light switch on and started up the hot water in the shower, taking her time to undress so the water would grow gradually warmer. She kicked her sneakers off by the door and pulled her sweater over her head, leaving it in the hamper along with her jeans and socks.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, tugging a little at her blue cotton underwear and matching bra. When she turned sixteen her mother had bought her lots of matching sets such as the one she wore. Rory knew that it always looked better to be prepared, to wear the right kind of thing when a boy saw what was underneath her clothes. She'd had the underwear for a year and never found a valid reason to use it.

Rory reached behind her back and undid the clasp there, removing her bra while the shower ran in the background. She examined her breasts in the mirror, her vision clouded slightly by the condensation that had begun to gather on its glassy, reflective surface.

It wasn't that she didn't have them, she chided, they simply weren't what she'd imagined them to be. Women in films and photographs had always appeared soft and natural, like they didn't posses the kind of bones and organs that all humans did. She poked at the few ribs she could see in her abdomen, running her hand across her stomach and removing her panties, pulling them past her thighs to gather on the tile floor in a little pile.

If Jess saw me without my clothes, she wondered, stepping into the shower and letting the water soak into her hair, would he want me?

--

"Oh jeez," Lex said gruesomely. "That's . . . not cool."

Jess was fairly immune to violence in movies. He gave her a funny look. "What, it's not like it's real or anything."

"Wasn't this banned in the UK?"

He rolled his eyes, "Yeah, like thirty years ago."

Lex sneakily reached for the remote, "Lets do something else."

Jess obliged and moved to turn on the living room light. It wasn't all that late. They still had close to an hour before Lorelai or Luke would be home.

Lex stretched and adjusted her skirt. "Sorry for being such a girl," she said cheekily.

His smirk was hidden while he put the move things away. "S'okay. I doubt I'd like you as much if you weren't." He joked.

"That's right, because you're undiscriminating in your enjoyment of female company."

"Not true," he fired back.

Lex worked to braid the other side of her hair. "Yes, you have an exception."

Jess sat down next to his friend, suddenly curious. "Who would you say is my exception?"

She finished up and looked her friend in the eye. "Rory Gilmore," she answered.

Jess remained indifferent.

Lex went on to explain. "Do you ever actually talk to her? She's a pretty girl. I just find it kind of surprising that you two haven't . . . "

"What?" he asked.

"Well, I don't know, Jess," Lex tried to play innocent. "You live in the same house, your bedrooms are right next to each other." She had to stop herself from laughing. "It just seems strange that you haven't done anything."

Jess regarded her purposefully. "You mean, as a matter of convenience."

Lex shrugged. "Forget what I just said. I'm only making fun. I mean, seriously, that girl is perfectly sexless, but it doesn't make sense, not to me anyway."

He attempted to keep his tone neutral. "Maybe she doesn't feel like chasing after guys the way you do," he gave her a playful look.

She glanced down at her watch. "Well, look at the time. I should really get going," she said sarcastically.

"Why? It's eight-fifteen."

"Maybe my mom's making apple pie or something."

"You don't live with your mother," Jess pointed out.

Lex made a flippant gesture with her caramel colored hand while she grabbed her coat. "Maybe my father-figure is making apple pie or something."

She was a strange girl, Jess concluded. Lex let herself out while humming Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, a tune he recognized from the film.

He sighed at the sound of the door closing. "Yeah," he said, "or something."

--

Fall set in quickly after the hot spell in September. Rory was grateful for its arrival; she was eager to descend more deeply into the school year and closer to the holidays. Halloween came and went, bringing parties and the death of one of her classmates at Chilton due to a bit of reckless driving. Unlike her fellow seventeen-year-olds, Rory spent the evening at her boyfriend's house watching scary movies and eating candy-corn.

However chastely her relationship with Dean had started, she was beginning to notice a change.

It wasn't obvious at first. They still kept up the handholding and the methodically planed dates and the thoughtful gestures and phone calls that had become a staple of their relationship, but Rory knew that Dean was getting a little restless. They had been together for around a month and they hadn't moved passed the kissing stage. During any other time period in history their interactions would have been seen as fairly appropriate, perhaps even a little scandalous. However, Rory was a smart girl, and she understood that if she wanted to keep Dean interested in her at all she would have to change something.

Needless to say, it was the first time she actually considered using the underwear sets her mother had bough for her.

Her theories about sex and teenagers were further enforced when she accidentally walked in on Jess with Amelia Huxley. She was only trying to return a book that he'd let her borrow, a recently bought copy of Between the Bridge and the River, but she hadn't thought to knock. She blushed a fierce shade of crimson, squeaking out "I'm so sorry" while tossing his book in a chair by the door while Amelia tried to cover her bare chest.

Jess had calmly talked to her a few hours later, explaining that it didn't bother him and that she shouldn't be embarrassed, it was an honest accident. She picked up on his sincerity but it didn't lessen the awkwardness that she felt separating them. Rory hadn't been able to look him in the eye for over a week.

In a way she supposed that was better for the both of them. Jess didn't seem to mind Rory's newly implanted evasion; he made no remark on her closed-lipped policy of minimal contact. She assumed that it would be better for both parties if she decidedly slipped into the background.

--

Her vision was blurry, her eyes stung with tears while she thumped up the stairs and into her bedroom.

It was just past seven o'clock, the frozen air still clinging to her skin was cold and frostbitten from the November chill. Tears slid down Rory's wind-chapped skin while she shut the door to her bedroom roughly, uncaring about the loud, reverberating sound that it made.

She threw her coat on the floor—like shedding a ragged layer of skin—and kicked off her saddle shoes in the process. She was still in her Chilton uniform, the pastel blue button down and plain ensemble. Her hands were cold and almost raw from the fierce wind; she had walked all the way home from Dean's house by herself.

Rory had made up her bed that morning before she went to school. Her quilt was smooth and clean, the folds and creases in the sheets lain with military precision. She sank down on the mattress, a loathsome visitor in the sickbed of her former self.

Fidgeting, she rose quickly and went into the bathroom to pursue her toothbrush and some mouthwash. The Listerine was harsh and it burned her tongue a little but she ignored it, sterilizing her mouth multiple times. When she was finished she screwed the cap back on and left it on the counter, the lone product on her side of the double-sink.

During the course of her walk Rory had taken time to think, to analyze. The frigid air had cooled any lingering vestige of the chagrin she'd experienced a few moments prior. The silence had created the perfect atmosphere for negative internal dialogue.

Suck it up, an internal pun, how cheeky, she'd responded, why else would he be interested in you?

I am Esther Greenwood, Rory had thought, here I stand, summoning my little chorus of voices.

It had started out as another matter entirely. They had been watching a movie in his bedroom, kissing, an almost routine activity. Rory didn't particularly enjoy it but she knew that kissing was what couples did, so she let Dean touch her hair and her face, pulling away every so often so they could surface for air.

He'd kissed the spot between her cheek and jaw-line; which, she thought, felt better than when he kissed her on the mouth. It was an expanse that Dean rarely ventured into.

She knew what was happening when he guided her hand below his belt buckle.

Her first reaction was nervousness, fear. She began to feel slightly sick but she thought that it wasn't the time or place to voice such matters.

In a twisted, roundabout way, she wanted to prove to herself that, yes, she could do all the things that normal girls did. Rory tried to hold onto that thought, but it was difficult. When she remembered the incident while walking home she recalled few details. Her mind had already begun to erase what had happened but she couldn't get the bitter taste of Dean completely out of her mouth.

Rory pressed her cheek against her pillow, squishing it in her arms. In her head she imagined the disapproving glances emanating from her furniture. The verbose rationalization she'd receive from her dresser, the silver-lining cliché she'd stomach from her pink deer lamp, the harsh yet informative response from her full-length mirror—

"Rory."

She looked up at the sound of her name.

Jess stood in the doorway between her bedroom and the bathroom. She tried to hide her face but sat up when he moved to join her on the bed.

"Hey," Jess touched one of her softly curving shoulders, brushing her hair aside. "What's wrong? Are you hurt, do I need to get you something?"

"No," she answered. She allowed his hand to remain on her shoulder. She was upset but a small part of her eagerly leaned into his touch. "I . . . I just," she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself, shrugging off some of her hysteria. "I could have said no and I didn't because I'm stupid and I want . . . " Rory broke off, tucking her hair behind her ear self-consciously.

"You're not stupid," Jess said, blunt like an unsharpened razor. "Trust me, I would have noticed by now if you were."

She made a noise halfway between a sob and giggle.

"Rory," he touched her cheek, trying to get her to look him in the eye. "What did you do?"

She sniffled. "I don't, I'm not, please don't judge me." Rory looked up at Jess. "Promise that you won't think of me as some silly girl that does whatever she's told, I do have a mind of my own—"

"I'm sure it's a very nice mind," Jess tried to joke.

"You're funny," she said miserably. Their legs were touching. He had his arm around her and a frantic voice in her mind was instructing her not to ruin this.

"Can we just . . . " she looked down, her face slightly hot. She hoped that he'd think it was just from the crying.

"What?" Jess said. He was looking at her, his expressive brown eyes trained on her face; she had his attention but she was unsure of what to do with it.

Rory leaned towards him and tilted her head, touching her lips to his. She was a little unsure of what to do with her hands so she kept them in her lap, her palms burning. Jess quickly took control of what she only knew how to initiate. He held her face with his hands, his fingers cupping her jaw while he gently parted her lips. She gave a small moan when he took her lower lip between his teeth.

It had started out as another matter entirely.

She felt herself being slowly lowered, her skin feeling increasingly warmer the longer he touched her, Jess' arms around her waist, the crush of her chestnut curls against the now rumpled linen. Jess kissed her sveltely neck, causing her to suck in a breath of air. "Rory," he said against her skin, moving up so he could kiss her mouth.

The prevalent weight of his abdomen above her jarred her senses, causing her eyelids to flutter open She was breathing heavily. Jess slowed his movements, stroking her cheek, afraid that he would somehow hurt her. "I, we . . . Rory, we shouldn't be doing this."

It didn't escape her that he said shouldn't instead of can't.

She had never gone very far with anyone before, let alone Jess, who she had unconsciously been attracted to since their first meeting. Rory had no idea how to ask for what she wanted; swallowing, she turned away, her eyes prickling. She was terrified of what it would mean if he rejected her now, like this.

"I'm sorry," Rory said, disconnecting herself and casting his presence aside.