A/N: Ack! I'm LOVING all your reviews! I'm so glad you guys like James and Nora. Too many times I find that Literati stories involve some form of Stockholm Syndrome. And OC's are always fun. Anyway, on with it!

Eight and a Half

by Imagine Backstory

Chapter Five – The Return of Dodger & Dead Nerves

Rory

The next couple of days passed by with agonizing slowness. The promise of being in New York on Wednesday was enough to get me through all the cancellations that had to be made, but it also made me impatient for it all to be over with so I could lose myself in the city for a couple of days.

I had decided not to tell James, yet—he was still so upset and I couldn't bear to drag attention away from him in his time of need. I Skyped with him at least once a day, but he was always quiet and distracted, or drunk. Usually drunk. He was either living up to his Irish heritage or it was the only way he and his brothers and father could have proper bonding time. Whatever the reason, I usually just spoke to him gently until he wanted to end the call, letting him call all the shots. James was a sensitive soul.

The day I'd gotten the call from Rufus, I'd celebrated with Lorelai and Luke and a few of the people who were still in town—Lane and Zach came by, along with Sookie. Jackson sacrificed himself to stay with all the children, including Emerson and Lane's kids, so that we could have a proper party. We'd all sat around in the living room, drinking and playing Monopoly. It was a nice reprieve from the heaviness of the weekend.

By Tuesday, I was warring to go. Everything was done—cancellations made, all the guests notified, decorations stored away. I left my wedding dress in the closet in my room, figuring it was only logical to store it there until I needed it, although I felt a tug at my heartstrings when I wondered just when that would be. I didn't even know when James was coming back, let alone when we would be able to set everything up again. I ran my fingers down the fine, creamy satin, and my eyes burned with tears I simply refused to shed. Pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I left the room and shut the door behind me.

I stood alone in the living room. Lorelai had taken Emerson out in the pram for a walk after my request for a bit of quiet time alone, and Luke was at the diner. The house was strangely quiet.

Still blinking away tears, I sat on the couch and stared at my phone in my lap. Unlocking it, I scrolled absently through my contacts, suddenly just really wanting to hear a voice. Any voice, really, but of course my scrolling stopped at the J's. I frowned when I realized his name wasn't there. He had given me his number, I'd watched him do it. I scrolled around through my contacts, wondering if he'd used some stupid alias, and what the hell it might be. Finally, my gaze fell on something new in the D section.

Dodger.

I grinned in spite of myself, and then dialed his number.

He picked up on the third ring. "Yeah."

"It took me forever to find you in my phone," I said sweetly. "Dodger?"

I could hear the smirk in his voice. "I'd have thought you'd figure it out."

"It's been awhile since I called you that."

"Yeah." We were silent for a moment; I knew he was waiting for me to seak. "So what's up?" he prompted.

I fiddled with a loose thread on the couch, folding my legs up and under me. "What are you doing tomorrow night?" I asked casually.

"Probably working." His voice was loaded with questions, none of which he asked, waiting for me to explain instead.

I nodded, though he couldn't see. "I'm going to be in town tomorrow and Thursday night, maybe longer. I was hoping we could meet up? Go for drinks, catch up properly?"

He chuckled. "Any particular reason you're coming here?"

"It's kind of an in-person thing," I replied, biting my lip through my smile.

"Or you're just being mysterious on purpose," he shot back. "When do you get in?"

"Probably early afternoon, depending on when I can get away from my mom," I said. "I think she's planning on kidnapping me and keeping me locked in the basement forever."

"I wouldn't put it past her. I didn't know your house had a basement."

"It doesn't."

"Thought so."

"So, drinks? Tomorrow night?"

He sighed and I heard paper rustling in the background. "I don't know, Rory."

"Just to talk," I pressed, trying not to sound desperate.

"As opposed to what, exactly?" I could practically hear his eyebrow raise.

My face felt very warm all of a sudden. I sank down into the cushions on the couch and swung my feet out to rest on the coffee table. "Look, Jess, I know we had a rough start the other day. But it's been forever, and I really do want to catch up and get to know you again. It's been weird all these years without talking to you. I miss—well, I miss talking to you." I couldn't just say I miss you. It seemed too intimate, even though seeing him again had made it a very blatant truth for me. I had missed Jess—his sarcastic humour, our long, deep conversations (when he felt like talking, that is), the late night walks, the tender kisses—

So not going there now.

Jess sighed into the receiver again. I waited on baited breath for him to make up his mind. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Text me when you get settled and I'll see if I can get away for a bit. I gotta go."

"Okay, see you tomorrow?"

"Sure." Click.

I tossed my phone onto the couch in front of me and pulled my knees back up to my chest, playing with my toes absently. He'd seemed so...reluctant. Granted, we hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, but still. He must be curious about my life, as I was of his. I felt tears sting my eyes again and groaned in frustration. I was so fragile. I prayed that being in New York tomorrow cleared me from this funk, because at the moment I was way too emotional to handle a face-to-face conversation with Jess Mariano.

Lorelai came home some time later, gesturing for me to be quiet as she carried a sleeping Emerson to bed. When she came down, she tossed a jewel case at me, a large, shit-eating grin on her face.

"What's this?" I asked, eyeing my mother suspiciously as I flipped over the case. Inside was a plain CD labeled Rory in NYC.

"It's a CD," Lorelai offered brilliantly, joining me on the couch.

I rolled my eyes. "I see that it's a CD, Mom. What's it for?"

"Luke and I made it last night," she explained, her blue eyes gleaming. "It's a playlist for your trip to New York. All the songs are about New York in some way, shape or form. From Sinatra to Jay-Z, it's all on there, baby."

Touched, I smiled widely and gave my mother a hug. "Mom, I love it! Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," she chuckled as she pulled back. "Weird city gets weird songs written about it. Some of them I had never even heard of before. We went into the dark depts of YouTube. I've seen things, Rory." She clutched my arm, getting melodramatic. "Horrors like you wouldn't believe!"

I laughed and leaned my head against Lorelai's, breathing in the familiar scent of baby, and of home. "I'm gonna miss you, Mom."

"I'm gonna miss you, too, kiddo," she whispered, stroking my hair.

As soon as I heard the familiar downbeat to Empire State of Mind I cranked the volume dial on my car's stereo system and roll down the windows, letting cool air blast my hair around my head to relieve the stifling heat (CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OF).

I was driving to New Haven first, to drop off and pick up some stuff; mostly exchanging wedding and honeymoon clothes for business attire and casual summer clothes for New York. I'd been to the big city quite a few times, but I always found myself paying extra attention to how I looked when I roamed its streets. It made me feel more like I belonged there if I meshed in with the trendy artists, instead of sticking out as a visitor or tourist.

As I entered the condo I shared with James, kicking off my shoes and dragging my suitcases in after me, I felt a pang of sadness. The condo was silent and clean, and empty of all our personal items which had been packed away into travel bags. It looked sterile, not-lived-in, bare. Our mail was in a neat pile on the counter in the galley kitchen; our neighbour, Heidi, had kindly offered to collect our mail and feed James' cat, Sherlock, while we were away.

The cat in question jumped up on the counter at that moment, startling me. I picked him up and cuddled him for a moment before he squirmed and jumped out of my grasp, having had enough affection for one day.

Not wanting to linger too long, I dragged my suitcases into our room and took everything out of one, replacing its contents with things for New York. I made short work of separating and organizing, grabbed my briefcase and a couple of books, and headed back out.

As I pulled onto the highway I put Lorelai's mix CD back into the player. Long, lonely chords on a piano rang out. This song I did not recognize, but I realized immediately why it was on this playlist.

If you were here beside me / Instead of in New York / If the curve of you was curved on me

It was a beautiful, haunting love song. I rolled my windows shut, wanting the song to take over everything, and as the sun flared against my windshield, temporarily blinding me every few seconds, I found my vision even more compromised by tears.

I'd tell you that I loved you / Before I ever knew you / Cause I loved the simple thought of you

Instantly, Jess' face sprang into my mind. His face as I remembered it: young and supple with those big, expressive brown eyes. Then his face as it was now: harder, rougher, with stubble like sandpaper and the faint beginnings of lines between his brows.

Come on, come out, come here come here / Come on, come out, come here come here

What was it about Jess? Why did he enchant me right from the moment I met him? Why did he continue to pull at me in ways which no one else on the planet was capable? Even James, for all that I loved him, for how happy he made me, did not compel me as much as Jess did. Jess, for all his mystery, for all his closed-off-ness, who made up for it by allowing me to see those rare moments when I could, in fact, read him like a book.

The lone neon nights and the ache of the ocean / And the fire that was aching to spark

"God!" I cried aloud, hitting the steering wheel with an open palm, so frustrated, so, so done with this pining bullshit. I was quickly beginning to reget asking Jess out for drinks. What was I thinking? James was at home, grieving his mother's death with his family, and I was about to go flouncing around New York city, without him knowing, and meet up with an old flame who still freaking churned my gut.

I miss it all, from the love to the lightning / And the lack of it snaps me in two

I could cancel. It didn't seem like Jess really wanted to see me anyway.

But—

If you were here beside me / Instead of in New York / In the arms you said you'd never leave

I ached to talk to him, to get a peek at what his life had been like for the past eight and a half years, to get to know him again, see if he was different, or the same, or anything in between. Pick his brain, read his books, get his advice on trivial matters. If anything, I just wanted some form of closure, some sort of sign that maybe, one day, we would be okay. It just felt like he and I had some serious unfinished business, whatever that may be. The anticlimax of our last meeting in Philadelphia had left me uncertain, and our encounter in Stars Hollow had just left me so goddamn confused. I just wanted to be his friend.

I'd tell you that it's simple / And it was only ever thus / There is nowhere else that I belong

Forcefully, I pressed skip on the CD player, and Taylor Swift began keening out at me, welcoming me to New York, just as I happened to cross over the Brooklyn Bridge.

Jess

"God, turn that shit off!" Nora groaned as she walked behind the bar carrying a tray of clean pint glasses.

I looked up from my spot, seated at the bar preparing the cash float for tonight, and smiled at her with one corner of my mouth. "You mean you don't like Taylor Swift?" I asked innocently. Of course she fucking didn't.

"She just moved here," Nora whined. The glasses clinked loudly as set set them on the rack to dry. "She doesn't know anything about New York. Now she's welcoming everybody like she fucking owns the place. Nobody owns New York. It's a beast. It's alive—!" Her hands came down on my forearms, gripping my skin as she leaned towards me, dipping her head to catch my lips in a kiss. "It takes no prisoners," she finished, murmuring against my mouth.

"Babe, I'm busy," I protested, although my hand slid easily from the wad of twenties I'd been holding to the nape of her neck.

She pulled back and winked at me, leaning her cheek on her closed fist and watching me work, a clever smile gracing her face. "Serious boy. You work too hard. You and your crooked mouth." She brushed the pad of her thumb over my bottom lip thoughtfully.

I gently swatted her hand away, looking up at her through my lashes. "Don't make fun of my dead nerves."

"You guys are disgusting," Isabel chided as she exited from the kitchen with a spray bottle and a rag. She was the head server for the Café, an aspiring Broadway star with platinum blond hair she always had coiffed just so. Her clothes were always theatrical and whimsical; tonight it was a pair of floor-length, fire-engine-red overalls with a sequined silver top underneath. "Seriously, so unprofesh." She rolled her eyes playfully when we ignored her.

Nora leaned forward and I went in expectantly for a kiss, but she just reached past me and switched radio stations. I groaned as she whirled away from me, squealing as THIS HIT THAT ICE COLD MICHELLE PFEIFFER THAT WHITE GOLD came blaring through the Café's sound system. Isabel joined in the wild dancing that ensued, using the butt end of a wine glass as her microphone.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out, keeping my eyes trained on my freak of a girlfriend as she made putting glassware away to music look sexy. The text was from an unknown number. Opening it, I read:

Just got to the hotel. Gonna hang out and walk around for a bit. Meet later?

I hadn't saved Rory's number after she'd called me yesterday. Figuring what the hell, I did so now, for some reason labelling her name as Lorelai Gilmore. Since I didn't have Lorelai Senior's number, it didn't really matter. There it was now, right above the contact called Luke's.

"Who's that?" Nora asked brightly, nodding towards my phone as she put the last of the glasses on the rack.

I shrugged and pocketed my phone. "Friend of mine is in town. Wants to meet up later."

"Ooh a friend? Didn't know you had those," she added teasingly, smiling at me as she came around the counter.

I turned to face her, grabbing her by the belt loops and pulling her to stand between my legs, cradling her hips with mine. She ran her hands through my hair and massaged my temples; my eyes rolled back and I sighed. "You wound me."

"I gotta close up tonight," Nora said, continuing her tantalising ministrations on my scalp. "Maybe bring your friend by later on? Unless you're ashamed of me and don't want anyone meeting me."

I raised my eyebrows and wrapped my arms around her narrow waist, hugging her close. "Or I just want to keep you all to myself." I rested my head against her small breasts, listening to her laugh as it rolled through her ribcage.

Isabel made retching noises from somewhere behind the bar.

"Alright, but don't be out too late," she said, closing her arms around my head and kissing the top of it. "We have a shipment arriving at eight tomorrow morning."

After she'd disappeared back into the kitchen I took my phone out again to shoot a quick text back to Rory.

7pm. Stardust Diner, Times Square. Can't be long tho.

I absolutely hated Ellen's Stardust Diner with a passion fiery enough for the seventh ring of hell, but I knew Rory would like it. Singing waiters in tight pants and all that jazz. God, I'd been living in New York too long.

Isabel's head popped up from behind the bar and she gave me a knowing look from underneath the pounds of glitter on her eyelashes. "Jess Mariano. When the hell are you going to propose to that girl?"

I rolled my eyes. This was not the first time Isabel had asked me this. It wasn't the first time anyone had asked me this, really. It certainly would not be the last. "I already told you. She doesn't want me to."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I beg to differ."

"She's twenty-two, Izzy." I shoved the cash float into the till and shut the money box, pocketing the key. "She has a whole life to live before she even thinks about getting married."

"You're thirty next year," she pointed out obnoxiously as I went around the bar to put the till in the register. "What about your life?"

"It's not about me," I muttered. "This is really none of your concern."

"Jess, it's been five years. Nora has guys all over the village trailing after her like dogs. If you don't put a ring on it soon, she's gonna start living that life a lot sooner than you'd imagine."

"Whoa, I cannot even begin to list the number of reasons why I so don't want to talk about this with you." I turned and gave Isabel my most withering stare. "Clearly, you don't know her at all."

She backed off, holding her hands up in surrender. "Suit yourself, lover boy. Just might be something to think about before you go meet your friend." And with that, she turned on her heel and strutted off into the kitchen.

I just sat there, suddenly feeling as if my phone was burning a hole in my pocket.

A/N: I was going to make this chapter longer, but the rest was so contentious that I decided to make it a chapter on its own. It should be up at some point over the weekend.

P.S. True story about Milo's mouth. Dem dead nerves.

P.P.S. Please continue to review! You guys have no idea how helpful they are and how happy they make me! I may even be able to keep posting daily if you continue... ;D

Songs mentioned: "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z feat. Alicia Keys; "New York" by Snow Patrol; "Welcome to New York" by Taylor Swift; "Uptown Funk" by Mark Ronson feat. Bruno Mars