A/N: AHHHH I'm loving these reviews! Keep em coming!

Eight and a Half

By Imagine Backstory

Chapter Nine – The Pep Talk & The Epiphany

Rory

I was definitely ready for this entire week to be over. As I showered and got ready to go to the office of the New York Times, all I could of was how shitty this whole week had been, and the many elements that contributed to this fact.

For one thing, this week was supposed to be the happiest week of my life. I was supposed to be in Stars Hollow with the people I loved most in the world, day drinking and partaking in endless festivities with my friends and family who were all there to celebrate my marriage to James. A week-long vacation, a week-long party. Of course, when Lorelai had first suggested this, I had poo-pooed it, having never been one for big parties, but as the day approached I had found myself warming up to the idea, grateful for the time off work and well needed catch-up time with my friends and with Stars Hollow.

That of course all came to a screeching halt when my future mother-in-law's heart stopped beating before she could get on a plane. Wedding and all related plans cancelled, fiancé gone. Suddenly there had been a lot of unanticipated work to do and a lot of money was lost. Granted, what had happened was out of anybody's control and it's not like James and I had broken up. But it still sucked having to make all those phone calls and cancellations and watch money fly out the window. I had just begun to mellow out and enjoy the week when suddenly my stress levels skyrocketed again, as if I had never left work.

And then, Jess had showed up, unannounced and unexpectedly. That drudged up a lot of crap I was in no head space to deal with, and confused the hell out of me. Once he left, though, things finally took a turn for the better when I got the call to write for the Times. But of course, that high didn't last long, and I should have known that seeing Jess again would bring it all crashing down.

We had gotten way too drunk. He'd kissed me. We had kissed, because I couldn't deny that I had kissed him back, taken it further. Then I left my stupid phone and now both of our significant others knew and were pissed at us.

I couldn't shake the hair-raising, sinking feeling in my gut as I did my hair and make-up in the hotel bathroom, and every time I thought about last night or James an unpleasant shiver went up my spine. But I also kept seeing flashes of what had transpired; I could still feel Jess' hands on my body, burning trails up my sides, could taste his lips and his tongue, sickly sweet from the mojitos, could feel the sensation of my fingers buried in his hair, his body flush against mine—

I smeared my damn lipstick just thinking about it.

I had cheated on James. The week we were supposed to get married, the week his mother died. And I cheated on him. With Jess Mariano, of all people. I furiously blinked away tears to save my make-up. Job now, personal matters later. There was no way I was going to blow this opportunity. Plus, it felt good to push all thoughts of Jess and James out of my mind for a few hours and just be Rory Gilmore.

I slipped into my black pencil skirt and put on a pretty, pale blue summer blouse Lorelai had given me. I strapped on my nude pumps and observed myself in the mirror, suppressing all the emotions fighting in my brain. Satisfied, I grabbed my purse and headed out.

"Ah, Miss Gilmore," Tucker Mansbridge said, standing as I entered his office. "Nice to finally put a face to the name."

I shook his extended hand firmly. "Likewise, Mr. Mansbridge," I replied, although in reality I had known exactly what he looked like. I took a seat across from him at his desk, quickly taking in the meticulous neatness of it all. My stomach was alive with butterflies, but it was the good kind of nervous. There I was, sitting in an office at the New York Times!

Tucker Mansbridge was a thin, wiry man with huge, thick-framed glasses perched on his hooked nose. He was the head of the arts department of the Times, and someone I hugely respected both for his work and for his personality. From what I had read, he was very down-to-earth, respectful of everyone's opinions, and inclusive of all his subordinates' ideas and suggestions. I was eager to see if my research did him justice, but judging by his warm smile and his ability to make me feel instantly comfortable, I had high hopes already.

"Are you ready for tonight?" he asked, tapping his pen on a notepad on his desk. "It's going to be a pretty elaborate opening night, from what I've heard."

"I've been looking forward to it since I got the call," I replied, smiling. "It's a new play, so I don't know much about it, though, I'm afraid."

He smiled and spread his hands. "Well, that's why you're here! You're going to be part of the first audience to ever see this show, and you're going to tell New York exactly what to expect from it. I trust you understand the scope of this article, Miss Gilmore?"

I nodded confidently. "Of course, Mr. Mansbridge. I want to thank you for even considering me for this task. It really is a dream and a privilege to be here."

"Judging by your work I think you are the perfect fit for the job. And please, call me Tucker," he added.

"As long as you call me Rory," I shot back with a smile.

His eyes lit up. "Deal." He handed me a Playbill programme bearing the poster artwork for the play. "Managed to swipe a programme for you to look at early. It seems interesting. Very edgy and modern. If all goes well, it could very well be up for a Pulitzer. The play was actually published here, which makes it even more compelling. Not that it's new for plays to be published in New York, but this is the first one to come out of an independent publisher and go to Broadway, which is kind of exciting."

My heart sank and I felt my palms begin to sweat. I licked my lips, which had suddenly gone dry. "Uh...which independent publisher is that?"

"It's a weird name," he said, eyes narrowing as he tried to remember. "Starts with a T. Anyway, it's a growing company but it's a major selling point for this show. Definitely something to include in your article."

Was I going to pass out? I felt light-headed. Tucker glanced at me, concern creasing his brow. "Are you alright, Rory?"

"Yes, fine, thank you," I replied. Snap out of it, Gilmore. Okay, so Jess' company had published the play I was going to review. It could be a coincidence...but I had to check. "Is the publisher by any chance called Truncheon?"

He snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "That's it. You heard of them?"

"Uh, yes, in passing," I said with an air of nonchalance.

He nodded, seemingly impressed that I knew such a thing. "Well, good. The owners are supposed to be there tonight. See if you can interview them. Speaking of which, the playwright is also going to be there, and—"

I had unintentionally stopped listening. As Tucker spoke, all I could hear were his words over and over in my brain.

The owners are supposed to be there tonight.

Oh, my god.

For the upteenth time that night, I pulled my phone out of my clutch to check for messages. Still, nothing. James had left all my phone calls and texts unanswered since this morning. He wasn't even giving me a chance to explain anything. Not that I really could explain my actions for the past couple of days, and James was totally within his right to be pissed. But this total communication cut-off was really beginning to grate on my nerves. Which really sucked, because my nerves were already pretty much shot as it was.

The theatre lobby was packed with lavishly dressed people waiting to get into the theatre for the pre-show. The bar line-up was a mile long, and a crowd had gathered around the merchandise counter. I stood by out of the way, nursing a glass of red wine. I was wearing one of my favourite black dresses, a lovely fifties-Audrey-Hepburn-type thing, and blue pumps. My feet were already killing me, and the material of my dress was far too heavy for this hot summer night. Every few minutes my eyes darted around, constantly scouring the theatre lobby for any sign of Jess so I would know when to bolt. If he did show up, I could only assume he would have Nora with him, and I was just too much of a wreck to be able to handle the humiliation again.

When Jess had introduced the girl from the Café to me as his girlfriend, I hadn't been as surprised as I probably should have been. It explained the weird way she had acted around me when I'd mentioned Jess, and she was totally the type of girl I could see Jess going for. After all, she seemed to be the complete opposite of me. She stood out. She was covered in tattoos, her hair was long and thick and blood-red, she was olive-toned and exotic-looking. She was short and willowy and just altogether wild. I, on the other hand, was tall and awkward, still the epitome of the girl-next-door. Plain-Jane, boring old Rory Gilmore. Although, I couldn't help but realize that at least I was closer to Jess in age. Nora was clearly very young, I remembered Jess saying that outside the bar last night.

As I downed the last of my wine, it occurred to me that Jess and I were both just hopeless liars. We had both kept a significant amount of information a secret, both from each-other and from our respective significant others. He had waited till the last minute to even mention Nora, and obviously hadn't told her I was in town. He had also neglected to mention the opening night of a play his company had published, despite the fact that I had mentioned that I was reviewing the opening night of a new play. He could have written it off as a coincidence. It might not have even occurred to him at all. Or maybe he just straight-up hadn't told me, instead going for some element of surprise or mystery, which was such an infuriatingly Jess thing to do.

Of course, I was guilty, too. I hadn't told James about New York, or Jess, or anything that I had been feeling since he left for Ireland.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I willed all thoughts of James away. This was not the time or place. I had a job to do. I was going to be professional.

Of course, my little mantra became moot as my eyes locked right onto Jess', clear across the entire room. He had just entered the building, dressed to kill in black slacks, a white dress shirt and a black vest, just long, lean muscle underneath it all. Nora was on his arm in a white dress which looked lovely against her tanned skin, her bright red hair tumbling around her shoulders in thick waves. Another guy and a stunning blonde accompanied them, both dressed just as elegantly; I could only assume they also worked at Truncheon.

I did the only thing a twenty-eight-year-old nervous wreck would do: I bolted for the bathrooms.

I didn't actually have to go, so I lingered by the vanity counter, pretending to fix my hair and make-up. The open bulb lighting around the mirror actually made it seem like I had some colour in my cheeks, but I knew for a fact I must actually be quite pale. I felt sick. I wondered fleetingly if I was going to puke. Gripping the counter, I gave myself my best game face in the mirror. Alright, Gilmore. You have a job to do. You have a job. You're here for a reason. This night could determine your career. Focus on the play and its creators. Come up with a kick-ass article and review. Impress the shit out of Tucker Mansbridge. Make him regret not finding you sooner. But tell him you were unable to find the owners of the mysterious little publishing company, and wasn't able to interview them. There's no way you can make it through tonight if you have to face Jess again.

On the other hand, there was also probably no way I'd make it through the night without talking to him.

Feeling a bit more relaxed, I turned to leave the bathroom, but once again I had the carpet ripped out from under me as I found myself face-to-face with Nora. We stood there, facing off awkwardly, and did the little dance to get around each-other.

She also pretended to fix her hair and make-up, even though both were flawless. "I wasn't expecting to see you here," she breezed, not looking at me.

I stood by, unsure whether having a conversation with her in here was a good idea. "Surprise," I offered weakly. "Look, I know this is awkward, but I'm really sorry about this morning."

She smiled at me in the mirror. "Hey, no worries. It's all good." But her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I guess you guys had a lot to catch up on."

"Yeah, but...I know he didn't mean to keep anything from you, it just kind of happened, and—"

"I'm well aware of my boyfriend's intentions, thanks," she kind of snapped, but the smile never left her face. "Yours, however, I'm a little more unclear about." She grabbed her clutch and ducked around me, heading for the door. "Enjoy the show, Rory," she tossed over her shoulder as she left the bathroom.

Turning towards one of the stalls, this time I really did throw up.

Jess

I had completely forgotten about this stupid opening night. We had been invited ages ago—if Nora wasn't so damn organized we definitely would be just sitting at home eating pizza and watching a movie and probably having sex instead of being here, which seemed a million times more appealing to me. However, as it were, duty called; this really was a big night for Truncheon and Café Livre. Nora, Isabel, Dimitri and I were all looking our best, and aiming to please. And the play itself was really good. As much as I hated the dressing-up-and-small-talk part of the evening, I really was looking forward to seeing how it played out on the stage.

Then, I saw Rory.

I remembered there being a mention of a reporter being there on opening night, but it had never even occurred to me that it could be Rory. Even when she had mentioned she was here to review a new play, I hadn't made the connection. But there she was, looking drop-dead gorgeous in the twinkling light of the theatre lobby, dressed in a sexy black number which clung to her torso and flared out at her narrow waist, barely brushing the tops of her knees. As soon as I saw her, she saw me, our eyes locking across the crowded room, and a chill went up my spine. Then, she was gone, making a bee-line for the bathrooms. Hoping Nora hadn't seen, I steered her towards the bar, Isabel and Dimitri in tow. But, as usual, fate wasn't on my side. Nora quickly excused herself to the lady's room, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop her without looking like a jackass.

"Everyone is practically eye-fucking your date, Mariano," Isabel crooned, leaning to speak into my ear.

I grit my teeth. "Let them. She looks incredible." She really did. I caught a glimpse of Nora disappearing into the washroom, her dress swishing around her ankles as she went.

"I'm just saying," Isabel pouted, "I'd keep an eye on her, if I were you."

"Thank god you're not me, then," I snapped. "Excuse me." I had never needed a cigarette so badly.

When I returned from my smoke break, the lobby was nearly empty; I assumed everyone had gone into the theatre. My party was nowhere to be seen. Sighing heavily, glad I had at least avoided the pre-show shmoozing, I headed for the bar.

But of course, there was Miss Gilmore herself, ordering a beer, of all things. When the bartender turned to get her her drink I approached her, leaning an elbow casually on the bar and tilting my head towards her. "Fancy seeing you here," I drawled lazily.

She jumped and turned towards me, mouth hanging open. She was pale and wide-eyed. Her fingers trembled even as she clutched her handbag. "Jess—I didn't—you shouldn't be—"

"You look terrible," I said. "I mean, you look—amazing—but you seem—what's the matter?" I asked, horrified, as tears quickly pooled in her eyes.

The bartender returned with her drink, and before she could reach into her purse I tossed a few bills onto the counter. "One more, please," I told him firmly. When he disappeared again I gently ran a hand down Rory's upper arm. "Talk to me, Gilmore. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" she snapped in a harsh whisper. "I'm ambushed. I had no idea you would be here. After this morning—and last night—and with James—I'm just a nervous fucking wreck, Jess, you have no idea. And I just saw Nora in the bathroom and I just feel terrible. I'm a terrible, awful person. What we did was unforgivable, and it wasn't me. I just don't know what to do!" She was completely undone, then, dissolving reluctantly to tears right before my eyes.

The bartender handed me my drink and I grabbed both glasses, nodding my head towards the doors. "Come on. Let's go outside," I told Rory.

She just looked at me through her tears. "But—the show?"

"They're gonna babble on for at least another twenty minutes," I said. "I promise, I'll get you in there before the curtain goes up."

I lit up another cigarette as we stepped outside onto the patio, taking seats on a bench there. Out of habit, I offered Rory one, and was genuinely surprised when she accepted it, letting me light it for her and taking a long, slow drag before exhaling upwards. "You smoke?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Only at times like these," she choked out, wiping the back of her hand across her cheeks. "God, I don't want to cry in front of you anymore."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just took a drag on my own cigarette and chased it with a sip of beer.

She laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "I'm sorry. This is—this is really stupid."

"What's wrong, Rory?" I asked, wanting to just cut the bullshit. Damn me and my weakness that was Rory Gilmore. No matter what happened between us, I had to make sure she was okay.

I waited as she smoked and drank in silence for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Then, it all began to spill out of her like a waterfall. "This was supposed to be the happiest week of my life. I was supposed to be in Stars Hollow with my family and friends, and come Saturday I was supposed to be Mrs. James Connolly." She scoffed, shaking her head and looking at her hands. "And the shitty thing is, I don't know whether I'm sad or relieved that it didn't go according to plan. I mean, maybe it was a sign. Maybe I'm not meant to marry James. Maybe I'm meant to just be a workaholic and stay alone forever. I mean, they say first love is the greatest love, so why settle for second best, you know?"

I started taking bigger gulps of beer. Rory had never had the greatest self-esteem, but I had never heard her sound this bitter and hopeless regarding herself. And her last comment about first love just utterly confused me. Did she want Dean back, or something? She couldn't really believe that that bean pole was the guy she was meant to be with. "First love is overrated," I chided, shrugging. "It's a fallacy caused by romance novels and chick flicks. It doesn't mean anything as life goes on."

She just gave that bitter laugh again and took a drag on her cigarette, but I saw her face contort as another wave of tears hit her. Mascara began cascading down her cheeks. Okay, wrong thing to say. I mentally kicked myself. Foot out of your mouth, Jess.

"Look, Rory," I sighed, raking a hand through my hair, "if you want to have a little pity party, that's fine. Go home and get in your PJ's and watch trashy TV and eat ice cream. Scream into your pillow, take a hot bath, whatever it takes. But please, just do what you need to do and get over it. You're better than this. You are talented and strong and smart, you always have been, and you always will be. And if James isn't the right guy for you—fuck him. You'll find someone who appreciates you for who you are. Someone who challenges you emotionally and intellectually and lets you feel something, no matter what. You of all people deserve that. But fuck all this woe-is-me shit, really. It doesn't suit you." And with that, I downed the last of my beer.

Rory was staring at me, her lovely face sticky with mascara tears, but her eyes were dry now. Her mouth was open slightly as she just looked at me, as if searching my soul for the answer to some unasked question. I realized how close I was to her—I could feel her body head on my arm. She reached out and curled her fingers around the edge of my vest, tugging at it gently.

It crashed down on me, then, as we stood there on the patio of that theatre, that after all this time, no matter how far I had come from that angry seventeen-year-old version of me, no matter how many women I had been with since then, how far I had taken my career, how much of a something I had made from my previous nothing, how far I had traveled, how much love I felt for Nora—despite all that, I was still hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Rory fucking Gilmore. I always had been, I always would be. And it was so obvious now; that guy I was just telling Rory that she deserved, that guy was me, damn it.

Almost simultaneously, we moved into each-other, our lips meeting hot and fast, our beers forgotten on the bench behind us. As the stars smiled down on our forbidden act, I once again lost a piece of my heart to a Gilmore girl.

A/N: Yeah, yeah, another kind of cliffhanger. I'm a sucker for 'em. Just like I'm a sucker for your reviews! Pleeeeaaaase review!