A/N: I'm overwhelmed by the reaction to the last chapter! Thanks everybody; I'm glad you liked it so much! I actually just wrote a little ficlet involving Jess, Rory and lots of cuddling. It's called "Cuddle Up To Me", feel free to check it out and maybe leave a review?

Eight and a Half

By Imagine Backstory

Chapter Fifteen – The Move & The Reaching Out

Rory

I knew I was shamelessly staring, but I couldn't help it. Jess was spoon feeding Emerson again, as he had last night, but this time it was actually Thanksgiving and we were at the Dragonfly and there were so many people and so many voices talking all at once—but Jess was just with Emerson, and he was feeding him, and I got the strangest, warmest feeling in my gut. Jess looked significantly more relaxed than he had been before dinner, a private smile on his face as he made plane sounds while shoving food in Emerson's tiny mouth. I had to admit that watching him with Emerson was incredible and strange; I'd never pegged Jess as the type to like babies, let alone the fact that the mixture of Gilmore and Danes genes in the child sent my mind to all sorts of new and unexplored places. My half brother now served as a sort of blood tie between Jess and me, and frankly, it was a little overwhelming. With his dark hair and blue eyes, he could just as easily be mine and Jess' child as he was Luke and Lorelai's. Strange. So very strange.

Lorelai met my gaze from well on the other side of the table, a knowing smile on her face. She was watching Jess, too; in fact, everyone kind of was out of the corner of their eye. Nora was chatting away with Sookie, but every now and then she would glance over at her boyfriend approvingly, her lush green eyes sparkling in the dim light. This whole night was just odd.

I gripped James' knee under the table, feeling the weight of the ring on my left hand ring finger. Of course, I hadn't taken it off since getting engaged, but now that we were engaged—again—and had set a date, I was getting the thrill of telling the family all over again. August first, twenty-fifteen. Almost exactly a year after we were supposed to get married. I tried to push all thoughts of Jess and genetics out of my mind as a lull arrived in the conversation and I geared up to make our announcement.

Boy, was I surprised when Lorelai stood up first, though, clinking her spoon against her glass to get everyone's attention. I couldn't count the number of pairs of eyes that swiveled in her direction, but there were a lot—Lorelai and Luke, Jess, Nora, Sookie, Jackson and family, Lane and family, my grandparents were even there. Miss Patty, Babette and Maury, Kirk. Michel. Just—everyone. I was pretty sure my mother would have invited the whole town if they'd all have fit in the dining room at the Dragonfly.

"Hi everyone," Lorelai began as a hush settled over the table. "I want to thank you all for being here tonight for Thanksgiving. I've had Thanksgiving with some of you for I don't know how many years in a row, now. And for some others, this is the first Thanksgiving I've spent with you, hopefully the first of many." She gave Jess a pointed look, but he was busy wiping food off of Emerson's cheek. Nora smiled. "I just wanted to pause the feasting for a moment here, because Luke and I have an announcement." She glanced down at Luke, who reluctantly stood up next to her. "When Luke and I got married, it was a really small ordeal, just he and I and Rory and April at City Hall in Hartford, because let's face it, we couldn't trust any of you to marry us." Laughs all around. "I was pregnant with Emerson at the time, miraculously, of course, but it kinda threw a fork in our wedding plans, so that's what we did. So. That being said. Now that Em is a little older and we've got a natural babysitter in the family—" another pointed look at Jess; this one he returned with a rueful smile, "we have decided to get married again. With the full ceremony and everything."

The table erupted with cheers. Emily and Sookie, in particular, looked especially thrilled, although I bet they had very different plans in mind for this wedding. I felt my fingers tighten around my glass and shared a look with James before joining in the festivities, clinking my glass with everyone else's as they toasted to the Stars Hollow power couple. Of course I was happy for Luke and Lorelai, but it rendered mine and James' news moot for awhile.

As the table settled down slightly, James surprised me by speaking up. "Actually, Rory and I have some news, too," he began. I turned to him, shocked, and laid a hand on his arm as the table shushed once again. But he continued. "We are also getting married—for real, this time," he announced after a brief moment of suspense. Before the table could explode once more, he said, "On August first of next year!"

Lorelai shrieked and jumped up from her seat to give me a hug as the rest of the table burst into activity once more. Over my mother's shoulder I caught sight of Jess. His arm was suspended in mid-air, hand clutching Emerson's plastic spoon halfway to the child's mouth. His face had fallen and he was giving me this look—his Jess look, his disappointed-in-me look. The look I hadn't seen since we stood outside the bar in New Haven while Logan prattled on inside. The look that turned my life around.

As I pulled away from Lorelai and went to hug everyone else, something clenched in my gut, and I wondered fleetingly if that look was going to do the very same thing again.

I found him outside, smoking, the embers at the end of his cigarette glowing in the dark. I figured I was the only one who had the nerve to seek him out; surely even Nora knew better than to bother him when he got in this mood. As he flicked the ashes over the back porch railing, I came to stand beside him, glass of wine in hand. He had pushed his floppy bangs out of his face and it stood up in a curly mess on top of his head, and there was a pencil behind his ear. "Hey," I said quietly.

He took a long drag of his cigarette and snuffed it on the railing, tossing the butt into Luke's garden. He turned to go back into the house, but I called out, "I didn't know he was going to announce it. I thought after my mom's announcement we would wait."

"Clearly he doesn't mind sharing the spotlight," he muttered, half turning his body towards me. I could tell he really didn't want to have this conversation right now. His eyes were darting every which way as he swallowed the last of his beer.

I folded my arms across my midriff. "Well, I'm sorry."

"For what?" he asked innocently, cocking an eyebrow.

I shrugged. "For that. The announcement, the scene, whatever."

"You think I care about that?"

"Jess."

He scoffed. "Get over yourself, Rory."

I pursed my lips, taking a sip of wine. I leaned back on the railing and crossed my ankles. "Don't be mean. I just want to make sure we're okay."

He chucked the beer bottle against the baseboard of the house, making me jump. The glass shattered, leaving a gleaming pile of fractured green gleaming in the dull porch light. He fixed me with a piercing stare and looked like he was about to say something, but the door to the kitchen opened and Luke stuck his head out. "What the hell was that?" he bellowed. Seeing Jess, and then seeing the pile of glass, he groaned. "Aw, jeez. Really, Jess?"

"I'm leaving," he snapped, heading for the door. He stopped before going in and turned to me. "Congratulations, by the way," he said darkly. "I'm sure you'll be very happy." Then he was gone.

"I miss you," I pouted into the phone as I entered the elevator. Pushing the button to the seventh floor, I juggled my coffee cup and carry-away doughnut bag with my cell phone. "I just want that stinking show to end so you can get your butt to the city."

James chuckled lightly on the other end of the line. "I know, sweetheart," he said. I could hear drilling in the background. "It won't be long, though. Couple more weeks. I can't wait to christen our new place," he added in a lower voice. I could hear his sly grin.

"Looking forward to it." I giggled in spite of myself, taking a sip of coffee as the elevator bell dinged. "Just got to work. Gotta go."

"No," he groaned. "Stay."

"Can't," I said apologetically. "Sorry, babe. I'll talk to you later tonight, yeah?"

"Love you."

I hung up as I swung into my office—my office—at the New York Times. I'd been living in the city for three months now; Christmas had come and gone, and though I missed James like crazy, I couldn't complain about finally being in New York and at my dream job, no less. As an added bonus, I had managed to avoid you-know-who the entire time I'd been living there, steering clear of Brooklyn and bypassing the neighbourhood that the Café Livre was in. Not that I had too much spare time for any bumping-into to occur; at night I was all over Broadway reviewing everything and anything, and by day I was researching new plays, playwrights, talent and directors, learning everything I can about real-deal theatre. And of course, I loved every minute.

James had been surprisingly understanding when I told him I'd accepted the job in New York. I'd expected him to be upset that I hadn't spoken to him about it first, but we had been planning to move to the city this year anyway, and he realized it was an opportunity I just couldn't pass up. Of course, we'd always thought we would be married when we moved, but in the end it didn't make too much of a difference. Soon we would be, and sooner than that the show he was working on at the Shubert in New Haven would close and he would be driving down to move into our new place in Manhattan.

As I took off my coat and scarf and settled into my office chair, I glanced appreciatively out the window at the snow-capped city. I had smelled snow a couple nights ago and now the concrete jungle was glowing with a thin layer of white all around. Valentine' Day was fast approaching, and from way up here I could see couples strolling along the sidewalks, oblivious to the rest of the world as they remained engrossed in each-other.

"Ah, Gilmore, there you are," Tucker said as he stuck his head into my office. Most people went by their first names here, but Tucker used my last name as a form of endearment more than anything else. "Just checking in on the status of the review for the Anything Goes revival?"

"Right here," I said with a smile, holding up a manila envelope I had just produced from my briefcase. "I'll drop it by Cheryl in a bit."

"You're lovely!" he called as he strolled off down the hall. A moment later he was back; Tucker was nothing if not scatter-brained. "Oh! Almost forgot. Remember that company that published that play you reviewed a few months ago?"

My heart sank a little. "Oh, yeah?"

"Well, they got in touch with me. The same author of the play is staging a reading of his new play there over the weekend, they wanted to know if someone here could check it out. And since Annie is on her honeymoon, I was hoping you could...?" He raised his eyebrows, allowing me to finish the sentence for him.

I sighed. "Uh, Tucker, I don't know...this weekend is..."

"Please, Gilmore, for me? No, seriously, for me, because otherwise I'd have to do it, and I have La Cage this weekend and all the parties and I'm going to be so hungover—pleeeeaaase?"

"Are you asking as my friend or as my boss?"

"Both! You're lovely!" he said again, taking off.

Drumming my nails against my desk, I seethed for a few moments before digging my cell phone out of my pocket and dialing before I could stop myself.

He picked up on the third ring. "Yeah, what?"

"You think this is funny, don't you?" I demanded.

There was a long pause. "Rory?"

"What were you thinking, asking the Times to review your playwright's reading?" I carried on, my voice rising. "You knew they would send me. Is this a sick joke of yours or something?"

His voice gained some strength as he collected his thoughts. "What are you talking about?"

"The play reading! At Truncheon! You asked the New York fucking Times to review it so they'd send me. Am I wrong?"

He sighed, and when he spoke his voice strangely had no fight in it. "I didn't even think about it, Ror. I'm serious. I'm sorry—things around here have been—" He sighed again. "Look, I'm sorry, alright? Just don't worry about it if you don't want to come."

I was taken aback by how quickly he backed down. He sounded tired. No, he sounded downright exhausted. I had never heard Jess sound so—meek. I bit my lip, unable to help my basic instincts. "Jess, is everything alright?"

Another sigh. "No. It's not."

I paused, unsure how to continue. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I heard a muffled shout in the background, and Jess yelled, "Yeah, one sec!" away from the receiver. When he came back on, his voice had dropped an octave. "Listen, Rory, I gotta go. Forget about the review, okay?" Click.

Frowning, I tucked my phone back into my bag and flipped open my personal planner. My weekend was relatively free, besides meeting my friend Lucy for coffee on Saturday afternoon. I grabbed a pen and wrote Truncheon: Play reading down, permanently marking it into my schedule.

Jess

Letting the last few stragglers out of the Café for the night, I gratefully locked the door behind them and shut all the blinds. I paused for a moment to take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of this wretched day being over. Then again, so few days lately weren't wretched that it really shouldn't make a difference anymore. But it did.

"Fuuuck this day," Isabel crowed as she noisily took the till out of the register to count. "I thought those assholes would never leave."

I turned away from the door, pulling the elastic out of my hair and letting it fall to my shoulders. I hadn't had it cut since August and it now hung in loose curls down past my neck. I usually kept it up in a tiny bun—and yes, I realized I was a goddamn hipster with a man-bun, but I couldn't be bothered to get it cut, and it in combination with my untrimmed beard made me look like a completely different person, for which I was grateful. I didn't want to look like my old self—I didn't want to be my old self. I just wanted to—forget everything.

Isabel gave me a sympathetic look as I joined her behind the counter. I reached to take the till from her but she swatted me away. "Go home. I got this. You've been here since six this morning. It is now," she checked her watch, "officially tomorrow. Get out of here."

I rubbed a hand over my face, scratching at my bearded jaw. "I gotta do the cash, Izzy."

"I was taught how, I'm a big girl," she insisted, bumping me away with her hip. "Go on, get. I'll see you at home."

I wanted to protest further, but I really didn't have the energy. Thanking her, I grabbed my coat and left out the back door. As I exited the alley and hailed a cab, I checked my phone. No messages, no missed calls. Not that I'd expected any. But still, my heart sank whenever I saw my blank homepage screen. The snow swirled around my ankles as I ducked into a taxi.

I've got to figure out who I am. I know that sounds cheesy and cliché, but it's something I have to do for myself. You understand that, right?

Of course I understood. I just didn't realize it would hurt so goddamn much.

I dug Isabel's spare key out of my pocket as I arrived at her door, shoving it open with my shoulder. The jam tended to get stuck now that the door had become warped with time. Justin had his lips wrapped around his bong when I stepped inside, tossing my keys into the bowl by the door as I toed off my boots and shrugged out of my coat. As he exhaled a stream of putrid smoke, he nodded at me. "Long day?"

I didn't answer him and went straight for the bathroom, eager for a hot shower. I was thankful that Isabel and Justin had offered me their spare bedroom for the time being, but the place just constantly reeked of pot and they had their obnoxious friends over every weekend and stayed up until ungodly hours of the morning. That wasn't the problem, though—the problem was that I usually joined them, unable to resist giving in to substance to make myself numb. I'd smoked more pot in the past two months then I had in my whole life, and I swear I could almost feel my brain cells dying by the second.

You can have the apartment. I just need some time to get my stuff out, and think, for awhile.

How long is awhile?

It's just awhile, Jess.

As I emerged from my shower, raking a hand through my tangled damp hair, I flopped down on the couch next to Justin and accepted his offer to take a hit off his bong. I liked toking with Justin best—he never said anything, we just sat there in comfortable silence, the TV playing whatever pointless Netflix cartoon Justin had selected when he was sober, and thought our respective thoughts.

As I drifted off into high-land, I thought about Rory's phone call from today. I honestly had completely forgotten that she worked for the Times now. I hadn't exactly been in the best frame of mind these past couple of months to even really let myself think about Rory. Worrying about one person who had part of my heart was nearly too much to handle—I couldn't shatter myself by worrying about the rest of the equation.

I'm not good for you, Jess. I'm holding you back. I know it, you know it. I'm...too young.

I once again found myself lying sprawled face-up on my bed, the ceiling whirling above me as silent tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes. My fingers clutched at the sheets as I stifled sob after sob, determined not to let Isabel hear me crying. She was pitying me enough as it was; I didn't need her to hear me when the night terrors got a hold of me.

But I love you.

No, you don't.

Nora—

You don't love me, Jess. We both know who your heart really belongs to.

That's a lie. That's bullshit and you know it.

Jess.

Don't do this, Nora. Please.

Jess... Stop lying to yourself.

Thoughts of Isabel vanished as I folded in on myself, breaking once again as the night closed in around me.

A/N: Review please?