A/N- And now for something a bit different. ..for some reason, these points of view demanded to be told. It threw me for a bit, before I gave in and wrote it.

Disclaimer- Gilmore Girls and the characters associated with the show are not mine.

Chapter Twenty Four – Exes and others

Oh God, I don't know what to do! But I think it's bad, real bad. Marcy and Tony were hanging out, and Jess walked in. Tony got real stiff, stood up, and said "What the hell are you doing here, Dodger?" And Jess answered! He said he lived here, and went into his room. Tony watched the door for a minute before turning to me with a really creepy smile. He knocked on Jess's door, and they had a hushed conversation before he shook Jess's hand! After Tony left, I pumped Marcy for information, and she couldn't give me much, but my baby is working for one of the meanest enforcers in New York. What do I do? This is bad right?

Across the country, the news of Liz's death was making ripples.

In a quirky house filled with dogs, Jimmy was in a funk, and Sasha was getting tired of it. She'd let him mope around, listening to large amounts of Stevie Nicks and smoking weed, but it was time to stop. She'd tried coaxing him, bullying him, and leaving him alone. Finally, she shoved into the room where he kept his books and cds.

"Jimmy, Sally from down the street, has some frequent flyer miles. Why don't you go to the funeral?" Sasha said, knowing Jimmy would say no.

"No, I don't want to do that," Jimmy replied, looking startled and she could tell the first glimmerings of being in trouble with her were stirring through his brain.

"I think the funeral would give you closure. You're obviously going through something here, and you don't seem to want me involved in your process," Sasha said, slamming the office door closed behind her and stomping into the kitchen, driving the "Jimmy, you've messed up" lesson home.

"Sash, don't be that way. Come on honey, you know I don't talk," Jimmy replied, chasing his wife into the kitchen.

"Well you better try to fill me in, because I don't get this much grief about a woman you couldn't stand to be around. A woman you fled, leaving your son behind."

"That's it! Right there, Sash. Maybe if I hadn't left things would have been different for her. Maybe she wouldn't have turned out the way she did. I don't play what if very often, I know it's like relish without the dog, but God Sasha! Could I have made a difference?" Jimmy asked, slamming his fist down onto the counter. Sasha was surprised. Not that he felt this way, but the fact he revealed it.

"No Jimmy. I don't think you could have made a difference. From what you've told me, Liz was pretty set in her ways. Her character was formed long before you met her. As far as Jess goes, you know how I feel about what you did. Leaving. And I hate to say it, but you should feel remorse and guilt. Not for getting away from her, but for not being there for him. You should have manned up and stayed in touch. Protected him," Sasha said. Jimmy cringed, but it wasn't anything new. Sasha had said all of it before.

"I know. I don't want to go to the funeral, but can we change our plans and go to Stars Hollow for Thanksgiving? Maybe even go early, spend some extra time there?" Jimmy asked, moving behind Sasha to massage her shoulders.

In New York, a few blocks from Washington Square Park, a group of regulars sat at the bar watching the game. Not that they were really watching. The game was just today's excuse to be in the bar. The bartender was drying off some mugs, lost in his own thoughts.

"Joe, don't you think the glass is clean enough? Come on man, wake up. I need a refill," Mark said, tapping his empty bottle onto the old gouged wood. "What's gotten in to you?"

"Nothing, I mean, I just found out my ex, Lizzie, died a couple of days ago. I used to keep tabs on her, 'cause she once told me she was pregnant, but I never heard of a kid the right age, so I guess she lied, but anyway, she's dead now," Joe replied, opening a bottle and handing it down to Mark. The bar grew quiet as the regulars searched their memories for a Lizzie. And quieter still, when they realized they had known her too.

"Shit. Lizzie Mariano? Reddish blonde?" Mark asked after taking a pull and swirling the remainder in the bottle. "You have regrets, or what? Loved her?"

"No, I didn't love her, but yeah, there's some regrets. I was a stupid young punk. Now I don't know if she gave it up for adoption, or aborted it. I never got to ask. I hope she was never pregnant," Joe replied, and the drunks around him nodded their understanding. Peter, who had introduced Lizzie to Joe back in the day, and only after hooking up with her himself, leaned forward to add to the conversation.

"Joe, man, you know the girl had a mean streak. She was probably trying to trap you. I'd bet dollars to donuts she was never pregnant. Hell, I bet there isn't a guy here who hadn't tapped that piece of ass," Peter said, and all around him, the regulars began to share their own Lizzie stories. It didn't take too long for Mark to realize he had dated Lizzie right after Joe.

Which meant one thing.

Saying goodnight to the crowd, Mark stopped at the liquor store before making his way to the cemetery. It took a while, but he eventually found the right grave and sitting down next to it, he drank the whiskey and thought about Lizzie. About how messed up she had been, and how willing she was to do anything he asked. No matter what he asked. About the baby he helped bury in secret, and his short stint as a pimp. About how he'd been drinking at Joe's bar for over twenty years. About how Joe was better off not knowing the truth. Joe was better off believing Lizzie had lied. Better off not knowing for a brief time Joe had been a father.

No, the knowledge of this baby was a weight Mark would now carry alone. God help him.

He watched his little girl lying on her cot in the spare room, and wondered what he should do next. He couldn't live with his mom and dad forever, but he was glad to have their support. Sighing, T.J. took a sip of the hot cocoa his mom had made him, and tried to wrap his brain around the failure of his marriage.

He didn't get it.

It was like when Liz found out she was pregnant and tossed him out. He didn't get it. One minute things were great. On the faire circuit, selling her jewelry. He'd even started selling the toy shields he'd come up with on accident one day while trying to make a corner shelf. The booth was expanding, he felt like he had a real purpose. And then it all came tumbling down. Liz started to snap at Doula, quit accepting his kisses and hugs, seemed to withdrawal from everyone. And then, on the day the meat supplier didn't show, and after a few mugs of grog on an empty stomach, Harry told him Liz was doing the minstrel. He didn't get it at first. Doing the minstrel, but then it hit. Sleeping with the minstrel.

When he confronted her, she went silent, packed her bags, and left. She and the minstrel disappeared, and she didn't even kiss Doula goodbye. When she started calling from Colorado, demanding he bring her Doula, he'd already shut the booth down for the season, sneaking into Stars Hollow late one night, and storing everything in the garage. He traveled up to his parents place in Maine and registering Doula in school there. But he hated being the loser living in his parents basement, and Doula wanted to go back home to Stars Hollow to her friends. Maybe moving back to Stars Hollow would be a good thing. Luke was there, and although he could be a dick, he loved Doula. Plus, despite always being a dick, Jess loved his little sister, and he was there now too. Yeah, the house was waiting for them, and he could build a life there for Doula. Once they got past the memories. Maybe it would be too hard, but he didn't know what else to do, and he wished Liz was there to tell him.

He knew he wasn't going to take Doula to the funeral, even though she asked about it. She sort of knew about death, because her Grandma's cat had died in September, and they buried it under the apple tree, had a little ceremony and everything. No, he thought it would be easier for her in the long run, even though she had started crying again at night because she missed her mommy. Wiping the tears off of his face, T.J. knew they both missed Liz. The Liz they knew, not the one being buried in Colorado, but the one they mourned at the beginning of July. That's when she really died, T.J. thought. She died the day the food booth ran out of turkey legs.

In a rundown Boston apartment building, the Italian woman, who taught Jess how to cook raviolis, was thumbing through an old journal. She was reading the section from the time Jess Mariano had graced her life with his precociousness to when he disappeared. When a friend of a friend had told her Liz Danes was dead, she immediately thought of the young man who hadn't forgiven his mother yet, but spoke eloquently about being able to admit she changed. Her heart ached for him, and she wondered how he was coping. Based on the details of his mother's death, she apparently hadn't changed. Not enough anyway. A tear fell onto the yellowed page, as the woman closed her eyes, praying for the soul of a woman she hadn't liked or respected. Praying for Jess to have the strength to yet forgive. Praying for his young wife to have the understanding to help him. Praying for his sister left behind.

A/N- Thank you for all the wishes for better health. I appreciate it. Also, thank you for the reviews! I love each and every one...